COPENHAGEN.

Having passed with little trouble or difficulty through the

customhouse formalities, we entered the city, and soon found ourselves

established in comfortable apartments in the Hôtel Royal. This is a

house on the usual large scale of the continental hotels, being a

quadrangle surrounding a courtyard, and accessible from the street

by a _port-cocher_. It is conducted by a gentleman--the term is in

no respect inapplicable--named Leobel, who speaks English, and seems

indefatigable in his friendly exertions for the benefit of his guests.

I believe there are other good hotels in Copenhagen, but I have heard

Mr Leobel's always admitted to be the best.

The first plunge into a large city is confusing. In our perfect

ignorance of the relative situations of the streets and public

buildings, we know not which way to turn without guidance. It is a

good plan in such circumstances to go at the very first to the top of

some height, natural or artificial, from which a view of the whole

may be obtained. In Copenhagen there is a certain Trinity Church,

situated obscurely in the densest part of the town, but furnished

with a singular tower of great altitude, and so spacious, that the

ascent is not by a stair, but by a spiral carriage-way, up which, it

is said, Peter the Great of Russia used to drive a coach-and-six. Our

little party immediately proceeded thither, and, ascending to the

top--where, by the way, there is an observatory--were gratified with a

comprehensive survey of the city and its environs. We soon ascertained

that Copenhagen is built on a flat piece of ground, with no hills near

it; that towards the sea, on the south and east, it is a congeries of

batteries, docks, stores, and arsenals; that its west end, contrary to

a flimsy theory on the subject, is the meaner and more ancient part;

and that it is chiefly confined within a line of fortifications, but

that these are now formed into public walks, here and there enlivened

with windmills. The only arresting object beyond the bounds of the city

is a slightly-rising ground, about two miles to the westward, crowned

by a palace (Fredericksberg). The chalk formation, which prevails here,

as over Denmark generally, is usually tumescent and tame of surface;

hence there are few points in the environs of Copenhagen calculated to

arrest attention.

A large irregular space in the centre of the town--called _Kongens

Nye Torv_; that is, the King's New Market--gives a key to the whole,

because from it radiate the leading thoroughfares, in which the shops

and best houses are situated--Ostergade to the west, Gothersgade to

the north, while to the east proceed the Amalie Gade, the Bred Gade,

and others--broad modern streets, containing many fine buildings, and

terminating on the citadel of Frederickshavn, the grand defence of

the city in that direction. To be a town of only 127,000 inhabitants,

and the capital of so small a state as Denmark, Copenhagen contains a

surprising number of goodly public buildings, particularly palaces; so

much, indeed, is this the case, that the houses for the residence of

the people appear as something subordinate, and put half out of sight.

These palaces convey a striking idea of the wantonness with which

former rulers have used, or rather abused, the means extorted from

the industrious part of the community. Will it be believed that four

palaces were set down in the last century, in a cluster, divided only

by the breadth of so many crossings; and that, after this was done,

another was built (Christiansborg), which measures upwards of 600 feet

in one direction, and is so huge a building, that Somerset House would

appear but a fragment of it? These stately edifices are now given up to

the service of the public as museums, picture-galleries, and libraries,

while the existing sovereign is contented to live quietly in one of

his equally numerous country palaces on an allowance of about sixty

thousand a year. The effect, however, is, that Copenhagen is a place

positively fatiguing from the multitude of its sights. One of those

conscientious travellers who get a list of show-places from a friend,

or from Murray's Handbook, and go through the whole as a duty, would

be like to die here of pure exhaustion of spirits before he had got

three-fourths way down the paper.

Notwithstanding the multitude of fine edifices, the city is deficient

in sprightliness. The English ambassador, Keith, in 1771, spoke

pathetically of the dulness of Copenhagen, and the same character

yet clings to it. A certain plainness marks even the best of the

population on the street. The shops, not fitted peculiarly, as in

England, for the show of goods at the windows, and often accessible

from obscure side-passages, contribute little gaiety to the street

scenery. Equipages are few and homely. There is a great abundance of

male figures in some sort of uniform, for the functionaries of the

state, civil and military, are a legion; but these persons are also,

in general, of very moderate appearance. One quickly remarks that

nine out of every ten men, of whatever kind, have cigars in their

mouths; and another circumstance, perhaps a corollary to the last,

attracts observation--namely, the great number of young men wearing

spectacles. While, however, one remarks an inferiority to England in

so many respects, he is forced to confess in one important particular

a comfortable superiority; and this is in the aspect of the humbler

classes. Here, as in most other continental towns, there is scarcely

any trace of that horde of abject miserables which is so prominent in

every British city. The labouring people are generally clad decently,

many of them, particularly the peasant women, gaily. As a matter of

course--as indeed the grand cause of this peculiarity--there is no

drunkenness seen amongst them. On the whole, the Danes, as seen in

their metropolis, appear an innocent, amiable people--a little stolid,

perhaps, but remarkably inoffensive and respectable.

It is, I believe, a general distinction between England and continental

countries, that in the latter elegancies and fineries are first

attended to, and things conducive to daily comfort only in the second

place, while in England the comfortable and the ornamental go hand in

hand together. Hence it is that, with all their fine palaces, which are

indeed almost objects of the past, the people of Copenhagen have not

even yet learned how to pave their streets, to introduce water into

their houses, or to establish gas-lighting. They make a causeway of

small, round, waterworn stones, like eggs placed on end, which tortures

the feet, and causes every passing wagon to produce a noise so great,

that conversation is drowned in it. They form a side pavement of the

same materials, with a border of hewn granite slabs; the whole being

far too narrow for the passing crowd, so that, there being, after all,

little more than a choice between the egg pavement on the side and the

egg pavement in the middle, the multitude is chiefly seen plodding its

way along the causeway, among wheelbarrows, wains, and carriages. The

diffusion of water, and the introduction of gas, are objects advocated

by an enlightened few; but, as usual, municipal privileges and pedantic

government regulations obstruct the blessing. It was a curious thing

for me to tell the people of Copenhagen and Stockholm that they were,

in this and some other matters, behind the small towns of Scotland

which had so many as a thousand or twelve hundred inhabitants.

The first object to which our party bent their steps was the Castle

of Rosenberg, an old palace in the northern section of the city,

surrounded by some fine gardens, which are open to the public.

Rosenberg is understood to be a production of the genius of Inigo

Jones: it reminds one of the order of buildings which we in England

call Elizabethan, and certainly was built by Christian IV. of Denmark

at the beginning of the seventeenth century. It is now simply a museum

of the antiquities of the Danish royal family--that is, the furniture,

dresses, ornaments, &c. which have belonged to those princes and their

children, even to the toys of some of them, in the course of the last

three or four centuries. Such a multitude of curious and elegant

objects, recalling the royalty of past ages, perhaps nowhere else

exists. They are so arranged in a suite of ancient state apartments,

that you pass from one age to another in proper chronological

succession, and find you have been reading the Danish history of

several centuries in the course of an hour's lounge. The most

conspicuous sovereign of the series is the builder of the house, who

was in truth a noted monarch in his day, an active, hard-headed man,

very warlike, very sensual, yet not devoid of a kind-hearted regard

for the good of his people. He was the brother-in-law of our James I.,

whom he once visited with a dozen ships of war in his train; on which

occasion he kept the English court for some time in such a whirlwind of

conviviality, that Shakspeare is supposed to have been induced by it to

pen the well-known passage in Hamlet, beginning,

'This heavy-headed rival, east and west,

Makes us traduced and taxed of other nations;'

and likewise to describe the usurping uncle as a drunkard. You see

here King Christian's audience-chamber, a handsome old panelled room,

full of little pictures, and having a small aperture in the door,

through which it is said the king could, from his sitting-room, observe

the conduct of his courtiers while they were waiting for him. In

glass-cases are ranged a bewildering multitude of antique gold boxes,

cups, baptismal basins, goblets, and drinking-horns, together with some

elegant decorated swords, and other weapons. The object singled out

for special observation is the celebrated silver horn of Oldenborg;

not, it seems, that which Dousterswivel speaks of as given to Count

Otto of Oldenborg by a mountain spirit, but one which is said to have

been made for Christian I. in 1447. The singularly rich decorations and

figurings on the outside are certainly in the style of that period, if

I may judge by the mace preserved at St Andrews--a rich product of the

Parisian workshop of the time of Charles VII. In a small room Christian

IV. slept in a hammock; the rings by which it was suspended are still

seen in the ceiling. Portraits of his favourite ladies hang around.

In another room there is a great variety of drinking-glasses; some of

them of the beautiful Venetian manufacture, said to be exceedingly rare

and valuable. One of the richest articles in the whole collection is

a set of horse-furniture which Christian presented to his son on his

marriage, and which cost a million of francs. The very buckles are set

with diamonds! An upper floor contains the grand hall of the palace,

styled the _Riddersal_, or Knights' Chamber: it has a silver throne at

one end, and much historical tapestry along the walls. One comes away

with a strong sense of the prodigality in which the royalty of Denmark

indulged during its days of absolute authority, when the people were

condemned to slavery, at once the sole workers and the sole taxpayers

in the country. I may remark that a party is shown through this palace

by a well-bred gentlemanlike man, who speaks in French, if required,

for a fee amounting to 6s. 9d. sterling. Everything is explained with

precision, and nothing but what is historically true is stated. An

enlightened visitor is thus left with a very different impression from

what he would acquire in any similar show-house in England, where

probably an old housekeeper, unfit for anything else, would be found

placed as a cicerone, full of childish legends and myths, which she

would relate as unchallengeable facts.

Before turning to any other Copenhagen sight, I may take the reader

to a place much allied in character to the Château Rosenberg--namely,

the cathedral of Roeskilde, which I did not visit till my return

from the north. A railway of about sixteen English miles--the only

thing of the kind as yet introduced into the country--enabled me to

be deposited there in an hour. We found a huge ungainly brick church

rising in the midst of a village which has something of the withered

look of Versailles. The inside is as plain as the outside is coarse,

and there is little trace of the Gothic architecture to be seen. Yet

there are here some exceedingly curious, and even some beautiful

objects. The altar-piece is a complicated exhibition of ancient Dutch

wood-carving, representing the principal events in the life of Christ.

It is said to be at least three hundred years old. Along the sides of

the space enclosed for the Communion-table are two series of still more

ancient wood-carvings, representing Bible events--the Old Testament

on one side, and the New on the other. The quaintness of many of the

figures, and the homely ideas embodied by the artist, are exceedingly

amusing--for example, Adam writhing in painful sleep, as the Almighty

is pulling Eve bodily out of his side; Noah calmly steering something

like an omnibus, with seven faces looking out at as many windows; and

Elijah going up into the air in a four-wheeled vehicle marvellously

resembling the ill-constructed wains which still rumble through the

streets of Copenhagen. Having dwelt long on the curious and minute

work here displayed, we proceeded to view the sarcophagi of the Danish

sovereigns of the last two centuries, all of which are placed in this

church. I found the aisle in the right transept in the course of being

repaired and adorned with frescoes, for the reception of the coffin

of Christian IV., and a grand statue of the monarch by Thorvaldsen.

As yet, he reposes in the half-lit vault below, with his queen by

his side, and his naked sword lying rusted and out of order upon his

coffin. The length of the weapon surprises the curious visitor, but is

explained by the uncommon stature of the royal owner--for Christian,

it seems, was a man of six feet five inches. The coffin is otherwise

distinguished only by a number of plain silver ornaments.

The marble tombs of Christian V. and Frederick IV., and their

queens--contemporaries of our William III. and Queen Anne--are placed

in a quadrangular arrangement behind the altar, and are certainly

magnificent structures of their kind, being formed of pure marble, and

adorned with many figures, all in the finest style of art. Medallion

portraits of the royal personages, and sculptures referring to events

in their lives, are among the ornaments of these mausolea, the

costliness of which tells the same tale as the Copenhagen palaces, of a

time when the king was everything, and the people nothing. In beholding

one of them, which seems to rise from the floor rather like some

magical exhalation than a work of human hands, the idea occurred to me,

'Certainly this is making the very best of the sad case of death which

it is possible for human nature to do, as far as its mere material

elements are concerned.' In the left transept, a beautifully fitted-up

chamber, as it may be called, in the Grecian style, are sarcophagi of

two earlier sovereigns, not much less splendid. The series of monarchs

thus liberally treated were all of them bad, selfish kings, who had

little feeling for their people, over whom they maintained absolute

rule. A more virtuous series, commencing with Frederick V.--the

contemporary of our George II.--are disposed of less magnificently,

most of them being placed in simple velvet-covered coffins on the

floor. Amongst these, one dull-looking ark in black velvet attracts

attention by its plainness. It contains the ashes of the imbecile

Christian VII., whose queen Matilda passed through so sad a history.

In the vicissitudes of subsequent ages, I should say that the plain

monuments have the best chance of preservation. The cicerone here

shows a pillar on which are three marks: one indicating the stature

of Christian I.--the first prince of the existing dynasty, and a

contemporary of our Edward IV.; he was, it seems, six feet ten inches

in height, and his sword, which hangs on the wall, is long enough to

reach up to the chin of a man of ordinary size; a second denotes the

stature of Christian IV.; a third, strikingly lower, betokens the

height of the late amiable king, Frederick VI.

Some other aisles contain the sarcophagi of distinguished noble

families of Denmark. I was arrested for a little by one which has a

door of iron grated-work, bearing a figure of the devil as large as

life, with horns, tail, and claws. The explanation is, that the family

reposing within is named Trolle, a famous one in Danish history.

Trolle is the name of one of the beings of Scandinavian superstition;

and this being is figured in the armorial-bearings of the house as

a man having his head placed in the middle of his body. Latterly, I

suppose, as these superstitions became obscure, the malignant Trolle

was confounded with the devil; and hence the figure on the grating as

an object bearing reference to this noble family. The English visitor

is disposed to pause under a different feeling over the slab beneath

which Saxo-Grammaticus reposes, when he recollects that Shakspeare

obtained the foundation of his Hamlet in the pages of that historian.

I find it stated in Feldborg's 'Denmark Delineated,' that when James

VI. of Scotland came to Copenhagen in the course of his matrimonial

excursion, he met in Roeskilde Cathedral the celebrated Dr Hemmingen,

and discussed with him in Latin the substantial presence of the body

and blood of Christ in the eucharist. Dr Hemmingen had been placed

here, as in an honourable banishment, for his Calvinistic notions on

this subject. The Scottish monarch was so much pleased with his cast of

opinion, that he invited him to dinner, and at parting bestowed upon

him a golden beaker.

The royal collection of pictures in the Christiansborg palace is a

large one, occupying twelve stately rooms; but it contains only a

few good pictures, and seldom detains a visitor long. While I was in

Copenhagen, a small collection of the productions of living Norwegian

artists was open to public inspection for a small fee, the proceeds

being applicable to the relief of the Danish soldiers wounded in the

Sleswig-Holstein war. Several of the landscapes, particularly one

by a Mr Gude, representing the Hardanger Fiord, struck me as works

of merit; and there was one conversation-piece, representing an old

peasant reading the Bible to his wife, which seemed to me not less

happy in its way. It is remarkable that the northern nations have not

yet produced any painter of great reputation, but that in sculpture

they have surpassed all other European nations besides Italy. The great

distinction attained by Thorvaldsen has thrown a glory over Denmark, of

which the Danes are justly proud. He was the son of a poor Icelandic

boat-builder, and was born in Copenhagen. On his attaining to eminence

in Rome about thirty years ago, his country at once awakened to a sense

of his merits; and when he afterwards visited it, he was received with

honours such as are usually reserved for some soldier who has saved his

country, or added stupendously to its laurels. He ultimately settled in

Denmark, where he died in 1844, leaving to his country many of his best

works in marble, casts of all his great works, besides his pictures,

curiosities, furniture, and the sum of 60,000 Danish dollars. The

consequence has been the erection of the Thorvaldsen Museum,

beyond all comparison the most interesting object in Copenhagen. It

is a quadrangular building in what is called the Pompeii style, with

a court in the middle; in the centre of which, within a simple square

of marble slabs, rest the remains of the great artist. In the halls

and galleries within are ranged the sculptures, casts, &c. under a

judicious classification, each apartment being adorned with frescoes

more or less appropriate to the objects contained in it. The finest

object in the whole collection is undoubtedly the cast of a colossal

figure of Christ, which Thorvaldsen executed, along with the twelve

apostles, and a kneeling angel bearing a font, for the Frue Kirk in

Copenhagen. The stranger sees the marble originals of all these figures

in the church with admiration; but it is admitted that the cast of

the Christ has a better effect than the original, in consequence of

its superior relative arrangement. The Saviour is represented in the

act of saying, 'Come unto me all ye that labour and are heavy laden;'

and there is a mixture of human benevolence with divine majesty in

the attitude and expression, which perfectly answers to the text. The

tendency seems to be to an admission that this is the finest embodiment

of the idea of the Saviour of the world which that world has ever

seen; and I shall not be surprised if this opinion be confirmed. Many

of the artist's mythological figures--particularly those realising

ideal beauty, his Psyches, Venuses, Dianas, and Apollos, the cast of

his noble frieze of the triumphal march of Alexander, and some of his

subjects embodying the poetry of human life--are eminently beautiful.

The busts, which are numerous, are less interesting, and in most

instances inferior as works of art. The representations of the artist

himself, in sculpture and painting, are many, and calculated to give

a perfect idea of the man--a massive figure, with a massive head,

blue eyes, a pale complexion, and a gentle, but thoughtful expression

of countenance. After dwelling to weariness on the creations of the

man's genius, it is pleasant to walk into the rooms which contain

his simple household furniture, books, favourite pictures, and other

intimate memorials of his personal existence. It is equally agreeable

to pause in the midst of the contemplation of his works, and observe

the groups of admiring countrymen, from the noble to the peasant,

who pass through the rooms to enjoy the spectacle of an intellectual

triumph in which they feel that they have a part. Finally, one pauses

with speechless emotion over the plain enclosure in the courtyard,

which pronounces only the words BERTEL THORVALDSEN over one whom these

countrymen can never cease to revere. On the outside of the building

there are frescoes representing--_first_, the national reception of

Thorvaldsen on his final return to Copenhagen; and, _second_, the

public joy on the introduction of his works into their country. I heard

some criticise these frescoes severely; but I could never get so far as

criticism in their case. Every such attempt is anticipated with me by

a melting of the heart in sympathy with this worthy people, over the

glory which Thorvaldsen has conferred upon them in the eyes of their

fellow-nations, and that genial kindly relation between them and their

immortal compatriot, of which this invaluable museum is the monument.

The Danes are remarkably fond of amusement, and the means of affording

this gratification at Copenhagen are ample. The principal theatre

(_Konglige Theater_) is a handsome house of moderate size, where both

the Opera and Ballet are respectably presented. I was present one

evening, when an operatic piece of Hans Christian Andersen, named

_Brylluppet ved Como-Soen_, apparently of very simple construction, was

performed, and I thought both the singing and orchestra exceedingly

good. There are several other playhouses, some of which are chiefly

frequented by the humbler classes. On the outskirts of the town there

is an establishment called a Tivoli, resembling Vauxhall, and to which,

as the admission is only 4½d. sterling, immense multitudes resort. Here

is found a little theatre for dancing and short vaudevilles, which

the people witness standing in the open air. There is a _salon_ for

music, where the people are under cover, but without seats, unless they

choose to ask for refreshments. In the open air are merry-go-rounds, an

undulating railway, and machines for testing strength. In Denmark, a

merry-go-round is the enjoyment of old as well as young. It is composed

of a circular stage, bearing carriages like those of a railway, and

going partly upon wheels, while a brass band sounds vociferously in

the centre. It was most amusing to us English to observe the gravity

with which people of all ages took their places in this circumambient

train. One curricle presents a decent shopkeeper with his wife, he

with the baby on his knee, which he is endeavouring to awaken to a

sense of its droll situation--the cigar kept firm in his mouth all the

time; another exhibits a pair of young lovers in very amicable union; a

third an aged couple, who might be grandfather and grandmother to the

latter party. An inner circle of boys, whipping and spurring imaginary

horses, complete the whimsicality of the machine, as it goes grinding

and thundering on to the sound of the band. I do not envy the man who

can turn away contemptuously from such a sight as this. The simplicity

of intellect betrayed by such tastes one might certainly wish to see

improved; but yet there is something in being easily pleased which a

benevolent nature cannot easily resist. I quite loved the people for

the innocence of heart shown in their amusements.

A Sunday evening which I spent in Copenhagen on my return from the

north afforded me an additional insight into the habits of the Danes in

this respect. Sunday, it must be premised, is held all over Scandinavia

much less strictly than in England, and its religious character is

considered as terminating at six in the evening. What I had seen in

Norway made me not quite unprepared for what I found at Copenhagen;

nevertheless it was somewhat startling. The evening being fine, the

whole of the broad shady walks between the west gate of the city and

the palace of Fredericksberg, two miles off, were crowded with groups

of people in their best clothes; not merely peasants and artisans, or

even shopkeepers, but persons of superior condition, though perhaps

not in such great proportion. The peasant women, with their gaudy

gold-laced caps and ribbons, gave a striking character to the scene.

There were no drunk or disorderly people--all perfectly quiet and

well-behaved. Along the side of the road are numerous tea-gardens, some

of them having little theatres, others merry-go-rounds and nine-pins,

and so forth. These were all in full operation. It was astounding to

see old women, identical in aspect with those who in Scotland sit on

pulpit-stairs, and spend the Sunday evening over Boston's 'Fourfold

State' and 'Crook in the Lot,' here swimming along in the circular

railway to the music of a band. I tell, however, but a simple fact

when I say that such was the case. Scores of little parties were

enjoying themselves in the recesses along the walks. I observed that

many of these were family parties, whose potations consisted only

of tea. As the only variation to a laborious life for a whole week,

it must have been intensely enjoyed. In one garden connected with a

third-rate tavern there was a dancing saloon, with a clarionet, two

fiddles, and a bass, to which a few lads and lasses were waltzing;

and this seemed no solitary case. There was evidence of enjoyment

everywhere, but not the slightest symptom of a sense that there was

anything wrong in it. All seemed to be done openly and in good faith.

I could not help contrasting the scene with the Sunday evenings of my

own country. There the middle-classes spend the time at least quietly,

if not religiously, at home; and having the power, use it, to forbid

all public or acknowledged means of amusement to their inferiors. It

is well known, however, that the taverns frequented by the common

people are very busy that evening. It has been stated that in Glasgow,

on the evening of the Sunday on which the Communion was administered

last winter, one thousand and eighty public-houses were found in full

business. The difference, therefore, between Denmark and Britain is

mainly this--that in the one country amusements of a comparatively

innocent nature are partaken of without a sense of guilt, while in the

other enjoyments of a degrading kind are enjoyed clandestinely, and

with the feeling of a reprobation hanging over them which must add to

their anti-moral tendency. We must pause, then, I conceive, before we

express the feelings which are most apt to arise in our minds regarding

the Scandinavian mode of spending the Sunday evening.

The Museum of Northern Antiquities may perhaps be admitted to divide

the palm of interest with the Thorvaldsen Museum; but I postpone all

reference to the subject till a proper groundwork shall have been laid

by the description of my journeyings in Sweden and Norway.