Just about this time, when in imagination I was so great a warrior, I
had good use in real life for more strength, as I was no longer taken
to school by the nurse, but instead had myself to protect my brother,
two years my junior. The start from home was pleasant enough. Lunch
boxes of tin with the Danish greeting after meals in gold letters upon
them, stood open on the table. Mother, at one end of the table, spread
each child six pieces of bread and butter, which were then placed
together, two and two, white bread on brown bread, a mixture which, was
uncommonly nice. The box would take exactly so many. Then it was put in
the school-bag with the books. And with bag on back you went to school,
always the same way. But those were days when the journey was much
impeded. Every minute you met boys who called you names and tried to
hit the little one, and you had to fight at every street corner you
turned. And those were days when, even in the school itself, despite
the humanity of the age (not since attained to), terms of abuse,
buffets and choice insults were one's daily bread, and I can see myself
now, as I sprang up one day in a fight with a much bigger boy and bit
him in the neck, till a master was obliged to get me away from him, and
the other had to have his neck bathed under the pump.
I admired in others the strength that I lacked myself. There was in the
class one big, stout, squarely built, inexpressibly good-natured boy,
for whom no one was a match in fighting. He was from Lolland, and his
name was Ludvig; he was not particularly bright, but robust and as
strong as a giant. Then one day there arrived at the school a West
Indian of the name of Muddie, dark of hue, with curly hair, as strong
and slim as a savage, and with all the finesse and feints which he had
at his command, irresistible, whether wrestling or when fighting with
his fists. He beat all the strongest boys in the school. Only Ludvig
and he had not challenged each other. But the boys were very anxious to
see a bout between the two, and a wrestling match between them was
arranged for a free quarter of an hour. For the boys, who were all
judges, it was a fine sight to see two such fighters wrestle,
especially when the Lollander flung himself down on the other and the
West Indian struggled vainly, writhing like a very snake to twist
himself out of his grasp.
One day two new boys came to school, two brothers; the elder, Adam, was
small and sallow, extraordinarily withered, looking like a cripple,
without, however, being one; the somewhat younger brother, Sofus, was
splendidly made and amazed us in the very first lesson in which the new
arrivals took part--a gymnastic class--by his unusual agility in
swarming and walking up the sloping bar. He seemed to be as strong as
he was dexterous, and in a little boy with a reverence for those who
were strong, he naturally aroused positive enthusiasm. This was even
augmented next day, when a big, malicious boy, who had scoffed at Adam
for being puny, was, in a trice, so well thrashed by Sofus that he lost
both his breath and his courage.
Sofus, the new arrival, and I, who had achieved fighting exploits from
the rocking-horse only, were henceforth, for some time, inseparable
friends. It was one of the usual friendships between little boys, in
which the one admires and the other allows himself to be worshipped.
The admirer in this case could only feed his feelings by presenting the
other with the most cherished thing he possessed. This most cherished
thing happened to be some figures cut out in gold paper, from France,
representing every possible object and personage, from ships with masts
and sails, to knights and ladies. I had collected them for a long time
and preserved them, piece by piece, by gumming them into a book which
was the pride of my existence. I gave the book, without the slightest
hesitation, to Sofus, who accepted it without caring for it in the
least.
And then by reason of the exaggerated admiration of which he was the
object, Sofus, who hitherto had been so straightforward, began to grow
capricious. It was a settled rule that he and I went home from school
together. But one day a difficulty cropped up; Sofus had promised
Valdemar, a horrid boy, who cheated at lessons, to go home with him.
And next day something else prevented him. But when, suddenly having
learnt to know all the pangs of neglect and despised affection, I met
him the third day, after having waited vainly for him, crossing Our
Lady's Square with Valdemar, in my anger I seized my quondam friend
roughly by the arm, my face distorted with rage, and burst out: "You
are a rascal!" then rushed off, and never addressed him again. It was a
very ill-advised thing to do, in fact, the very most foolish thing I
could have done. But I was too passionate to behave sensibly. Valdemar
spread the account of my conduct all through the class, and next day,
in our quarter of an hour's playtime, I heard on every side from the
laughing boys: "You are a rascal! You are a rascal!"