EVELYN WAUGH NEWSLETTER AND STUD EVELYN WAUGH NEWSLETTER AND STUDIES Vol. 38, No. 1 Spring 2007 Evelyn Waugh in Denmark by Godfred Hartmann Editor's note: The following passages have been translated by Anne Marie Køllgaard from the book I delfinens tegn (Under the Sign of the Dolphin), Copenhagen: Gyldendal,1996. The dolphin is the emblem of Thaning & Appel, a small but active publishing house once directed by Niels Helweg-Larsen and Godfred Hartmann. Thaning & Appel published Evelyn Waugh's work in Denmark. Foreign authors expect particular care--almost to be spoilt--when they visit their publishers. Evelyn Waugh was far from an exception from this. He preferred his Catholic bishop to the baroness at Rungstedlund [Karen Blixen, a.k.a. Isak Dinesen]. He kept those around him alert, and there was always quite a lot of disquiet following him, but Waugh did not care. “I do not want to be disturbed” Our windows had been opened up to the great wide world. American best sellers made their entry, and now and then this caused quite a stir among publishers in this country. Agreements with literary agents did not always hold. Publishers who thought they had the rights to a real best seller suddenly heard that the book would soon be published by another publisher, and this caused endless debates in the Danish Publishers’ Association. Arbitration was mentioned, and the chairman often had to reach for the heavy silver bell, and the company shook their heads in despair, for that is what Mr. Frimodt in the chairman’s seat did. However, nobody was to cross our path. The brief skirmish with Gyldendal about Evelyn Waugh had been put away long ago, and nobody was thinking in earnest about Upton Sinclair, Eric Linklater, Scott Fitzgerald, not to mention Henry James. They were, presumably, by many considered mummies, long since behind the times. In September 1947 Evelyn Waugh came to Copenhagen. One day there was a small blue envelope in our mail. It was obvious that this letter was not from just anybody. “Piers Court, Stinchcombe” was embossed in Prussian Blue on the flap. The small letter from England oozed upper-class opulence. We knew the handwriting from the signatures on our contracts. The letter was from Evelyn Waugh. He had been told by his literary agent in London, A. D. Peters, that a considerable fee was due to him, and since the Daily Telegraph intended sending him to Scandinavia in order for English readers to get an impression of life during the occupation in Norway and Denmark, he would like to draw on his due, since the per diems from the Daily Telegraph were not likely to cover all his needs. The letter was kind--long and formal--Dear Sir--and then followed a number of questions of a more practical nature: about the weather, currency, and especially about where he was to stay. In a central location, if possible, but not too noisy. The hotel would be the most important. We chose the d’Angleterre. They had a good bar, and surely he would enjoy walking along Østergade [the most elegant part of the present pedestrian street] during the rush hour. The hotel inspector--a gentleman in morning dress--was quite enlivened at the prospect of such a prominent guest. They had just the right thing for Mr. Waugh. Lauritz Melchior and his wife Kleinchen had just left their suite, so this was free. With awe Helweg and I looked into something to which we were quite unused. A diplomat’s desk of the kind which is found in Versailles, where you put your name to alliances or sign a file:////uol.le.ac.uk/...c144/My%20Documents/Evelyn%20Waugh/Evelyn%20Waugh%20Studies/Newsletters/Newsletters/Newsletter_38.1.htm[04/12/2013 14:44:45] EVELYN WAUGH NEWSLETTER AND STUD peace treaty. Heavy curtains and even heavier furniture from Lysberg, Hansen & Therp--a vast room with large French doors facing Kongens Nytorv, and as an opulent addition a bathroom with all the peculiar basins shaped after the body which certain rich people consider a necessity for their personal hygiene. We accepted but thought that something less grand would have sufficed. Tactfully we had to tell our most likely underpaid bookkeeper that in the near future, he would be presented with bills of a size which it required more than ordinary imagination to envisage. Slightly hesitant we told him and our staff that we, too, had looked into an alien world. But we had to emphasize more than once that this was money which our guest had earned for the benefit of himself and our little publishing house. We felt we had to do something. At Kastrup Airport the press was numerously represented. Photographers with flashes and journalists waited for Mr. Waugh who came by plane from Oslo. The Daily Telegraph had informed the editors what day and by what plane he would arrive. Helweg and I had bought flowers from Libertas; they looked like nothing in the high-ceilinged halls of the hotel, and the posh hired car awaited our prominent guest. To meet him with our little grey Standard Eight would be absurd. He came from the wealthy Swedish publishers, so the change ought not to be too abrupt. We were not in doubt. This must be him. A heavy, genuine bowler is lifted politely to the air hostess as farewell. The walking stick and the umbrella are over his arm. Behind a glass window we can see him talk, the photographers use their flashes. A small, stout man who could have done with a couple of kilos less, with red, meaty cheeks and a couple of lively eyes which were likely to be looking for us, whom he did not know. Heavy leather suitcases are carried out to the waiting car. The meeting in the arrival hall has been formal without in any way touching on the cordial. We exchange polite phrases on our way to town and in the grand suite. The flowers meant to be our welcome are dimly seen far away. Mr. Waugh is pleased. Unseen, he presses a button. Waiters appear with white napkins and aprons as long as christening gowns. He looks questioningly at us. “Whisky and soda?” Mr. Waugh is in town. The metre has started running. On Louis XIV’s desk we had put a written message of welcome and hoped he would enjoy his stay. At any time he could count on us--and draw on what was due to him. I think there was also a suggestion for excursions in classical North Zealand and greetings from Karen Blixen at Rungstedlund who looked forward to receiving him one day for tea. They were sure to have many communal friends from Kenya. In any case she looked forward to meeting him. His reaction was astonishing. Already in 1947, Karen Blixen possessed a certain international fame, but it was as if the famous lady at Rungstedlund was of no importance whatever to him. He looked unkindly at us, almost angrily. All that business with Karen Blixen must be the second priority. “I want to meet my bishop”. This was plain talking. Bishop Suhr at Farumgaard was far more important than tea with the baroness at Rungstedlund. It required a certain skill to manage to squeeze the chubby Waugh into the front seat of our small Standard Eight. We must have crossed the Amalienborg Castle square, passed the Little Mermaid, gone through the Hareskoven [forest] and have pointed excitedly to the Furesøen [lake]. He hardly turned his head. The bowler hat was tightly glued to his round head, and he had his heavy walking stick between his legs. Since from his silence we understood that he was filled more by the meeting with Bishop Suhr than by the beauties of North Zealand, we became quiet as we got closer to the stronghold of the Ursuline sisters. Walking and on bicycles, nuns were flying about like village swallows round Farumgaard. In groups they stood on the well-kept lawns and followed the small grey car with their eyes. Since we had no wish whatsoever to take part in the meeting between the primate of the Catholic Church and our silent guest, we withdrew and spent the waiting time at William’s Hotel in Farum, where we sweetened our much-needed break with an invigorating drink. It was quite obvious that before the meeting with his bishop he had had his own little quiet file:////uol.le.ac.uk/...c144/My%20Documents/Evelyn%20Waugh/Evelyn%20Waugh%20Studies/Newsletters/Newsletters/Newsletter_38.1.htm[04/12/2013 14:44:45] EVELYN WAUGH NEWSLETTER AND STUD prayer, where our praises of nature can only have annoyed him. Now he approached us smilingly--with a flock of Ursulines and clergy dressed in white following him. Now he was looking forward to a good lunch at Store Kro [a fine hotel and restaurant in Fredensborg, town of the royal summer residence], and even the meeting with the baroness was mentioned in controlled, more optimistic words. But at least it was mentioned. Although we had secured permission beforehand to drive into the castle yard, since Mr. Waugh did not walk so well, the castle seen from the outside was more than enough for him. Being far from unacquainted with the architecture of Europe, neither Frederiksborg [castle] nor Fredensborg [castle] could bring him to express such admiration as we are now used to from tourists. Now he was talking about Danish herrings, a glass of good beer and the cold, famous schnapps. Mr.