This manifested itself first in a fresh need for physical exercise.
During the first two years after the decision of 1864, while things
were leading up to war between Prussia and Austria, and while the young
blood of Denmark imagined that their country would be drawn into this
war, I had taken part, as a member of the Academic Shooting Society, in
drill and shooting practice. After the battle of Königgratz these
occupations lost much of their attraction.
I was now going in for an exercise that was new to me and which I had
long wished to become proficient in. This was riding.
Up to that time I had never been able to afford to ride. But just then
a captain of the dragoons offered to teach me for a very low fee, and
in the Queen's Riding-School I was initiated during the Spring months
into the elementary stages of the art, in order that in Summer I might
be able to ride out. These riding-lessons were the keenest possible
delight to me. I, who so seldom felt happy, and still more seldom
jubilant, was positively exultant as I rode out in the morning along
the Strand Road. Even if I had had an almost sleepless night I felt
fresh on horseback.
It was no pleasure to me to ride the same horse often, if I knew its
disposition. I liked to change as often as possible, and preferred
rather difficult horses to mares too well broken in. I felt the
arrogant pride of youth seethe in my veins as I galloped briskly along.
I was still far from an accomplished horseman when an examination of my
finances warned me that I must give up my riding lessons.
When I informed my instructor that I could no longer allow myself the
pleasure of his lessons, and in reply to his "Why?" had mentioned the
reason, the captain answered that it would be very easy to settle that
matter: he had a sister, an elderly maiden lady, who was passionately
fond of literature and literary history. Lessons in that subject could
to our mutual satisfaction balance the riding lessons, which could thus
go on indefinitely. It is unnecessary to say how welcome the
proposition was to me. It was such a relief!
The captain was a pleasant, good-natured man, quite uneducated in
literary matters, who confidingly communicated his bachelor experiences
to his pupil. These were summed up in the reflection that when
womenkind fall in love, they dread neither fire nor water; the captain
himself, who yet, in his own opinion, only looked well on horseback,
had once had an affair with a married lady who bombarded him with
letters, and who, in her ardour, began writing one day without noticing
that her husband, who was standing behind her chair, was looking over
her shoulder. Since then the captain had not felt the need of women, so
to speak, preferred to be without them, and found his greatest pleasure
in his horses and his skill as an equestrian.
The sister was a maiden lady of forty, by no means devoid of
intellectual ability, with talent for observation and an appreciation
of good books, but whose development had been altogether neglected. She
now cherished an ambition to write. She wrote in secret little tales
that were not really stupid but had not the slightest pretensions to
style or literary talent. She was very plain and exceedingly stout,
which produced a comical effect, especially as she was inclined to
exaggeration both of speech and gesture.
There was a disproportion between the ages of the master and the pupil;
in my eyes she was quite an old person, in her eyes, being her
intellectual equal, I was likewise her equal in age. In the natural
order of things she felt more personal sympathy for me than I for her.
Consequently, I involuntarily put a dash of teasing into my
instruction, and occasionally made fun of her sentimentality, and when
the large lady, half angry, half distressed, rose to seize hold of me
and give me a shaking, I would run round the table, pursued by her, or
shoot out a chair between her and myself,--which indubitably did not
add to the dignity of our lessons.
There was no question of thorough or connected instruction. What the
lady wanted more particularly was that I should go through her literary
attempts and correct them, but corrections could not transform them
into art. And so it came about that after no very long time I gave up
these arduous lessons, although obliged to give up my precious riding
lessons at the same time.
Consequently I never became a really expert rider, although during the
next few years I had a ride now and then. But after a severe attack of
phlebitis following upon typhoid fever, in 1870-71, I was compelled to
give up all the physical exercises that I loved best.