Among my Danish excursions was one to Slesvig in July, 1860. The
Copenhagen students had been asked to attend a festival to be held at
Angel at the end of July for the strengthening of the sparse Danish
element in that German-minded region. There were not many who wished to
go, but several of those who did had beautiful voices, and sang
feelingly the national songs with which it was hoped the hearts of the
Angel people, and especially of the ladies, might be touched. Several
gentlemen still living, at that time among the recognised leaders of
the students, went with us.
We sailed from Korsör to Flensborg one exquisite Summer night; we gave
up the berths we had secured and stayed all night on deck with a bowl
of punch. It was a starlight night, the ship cut rapidly through the
calm waters, beautiful songs were sung and high-flown speeches made.
One speech was held in a whisper, the one in honour of General de Meza,
who was still a universal favourite, and who was sitting in his
stateroom, waked up out of his sleep, with his white gloves and gaufred
lace cuffs on and a red and white night-cap on his head. We young ones
only thought of him as the man who, during the battle of Fredericia,
had never moved a muscle of his face, and when it was over had said
quietly: "The result is very satisfactory."
Unfriendly and sneering looks from the windows at Flensborg very soon
showed the travellers that Danish students' caps were not a welcome
sight there. The Angel peasants, however, were very pleasant. The
festival, which lasted all day and concluded with dancing and
fireworks, was a great success, and a young man who had been carousing
all night, travelling all day, and had danced all the evening with
pretty girls till his senses were in a whirl, could not help regarding
the scene of the festival in a romantic light, as he stood there alone,
late at night, surrounded by flaring torches, the fireworks sputtering
and glittering about him. Some few of the students sat in the fields
round flaming rings of pitch, an old Angel peasant keeping the fires
alight and singing Danish songs. Absolutely enraptured, and with tears
in his eyes, he went about shaking hands with the young men and
thanking them for coming. It was peculiarly solemn and beautiful.
Next day, when I got out at Egebaek station on my way from Flensborg,
intending to go to Idsted, it seemed that three other young men had had
the same idea, so we all four walked together. They were young men of a
type I had not met with before. The way they felt and spoke was new to
me. They all talked in a very affectionate manner, betrayed at once
that they worshipped one another, and seemed to have strong, open
natures, much resembling each other. They were Ernst Trier, Nörregaard,
and Baagöe, later the three well-known High School men.
The little band arrived at a quick pace on Idsted's beautiful heath,
all tufts of ling, the red blossoms of which looked lovely in the light
of the setting sun. We sat ourselves down on the hill where Baudissin
and his staff had stood. Then Baagöe read aloud Hammerich's description
of the battle of Idsted, while each of us in his mind's eye saw the
seething masses of troops advance and fall upon one another, as they
had done just ten years before.
Our time was short, if we wanted to get under a roof that night. At 9
o'clock we were still eight miles from Slesvig. We did the first four
at a pace that was novel to me. Three-parts of the way we covered in
forty-five minutes, the last two miles took us twenty. When we arrived
at the hotel, there stood Madam Esselbach, of war renown, in the
doorway, with her hands on her hips, as in her portrait; she summed up
the arrivals with shrewd, sharp eyes, and exclaimed: "_Das ist ja das
junge Dänemark_." Inside, officers were sitting, playing cards. Major
Sommer promised us young men to show us Gottorp at 6 o'clock next
morning; we should then get a view of the whole of the town from
Hersterberg beforehand.
The Major, who was attacked in the newspapers after the war, and whose
expression "my maiden sword," was made great fun of, showed us younger
ones the magnificent church, and afterwards the castle, which, as a
barracks, was quite spoilt. He acted as the father of the regiment,
and, like Poul Möller's artist, encouraged the efficient, and said hard
words to the slighty, praising or blaming unceasingly, chatted Danish
to the soldiers, Low German to the cook, High German to the little
housekeeper at the castle, and called the attention of his guests to
the perfect order and cleanliness of the stables. He complained
bitterly that a certain senior lieutenant he pointed out to us, who in
1848 had flung his cockade in the gutter and gone over to the Germans,
had been reinstated in the regiment, and placed over the heads of brave
second-lieutenants who had won their crosses in the war.
Here I parted with my Grundtvigian friends. When I spoke of them to
Julius Lange on my return, he remarked: "They are a good sort, who wear
their hearts in their buttonholes as decorations."
The society I fell in with for the rest of my journey was very droll.
This consisted of Borup, later Mayor of Finance, and a journalist named
Falkman (really Petersen), even at that time on the staff of _The Dally
Paper_. I little guessed then that my somewhat vulgar travelling
companion would develop into the Cato who wished Ibsen's _Ghosts_
"might be thrust into the slime-pit, where such things belong," and
would write articles by the hundred against me. Neither had I any
suspicion, during my acquaintance with Topsöe, that the latter would
one day be one of my most determined persecutors. Without exactly being
strikingly youthful, the large, broad-shouldered Borup was still a
young man. Falkman wrote good-humouredly long reports to Bille about
Slesvig, which I corrected for him. Borup and Falkman generally
exclaimed the moment I opened my mouth: "Not seraphic, now!"
We travelled together to Glücksborg, saw the camp there, and, as we had
had nothing since our morning coffee at 5 o'clock, ate between the
three of us a piece of roast meat six pounds weight. We spent the night
at Flensborg and drove next day to Graasten along a lovely road with
wooded banks on either side. It was pouring with rain, and we sat in
dead silence, trying to roll ourselves up in horse-cloths. When in an
hour's time the rain stopped, and we put up at an inn, our enforced
silence gave place to the wildest merriment. We three young
fellows--the future Finance Minister as well--danced into the parlour,
hopped about like wild men, spilt milk over ourselves, the sofa, and
the waitress; then sprang, waltzing and laughing, out through the door
again and up into the carriage, after having heaped the girl with small
copper coins.
From Graasten we proceeded to Sönderborg. The older men lay down and
slept after the meal. I went up to Dybbölmölle. On the way back, I
found on a hill looking out over Als a bench from which there was a
beautiful view across to Slesvig. I lay down on the seat and gazed up
at the sky and across the perfect country. The light fields, with their
tall, dark hedges, which give the Slesvig scenery its peculiar stamp,
from this high-lying position looked absolutely lovely.