HAAKON VII, THE NEW KING OF NORWAY
There is something essentially, almost ludicrously, modern about
the creation of Norway's new king. Not that it is the first time a
sovereign has been, so to speak, "custom-made." An eligible foreign
prince is tendered a seat upon an ancient throne; the form is old, but
the spirit, how new! Republican though she is to the backbone, Norway
has elected to be governed by monarchical methods, fearing with her
isolated and primitive peasantry, to put the machinery of control into
the hands of the people themselves. She must have a king, but he shall
be of a new variety; in short, a republican king. She will not even
have him addressed as were the monarchs of old, by the Norwegian
equivalent of "Your Majesty." He shall be just _Herre Konge_, plain
"Mister the King."
Even as the Norwegians welcomed Haakon VII to their shores, they took
pains to show him clearly his rightful place. In his address delivered
to the newly arrived sovereign on board the battleship Heimdal, Herr
Michelsen, President of Council, and for six months virtual President
of Norway, used these significant words: "For nearly six centuries
the Norwegian people have had no king of their own. To-day a king of
Norway comes to make his home in the Norwegian capital, elected by a
free people to occupy, conjointly with free men, the first place in
the land. The Norwegian people love their liberty, their independence,
and their autonomous government which they themselves have won. It
will be the glory of the king and his highest pleasure to protect this
sentiment, finding his support in the people themselves. This is why
the Norwegian people hail you to-day with profound joy and cry, 'Long
live the King and Queen of Norway!'"
Was ever so frank a bargain driven with a king before? "Behold," says
Norway in effect, "you may sit on a throne; but beware how you attempt
to king it over us. We will give you a salary to transact our official
business and act as official figurehead. But you must never overlook
the fact that it was we who made you and not you yourself."
Is it any wonder that when asked to undertake to govern a people so
independent, so proud spirited as this, Prince Karl of Denmark took
time to think? Or that he asked for a popular vote that he might know
how large a proportion of the _frei_ people of Norway really wanted
him for a king?
This was not the only reason why he hesitated. Being himself on his
mother's side a Bernadotte, he could scarcely ascend the Norwegian
throne without the friendly sanction of Sweden. Moreover, his wife,
Princess Maud of England, was more than reluctant to undertake life
in Christiania and the duties of queenship. Lastly, Prince Charles
himself ran a shrewd risk in assuming the crown, lest, should his
relations with Norway become difficult, he might be forced to resign,
and find himself--having abandoned his naval career for the throne--in
a state of abject poverty.
All three objections were finally overruled. Sweden, fearing lest
an empty throne in Norway should give impetus to the movement for a
republic, and that such a movement might afterward spread to her own
borders, was as much in haste to see Norwegian affairs settled as the
Norwegians themselves, so she swallowed her grievances. Most amicable
correspondence passed between Prince Karl and the Crown Prince of
Sweden, the latter expressing himself anxious to be the first to
welcome Haakon VII into his capital. What became of Princess Maud's
reluctance is not definitely known. It is understood that she never
found life at the Danish court very amusing, and probably the prospect
of exchanging Copenhagen for a city of less than half its size did not
allure her. She must have realized that if she accepted a share of the
Norwegian throne, she would be forced to abandon her favorite cure for
_ennui_--frequent flights to the court of England--for Norway has had
quite enough of absentee royalty. The English papers asserted that
King Edward used his parental authority to overcome his daughter's
scruples. At all events, she gave in. As for Prince Karl's reasonable
fear of dethronement and penury, the Norwegian government quieted that
by promising a respectable pension in case the king should find it
expedient to abdicate.
So, then, the affair was comfortably arranged. The king has a salary
of $200,000, a crown when he had no hope of ever feeling one on his
brow, and the problems of a court without a nobility.
And now the world is asking, "Has Norway done well for herself?"
Certainly she has done well in putting a Scandinavian prince on the
throne. No alien would ever understand Norway or be understood. If
reports are creditable, the Kaiser made the most of his friendship
with the country in support of the claims of a son of his own. Had a
German secured the throne, there would have been sown fresh seeds
of discord on a peninsula which can raise a sufficient crop of
dissensions without any aid from the rest of Europe. For Denmark,
still nursing the rankling grievance of the Schleswig-Holstein affair,
detests the thought of everything German.
King Haakon combines the advantages of Scandinavian birth with the
very positive political asset of blood relationship to half the courts
of Europe. Grandson of the late King Christian of Denmark, the young
monarch is also nephew to King George of Greece, the Dowager Empress
of Russia, and Alexandria of England, a grand-nephew to the late Oscar
of Sweden, son-in-law to King Edward VII, and cousin to the Czar. To a
relatively defenseless country like Norway, this means a good deal.
In himself the new king is a clean-lived, healthy young man of
thirty-three, in personality quite fit to represent a nation which
thinks well of itself. Tall, though not quite so tall as his uncle,
Prince Christian, whose mark on the famous old royal measuring-column
at Roskilde comes just under that of the giant, Peter the Great, King
Haakon is slight, yet vigorous-looking, and splendidly well set up.
The face, while scarcely so handsome as the profile pictures lead us
to think, is a distinguished one, and has for Norway this charm, that
it is markedly not of the Bernadotte type, although his mother is
a Bernadotte. Those who know him describe him as an extremely
intelligent and sensible young man, easy and tolerant without being
weak, and capable of strenuous devotion to hard work. These things
bespeak an industrious, efficient, and tractable king, such as the
Norwegians, who would equally resent either vacillation or tyranny,
know how to appreciate.
It has been said in France that King Haakon abandons tiller and
compass for crown and scepter without one hour's training in politics
or diplomacy.
The statement appears incontestable. In view of the remarkable
longevity of the late king of Denmark, and the excellent health and
prospects of the Crown Prince and his immediate heir, this younger son
of a royal house was not brought up to look for a crown. Instead, he
was destined from the outset for a naval career. For all that, it is
not safe to say that he has had no training in politics or diplomacy.
One can scarcely grow up in the family of the "father-in-law of
Europe" and not learn the principles of the great game of world
affairs. King Haakon is no stranger to the queer old palace among the
beeches at Fredensborg, where every summer King Christian gathered
together his children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren from
the courts of England, Russia, Denmark, Sweden, and Greece; and where
conversations took place which, if reported, would vitally interest
the whole round world. In his lifetime, the Czar Alexander III was
particularly fond of holding long talks at Fredensborg with his
nephew Karl, then a lieutenant of the navy, whom he found especially
intelligent and open-minded.
It is thought in Copenhagen that King Haakon may, even during the last
years of his father's life, have had some experience in the government
of Denmark, since his father, the Crown Prince, was called upon
to perform many of the old king's duties. At least, if he did not
actually transact royal business, he acquired no small acquaintance
with the working of government machinery.
Nothing, certainly, could have been more fitting than that a ruler of
Vikingland should be educated for the sea. Nor could anything have
been devised better calculated to knock the nonsense out of a
princeling than apprenticeship in the Danish navy. Hrolf Wisby, who
messed with Prince Karl when he was a naval cadet, says that the lad
was at first little more than a piece of court furniture. Any one who
is familiar with the appalling frankness and unvarnished brusquerie of
grown-up Danes can judge whether the hazing and horse-play on a Danish
man-of-war was agreeable, and whether it was medicinal in a case of
congenital self-esteem. Prince Karl lived the life of an ordinary
middy, scrubbed decks, mended his own clothes, slept in a hammock, and
ate provender which was anything but fit to set before a king. It is
recorded of him that he was an expert in polishing a certain brass
binnacle lantern. We wonder if he ever thinks now of a certain line in
Pinafore, "I polished that handle so care-ful-lee, that now--"
As ensign, second lieutenant, first lieutenant, and finally captain
of a frigate, the young man acquitted himself well, earning the
reputation of a capital officer, hardworking, careful, no martinet
towards his men, though by no means to be trifled with. In practical
seamanship, he excels any other prince of his age, and can command
any kind of naval craft from torpedo boat to battleship, and lead in
actual battle.
In forming their court, King Haakon and Queen Maud are gathering about
them the literary, artistic, and musical people of the realm, for they
are devoted to the companionship of gifted folk. The queen has herself
written plays under the pseudonym "Graham Irving," and the king paints
a little in aquarelles, and plays the piano almost too well to be
termed an amateur. Both are accomplished linguists, speaking with
discrimination French, German, Russian, English, Norwegian, Swedish,
and, naturally, Danish. There is no barrier of speech in their
intercourse with members of the diplomatic corps.
The little heir apparent, Alexander, rechristened Olaf, has already
done much toward ingratiating himself with the Norwegian people,
although but a half dozen years old. On the day when the royal couple
entered Christiania, the boy was but two and a half years old, but he
was very much interested in the decorations, and seemed to catch the
enthusiasm of the crowd, for he waved his little hand spontaneously.
In counting up the merits of the king, the promising little heir must
by no means be left out.
Trondhjem Cathedral, where all the kings and queens of Norway for
centuries have been crowned, and where the coronation of King
Haakon VII and Queen Maud occurred, stands on the site of what was
undoubtedly the first Christian church in the country--that erected by
Olaf Trygvason in 996. Within its confines bubbles the spring which
sprang from the tomb of that later Olaf who is the patron saint of
Norway, and somewhere under its walls lie moldering the bones of
medieval kings, four of whom accepted their consecration before the
altar where King Haakon received his crown. It is a thousand pities
that hammer and chisel should have exorcised the spirits which ought
to haunt this venerable shrine. It is as if England's Abbey had been
scrubbed and resurfaced, and new noses had been provided for all the
crumbling stone kings and queens. Trondhjem Cathedral has burned down
so many times, and the work of restoration has been so sweeping, that
it takes an active imagination to invest it with the proper glamour of
romance.
Trondhjem itself is an odd place for festivities. The people say that
it is fear of fire which makes them separate their insignificant
wooden houses by such disproportionately broad streets. Certainly it
gives to the town a low look anything but imposing.
Whatever may be the esthetic shortcomings of King Haakon's coronation
city, it was amply atoned for by the enthusiasm and whole-hearted
devotion of his new people. The king and queen are in very truth "the
father and mother of the land." Even toward the rulers they shared
with Sweden their cherished warm affection until their grievances
waxed too sore. When Sophie of Nassau was on her way to Trondhjem to
be crowned, in 1873, she drove herself in a carriole from the
Romsdal, stopping perforce at humble posting-stations by the way. And
everywhere the peasants came with flowers, greeting their queen by
the affectionate and familiar "Du." More than once when the press was
thick about her, and those on the outskirts could not see, the queen
was urged to mount upon the housetop that the eyes of all might
be gladdened by the sight of the dear land-mother. There was a
significant demonstration of this sort of heart-loyalty when Haakon
VII and Queen Maud entered Christiania. The crowds which waited in
the steadily falling snow, and shouted themselves hoarse, might be
accounted for by curiosity and mob enthusiasm.
Triumphal arches, flags, and even the rain of flowers which descended
on the royal pair, might be classed as perfunctory, an essential part
of the occasion. But at night the spirit of the people showed beyond
mistake. Not only were the streets arched and bordered with festoons
of colored incandescent lights, not only were the battleships in the
harbor strung with fiery beads to the topmost spar, but every window
in every house in the city bore its light. Fine houses had candelabra
behind the glass, and the poorest mere tapers, but everywhere the same
fire of welcome burned.
Haakon VII has the privilege of ruling over the most united people on
the face of the earth. Before the plebiscite, Sweden declared that the
desire for separation was confined to a party who were poisoning the
minds of the common people. When the plebiscite had shown that only
164 men out of 368,000 could be found to uphold the union, Sweden
protested that the peasants had been intimidated and dared not vote as
they thought!
Now, it was just at this stirring time that I was driving through
Norway, or cruising in her fjords, and talking with graduates of her
university, with sea-captains, hotel proprietors, traveling men,
porters, drivers, serving-maids--all, in short, who spoke English
enough to make themselves clear. It was as if all Norway spoke with
one voice. From Hamerfest to Stavanger there was the same complaint of
the same wrongs, the same quiet insistence upon the same remedy. Nor
was it only the subjects of King Oscar who spoke; Norwegians settled
in France, in England, or in America either hurried home to vote or
sent their vigorous endorsement of the revolutionary proceedings. A
window in Christiania was completely filled by the mingled flags of
Norway and the United States, crossed by a banner bearing the words,
"For Disunion." It was the voice of Norway and America. It was a
modest desire they expressed. In the words of Olaf Sprachehaug, our
humble-minded _skydsgut_, the whole country was saying, "And now I
t'ink we get a king of our own." They have their own king now, and all
the world wishes them joy in him.[j]