Faces of Nordic Reunification
Benedetto nodded to the conductor who understood immediately. As their beloved Conseil President now entered the salon, the familiar tunes of the hero's theme from Notre Homme Pontoppidan flowed out of the instruments of the orchestra. By no artist's definition could Nicolas Andersen be described as a handsome man. A tall man, his arms seemed slightly too long, his appearance was gnarly, and the way he walked and moved evoked the impression of a puppet on strings. And yet, there was something about him that when you saw him, his visage would soothe you, immediately make you feel at ease. He radiated self-confidence and optimism in such a way as give to you complete confidence in the man, make you want to be his friend. Here was a man you could trust.
His clothes were of the finest Italian fabrics, silk and satin, the darkest valvet, a stovepipe hat in North American beaver. And yet he did not appear a dandy, for a dandy dresses in rebellion to the world, and on Nicolas Andersen, the clothes appeared perfectly appropriate, as if they had been invented in anticipation of a man like him one day wearing them. Well into his sixties, and certainly looking like it, he beamed an aura, and had a spirit, of a man not even half his age.
The crowd's eyes had all turned to the entrance, and as the hero's theme reached its crescendo, Nicolas Andersen removed his hat, smiled, and looked around. The tune came to an end, and the people in the hall broke out in cheers and applause. Humbly, smiling, the Conseil President bowed, and addressed his audience.
"Thank you, thank you! Please, ladies and gentlemen, I beg you!"
The applause died out.
"Now, I know what you’re all thinking!", Andersen said with a smirk, "His past successes must have gone to old Herr Andersen’s head! Now it’s just vainglory! Already before the first vote in the first constituency has been counted, the rascal shows up at the finest establishment in Copenhagen to celebrate his victory! Has the man no shame?"
The audience let out a laugh, and Andersen smiled once more, enjoying it fully.
"No, no, my dear Copenhageners, I have not yet grown
quite that mad! No, tonight I am not here as Nicolas Andersen, leader of the
Radikale Højremænd! Nor am I here as Nicolas Andersen, President of Her Majesty’s Royal Conseil! For tonight, I am here as plain Nicolas Andersen, a humble subject of the Crown, not to glory in my own achievements, but to bask in the glory of our great new commonwealth! To see it born into this world in its first free and open election!
"In the far-away land of China, they have a saying, that, loosely translated of course, says that the great realms, long united, they must surely divide, and long divided, they must surely unite! Ladies and gentlemen! Tonight, the romance of our three kingdoms comes to an end, and the epic of our great empire finally begins! That is what we celebrate tonight, and I heartily wish that you will all take as much joy in it as I intend to! Thank you!"
The crowd broke out in applause again, and Andersen beamed, smiling, waving his hat.
Here stood the man of the hour, the man of the year, the man of the century.
The man who had forged the North together once more, Nicolas Andersen.
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