COPENHAGEN
Thanks to the Exhibition in Copenhagen, all the hotels and
boarding-houses were full, and it was with great difficulty that we
succeeded in finding a shelter in a private house. By a winding staircase
we were ushered into a dark, low room, looking into a grim back-yard, and
scantily furnished with two beds, a few cane, inhospitable-looking chairs
and a sofa losing its horse-hair through wide gaping wounds. Feeling very
tired and sleepy, I lay down to rest a bit, but sprang up hastily, for
the bed was abominable, the mattress as hard as stone and the pillows so
thin that they could easily be folded in two. To crown all, behind the
wall our landlady’s children were shrieking with all their might. It was
impossible to go to sleep, and we decided to go and take the train to
Tivoli and explore the Exhibition, with its chief attraction, an enormous
elevator representing a huge bottle of beer with a magnificent bird’s-eye
view of Copenhagen. We had dinner in a restaurant on board a ship of
the middle-ages, and were brought in a barge with a three-storied poop
to this curious establishment. The waiters were dressed in the costume
of sailors belonging to that long past epoch, wearing broad-brimmed
Rembrandt hats.
On the next morning an old friend of ours, Mr. Stcherbatcheff, the first
Secretary of the Russian Embassy, came to see us. He was begged to wait
for me in a small tobacco-shop belonging to our hostess, in the next
house, while I finished dressing. Mr. Stcherbatcheff was horrified when
he saw our lodging, and said that he had an apartment ready for us in the
house where he dwelt, and we resolved to remove immediately to our new
apartment, looking out into the most fashionable and animated quarter
of the town, and furnished in showy fashion. It seemed palatial in
comparison with our miserable room.
During our stay in Copenhagen the anniversary of the ninth century of
the institution of Christianity in Russia was celebrated. Sergy went
to the Russian church to be present at the official Te Deum, and was
invited afterwards by our priest to take a cup of tea. On that same
afternoon we visited the Museum where we saw prodigious sculptures, the
work of Thorwaldsen, the famous Danish sculptor. After dinner we went by
train, in an open car, to Klampenberg, about an hour’s drive. A peasant
woman, returning from market sat opposite to us with a basket on her
knees, which contents appeared to be stinking fish. Our road ran along
the sea-coast and was sheltered by roses and creepers. A strong odour
of seaweed came over to us. When we arrived at Klampenberg we took a
carriage to drive within the precincts of the beautiful park, and chose
a coachman who could speak German. His comrades jeered at him and called
his horse _Eine alte Katze_, out of spite, of course.
We hadn’t time to have dinner that day, and we went to bed famished. I
roamed about the room looking for something to eat, opening drawers and
exploring them, but there was nothing, not even the skin of a sausage.
On the following morning we went out shopping and saw my picture painted
in the Greenaway style on a cardboard plate exposed in a bookseller’s
shop window. When we entered the shop one of the clerks, who had noticed
the resemblance at once, asked me if I had sat for that picture. It
really bore a striking likeness to me and we bought it as a souvenir.
On the 16th of July we saw the arrival of Kaiser Wilhelm II. It was his
first visit to Denmark after the taking of Schleswig by the Prussians.
Our Ambassador, Count Toll, offered a window to us at the Russian
Embassy, but we preferred to stand near the Royal Pavilion, erected on
the landing-place for the reception of the Kaiser, so as to have the
best view of the proceedings. Towards ten o’clock in the morning Mr.
Stcherbatcheff, arrayed in full diplomatic uniform, covered all over with
golden embroideries, came to fetch us in his carriage. Driving through
the streets took a long time, the crowd was so great. When we approached
the Royal Palace, we heard cannon reports. A stir among the throng
heralded the coming of the King of Denmark, followed by his brothers and
the Heir to the throne of Greece. Soon after appeared in a coach driven
by a team of white horses the old Queen, aged seventy-two, but still very
alert, accompanied by the Duchess of Orleans. Then a murmur arose among
the crowd, and we saw a steam-launch, with the German flag flying at the
prow, moored to the Danish shore, and Kaiser Wilhelm, his blond moustache
curled upwards, stepped out upon the elegantly decorated pier, followed
by a numerous suite. The King came up to him and embraced him. After a
long exchange of amiabilities the Kaiser approached the Queen and kissed
her hand, whilst the soldiers, standing in lines, presented arms to him.
Only a few hurrahs were heard here and there. We were told that strong
measures had been taken by the police to avoid demonstrations in the
streets against the Kaiser. A squadron of hussars was given to him as
an escort, and all the way to the Palace infantry regiments formed long
lines. The Danish soldiers did not look very imposing, being mostly of
small stature. The circulation of carriages and trams was stopped during
the passing of the troops, and we had to walk home, running the risk of
being crushed by the crowd.
Having passed a fortnight at Copenhagen we returned to St. Petersburg
by the same way, taking at Stockholm the “Constantin,” another Finnish
boat. There were many passengers on board. During dinner I sat next
to a young Mexican, Señor Lopez, who was very sarcastic, and found
plenty to criticise. (The task is so easy!) He actually tore all our
fellow-passengers to pieces. That snob thought himself very sharp-witted
and was rather put out that I did not think him so. Opposite me sat
an old Frenchman, M. Prévost-Rousseau and his pretty daughter Melle.
Camille, who had been touring in Norway and were now on their way back to
Paris, passing through St. Petersburg. Melle. Camille was an accomplished
linguist, speaking English, German and Italian equally well. I discovered
that we had a great deal in common, and an instinctive comradeship sprang
up between us. I am not much given to making new friends, but I had a
liking to Melle. Camille the moment I saw her, for I generally like or
dislike a person at once.
We had a bad crossing; the sea was rough and the ship rolled very
unpleasantly. Towards morning the wind having changed, calm came on,
and I hurried on deck to rejoin Melle. Camille, my new-found friend. We
established ourselves comfortably in a secluded spot on the prow of the
vessel; scrambling over a pile of boxes we found a seat on a barrel of
oil, and had a nice chat. Señor Lopez, who was in the mood of making
the most open court to me, and followed me everywhere like a shadow,
discovered our hiding place, but we packed him off very soon, and he had
to withdraw, ruffled, and out of sorts.
We anchored at Helsingfors in the evening and went on shore to stretch
our legs. I wanted to boast of the first Russian town before our
fellow-passengers, who were visiting our country for the first time,
but failed, alas, for the boulevards were full of half-drunken Russian
sailors, loafing about, elbowing us and using bad language. Fearing a
skirmish, we hurried back on board. At St. Petersburg we parted, with
regret with our French friends, who invited us to pay them a visit, some
day in Paris.