Work Text:
Niels had watched the French mathematician ever since a halo appeared above his head. And from his vacant point above the clouds, he witnessed Évariste be tormented by the regime and betrayed by his allies, or reach out to the Norwegian man and mathematics as a whole in the darkest moments of his life without being able to intervene. Often he would try to warn the young man what would happen, but he was a ghost and Évariste was not.
He had seen the way Évariste despised Cauchy, the way he joined the revolution, the way he was denied from the Polytechnique,… and eventually, the duel that cut his tragic life short at twenty. The night before it happened, Niels kept a close eye on the mathematician, a flicker of hope that somehow Évariste would win; he heard Évariste’s last thoughts, centered around the past mathematicians, and theorems nobody knew he proved. Most important to Niels, however, was Évariste’s wish to be brothers with him beyond this life.
Now, before Niels was the figure of that exact French mathematician; the one he wished would never have to face a life like his. In a way, Niels’ wish came true— Évariste had it worse. Forgotten, resented, and died younger than Niels by six years.
But he stood still, unable to move, and so did Évariste. After a moment, the Frenchman took a step, though not towards Niels. He turned in the opposite direction, walking away. Maybe he preferred an explanation of the afterlife first.
Within the Mansion of Academics, despite everyone’s friendliness, Évariste was oddly reserved. He’d always stay inside his room, rarely come for dinner, and not interact with anyone— not even Archimedes or Pascal, the other men Niels saw he admired. He was always alone with equations; Niels actually found it understandable. But it continued on for a few days, and the Norwegian mathematician was undoubtedly concerned.
One night, Niels was startled by the sight of Évariste, standing in the hallway, staring at the window.
“Why are you up, Évariste? Is everything okay?” He asked.
“It seems easier to solve the quintic, than my own problems.” The French mathematician only muttered, before returning to his room.
Niels stood in the hallway alone, quiet, watching the man he saw as a brother retreat.
And so the Norwegian mathematician decided to do something, just a little something, to avoid disturbing Évariste.
Throughout the week, Niels began to drop a few letters at Évariste’s door, asking if he would like to discuss any mathematical topics— just what the young man liked— and always put it in an envelope, polite and proper, signed carefully with his name; despite their rooms just being a few meters away from each other.
The first letter had nothing more of a response than a nod of acknowledgement when they cross in the hallway, but from the second letter on, Niels have been seeing Évariste’s letters at his own door. They were filled with enthusiasm for mathematics and a few nice regards to him; the Norwegian man was quite pleased to see them, but partly was doubting if Évariste would respond to anything further than mathematical papers.
Yet, fortunately for Niels, the other mathematicians have noticed the ordeal, and discreetly begin to help him out. They start to see each other more in mathematical discussions held by the Greek scholars, and Évariste was genuinely interested. After a few meetings, he found Évariste getting closer to them, and he began to meet up with the Frenchman on his own to talk about the topics they brought up.
Soon enough, as he was already quite familiar with Niels when it comes to maths, the discussion became less formal and more friendly banter; which soon led to regular conversations inbetween. Niels was overjoyed to see Évariste consider him a friend of his, rather than an acquaintance.
“No longer dabbling around quintics, aren’t we?” Évariste picked up his pen with a small smile. “For that is something we’ve already proved unsolvable?”
“Well, I haven’t an idea of what we should do now, and my mind yearns for equations.” Niels chuckled.
“How about we go to the mortal realm, and solve the humans’ advanced algebra questions?” The French mathematician suggested; and Niels would agree.
Walking along the streets, having solved an absolutely weird and confusing equation they saw in a human’s textbook, the two mathematicians couldn’t help but chuckle at the answer.
“Beautiful and complex,” Évariste chuckled, “But I’m going to be honest, the look on our faces right then and there says comment est-ce possible, putain?”
“Indeed,” Niels nodded, “Neither of us expected it to be solvable, but there it is. The solution.”
“You know, mon ami, ” The Frenchman tilted his head. “I found that we’re quite similar to the two roots of a quadratic equation, when delta is higher than zero.”
Niels was delighted to hear Évariste call him “my friend” in his language, yet a little confused when he heard Évariste’s words.
“Why do you think so?” He questions, looking into the other mathematician’s eyes.
“I’d consider us inseparable. The answer wouldn’t be complete if one of us was missing. Besides, they’re symmetrical, and so can we take each other’s place yet still always complement the other.”
Évariste’s comparison brought a brighter spark of light to Niels’ eyes. It’s all the Norwegian mathematician wanted; to be genuine friends with Évariste, the brilliant mathematician who completed his works, and adored Niels himself also.
Despite that, occasionally, Évariste’s quote when Niels found him in the hallway comes back to his mind:
“It seems easier to solve the quintic, than my own problems.”
Niels was unsure how he should reach out to Évariste about this matter. Does he still have issues that trouble him? Will he be fine talking about it with the Norwegian mathematician? Is he actually alright?
For now, he decided to set the matters aside. It’s his choice after all; Niels only wanted Évariste to know he could trust the mathematician enough and tell him about anything.
The days after don't change. They’d hang out, talk about mathematics, and go on with their day.
Niels stood in front of the window of his room, gazing out at the stars, and the full moon above. Just then, his door creaked open; Niels instinctively turned around to see Évariste standing there, wide-eyed.
“Niels,” he spoke.
“…Why can’t I ever be like you?”
Niels was taken aback by Évariste’s words. Unsure what to do, he led his friend into his room, and sat him down on a sofa facing him.
“What do you mean, Évariste?” He asked gently, and his eyes met the Frenchman’s again. A beautiful pair of dark hazel, yet the sparkle in it seems so distant.
“I could’ve done so much more, should I have what you had.” Évariste returned the gaze. “People said I shouldn’t have re-live your fate, shouldn’t have been another Abel; but for me, to be like you, it was an honor.”
“Mon cher ami, look at you. You’ve had a nice family, a school that did not fail you, teachers who supported you and mathematicians that acknowledged your genius. You were able to discover so much, even with the burden of poverty, or the sickness that brought you here. You’ve been known as the greatest mind of Norway, even Legendre praised you, and Cauchy acknowledged your work— even when it wasn’t widely known, it was something.”
“And I? I am but a French mathematician, one who was set back in Louis-le-Grand, denied entrance to the Polytechnique, expelled from the École Normale, and forever known to the teachers as a rebel with no idea what I was doing. When I first put my pen down, I had not an idea that you had already known of these formulas. And what happened to my results? They were not once, but three times ignored by the Académie des Sciences; because of their prejudices! Then I was tangled up with the Revolution, imprisoned, at last a duel which brings me here with you.” Évariste muttered. “Mon ami, if only I could be just a little more like you. If I was as brilliant as you were, there would be more I could discover in my fleeting life. Or if I had more than just two people who would recognize me. Or six more years, like you— I would dedicate my life to mathematics in your name.”
“But now, I am without a purpose. Compared to you— my life was worthless and miserable. I was nothing without mathematics, and yet I will never be like you. It was only after you died that your name is now known throughout Europe— but it was only months. As for me? I’m dead, maybe for better, maybe for worse; but who will remember me, and more importantly, acknowledge my theorems?”
Niels remained silent for a moment to see if Évariste had anything more he wanted to say. After a moment, he spoke up.
“The French have failed you, min venn.” He shook his head. “They had failed their greatest mathematician, in a way they will forever regret.”
“Min kjære Évariste , you are one of the most brilliant minds I have ever known. I assure you, your contributions to mathematics will be recognized. Don’t forget the thoughts that crossed your mind when you were writing to Auguste Chevalier that night, Évariste— We were moved by the same spirit. Without your discoveries, my theorems will never be complete, and you’ve solved a problem that had been open for 350 years. You and I, together, laid the foundational work for group theory— a major branch of algebra. In fact, if I had never existed, you would be the one to discover everything yourself.”
“Your work…” Niels paused for a moment. “It will be years until the world fully understands it. But believe me, Évariste; we are here, in the afterlife, and I’ll show you the future if you want. It might be too late to appreciate you; however, you and your name will be immortalized, your theories eternal. Mathematicians love you, people admire you, and authors write about you as a tragic genius.”
“Évariste Galois, a shining star upon the mathematical sky of France; it will be long until another appears, but even so, you will forever illuminate the path for generations of mathematicians to come.”
Slowly, Niels can see the light in Évariste’s eyes twinkle, like the star he compared the Frenchman with. Reassurance— it was a thing not only mathematicians but everyone who creates and discovers needed sometimes; for knowing that their efforts are enough.
“Is there anything more that you need?” Niels asked his friend.
“…Nothing more, mon ami. I only wished to talk to you for a moment.” Évariste stood, said good night to Niels, and left the room.
The morning after, Niels came to the main hall, and greeted Évariste as he passed. On the French mathematician’s hand was a stack of papers with geometrical shapes.
“Good day, mon cher,” Évariste waved Niels. “Do you fancy some discussion on geometry? Topology, perchance?”