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Pontoppidan, Henrik: A Fortunate Man (detail) (Lykke-Per (detaljer) in English)

Portre of Pontoppidan, Henrik

Lykke-Per (detaljer) (Danish)

Første Kapitel

I en af de østjyske Smaakøbstæder, der ligger gemt mellem grønne Banker i Bunden af en tilgroet Fjord, levede der i Aarene før og efter vor sidste Krig en Præst ved Navn Johannes Sidenius. Det var en from og streng Mand. I sin ydre Fremtræden som ved sin hele Levevis skilte han sig skarpt ud fra Byens øvrige Beboere, af hvem han derfor i mange Aar betragtedes som en besværlig Fremmed, hvis Særegenheder man afvekslende trak paa Skuldren af og forargedes over. Naar han – høj og alvorlig – kom gaaende gennem Byens krogede Gader, klædt i sin langskødede, graa Vadmelsfrakke, med store, mørkeblaa Briller for Øjnene og med Haanden knyttet om Grebet paa en stor Bomuldsparaply, som han for hvert Skridt stødte med Kraft mod Stenbroen, vendte Folk sig uvilkaarlig om efter ham; og de, som sad inde bag Vinduerne og holdt Udkig i Gadespejlet, smilte ved Synet eller skar Ansigter. Byens Storhanser, de gamle Bondekøbmænd og Studeopdrættere, hilste ham aldrig, end ikke naar han var i Ornat. Skønt de selv viste sig paa Gaden i Træsko og smudsige Lærredsfrakker og pattende paa en Pibe, betragtede de det som en Skam og Skænsel for deres By, at den havde faaet en saadan Stodderpræst, der gik klædt som en Landsbydegn og vitterlig ogsaa havde Møje med at skaffe Føden til sig og sin Redefuld af Rollinger. Man havde været vant til en ganske anden Slags Gejstlighed her, – til Mænd i fine, sorte Klæder og hvide Kammerdugs Halsbind, Mænd, der ogsaa ved deres Navn havde kastet Glans over Byen og dens Kirke og senere var bleven Stiftsprovster og Bisper, men som alligevel ikke havde hovmodet sig af deres Fromhed, ikke havde følt sig for gode til at interessere sig for Byens verdslige Anliggender og tage Del i Borgernes selskabelige Forlystelser.
Dengang havde den store, røde Præstegaardsbygning været et Gæstfrihedens Hjem, hvor man, naar man havde afgjort sine Forretninger inde hos Præsten, blev buden ind i Dagligstuen til Fruen og de unge Frøkner for ved en Kop Kaffe eller (naar det var bedre Folk) et lille Glas Vin og en hjemmebagt Kage at slaa en Passiar af om Dagens og Byens Nyt. Nu betraadte Folk ikke Præstegaarden uden tvingende Grunde, og aldrig kom man længere end til Pastor Sidenius' gravkammeragtige Studereværelse, hvor Gardinerne gerne var rullet halvt ned, fordi Præstens Øjne ikke taalte Genskinnet fra Murene ovre paa den anden Side af den snevre Gade.
Her modtog han endda i Reglen Folk staaende, bød dem ikke at sidde ned, affærdigede dem i det hele kort, tilsyneladende udeltagende, og var netop allermindst indladende overfor dem, som mente sig berettiget til at vente særlig Hensyntagen. Selv Byens Embedsfamiljer havde ophørt at aflægge Visiter i Præstegaarden, efter at det var hændet dem, at Pastor Sidenius – i Stedet for at byde Forfriskninger – havde givet sig til at udspørge dem om deres Tro og i det hele tiltalt dem paa en Maade, som om de var Konfirmander, der stod paa Kirkegulvet.
En ganske særlig Forbitrelse vakte han ved de store Borger-Begravelser, til hvilke Befolkningen mødte i festligt Optog, med Hornmusik og floromvundne Lavsfaner, Embedsmændene i guldbaldyrede Uniformer og med Hanefjer i Hattene, – alle efter deres egen Mening særlig vel stemte til Andagt og Opbyggelse efter den lette Portvins-Frokost i Sørgehjemmet. I Stedet for en stor Tale med den sædvanemæssige Lovprisning af den Afdøde indskrænkede Pastor Sidenius sig ufravigelig til Fremsigelsen af en Bøn, saadan som det ellers kun brugtes overfor udøbte Børn og Fattiglig. Ikke et Ord om den Hensovedes hæderlige Karakter og stræbsomme Vandel, ikke en Hentydning til hans Fortjenester af Byens Opkomst, til hans opofrende Interesse for Brolægningsvæsenet eller det kommunale Vandværk. Det var næppe nok, at den Afdøde overhovedet blev nævnt ved Graven, og da altid kun med Tilføjelser som "denne usle Støvhob" eller "denne Føde for Ormene", – og jo større og mere anset den Forsamling var, hvortil han talte, jo flere Faner og Bannere der smeldede i Blæsten omkring Graven, des kortere blev Bønnen, des ynkværdigere de Levninger, hvorom man var samlet, saa at Følget skiltes under en Ophidselse, der mere end een Gang paa lydelig Maade havde givet sig Luft paa selve Kirkegaarden.
De eneste af Byens Folk, der havde deres Gang i Præstegaarden, var et Par smaa, forvoksede gamle Damer fra Byens Jomfrukloster samt en bleg, langskægget Kristusfigur af en Skrædersvend foruden endnu enkelte andre saakaldte "vakte" af de Ubemidledes Klasse, som i Pastor Sidenius' Hjem havde fundet en længe savnet Tilflugt i den verdslig sindede By. Om nogen egenlig Omgang var der dog alene af den Grund ikke Tale, at Fru Sidenius var meget svag og i de sidste Aar havde ligget tilsengs. Men forresten var Pastor Sidenius selv ganske uden Anlæg for det selskabelige, og hans Tilhængere søgte ham kun i Troesanliggender. Derimod mødte de regelmæssig hver eneste Søndag i Kirken, hvor de forsamlede sig paa en bestemt Plads umiddelbart under Prækestolen og vakte Forargelse blandt de øvrige Kirkegængere ved paa en tilskuestillende Maade at synge selv de allerlængste Salmer uden en eneste Gang at se i Salmebogen.
Pastor Sidenius tilhørte en ældgammel og vidt udbredt Præsteslægt, der kunde føre sine Ahner helt tilbage til Reformationen. I fulde tre Aarhundreder var Kaldet til gejstlig Virksomhed gaaet som en hellig Arv fra Fædre til Sønner – ja til Døtrene med, forsaavidt som disse i mangfoldige Tilfælde havde giftet sig med Fædrenes Kapellaner eller Brødrenes Studiekammerater. Herfra udsprang den bevidste Myndighed, for hvilken de Sidenius'ers Forkyndelse fra gammel Tid var bekendt. Der fandtes næppe ret mange Sogne Landet over, hvor ikke en af Slægten engang i Aarhundredernes Løb havde bøjet Sindene til Lydighed under Kirkens Lov.
Naturligvis – disse mange Kirkens Tjenere havde ikke alle været lige nidkære. Der havde endog været enkelte, temmelig verdslig sindede Herrer imellem dem, – Folk, hos hvem en kraftig, gennem Slægtled tilbagetrængt Levetrang havde givet sig ret ubeherskede Udslag. Saaledes levede der i forrige Aarhundrede en Vendsyssel-Præst, "gale Sidenius", der skulde have ført et omstrygende Jægerliv i de store Skove omkring den jyske Aas, hvor han ofte sad paa Kroerne og drak Brændevin med Bønderne, og som tilsidst en Paaskedag i Drukkenskab slog Degnen i Kirkegulvet, saa der sprøjtede Blod op paa Alterdugen.
Dog – langt den overvejende Del af Slægten havde været fromme Kirkens Stridsmænd, flere af dem tillige belæste, ja lærde Mænd, teologiske Granskere, der i deres landlige Afsondrethed, under Aarenes graa Ensformighed, havde søgt Erstatning for alle Afsavn i et stille, indadvendt Tankeliv, en inderlig Fordybelse i deres egen, indre Verden, i hvilken de saa tilsidst fandt Tilværelsens sande Værdier, dens rigeste Lykke, dens egenlige Maal.
Det var denne i Slægten nedarvede Ringeagt for alle timelige Tings Værd, der havde været ogsaa Johannes Sidenius' Værge i Livets Kamp og bevaret hans Ryg ubøjet og hans Sind rankt trods Armods Tryk og mangeartet Modgang. Men han havde i saa Henseende ogsaa haft en god Støtte i sin Hustru, med hvem han levede det inderligste og lykkeligste Samliv, skønt de egenlig slet ikke lignede hinanden. Ogsaa hun var et dybt religiøst Gemyt men – i Modsætning til sin Mand – en tungsindig, lidenskabelig Natur, hvem Livet indgød Uro og mørk Ængstelse. Oprindelig ubefæstet i Troen, som hun havde været det fra sit Hjem, var hun under Mandens Paavirkning bleven en Ivrer, hos hvem den daglige Kamp for Udkommet og de mange Barselsenge havde affødt sygeligt overdrevne Forestillinger om Jordelivets Trængsler og Kristenmenneskers Ansvar. Og hendes lange Sengeleje; de mange Aar, hun siden sin sidste Nedkomst havde ligget lammet i den mørke Sygestue; endelig den nylig overstaaede, ulykkelige Krig med dens fjendtlige Indkvarteringer, dens Brandskatning og blodige Ydmygelser – alt dette havde ikke bidraget til at gøre hendes Syn paa Livet frejdigere.
Skønt hendes Mand ofte alvorligt bebrejdede hende det, fandt hun aldrig rigtig Ro for bekymringsfulde Tanker. Endda hun ogsaa selv erkendte, at det var en syndig Mangel paa Tillid til Forsynets Naade, kunde hun ikke lade være med ved enhver Lejlighed at foreholde sine Børn den yderste Nøjsomhed i alt som en Pligt mod Gud og Mennesker. Hun kunde oprøres som over en Forbrydelse, naar hun hørte om Borgernes Levevis der i Byen, om deres Selskaber med mange Retter Mad og tre-fire Slags Vin, om Fruernes Silkekjoler og de unge Pigers Guldsmykker, – ja hun havde endogsaa ondt ved at tilgive sin egen Mand, naar det engang imellem hændte, at han kom hjem fra sin Spaseretur med en eller anden beskeden Gave, som han med et vist, tavst Galanteri henlagde foran hende paa Dynen, – et Par Roser i et Kræmmerhus, lidt fin Frugt eller en lille Krukke Ingefærsyltetøj for hendes Nattehoste. Vistnok blev hun baade glad og rørt over hans Opmærksomhed; men hun kunde dog aldrig lade være med at sige, mens hun ømt kyssede hans Hænder:
"Du skulde nu dog hellere have ladet være, du Gode."
I dette Hjem opvoksede et Kuld kønne, lidt kirtelblege Børn, elleve i Tal, fem lysøjede Drenge og seks lysøjede Piger, der alle var let kendelige mellem Byens øvrige Ungdom, blandt andet paa Grund af nogle usædvanlige Halskraver, der gav Drengene et lidt pigeagtigt og de halvvoksne Piger et lidt mandfolkeagtigt Udseende. Drengene bar desuden deres brune Haar langt og lokket, saa det naaede dem næsten til Skuldrene, medens Pigebørnenes laa fast nedglattet over Hovedbunden og kun ved hver Tinding havde en lille, haard Fletning, der var lagt i en Bue foran Ørene.
Forholdet mellem Forældre og Børn som overhovedet Tonen i Hjemmet var gennemført patriarkalsk. Under de tarvelige, ja fattige Maaltider, som regelmæssig indlededes med en Bøn, sad Faderen for Enden af det lange, smalle Bord med sine fem Sønner ordnede efter Alder langs den ene Side og de fem Døtre i tilsvarende Rækkefølge langs den anden, medens den ældste Datter, den huslige Signe, i Moderens Forfald indtog Pladsen for den anden Bordende. Aldrig faldt det noget af Børnene ind at tale uden at være adspurgt. Men Faderen talte ofte til dem, om deres Skoleundervisning, om deres Kammerater og deres Lektier og kom derved gerne ind paa selv at fortælle. Paa belærende Maade skildrede han Forhold og Begivenheder fra sin egen Ungdom, fortalte om Datidens Skolegang, om Livet i hans Faders og Farfaders lerklinede Præstegaarde o.s.v. Undertiden, naar han var særlig oplagt, kunde han endog fortælle spøgefulde Anekdoter fra sine Studenterdage i København, fra Regenslivet eller fra Studenternes kaade Løjer med Natvægtere og Politi. Men havde han paa denne Maade faaet Børnene til at le, forsømte han aldrig tilsidst at give sin Fortælling Advarslens Form og formanende at vende deres Sind og Tanker mod Livets Alvor og Pligtens Bud.
Denne store Børneflok og navnlig den Fremgang, den havde – først i Skolen, siden ude i Livet – var efterhaanden bleven Pastor Sidenius' Stolthed og samtidig et med ydmyg Taknemlighed modtaget Vidnesbyrd om, at Herrens Velsignelse hvilede over hans Hus. Det var nu ogsaa en opvakt, lærelysten, frem for alt strengt pligttro Ungdom, ægte Sidenius'er, der en efter en voksede op i Faderens Billede, ja slægtede ham paa ogsaa i alle ydre Smaatræk – lige til den selvbevidste Holdning og den taktfaste, soldatermæssige Gang. Der var kun eet af Børnene, af hvem Forældrene havde Sorg. Det var et af de mellemste, en Dreng, der hed Peter Andreas. Han var ikke alene uregerlig i Skolen, saa der stadig indløb Klager over ham; men allerede i en tidlig Alder sporedes der hos ham en overlagt Opsætsighed mod Hjemmets Skik og Orden. Han var ikke bleven ti Aar, før han nægtede sine Forældre Lydighed, og jo ældre Drengen blev, des tydeligere aabenbarede der sig hos ham en udæskende overmodig Trods, som hverken Tugt eller Tvang eller Herrens Formaning formaaede at kue.
Pastor Sidenius sad ofte raadløs ved sin Hustrus Seng og talte om denne Søn, der hos dem begge vakte en skræmmende Erindring om hin vanslægtede Vendsyssel-Præst, hvis Navn stod som prentet med Blod paa Slægtens Stamtavle. Og uvilkaarlig paavirkede af Forældrenes Holdning saae efterhaanden ogsaa hans Søskende paa ham med fremmede Øjne og undveg ham sky i deres Lege.
Nu var Drengen ogsaa kommen til Verden i en uheldig Time, nemlig paa det Tidspunkt, da Faderen fra et ensomt liggende og fattigt befolket Hedesogn forflyttedes herind til Købstaden og optoges af en omfattende Embedsvirksomhed. Peter Andreas var herved tilfældigvis bleven den første af alle Børnene, hvis tidligste Opdragelse han havde maattet overlade til Moderen; men denne havde i de Aar, da Peter Andreas var lille, altid haft mere end nok at gøre med at tage Vare paa de endnu mindre; og da hun tilsidst, lammet af sin Sygdom, søgte at samle alle de Smaa omkring sin Seng, var han allerede bleven for stor til, at hun herfra kunde holde Øje med ham og hans Færd.
Saaledes gik det til, at Peter Andreas saa at sige fra sin Fødsel blev en Fremmed i sit eget Hjem. I sine første Leveaar havde han sit Tilhold i Pigekammeret og ovre i Udhuset hos en gammel Brændehugger, hvis nøgterne Betragtninger over alle forefaldende Begivenheder tidligt paavirkede Drengens Virkelighedssans. Senere fandt han ligesom et andet Hjem i Nabolagets store Købmandsgaarde med tilhørende Tømmerpladser, mellem hvis Gaardskarle og Krambodsvende han ligeledes tilegnede sig et ganske verdsligt Syn paa Livet og dets Goder. Samtidig udviklede dette Friluftsliv hans Krop og lagde et kraftigt Teglstensrødt paa hans tykke Kinder. Blandt Gadens og Tømmergaardenes Ungdom blev han snart frygtet paa Grund af sine Kræfter, og han opkastede sig tilsidst til Fører for en lille Skare smaa Røvere, der huserede omkring i Byen. Uden at nogen i Hjemmet vidste det, voksede han op som en lille Vild. Det var først, da han blev ældre, og navnlig, da han i Niaars-Alderen var kommen ind i Byens Latinskole, at Drengens farlige Tilbøjeligheder blev rigtig aabenbare; og Forældre og Lærere fik nu travlt med at raade Bod paa, hvad der var forsømt.
Men da var det forsilde.



Uploaded byP. T.
Source of the quotationhttp://www.henrikpontoppidan.dk

A Fortunate Man (detail) (English)

Chapter One

In the years around the time of our last war, there was a Christian minister by the name of Johannes Sidenius who lived in a small provincial town in east Jutland. The town lay at the bottom of an overgrown fjord and was hidden from view by the surrounding green hills. This priest was a pious and austere man. His outward appearance and, indeed, his whole way of life, placed him sharply at odds with the rest of the town’s inhabitants who, therefore, regarded him for many years as an intruder whose peculiar ways prompted various reactions, ranging from a simple shrug of the shoulders to downright indignation. Whenever he walked – tall and severe in demeanour – through the town’s winding streets, dressed in his long, grey and rough-spun coat, big dark blue spectacles perched on his forehead and his hand firmly gripping a large umbrella with which he struck the pavement in tack and tandem with each step he took, people on the street would instinctively turn and stare; whilst those who looked on from behind window panes and lace curtains would smile at the scene, or scowl, as their mood took them. The town’s elders, the old estate and cattle merchants, never deigned to offer him a greeting, even when he was clad in his vestments. Despite the fact that they themselves were wont to appear in public wearing clogs and canvas smock coats, sucking continually at their pipes, they held it at as a shame and disgrace upon the town, that they had got such a wretched cleric who appeared amongst them dressed as some lowly bell ringer, and who, to boot, obviously could barely provide for himself and his brood of whelps. One had been accustomed to a quite different sort of clergy here – to men attired in fine black cloth and a collar of the best white cambric with its attendant brilliant chest piece; men who also by their very name had spread a lustre over the town and its church; men who would go on to be archdeacons and bishops within the diocese, but who were never arrogant in their piety, or felt themselves to be above the town’s worldly affairs and took a full part in the citizenry’s functions and festivities.
Indeed, the large red vicarage had previously been a byword for hospitality, where, once any religious business had been concluded with the minister, there was a standing invitation to the drawing room to meet his wife and young daughters and over coffee, or (when a better class of folk was present) a small glas of wine and homemade cake, one could gossip about the latest news and events in the town. Now, people avoided the rectory, unless some pressing reason drove them there, and these days one got no further than Pastor Sidenius’s funereal study, where the curtains were usually half drawn because his eyes could not tolerate the reflected glare from the walls on the other side of the narrow street.
Moreover, this pastor then usually left visitors standing in this place, never offering them a seat, dealing with them in a curt manner and showing no apparent interest in them. He was, in fact, least hospitable to those who believed themselves to be most deserving of special attention. Even the families of the town’s civic officials no longer paid a call to the rectory, given that Pastor Sidenius – instead of offering them refreshments – had taken it upon himself to question them on their spiritual inclinations and generally addressed them more like candidates for the rite of confirmation standing before a bishop.
He had aroused particular animosity when officiating at burial ceremonies for the town’s more illustrious citizens – where the populace would form a procession in pomp and ceremony, holding garlanded guild banners aloft to the accompaniment of a brass band and with civic officials in gold braided uniforms and plumed hats also in attendance, – all this, it was averred, being a fitting way to offer thanksgiving and spiritual inspiration following a light wine reception in the home of the deceased. Instead of a glorious send off, with the obligatory eulogy in memory of the deceased, Pastor Sidenius restricted himself unbendingly to the recital of a prayer more befitting of unchristened children and the lower classes. Not a word on the decency of the dearly departed and the fruitful furrow he had diligently ploughed throughout his life; no mention of the fact that the town’s rising prosperity had made his name, or of his selfless devotion to its pavements department, or communal water provision. In fact, the deceased party was barely mentioned at the graveside, and then only with additional comments such as "this poor heap of dust" or "this worm fodder", and the greater and more refined the gathering which he addressed, the more flags and banners that snapped in the wind swirling around the graveside, the shorter the prayers became and the more miserable was his description of the remains which people had come to honour; so that mourners left the scene with an anger which was more than once audibly expressed, even in the hallowed grounds of the cemetery.
The only townspeople who were regular attendants at the rectory were a pair of small, shrivelled old ladies from the spinster fraternity and a pale, long bearded Christ like figure who was an itinerant tailor. There were also a number of "saved" people of no means, who in Pastor Sidenius’s home had found a long sought for refuge in a place whose thoughts rarely strayed from temporal considerations. However, the fact alone that Fru Sidenius was of a very weak disposition and had been confined to bed in recent years, meant that there was no suggestion of any kind of social circle having been established. Indeed, it should be said that Pastor Sidenius himself was in no way disposed to social engagements and his acolytes sought his counsel on matters of faith alone. On the other hand, they would meet up every single Sunday in the church, where they would occupy their chosen place immediately below the pulpit and then arouse the ire of rest of the congregation by, in a most ostentatious manner, singing even the most interminable of psalms without once consulting their church hymnals.
Pastor Sidenius belonged to an ancient dynasty of clerics, which traced its lineage right back to the Reformation. For more than three centuries, the call to spiritual works had gone from father to son – yes even to daughters as well, in as much that these had in many cases married their fathers' curates, or their brothers' student friends. It was from this deep well that the conscious authority in the pronouncement of the Lord’s word, for which the Sideniuses were renowned, had sprung from olden times. There was hardly a parish in any part of the country where at least one family member had not been present, at some point in the passage of the centuries, to remind people of the need for obedience to church law.
Of course, among such a large number of servants in the church, not all would prove to be equally zealous in the commission of their vocation. There had even been the odd family member whose passions lay more in the direction of more worldly affairs – people in whom a lust for life, which ran as a suppressed but powerful undercurrent within the dynasty, had suddenly expressed itself in rather uncontrolled ways. Thus, in the previous century, there had been a priest in Vendsyssel, 'Mad Sidenius' by name, who was said to have led the life of a wandering hunter in the great forests around the Jutland Ridge. Here, he would often be seen carousing in the taverns and imbibing schnapps in the company of the local peasantry, until finally one day, in a drunken rage during the Easter celebrations, he struck down his sacristan so violently that a spurt of blood desecrated the very altar cloth.
Despite events such as this, the vast majority of the family had been upstanding champions of the church and several of them were also very well read. Indeed, they were theological scholars, who in their rural isolation had sought respite from the grey blandness of each passing year in the interior workings of the mind, a deep investigation of their own inner world, in which they would eventually discover the greatest happiness in life, its greatest rewards, and the ultimate goal underpinning everything.
It was this inherited disdain for the value of all things secular which had been Johannes Sidenius’s buckler and shield in the cut and thrust of daily life, and the thing that had kept both his back straight and his mental resolve undaunted, despite the strain of dire poverty and the many reverses he had suffered. But in this regard, he had also received great support from his wife, with whom he enjoyed a deep and contented union; for all that they were so unlike each other. She too was of a deeply religious disposition but – in contrast to her husband – she possessed a doleful, fervent nature, for which life engendered constant agitation and dark anxieties. Due to her family background, she had once lacked conviction in her faith. However, because of her husband’s influence, she became first a true believer and then a zealot, for whom the daily struggle to make ends meet, combined with so many childbirths in quick succession, served to confirm her by now passionately jaundiced view of life’s travails and the need for Christians to observe their daily duties. And then there were those many years, since her last child had arrived, where she had remained bedridden in her dark room hoping to regain her strength and, to cap it all, the recently concluded and disastrous war with its hostile confiscations of property and money, the bloody humiliations – all this had hardly helped to make her view of life any more hopeful.
Though her husband would reproach her severely for it, she could never really banish these anxieties from her mind. For, even as she admitted that this displayed a sinful lack of trust in God’s providence, she just could not refrain from ceaselessly reminding her children that strict moderation in all things was their duty both before God and man. She would react as if having witnessed a shocking crime whenever she learned of the lifestyle of her fellow townsmen; of their parties which boasted extravagant menu selections and several kinds of wine; of the silk dresses the ladies wore and the golden jewellery displayed by young girls – yes, she even found it difficult to forgive her own husband when, every so often, he would return home from a walk with some modest gift, which he, not without a certain quiet gallantry would present at the foot of her bed, – a pair of roses arranged in a posy, some nice fruit, or a jar of ginger preserves to help her night cough. Of course, she was both happy and touched by his small gestures. Yet, she could not refrain from saying, as she kissed his hands tenderly:
"Heavens dear, you really should not have done that."
A brood of pretty but rather sickly children grew up in this house; eleven in all; five boys with clear blue eyes and six equally bright eyed girls, all of whom were easily recognisable amongst the town’s other youths, partly because of an unusual neck collar they wore, which made the boys look rather girlish and made the half grown girls rather manly in appearance. The boys, moreover, wore their brown hair long and had curls flowing almost to their shoulders, whilst the girls wore their hair plastered to their skulls and had just a plait at each temple that ran in a hard little curve in front of their ears.
The relationship between parents and children, as with the overall tone presiding in the home, was thoroughly patriarchal in nature. During the frugal, indeed meagre, mealtimes, which always began with a prayer, the head of the household would sit at the end of the long, narrow table with his five sons arranged according to age on one side and the five daughters in a corresponding sequence along the other; whilst, in the absence of her mother, the eldest daughter, the scrupulous Signe, took pride of place at the other end of the table. It would never have occurred to any of the children to speak without first being invited to do so. On the other hand, their father spoke to them frequently; about their educational progress, about their friends and their classes at school, and thereby came to tell his own story. In his own didactic way, he would explain conditions and events from his own youth, describe how school life was at the time and recall life in his father’s and grandfather’s mud and wattle built rectory, and much more besides. And sometimes, when he was in just the right mood, he would even tell amusing anecdotes from his student days in Copenhagen, from his time in the renowned residential hall, and the madcap capers the student’s would get up to with the town’s watchmen and the constabulary. But, having in this way raised the humour of his children, he never failed at the end to give a cautionary twist to his tales and a warning to them to turn their thoughts away from frivolity and attend instead to the Lord’s bidding.
This large flock of children, and especially the fact that it had thrived so well – firstly at school, then in the wider adult world – had gradually become a source of great pride to Pastor Sidenius, and at the same time, caused him to give thanks in humble gratitude that the Lord had clearly blessed his home. For there was no doubt that these youths, genuine Sideniuses all, were eager, and inquisitive, and, more than anything, had developed a strict sense of duty as they had grown up one after the other, to become a mirror image of their father. They had even inherited all the little quirks in his appearance – right down to his proud bearing and the measured almost military gait. There was only one of the children who caused his parents sorrow and distress. This was one of the boys in the middle ranks whose name was Peter Andreas. It was not just the fact that he was disruptive at school, and thus provoked a stream of complaints from that side, but also the fact that he had already, at a very young age, begun to defy the customs and practice which prevailed in the home. He had not even reached the age of ten when he first disobeyed his parents outright, and the older the boy became, the more he showed a reckless defiance, which neither chastisement, coercion, nor even the strictures of the Lord himself, was able to quell.
Pastor Sidenius would often sit at his wife’s bedside discussing what they should do with this wayward son in whom both of them saw the spectre of the degenerate Vendsyssel priest, whose ill repute was forever etched into the family’s bloodline. And, instinctively affected as they were by their parents jaundiced view, his brothers and sisters began to look upon the boy as a stranger in their midst and exclude him from their games.
Now it is true that the boy had come into this world at an unfortunate moment; namely at a time when his father had been moved from an isolated and sparsely populated parish up on the heath to the region’s market town; a move which involved a substantial commitment and expansion of his ministry. In this way, and purely by chance, Peter Andreas had become the first of all the children whose earliest rearing had been left to his mother. However, in the years when Peter Andreas was small, she had always had her hands full looking after those even smaller than he was. This meant that when she was finally forced to retire to bed through sickness and sought to gather all her children around her, he had grown too big for her to keep a proper eye on his behaviour and whereabouts.
Thus it was, that Peter Andreas became almost from birth, so to speak, a stranger in his own home. The first years of his life were mostly spent in his sisters' playroom, or, as he grew bigger, he was often to be found in the outhouse where an old woodcutter plied his trade, and whose rough and ready observations on life and events around them had an early influence on the boy’s view of the world. He then graduated to what became, in effect, a second home within the environs of the large merchant houses in the neighbourhood with their accompanying timber yards. Here too, amongst the yard boys and shop apprentices, he absorbed a profoundly temporal view of the world and its many bounties. At the same time, all this fresh air and physical tumult encouraged his physical development and imposed a ruddy glow upon his broad features. In fact, local youths and the timber yard boys soon came to fear him because of his physical prowess and he finally set himself up as the leader of a small gang of rogues, which roamed and harried about the town. Before anyone in the house realised what had taken place, he had grown into a half wild street urchin. It was only when he got older, and especially when at nine years of age he entered the town’s Latin School, that the boy’s volatile tendencies became obvious to all; and both parents and teachers alike then frantically sought to remedy the initial neglect.
But by then it was too late.



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Source of the quotationhttp://www.henrikpontoppidan.dk

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