Our Little Danish Cousin
THE
Little Cousin Series
(TRADE MARK)
Each volume illustrated with six or more full page plates in
tint. Cloth, 12mo, with decorative cover
per volume, 60 cents
LIST OF TITLES
BY MARY HAZELTON WADE, MARY F.
NIXON-ROULET, BLANCHE MCMANUS,
CLARA V. WINLOW, FLORENCE E.
MENDEL AND OTHERS
=Our Little African Cousin=
=Our Little Alaskan Cousin=
=Our Little Arabian Cousin=
=Our Little Argentine Cousin=
=Our Little Armenian Cousin=
=Our Little Australian Cousin=
=Our Little Austrian Cousin=
=Our Little Belgian Cousin=
=Our Little Bohemian Cousin=
=Our Little Boer Cousin=
=Our Little Brazilian Cousin=
=Our Little Bulgarian Cousin=
=Our Little Canadian Cousin=
=Our Little Chinese Cousin=
=Our Little Cossack Cousin=
=Our Little Cuban Cousin=
=Our Little Danish Cousin=
=Our Little Dutch Cousin=
=Our Little Egyptian Cousin=
=Our Little English Cousin=
=Our Little Eskimo Cousin=
=Our Little French Cousin=
=Our Little German Cousin=
=Our Little Grecian Cousin=
=Our Little Hawaiian Cousin=
=Our Little Hindu Cousin=
=Our Little Hungarian Cousin=
=Our Little Indian Cousin=
=Our Little Irish Cousin=
=Our Little Italian Cousin=
=Our Little Japanese Cousin=
=Our Little Jewish Cousin=
=Our Little Korean Cousin=
=Our Little Malayan (Brown) Cousin=
=Our Little Mexican Cousin=
=Our Little Norwegian Cousin=
=Our Little Panama Cousin=
=Our Little Persian Cousin=
=Our Little Philippine Cousin=
=Our Little Polish Cousin=
=Our Little Porto Rican Cousin=
=Our Little Portuguese Cousin=
=Our Little Russian Cousin=
=Our Little Scotch Cousin=
=Our Little Servian Cousin=
=Our Little Siamese Cousin=
=Our Little Spanish Cousin=
=Our Little Swedish Cousin=
=Our Little Swiss Cousin=
=Our Little Turkish Cousin=
THE PAGE COMPANY
53 Beacon Street, Boston, Mass.
[Illustration: "LITTLE CHILDREN WERE PLAYING ABOUT THE STATUED FORM OF
THEIR BELOVED STORY-TELLER, HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN"
(_see page 52_)]
OUR LITTLE DANISH COUSIN
By
Luna May Innes
Illustrated by
Elizabeth Otis
[Illustration]
Boston
THE PAGE COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
_Copyright, 1912_,
BY L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
(INCORPORATED)
_All rights reserved_
First Impression, June, 1912
Second Impression, January, 1917
TO MY LITTLE NEPHEW
=Graeme Lorimer=
ON HIS NINTH BIRTHDAY
Preface
DENMARK means "Land of dark woods." Although one of the smallest states
of Europe, the little kingdom of Denmark holds a very large place in
the world's history, having supplied rulers for many of the countries
of Europe.
The Dane loves his beautiful country, the land of Thorvaldsen and of
Hans Christian Andersen, of blue lakes, and "fairy-tale" castles.
Since the days of Leif and Biarne, Denmark and the United States have
been allied, and therefore I feel sure that the children of America
will be interested in the story of their little Danish Cousin.
I wish to express grateful acknowledgment to Hr. Georg Beck, Consul for
Denmark in Chicago; also to Mr. Haakon Arntz, and to Mr. and Mrs. Oscar
Andersen, for generous information given in regard to the manners and
customs of the Danish people.
LUNA MAY INNES.
CHICAGO, _February, 1912_.
Contents
CHAPTER PAGE
PREFACE vii
I. THE DISTINGUISHED VISITOR 1
II. COPENHAGEN 22
III. "HURRAH FOR KING FREDERIK!" 48
IV. UP THE SOUND TO HAMLET'S CASTLE 59
V. "FAIRY-TALE" CASTLES AND PALACES 73
VI. THE LEGEND OF THE SACRED "DANNEBROG" 82
VII. THE STORY OF THE DANISH "AHLHEDE" 100
VIII. SKAGEN 117
IX. A DANISH PEASANT WEDDING 134
X. JUL-TIDE AT GRANDMOTHER INGEMANN'S 144
List of Illustrations
PAGE
"LITTLE CHILDREN WERE PLAYING ABOUT THE STATUED FORM
OF THEIR BELOVED STORY-TELLER, HANS CHRISTIAN
ANDERSEN" (_see page 52_) _Frontispiece_
"VALDEMAR BURST INTO THE ROOM" 13
"WHERE JOLLY-LOOKING WOMEN WITH QUAINT HEADDRESSES
WERE SELLING THEIR WARES" 35
"THEY SPREAD THEM ON THE GRASS IN THE SHADOW OF THE
GREAT BRICK TOWER" 90
"IN THE CENTRE OF THE STUDIO STOOD THE UNFINISHED
STATUE OF THE LITTLE CROWN PRINCE" 119
"'WELCOME! AND _GLAEDELIG JUL!_' CALLED OUT BOTH
GRANDFATHER AND GRANDMOTHER INGEMANN" 145
[Illustration: Map of DENMARK]
Our Little Danish Cousin
CHAPTER I
THE DISTINGUISHED VISITOR
"HURTIG! _kaere Karen, mit lommetørklæde!_"
Fru Oberstinde Ingemann and her little flaxen-haired daughter, Karen,
were sitting at their embroidery work in the deep window-seat that
made one whole side of the cozy Ingemann living-room overlooking the
Botanical Gardens. Between stitches, Karen was watching the rain patter
on the little diamond window-panes, now and then pausing to take a
quick look at some favorite newly-blossomed flower in the brilliant,
long line of window-boxes which bordered the windows "like a long
bright ribbon," as Karen said.
The bell rang.
"_Hurtig! kaere Karen, mit lommetorklaede!_" sounds like something
terrible, but Fru Ingemann was only saying in Danish: "Quick, dear
Karen, my handkerchief!"
"Thank you, Karen," said the lady, as the fair child replaced the sheer
bit of linen in her mother's hand with a pretty courtesy, for Karen was
a well-bred little girl.
It was a morning of excitement for Fru Else Ingemann. Two important
letters had come to her from over the seas. One had come from Chicago
in far-away America, saying that her brother-in-law, the Hon. Oscar
Hoffman, was coming once more to pay a visit to dear old Denmark.
Mr. Hoffman was an important man in America. He was the president of
the "Danish-American National Park" in north Jutland, and it was in
his loyal Danish brain that the whole idea of the great Park had
originated. It had been his dream to save to the glory of Denmark,
for all time to come, a wonderful, wild tract of heather-covered
hills where, year by year, thousands of loyal Danish-Americans might
meet in the Fatherland, and celebrate America's Independence Day on
Danish soil. At last the Park was a reality, and he was coming to make
necessary arrangements.
He was bringing his son, Karl, with him, and, while they were to be in
Copenhagen, they would spend their time with the Ingemanns. He hoped
that the little cousins would become great friends. They would arrive
in Copenhagen on Saturday. To-day was Thursday.
The other exciting message came from Fru Ingemann's favorite brother,
Hr. Thorvald Svensen. It was postmarked Rome, Italy, and informed
her that at last he was coming back to live in his dear old home in
Copenhagen, and that he would arrive on that day.
Hr. Svensen had been living in Rome for eight long years, and in those
years of persistent, hard work he had finally realized his one great
ambition, and become Denmark's greatest sculptor--greatest, at least,
since the day of Denmark's beloved Thorvaldsen, whose namesake he was.
To Fru Ingemann there was no more welcome news in all the world. His
letter said that he longed to see her and the children once more.
Little Valdemar, who was the sculptor's godson, was wild with joy. "Let
me stay home from school to-day, mother!" he implored.
"No, no, Valdemar," firmly answered his mother, as she handed him his
school luncheon, a box of delicious _smörrebröd_.[1] When Valdemar's
mother said "No, no," he knew that further protests were useless. So
he kissed her and was off, calling back: "Good-bye, mother dear; keep
_Gudfar_[2] Thor until I come home from school, _please_!"
All that morning Fru Ingemann flew about in happy expectancy, making
more cozy the pretty little apartment. Karen could hear her mother, as
she worked, singing softly those familiar old lines from Baggesen, the
well-known Danish poet:
"Ah, nowhere is the rose so red,
Nowhere so small the thorn,
Nowhere so soft the downy bed
As those where we were born."
Above the patter of the rain came the sound of approaching carriage
wheels. Fru Ingemann paused.
"Quick, Karen,--the bell! It may be Uncle Thor!"
And so it proved! All the eight, long, lonesome years since she had
last seen this dear brother, years in which she had lost her husband,
were quickly forgotten in his great hearty embrace.
"_Min kaere Soster!_"
"_Min kaere Broder!_"
Their hearts were so full they could not find words.
Karen, tiptoeing, wanted to fling her tiny arms about her big,
yellow-bearded, Viking-like, Uncle Thor's neck, so he lifted the little
maid high in his strong arms and kissed her.
"Ah, Karen, _min lille skat_![3] How you have grown!" he said
affectionately. Soft yellow curls framed her pretty face, and two heavy
braids of the same glorious hair hung far down her back. "Why, you were
just a little, two-year-old baby when I went away to Rome, and now,
I've no doubt, you are dreaming of a boarding-school off in France or
Switzerland one of these days!"
But Karen only shook her little blond head and laughed, while Uncle
Thor's beauty-loving eye beamed on the dainty little damsel in white
embroidered frock, half-hose and slippers, as he settled himself
comfortably in the big arm-chair near the great, green-tiled stove,
whose top almost touched the living-room ceiling.
"Congratulations, dear brother," said Fru Ingemann. "Why didn't you
write us all about the great honor you have brought to the family?
I saw in this morning's 'Nationaltidende,' that you have just been
appointed Court Painter to His Majesty, the King! It is the greatest
honor that can come to a Danish artist. I am so proud of you!"
"It is true," he acknowledged, briefly, "but tell me, sister Else, how
are the boys, Aage and Valdemar?"
"Oh, Aage is now a big boy of sixteen, off doing his eight years of
compulsory military service in the army. Aage will grow up with a
straighter back and a better trained body because of his soldiering
days. He will be home for Christmas with us."
"And Valdemar?"
"Valdemar is only thirteen, but he is in his second year at the
Metropolitan School, one of the best State Latin Schools in all
Denmark. He will be back home at three o'clock. I could hardly get him
to consent to go to school at all, this morning, after he was told that
his Gudfar Thor was coming."
"And Karen studies with her private tutors, here, at home?"
"Yes, Thorvald, besides learning to be a good little housekeeper,
as well. But you must be both hungry and tired. It is nearly twelve
o'clock. Come, Karen, help me spread the table with something good for
_Frokost_,[4] for Uncle Thor."
A cloth of snowy damask was quickly spread with various viands and
meats; tongue, salad, salmon, anchovies, plates of butter, with trays
containing French (white) bread, and other trays full of thin slices
of rye bread, which is such a favorite with all Danes. Fru Ingemann
then placed a bottle of beer beside Hr. Svensen's plate, and brought
in the steaming hot tea, which she herself poured into the delicate
cups of that wonderful crystalline ware, the famous Royal Copenhagen
porcelain--a set doubly cherished by her as an heirloom in her family
for many generations.
Karen, who could herself make delicious tea, loved to gaze at the
fascinatingly delicate decoration of the cups, which looked, as she
said, "like frost on the window-pane;" but she never was allowed to
touch this precious set of old Royal Copenhagen, of which not one piece
had yet been broken.
"And _smörrebröd_, brother?" politely urged Fru Ingemann, for no good
Danish housewife would ever think of inviting any one to breakfast
without having _smörrebröd_ on the table.
"Thanks, sister Else," replied the hungry artist, who immediately set
about thickly spreading butter--famous Danish butter--over a slice
of rye bread, as did also Karen and her mother, after which each
proceeded to select the particular kind of fish or meat preferred, and,
arranging it upon the slice of buttered bread, ate it much as we would
a sandwich. Uncle Thor made an especially delicious one for Karen, who
had already become a great favorite with him.
_Frokost_ over, Fru Ingemann arose, and, bowing slightly to her
brother, said: "_Velbekomme!_"[5] And Hr. Svensen did the same.
"_Tak for Mad, Moder_,"[6] said Karen courtesying first to her mother
and then to her Uncle Thor, and kissing them both--a beautiful old
Danish custom.
Uncle Thor was a great lover of flowers. To-day there were beautiful
flowers on the table, in the windows, everywhere! In fact, the whole
Ingemann apartment seemed overwhelmed with the loveliness of them.
Besides the vases, there were little flower-pots galore, all decked in
brightly-colored paper, some containing blooming plants, others, little
growing trees.
"Ah, Karen, has there been a birthday here?" asked Uncle Thor, in mock
surprise. "Run out in the hall and see what came all the way from
Naples, Italy, to Frederiksberg-Alle, in Copenhagen, for a good little
girl with long pigtails."
Karen came running back with a tiny white kid box in her hand. Opening
it, she beheld the most beautiful set imaginable of pale pink corals.
She just couldn't wait to put the necklace on before hugging her dear
old Uncle Thor, who himself had to fasten the pretty chain around her
slender little neck for her.
"Yes, Uncle Thor, we had a splendid time, and mother gave us chocolate,
tea and cakes, and this is what all the boys and girls at my party
yesterday sang:
"'London Bridge is broken down,
Gold is won and bright renown,
Shields resounding, war-horns sounding,
Hild is shouting in the din,
Arrows singing,
Mailcoats ringing,
Odin makes our Olaf win.'"
Karen had hardly finished singing her song describing the days of old,
when there had been a mighty encounter on London Bridge between the
Danes and King Olaf the Saint, ending in the burning of the bridge,
when there came a sudden great clatter and uproar on the stairs, with
the loud barking of a dog, and the sound of a boy's heavy boots, and
Valdemar burst into the room.
[Illustration: "VALDEMAR BURST INTO THE ROOM"]
"Oh, my dear, dear Gudfar Thor!" he exclaimed, throwing his arms tight
round his uncle's neck.
"Why, Valdemar, you are the very image of your father!" exclaimed Hr.
Svensen. "Don't you think so, sister Else?" he questioned, as he gazed
admiringly at the sturdy, big frame, rumpled flaxen hair, and the merry
twinkle in the honest blue Danish eyes of his godson.
"Oh, yes, Thorvald, Valdemar certainly is the image of his father. The
King thinks so, too," agreed Fru Ingemann.
"King Frederik? Why, how is that, sister? Has the king never forgotten
Valdemar?" questioned Hr. Svensen in surprise.
"Oh, Thorvald, you know the King's wonderful memory. It never fails
him. And you must remember the great friendship that always existed
between my dear husband and King Frederik, from the days when, as boys
together, they went through the Military College; and later both were
recruits in the same regiment, and had to do sentry duty, turn about,
outside his grandfather's palace. Only the other day, Valdemar came
bounding into the house, overjoyed, to tell me that he had just passed
their Majesties, King Frederik and Queen Lowisa, out walking on the
_Langelinie_,[7] entirely unattended, and that, when he doffed his
cap to the King, his Majesty immediately returned his salute, with a
friendly smile!"
"But, sister Else, how do you _know_ that King Frederik thinks Valdemar
the image of his father? I don't understand," persisted Hr. Svensen,
perplexed.
"We know!" Fru Ingemann spoke softly as she.
"Valdemar was only a little child when his father died," she
continued. "His father had always taught Valdemar to love the King, and
he does so with all his boyish little heart. An accident, a broken arm,
soon afterwards put the child in the Queen Lowisa Children's Hospital,
where, as you know, King Frederik makes a monthly visit to cheer the
little sufferers. The King loves children. They say that not one
little baby-face ever escapes him, and that he even notes each child's
improvement from time to time.
"Valdemar, in his little cot near the door, heard the nurses saying:
'The King comes to-day!'
"His little mind was all expectation. Finally, the King arrived.
Valdemar was the first little patient to see him enter, silk hat in his
hand as usual. Sick as he was, the boy drew himself quickly from out
of the covers, stood up in the middle of his bed, and saluted his King
with a low bow, so low that his forehead almost touched his pillow.
The King paused in surprise at Valdemar's cot and spoke:
"'My child, why do you do that? Why do you salute me?'
"'Because I like you! You are the King!'
"They say that the King looked into the child's face a moment, drew
his hand to his eyes, lost in thought, then, turning quickly to Prince
Christian, who accompanied him, exclaimed with a smile:
"'_Du ligner din Fader! Oh, vilde jeg onske at din Fader levede! Gid
Legligheden maa komme til at hjälpe denne opvagte Dreng, for min käre
gamle Ven Ingemann's Skyld!_'[8]
"Then, placing his hand on the child's golden locks, he spoke tenderly:
'Yes, little Valdemar Ingemann, I am the King. Always remember that
your father and I were great friends,' and he passed on.
"Valdemar has never forgotten that moment. He never will. You and the
King are the two great heroes of the world in his eyes."
"Where is he now? Come, Valdemar! Tell me all about what you like most
to read," called Uncle Thor.
"Oh, Uncle Thor, I love to read in the old Sagas and Chronicles all
about the mighty sea-fights of the Vikings, and about the glorious
battles of the Valdemars, in the books that Aage left me. They make me
want to be a soldier. Then I love to read everything about Linnæus, who
loved the trees and the flowers and the whole outdoors just as I do.
But, best of all, I'd rather become a famous sculptor like my Godfather
Thor! I'd like that better than anything else in all the world! See,
Uncle Thor, I've modelled some little things already. Here is one,--my
Great Dane, Frederik,--and here is a stork, and here is a little
Viking ship. They're not very good, but--"
"Oh, _min lille Billedhugger_!"[9] interrupted Hr. Svensen, with
feeling, as he took the little toy animals from Valdemar to examine
them. "This is not half bad work. But _what_ have you done them in, my
boy?"
"In pie-paste!" laughed his mother. "I have to hide the pie-paste when
I'm baking, to keep Valdemar from slipping it off to use for modelling!"
"Valdemar, you shall have some modelling clay. Thorvaldsen once made
the Lion of Lucerne in butter. I must tell you that story some day,"
said Hr. Svensen, as he patted his little nephew's head affectionately.
There was a sharp ring at the bell.
Karen flew to the door, then back to her mother, excitedly exclaiming:
"A box and a letter for you, mother!"
Fru Ingemann tore the note open and read: "Will be expelled if it
occurs again!" The words swam before her eyes.
"Oh, Valdemar, my son, come explain all this to me at once! It is from
your Latin teacher. Surely there is some mistake. It is not like my
boy!"
Meantime Karen had opened the box, and displayed a most laughable
clay caricature of Valdemar's Latin teacher, with the word "TEACHER"
scratched underneath in large letters. She burst out giggling. Even
Uncle Thor's look of mock horror soon gave way before the cleverly done
effigy, and he laughed. He had been a boy once himself, and it _was_
funny.
"Well, that's exactly the way teacher looks!" vehemently protested
Valdemar in self-justification. "Indeed he does. Ask Hendrik or any of
the boys. None of us like him one bit, and at recess to-day Hendrik
drew chalk cartoons of teacher all over the blackboard, and said: 'Oh,
Valdemar, you'd never dare do it in clay!'
"'Yes, I _would_ dare do it in clay!' I answered him, and then,
mother,--I did it. But I didn't mean Hr. Professor Christiansen to see
it. I'm glad school's over for all summer on Friday!"
Even Valdemar's mother had to laugh, as Uncle Thor took the offending
statuette in his hand to give it a closer examination, for it was as
irresistibly funny as it was clever.
"Brilliant, Valdemar!" he exclaimed. "Your work has merit. Work hard
enough, my boy, and you may become a great artist, some day. You have
the talent. Come over to my studio to-morrow morning. I'll help you a
little with your modelling, and then, after luncheon with me, I will
take you through the Thorvaldsen Museum. Would you like that? And, by
the way, I think there is something nice for you in my trunk. Now I am
due at the Royal Palace. I must go and pay my respects to the King. He
will be expecting me."
"Oh, Uncle Thor, I'll be there!" called out Valdemar. "Good-bye, Uncle
Thor, good-bye!"
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 1: The great Danish national dish.]
[Footnote 2: Godfather.]
[Footnote 3: "My little treasure."]
[Footnote 4: Breakfast]
[Footnote 5: "Well may it agree with you."]
[Footnote 6: "Thank you for the food, mother."]
[Footnote 7: Long Line.]
[Footnote 8: "The face of his father! Oh, that his father were still
living! May the opportunity some day be given me to benefit this bright
boy, for my dear old friend Ingemann's sake!"]
[Footnote 9: "My little sculptor."]