DENMARK.
WE are coming down to Denmark. Down from Norway and along the coast of
Sweden. First through the Skagerack and then the Cattegat, in the
steamer EXCELLENT TOLL, by name, with twenty American passengers. Fleets
of sailing vessels were in sight, the crews engaged in the mackerel
fishery, a great business off this coast. The day was as lovely as the
suns of Italy ever show, and the sunset revealed such splendors as I
never saw except in Mantua, under Italian skies.
The sun went down as if into the western ocean, where poets often tell
us he “quenches his beams.” A few clouds were lying along the horizon,
in long rifts stretching a quarter of the way around the great circle of
the heavens. They were burnished with golden splendors, and among the
rifts the sky seemed painted with the hues of the rainbow. The
passengers stood on the upper deck, and _all_ were in raptures of
admiration gazing upon the magnificent scene. Long after the sun was
gone the great picture hung on the northern sky, and we watched it till
the many-colored painting gradually and finally faded into the sombre
tints of evening. The moon then gave us silver for gold, and for some
hours after sunset it looked as though the sun were rising!
We passed the night on this voyage, touching at Gottenberg at midnight,
for an hour only. The next day (July 10) was equally brilliant with the
first, and the run along down the coast was exciting and pleasant. About
midday we entered the Sound and soon came to Elsinore, where we had no
Sound duties to pay. From time immemorial—so long that the date of the
origin of the custom is lost in the fogs of the region—the Danes have
been accustomed to demand and receive toll from every vessel passing
Elsinore. No end of trouble was the result of this. The Vienna treaty of
1815, after Napoleon’s downfall, confirmed the Danes in their enjoyment
of this imposition. Some nations afterwards commuted with Denmark, and
the whole thing was abolished in 1857.
In the time of Tycho Brahe, the famous astronomer, whose house we saw on
one of the lakes in Sweden as we were going to Upsala, the Danes built a
mighty castle here, called KRONBORG, and mounted big guns, so as to
sweep the Sound and make it very desirable for vessels to stop as they
were going by and pay their toll. If they refused to do so they were
spoken to by these guns. And sometimes it was a word and a blow. This
castle is famous in the legends and history of Denmark, and within the
last hundred years it has held distinguished and royal prisoners, who
have exchanged dungeons for the scaffold. Down in the subterranean
casemates a thousand men may be stored away—soldiers to defend the
castle, or prisoners to pine in captivity. In one of these secret hiding
places, where neither light nor pity finds its way, a noted mythical
giant of Danish story is said to reside. He never comes up to the
surface of the earth, but when the State is in danger, and then he takes
the head of the army and leads it on to victory. His grasp is so strong
that his fingers leave their imprint on an iron crowbar when he holds it
in his fist.
The views from the castle and from any of the elevations in Elsinore
embrace the town, the fortifications, Helsingborg on the other side of
the Sound, the Great Belt, the Baltic dotted with sails,—a grand
panorama indeed.
Shakespeare was kind enough to make this vicinity classic and famous by
his Hamlet, whose grave is said to be here, and travellers come to find
it, as they look for Romeo and Juliet’s at Verona. In vain we are told
that Hamlet did not live nor die in these parts; that Jutland and not
Zealand, was his country. But they pay their money and they take their
choice, and most of people choose to believe that Hamlet was buried
hereabouts, and any heap of stones with Runic characters upon them would
answer the purpose, but they cannot find even this. Drop the letter H
and we have Amlet, and that signifies _madman_, and so you have the
beginning of the story on which the tragedy was founded. And the story
runs in this wise in the gossipy guide-books, so useful to travellers,
and especially to those who have to write about their travels.
According to the Danish history of old Saxo Grammaticus, Hamlet was not
the son of a Danish king, but of a famous pirate-chief, who was governor
of Jutland in conjunction with his brother. Hamlet’s father married the
daughter of the Danish king, and the issue of that marriage was Hamlet.
Hamlet’s father was subsequently murdered by his brother, who married
the widow and succeeded to the government of the whole of Jutland. As a
pagan, it was Hamlet’s first duty to avenge his father. The better to
conceal his purpose, he feigned madness. His uncle, suspecting it to be
feigned, sent him to England, with a request to the king that he would
put Hamlet to death. He was accompanied by two creatures of his uncle,
whose letter to the English king was carved upon wood, according to the
custom of the period. This Hamlet during the voyage contrived to get
possession of, and so altered the characters as to make it a request
that his two companions should be slain, and which was accordingly done
on their arrival in England. He afterwards married the daughter of the
English king: but subsequently returning to Jutland, and still feigning
madness, contrived to surprise and slay his uncle, after upbraiding him
with his various crimes. Hamlet then became governor of Jutland, married
a second time to a queen of Scotland, and was eventually killed in
battle.
I wish we could stop at Frederiksborg, but we must come back to it from
Copenhagen. For here is the royal castle of Denmark, built in 1600, and
now the repository of works of art and objects of antiquarian interest
connected with the reigning house. It was in this castle that the
unfortunate queen of Christian VII. died at the early age of
twenty-three, a broken-hearted victim of slander and conspiracy. In one
of the private rooms in which this beautiful woman was a prisoner, she
wrote with a diamond upon the window pane this touching and
self-sacrificing prayer:—
“O keep me innocent, make others great.”
The woodland scenery around the castle is charming. The Royal Forest
covers a vast extent laid out with lovely walks and drives, and the
whole island of Zealand is _preserved_ for royal pleasures in forest and
field.
A drive through this forest brings you to the _Castle of Peace_, so
called because a treaty of peace was concluded in it with Sweden; and
perhaps it keeps its name the more fittingly, as the palace is now cut
up into apartments which are occupied by families, once rich, now poor,
belonging to the _aristocracy_. They find it very convenient to live in
a palace free of rent, and as the neighbors are all in the same
condition with themselves, they are not mortified by the fact that they
are dependents of the State. We would call such a place the royal
poor-house. In England, the splendid palace at Hampton Court, which
Cromwell built and gave to his king for fear he would take it without,
is used for decayed families of the British aristocracy, who live
genteelly in kings’ houses at very little expense.
Denmark is not one of the _great_ countries of the earth, but very far
from being _least_ among the kingdoms. It has a history, and a future
too, civilization, religion, science, art, and enterprise. It made a
fine show at Paris in the World’s Industrial Exhibition, and has no
reason to be ashamed of her agriculture, manufactures, and _fish_. I was
surprised to notice in the fields so many of the productions common in
the northern States of America. A kitchen garden looked homelike, with
its pease and beans and cabbage and potatoes and turnips, and all the
ordinary vegetables cultivated in the same way with our own; and the
crops on the broader farms, wheat and rye and oats; so that the
children, playing the games of the country and singing as they played,
were doubtless familiar with the farmers’ song,—
“Oats, pease, beans, and barley grow.”
Let us study the history of Denmark for a moment. Time was when Denmark
was the ruling power in Scandinavia, which name includes her and Norway
and Sweden. Time was when Denmark conquered all England, and Sweyn I.,
the king of Denmark, was on the throne that the Georges and Victoria
have since filled. Canute the Great was also king of Denmark and
England, and a line of kings after him swayed the same double sceptre.
This was when the Christian era was in the 1000’s, and perhaps Denmark
has never had a more illustrious period of history than in the first
part of the eleventh century. Then England and all the north, with part
of Prussia, were under her crown.
She fell. And not by the superior prowess of any rival foreign prince,
but through the treachery and violence of one of her own subjects. Those
were turbulent times doubtless, and it is wonderful that the mighty
monarch of such a kingdom could be seized, as Valdemar II. was (by one
of his own subjects) while he and his son were hunting in the woods,
carried on board a sloop and off to a foreign castle and immured in
prison for three years. The proudest king in Europe was thus insulted
and bearded and degraded, while Europe looked on without raising a hand
to deliver him. At length the Pope threatened, and one word from him did
what the kings of the earth could not. Valdemar was released and
restored, but his prestige was destroyed and he never recovered from the
effects of his fall. Provinces revolted and became independent. England
set up for herself again. In 1387, Queen Margaret came to the throne of
Denmark and Norway, and subdued Sweden. For a hundred years the three
Scandinavian countries were under the same government. In 1448, the king
of Denmark died, and for a whole century no male heir was left by any
sovereign for the throne. Then the German dynasty came in, and the Duchy
of Schleswig was united with Holstein, which was annexed to Denmark
under Christian I. _There_ begins that Schleswig-Holstein question,
which bothered Europe and has plunged the country into war even in our
day. The very next king, Christian II., lost Sweden; and then Denmark
became a little monarchy, all by itself, which you will find embracing a
peninsula and several islands on the north-west coast of Europe.
England and Denmark have been good friends notwithstanding the
unpleasant relations that once existed. Three or four times the royal
families have intermarried, and the Prince of Wales of the present day
depends far more on the popularity in England of his Danish wife, than
on any merits of his own for his future success on the British throne.
These pleasant relations were disturbed in the early part of the present
century when the British destroyed the Danish fleet and commerce; and,
since that time, Denmark has cultivated the arts of peace, making for
herself a name better than the glory of arms or extent of territory.
Christianity fought with paganism in Denmark during the eighth and ninth
centuries; and, after a terrible struggle, triumphed over Thor and Odin,
whose superstitious power is still felt in the minds of the more
ignorant of the people. Then the Romish religion reigned, until the
Luther reformation came with healing in its beams, and Protestantism
became the religion of Denmark. The Lutheran form of worship is
established, but, under the constitution, toleration is enjoyed.
In no one department of public interest have I been more pleased to be
disappointed, than in the general intelligence prevailing among the
people of these northern countries of Europe. They are Protestants, and,
therefore, knowledge is diffused; the people wishing it, and the
government encouraging it. No Roman Catholic government favors free
schools and the universal elevation of the people. The Danes have a
school in every parish, and every child is obliged to go to school and
learn to read and write. There are higher grades of schools in all the
towns, and two universities,—one at Copenhagen and one at Kiel. Thus the
means of education being brought within the reach of the humblest, the
whole country is enlightened.
[Illustration: A DOMESTIC SCENE IN DENMARK.]
The women are good-looking, and in this matter there are national
peculiarities worth noticing. At a fair or public entertainment, where
men and women of the working classes are brought together in great
numbers, the women of Denmark will be pronounced above the average for
good looks, and, perhaps, the same thing would not be said of the men.
Copenhagen is the capital of Denmark, and the capital of Copenhagen is
Thorvaldsen’s Museum. Copenhagen has other and many attractions, but
this museum is _the_ crown and glory of Denmark. Art has her victories,
and those of war are not so enduring in their glory as the fruits of
genius and peace. Here in this ancient and beautiful city, in 1770,—a
hundred years, save one, ago,—was born Albert Thorvaldsen, the son of an
Iceland ship-carpenter. Poor, obscure, and friendless, but inspired with
the genius of his future art, the boy made his own way to Rome. He found
employment in the studio of Canova, and his talents soon commanded
respect. But he lacked the aid of a patron and friend, and he was about
to abandon Italy in despair, when an English banker, by the auspicious
name of _Hope_, appreciated the artist, ordered a marble statue of
JASON, which was standing in the clay, and from that glad hour his
career was onward and brilliant, till he attained wealth and fame
unsurpassed by any sculptor of ancient or modern times. He loved his
native Scandinavian climes, and often visited the city of his birth,
which he enriched with the noblest creations of his marvellous hand. But
he dwelt in Rome, unmarried, save to his art; and when he returned, at
the age of sixty-eight, to Copenhagen, he was received as a conqueror,
was domiciled in the palace, and, six years afterwards, died in the
midst of the lamentations of the people, who loved him and whom he
loved.
[Illustration: FAÇADE OF THE THORVALDSEN MUSEUM, COPENHAGEN.]
As he made the people the heir of his glorious works—in large part the
models of the statuary he had executed for kings and nations and wealthy
individuals—it was resolved to erect a monument to his name, which
should be at once a museum of his creations and a mausoleum for his
remains. In the midst of the city, and on an open square, a building—a
vast parallelogram with a court-yard in the centre of it—has been
reared; the successive stories filled with the productions of the genius
of this one man, including the minutest specimens, up to the model of
his “Christ,” the highest achievement of his, not to say of human, art.
In the midst of the little court-yard, surrounded on its four sides by
the walls of this museum, so that every window on the inner side looks
down into the court, there lie in solemn and sublime repose the ashes
and bones of the man who made all these things! It is silent; but oh!
how eloquent the lesson of the greatness and the vanity of genius! It is
something, it is a grand thing, to have made all these marbles for the
joy and instruction of mankind; and it is sweet to die with the
consciousness of leaving for after generations the works that shall
teach them lessons of virtue and strength and beauty. But to die and
leave them all! To lie and moulder in the midst of them! To be rotting
while even the clay that one’s fingers moulded into life-like shapes is
admired—this makes the cup of life an insipid draught, and the wise man
cries it is vanity, all vanity, after all. Yet not so vain after all! No
man liveth unto himself; and one would gladly take the pay that a good,
great man gets, who adds to the material wealth of the world the
glorious creations of art for all time to come, and then dies in the
midst of them. It is more also to be useful than to be great; and he who
lives to make others happy, though not an artist in stone or oil, lives
to a noble purpose, and his mausoleum is in the hearts made glad by his
kindness while he lived.
On the outside of this museum the walls are covered with fresco
paintings illustrating the mechanical processes by which the statuary
was brought to its place. This is the antique Grecian, and even
Egyptian, idea of celebrating an historical event. It might be called
Thorvaldsen’s triumph. Within the frieze of the grand hall is the
triumph of Alexander the Great. The Hall of Christ contains the casts of
the Saviour and all his disciples—that wondrous group which in marble
illuminates the chief church in Copenhagen. And as we ascend from floor
to floor, and pass through successive chambers—all of them filled with
the handiwork of the same great artist who sleeps in sight of every
window—one is filled with admiring awe, while charmed with the beauty of
the design and execution. Beauty is not the word, though much here is
very beautiful. Thorvaldsen was one of the first to appreciate and
encourage our own sculptor Powers, whose works are more _beautiful_ than
the Dane’s. Strength, majesty, power—these are the attributes that cover
as with a garment the face, the head, the limbs of the heroes whom
Thorvaldsen by his magic chisel turned into stone. The divine is
revealed in his conception of the Redeemer of men. The god-like is in
Moses and Peter and John the Baptist; and his ancient heroes are
inspired with a sentiment that is easily drawn from the mythology of
Scandinavia, in which the worship of Thor and Odin seems to be
incorporated ineffaceably.
[Illustration: PORTRAIT OF THORVALDSEN. (_By Horace Vernet._)]
Away in the farthest corner of the museum is a collection of gems and
bronzes and vases and coins and antique sculpture, which his taste and
money had gathered in Italy. Here is the furniture of his sitting-room
as it was the day he died, and here is a cast of LUTHER, which on that
day of his death he had begun to work! Here are sketches he had made
with pen and pencil, the dawn of his gigantic conceptions, afterwards
made perfect in marble—now interesting as the outlines we have of the
first thoughts of Raphael and Michael Angelo and others on their
immortal works!
Never was an artist so honored by his countrymen; never was one’s fame
more precious in the memory of his fellow-men. And I may easily convey
to you an impression of the reverence in which he is held by saying that
THORVALDSEN is to-day in Denmark what in our country is the name of
WASHINGTON.
VOR FRUE KIRKE, the _Notre Dame_, the Church of our Lady, is the royal
church—the Cathedral of Copenhagen.
I worshipped there yesterday; and of all the days in the year, and of
all the churches in Europe, not one could have been selected more
crowded with interest to a traveller whose tastes flow in the channels
of religion and art.
For as I came to it there were standing on one side of the portal a
statue of David, and on the other one of Moses, in bronze, both of them
by the hand of Thorvaldsen, and sublime with the inspiration of his
power. I stood a few moments before them, and thought of the royal poet
and the inspired law-giver, and wondered at the art which could embody
and express their spirit and mission with such silent eloquence. And
then I entered the church itself, and it was all ablaze, not with five
thousand candles, as I had seen at St. Peter’s at noonday, not with
flaring gaslights, nor even the glorious sunlight alone, but with the
greatest of modern statues, the CHRIST in marble, standing over the
altar, and the twelve apostles, six on one hand and six on the other,
along the sides of the house (Paul being put in the place of Iscariot),
and all by the hand of the same master. Thorvaldsen chose this sanctuary
as the place to be made beautiful and glorious with his works,—his
triumphs. The SAVIOUR is represented with extended arms, as if he were
saying the sweetest of all his words, “Come unto me,” and on the face of
his disciples rests the expression that sacred art might desire to
present as characteristic of each one of the chosen group. In the middle
of the chancel a marble angel, of loveliness unspeakable, is kneeling
and holding in his hands a shell, which is the font for baptism. Copies
of this are multiplied till the world is familiar with it. Near the door
is a group representing a child walking with his face heavenward, and an
angel follows, pointing with his finger over the child’s head. And on
the other side of the door is a Mother’s Love in marble.
Those who worship here from day to day become familiar with all this
sculpture, and are not distracted, if they are not aided by the beauty
and the majesty of such a wealth of art. But a stranger within the
gates, for a morning only, seeing it all at once for the first and the
last time, would find it difficult to withdraw his soul from the marble
and contemplate for an hour the unseen and eternal. And this would be
more difficult when the worshipper is unable to understand a word of the
service.
The church was full of people, going out and coming in, as in Romish
churches. The officiating minister had on a white robe, ruffles, and red
mantle, with a broad gilt cross on his back. He stood before the altar,
on which was an image of the crucifixion, and two candles four feet
high, and burning. After a brief service and sermon, he administered the
sacrament of the Lord’s supper to a few who remained to receive it,
kneeling; he gave them the bread, with a few words to each, and an
assistant followed, putting the cup to the lips of the communicant. The
formalities of the ceremony, the tones of the priest, the
tergiversations, the responses of the choir, &c., were similar to the
forms in use in the Church of Rome.
When this sacrament was concluded, I was about leaving the house, which
was now nearly deserted, when I noticed something going on in the
chancel. Twenty mothers, each with a babe in her arms, and a female
attendant, entered and arranged themselves in a large circle around the
kneeling marble angel holding the baptismal font. Twenty women, twenty
babes, twenty female friends, not nurses, but god-mothers; not a man
appeared. It was a beautiful spectacle; perhaps it would be impossible
to invent a more lovely tableaux. The mothers, the infants, the friends,
all clothed in white, all before the altar in a circle, in the midst of
which was this white angel kneeling, and above the whole the finest
statue on earth of Jesus, with open arms, as when he said, “Suffer
little children to come unto me.”
The priest read a form of baptism, and then, passing around the circle,
made the sign of the cross on the face of each child; he then read
again; again he went to each child, and laid his hand upon its head as
if in blessing: then he read again. The service was now so protracted
that the mothers were allowed to sit down, and then, one by one, each
came up with the attendant, and, the cap being removed, the babe was
held over the font, the priest took water and poured it three times from
his hand upon the head of the child, pronouncing its name and that of
the Triune God.
This being concluded, and as I was coming out of the church, a carriage
arrived with an elegantly dressed lady and her attendant with a babe, to
be baptized after the people of the humbler class had received the
sacrament. Alas! I said to myself, is aristocracy in religion the same
everywhere?—and cannot the noble of this world be humble before God? So
I would not return to the baptism of this “better born” infant, but went
on my way praying that all alike might be washed in the blood of Christ,
and made children of the kingdom.
It will surprise you—it certainly did me—to find that the people of
these northern countries of Europe give far more time to mere amusements
than the Americans do. I was struck with this on coming to Sweden, and
saw something of it, but not so much in Norway; and here in Copenhagen
they are as much given to it as the Athenians were to news.
Perhaps the French and Italians are more disposed to make themselves
merry in crowds. But on recalling the habits of the masses as they are
seen in public places in Paris and Florence, I think that I was never in
any city in the world where so many people in proportion to the whole
number go from home to be amused. On the outskirts of the city—but not
so far away as to be difficult of access—there are large gardens, so
called, laid off with walks and shrubbery and fountains, and in the
midst are all sorts of spectacular games and plays, combining in one
enclosure theatre, circus, gymnastics, music and dancing, concerts,
orations, and whatever is usually found scattered in different parts of
a city, and to be visited only after paying a fee for each admission. To
enter this garden—for one is a type of many—you pay about ten cents, and
that gives you the _entrée_ to nearly all the shows. The theatre may
charge another trifling fee, but the one admission makes all these
amusements open to the visitor. Around every stage are little tables and
chairs, and refreshments are served, if you choose to call for them, at
an extra charge. To such places as this thousands upon thousands of
respectable people resort night after night, usually coming _before
dark_, for the days are long and nights short; men bring their wives and
children, and take their evening meal together in little stalls provided
for the purpose, and go home in good season. This is their refreshment
after a day of toil, and it is not unlikely that it helps them to bear
with patience the burdens of a working life.
These gardens are the _institutions_ of Copenhagen, for the
entertainment of the people. They are _cheap_, so as to be within the
reach of all; and they are _cheap_, as one of the proprietors told me,
because _low prices_ bring more money than high. Doubtless there are
other and more intellectual enjoyments provided for those who prefer
them; but when you consider the enormous expense incurred to fit up and
furnish every night such entertainments as these, you see it requires
the attendance of many thousands, at the insignificant charge, to make
them pay at all.
On certain days, the Royal Picture Galleries and Thorvaldsen’s Museum
are thrown open to the people, and the throngs of working people,
evidently in very humble life, as their dress and manner indicate, who
pack the halls and rooms, show that the people have also a taste for
something higher and better than plays. Something might be said of the
effect of so much amusement upon the morals of the masses; but it is not
safe for a transient visitor to speak with certainty of any thing but
what he actually sees as he goes along. To me it is a pleasant, and only
a pleasant reflection, that the people in these northern countries, who
do not accomplish much beyond making a decent subsistence from year to
year, find both time and money to spend in amusements that are not in
themselves as demoralizing as the sensual and intoxicating pleasures
which so many of our own poor pursue to their ruin.
You would have to go far and search long before you would find a more
interesting museum than that of NORTHERN ANTIQUITIES, which occupies
part of the Christiansborg Palace. This northern country abounds in
curious relics of past ages, defunct systems of religious worship, modes
of warfare now wholly unknown; and by law all these remains, wherever
found, belong to the crown. In every parish in Denmark the minister is
made the agent of government, to have every thing discovered, and that
promises to be of any interest, sent to the museum, where a fair price
is paid for it to the finder.
There is scarcely an end to the number and variety of these curious
objects, illustrating the manners and customs of the long-buried past.
Weapons of war form the most conspicuous feature of such an exhibition,
and stone is the material from which the most formidable are made; clubs
and axes, arrow-heads of flint, chisels and knives most singularly and
beautifully wrought; urns from ancient sepulchres, with bones of other
animals than human, are here; and tradition tells us that the old Norse
heroes were buried with their dogs and horses, to bear them company in
the world of spirits. It is hard to say what part in the funeral rites
_a sieve_ could perform, but it is often found in the ancient tombs.
The Runic monuments are the most remarkable objects in the collection;
and the one that has excited the closest scrutiny came from Greenland,
in latitude 73, and is said to bear a date 1135.
Among the fire-arms of the earliest years of their use, we have old
cannons to be loaded at the breech, and guns on the revolving principle,
though we have been in the habit of thinking that both of these are
inventions of our own times.
Besides these collections, there is the Royal Arsenal, and the Museum of
Natural History, and the Royal Museum, and many others, which are but
the repetition and extension of these and like objects of
interest,—interesting, indeed, to look at for a few hours, tiresome
after a while; and I will not weary you with the details.
Setting off by rail from Copenhagen to Hamburg, I encountered a
gentleman who claimed to be a countryman of mine, because he hailed from
South America. He was German born, in England bred, and he went to
Uruguay, S. A., where he had been twenty-four years in business. He was
now travelling with his family in the North of Europe. He was a
shipping-merchant, and vessels in which he was interested come from
Hamburg and Havre and England with furniture, tin-ware, and a thousand
manufactured articles, and carry away hides, tallow, and so forth. It
was easy to see that he had an eye to business in the midst of his
pleasure travel, and that he was learning what wants of the North of
Europe could be supplied from the South of America. My conversation with
him developed the beautiful relations of the different parts of the
earth to each other: the climate, the soil, the position of one country
supplementing another, and showing that no country “liveth unto itself”
any more than a man lives to himself. There is a thorough mutual
dependence running through society and the whole world.
[Illustration: HAMBURG.]
Our rail ride was across the island of Zealand—flat, poor, wet, cold
soil; the peasants’ houses were low, of stone, and thatched. The windows
were so few and small, they must be ill ventilated, and probably
unwholesome. Mustard was growing in large quantities, fields of rye were
fair, and grass was looking well. Cattle abounded in the meadows,—not on
the hills, for those were not in sight.
At ten o’clock at night, and while it was yet light, we reached the
steamer at Corseow. It was a large, commodious, and well-furnished
vessel, excepting that it had no state-rooms. The berths were good, but
were all in one open cabin. The decks were crowded with
live-stock,—pigs, calves, cows,—whose squeals, bleating, and moaning
were to be our serenade till the morning light. A bountiful supper was
served,—tea and coffee, meats, eggs, &c.,—and the charge for the whole
was twenty-seven cents! And this being over, I spent the livelong night
fighting, not wild beasts, nor the tame ones overhead, but those
pestering fleas, which seem to be one of the pet annoyances of the
travelling world.
We arrived at Kiel very early in the morning, and went ashore through
mud and rain; and the only way to ride was on the outside of an omnibus,
to the railroad station. This is a famous seaport, and like all other
seaports, so that Kiel will not have a sketch. We make no stay, but by
rail set off for Hamburg. Wheat and rye and buckwheat cover the fields.
Little Indian corn is raised in these countries, where the soil and
climate are as well suited to it as parts of our country where it
flourishes. The gardens are filled with the same vegetables as our
own,—potatoes, pease, beans, lettuce, radishes, beets, carrots,
cauliflower, cabbage,—making it pleasant to know that the good things at
home are just as abundant here. The flowers, too,—roses and lilies and
lilacs, others wild, and cultivated,—make the wayside and the
court-yards of the humble dwellings smile. All the fields of grass and
grain are ridged, and a ditch is made about every twenty feet for a
drain. Small tiles are used for underground draining. Few evidences
appear of high cultivation; very little attention is paid to scientific
preparation of manures, which might greatly enhance the value of the
land.
At Elmshorn,—a very pretty village where we stopped a few moments, and
large numbers of people gathered about the train, as if they were quite
at leisure,—old women brought baskets of strawberries and cherries to
the cars for sale; as large and of as fine a flavor, and of such
varieties as were quite familiar to the eye and taste.
The train moves slowly on, and the spires of Hamburg appear in the
distance. We are now fairly out of Scandinavia. With hearts full of
thanksgiving to Him who has safely led us through our journey, we turn
away from the land of Odin and Thor, and in a few weeks are
[Illustration: HOME AGAIN.]
Cambridge: Stereotyped and Printed by John Wilson and Son.
* * * * * *
Transcriber’s note:
This book uses inconsistent spelling and hyphenation, which were
retained in the ebook version. Some corrections have been made to the
text, including adjusting spelling in the table of contents to match the
main text and normalizing punctuation.
Further corrections are noted below:
p. 62: in it the first mass was celebrated in 1805 -> in it the first
mass was celebrated in 1085
p. 179: and the ablity of the organist -> and the ability of the
organist
p. 230: to wear only on funeral occasious -> to wear only on funeral
occasions
p. 265: Order and quiet are my chracteristics -> Order and quiet are my
characteristics
p. 289: vast quantites of charcoal -> vast quantities of charcoal
p. 323: poured out their grateful ackowledgments -> poured out their
grateful acknowledgments
p. 400: fifty rix dollars, or about twelve American -> fifty-six
dollars, or about twelve American
p. 447: followed by eggs, carviar, beefsteaks -> followed by eggs,
caviar, beefsteaks
p. 470: Copenhagen has other and many attactions -> Copenhagen has other
and many attractions
p. 476: Suffer little little children to come -> Suffer little children
to come
The cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the
public domain.