explain, every time Kristiania was mentioned he saw a section of Grænsen Street before his eyes, and it smelled of clothes hung out to dry. It was really true, he didn’t invent it. What he envisioned was a snooty small town with a couple of churches, a couple of newspapers, a hotel and a town pump, but with the grandest people in the world. He had never seen people swagger as they did in Kristiania, and good grief, how many a time he had wished himself far away when he lived there!
Mr. Reinert couldn’t understand how it was possible to conceive such an antipathy—not toward an individual but toward a whole city, the country’s capital. In fact, Kristiania was not that small anymore, it was taking its place among other prominent cities. And the Grand Café was anything but a poor café.
At first Nagel made no protest apropos of the Grand. But a moment later he wrinkled his brows and remarked for all to hear, “The Grand is a unique café.”
“You don’t seem to mean that.”
“Oh yes.” The Grand was that notorious place 1 in the city where everything great foregathered. There sat the world’s greatest painters, the world’s most promising young men, the world’s most fashionable ladies, the world’s most able editors, and the world’s greatest authors! “Heh-heh!” There they sat and puffed themselves up for each other 2 —each delighted to be appreciated by everyone else. “I’ve seen everyman sitting there rejoicing because other everymen were watching him.”
This answer provoked general indignation. Mr. Reinert leaned over to Miss Kielland’s chair and said quite loud, “Did you ever hear such conceited talk!”
Waking up, she cast a quick glance at Nagel: he must have heard Mr. Reinert’s words, but didn’t seem to feel hurt by them. On the contrary, he was drinking with the student and began to talk about something else with a nonchalant air. She, too, was irritated by his superior manner; God knows what he thought of them all if he felt he could offer them such condescending talk! What conceit, what megalomania! When Mr. Reinert asked her, “And what do you think?” she replied in an affectedly loud voice, “What I think? I think Kristiania is good enough for me.”
Nagel’s composure remained unruffled. Hearing this loud voice half addressed to himself, he turned to look at her with a pensive air, as if trying to remember how he might have offended her. He rested his eyes on her for more than a minute, blinking his eyes and considering, his face meanwhile showing a sorrowful expression.
By now the teacher had also heard what it was all about and protested the view that Kristiania was smaller than, for example, Belgrade. 3 On the whole, Kristiania was no smaller than any other capital of a reasonable size....
This made everyone laugh; with his burning cheeks and unshakable conviction, the teacher looked too absurd. Mr. Hansen, the lawyer, a fat little man with a bald pate wearing gold-rimmed glasses, couldn’t stop laughing at him, slapping his knees and laughing.
“A reasonable size, a reasonable size,” he shouted. “Kristiania is no smaller than any other capital of the same size, of exactly the same size. Not much smaller. Oh, dear me! Skoal!” 4
Nagel resumed his conversation with Øien, the student. Well, when he was younger he too—Nagel—had had a passion for music, especially Wagner. But with the years his interest had faded. Anyway, he had never got beyond learning the notes and striking a few chords.
“On the piano?” the student asked. The piano was his line.
“Ugh, no! On the violin. But as I said, I didn’t get anywhere and soon gave it up.”
By chance his eyes brushed Miss Andresen, who had been chatting with Mr. Reinert in a corner by the stove for at least a quarter of an hour. Her eyes met Nagel’s, though only fleetingly and inadvertently; still, it made her fidget on her chair and stop dead in what she was going to say.
Dagny was tapping her
Mr. Reinert couldn’t understand how it was possible to conceive such an antipathy—not toward an individual but toward a whole city, the country’s capital. In fact, Kristiania was not that small anymore, it was taking its place among other prominent cities. And the Grand Café was anything but a poor café.
At first Nagel made no protest apropos of the Grand. But a moment later he wrinkled his brows and remarked for all to hear, “The Grand is a unique café.”
“You don’t seem to mean that.”
“Oh yes.” The Grand was that notorious place 1 in the city where everything great foregathered. There sat the world’s greatest painters, the world’s most promising young men, the world’s most fashionable ladies, the world’s most able editors, and the world’s greatest authors! “Heh-heh!” There they sat and puffed themselves up for each other 2 —each delighted to be appreciated by everyone else. “I’ve seen everyman sitting there rejoicing because other everymen were watching him.”
This answer provoked general indignation. Mr. Reinert leaned over to Miss Kielland’s chair and said quite loud, “Did you ever hear such conceited talk!”
Waking up, she cast a quick glance at Nagel: he must have heard Mr. Reinert’s words, but didn’t seem to feel hurt by them. On the contrary, he was drinking with the student and began to talk about something else with a nonchalant air. She, too, was irritated by his superior manner; God knows what he thought of them all if he felt he could offer them such condescending talk! What conceit, what megalomania! When Mr. Reinert asked her, “And what do you think?” she replied in an affectedly loud voice, “What I think? I think Kristiania is good enough for me.”
Nagel’s composure remained unruffled. Hearing this loud voice half addressed to himself, he turned to look at her with a pensive air, as if trying to remember how he might have offended her. He rested his eyes on her for more than a minute, blinking his eyes and considering, his face meanwhile showing a sorrowful expression.
By now the teacher had also heard what it was all about and protested the view that Kristiania was smaller than, for example, Belgrade. 3 On the whole, Kristiania was no smaller than any other capital of a reasonable size....
This made everyone laugh; with his burning cheeks and unshakable conviction, the teacher looked too absurd. Mr. Hansen, the lawyer, a fat little man with a bald pate wearing gold-rimmed glasses, couldn’t stop laughing at him, slapping his knees and laughing.
“A reasonable size, a reasonable size,” he shouted. “Kristiania is no smaller than any other capital of the same size, of exactly the same size. Not much smaller. Oh, dear me! Skoal!” 4
Nagel resumed his conversation with Øien, the student. Well, when he was younger he too—Nagel—had had a passion for music, especially Wagner. But with the years his interest had faded. Anyway, he had never got beyond learning the notes and striking a few chords.
“On the piano?” the student asked. The piano was his line.
“Ugh, no! On the violin. But as I said, I didn’t get anywhere and soon gave it up.”
By chance his eyes brushed Miss Andresen, who had been chatting with Mr. Reinert in a corner by the stove for at least a quarter of an hour. Her eyes met Nagel’s, though only fleetingly and inadvertently; still, it made her fidget on her chair and stop dead in what she was going to say.
Dagny was tapping her
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