During the winter 1865-66, I met Dannevig frequently at clubs, student
festivals, and social gatherings, and his melodious voice, his
epigrammatic talk, and his beauty never failed to extort from me a
certain amount of reluctant admiration. I could not help noticing,
however, that his charming qualities were all very much on the
surface, and as for his beauty, it was of a purely physical kind. As a
mere animal he could not have been finer. His eyes were as pure and
blue and irresponsible as a pair of spring violets, and his face was
as clean-cut and perfect as an ideal Greek mask, and as devoid of
spiritual meaning. His animation was charmingly heedless and genuine,
but nevertheless was mere surface glitter and never seemed to be the
expression of any really strong and heartfelt emotion. I could well
imagine him pouting like Achilles over the loss of a lovely Briseis
and bursting into vituperative language at the sight of the robber;
but the very moment Briseis was restored his wrath would as suddenly
have given way to the absolute bliss of possession.
The evening before my final departure from Copenhagen he gave a little
party for me at his apartments, at which a dozen or more of our
friends were invited.
I must admit that he was an admirable host. Without appearing at all
to exert himself, he made every one feel at his ease, filled up every
gap in the conversation with some droll anecdote or personal
reminiscence, and still contrived to make us all imagine that we were
entertaining instead of being entertained. The supper was a miracle of
culinary skill, and the wines had a most refined and aristocratic
flavor. He ate and drank with the deliberation and relish of a man
who, without being exactly a gourmand, nevertheless counted the art of
dining among the fine arts, and prided himself on being something of a
connoisseur. Nothing, I suppose, could have ruined me more hopelessly
in his estimation than if I had betrayed unfamiliarity with table
etiquette,--if, for instance, I poured Rhine wine into the white
glasses, or sherry or Madeira into the blue.
As the hours of the night advanced, Dannevig's brilliancy rose to an
almost dangerous height, which, as it appeared to us, could end in
nothing short of an explosion. And the explosion came at last in the
shape of a speech which I shall quote as nearly as the long lapse of
years will permit.
After some mysterious pantomimic play directed toward a singularly
noiseless and soft-mannered butler, our host arose, assumed an
attitude as if he were about to address the universe, and spoke as
follows:
"Gentlemen! As our distinguished friend here (all Americans, as you
are aware, are born sovereigns and accordingly distinguished) is about
to leave us, the spirit moves me to give voice to the feeling which
animates us all at this peculiar juncture of events." (Here the butler
returned with two bottles, which Dannevig seized and held up for
general inspection.) "Bravo! here I hold in my hand a rare and potent
juice, the condensed essence of all that is rich and fair and sweet in
the history, character, and climate of _la belle France_, a juice for
which the mouths of princes have often watered in vain--in short a
bottle of Chateau Yquem. I have my reasons for plucking the fairest
bloom of my cellar on an occasion like this: for what I am about to
say is not entirely in the nature of a compliment, and the genial
influence of this royal wine will be needed to counteract the possible
effects of my speech. In other words, I want the goodness of my wine
to compensate for the rudeness of my intended remarks.
"America has never until now had the benefit of my opinion of her,
which may in part account for the crudeness of her present condition.
Now she has sent a competent emissary to us, who will return and
faithfully report my sentiments, and if he does his work well, you may
be prepared for revolutions beyond the Atlantic in decades to come. To
begin with the beginning: the American continent, extending as it does
from pole to pole, with a curious attenuation in the middle, always
looked to me in my boyhood as a huge double bag flung across the back
of the world; the symbolic sense of this form was not then entirely
clear to me; but now, I think, I divine its meaning. As the centuries
with their changing civilizations rolled over Europe, it became
apparent to the Almighty that a spacious lumber-room was needed, where
all the superfluous odds and ends that no longer fitted to the changed
order of things might be stowed away for safe-keeping. Now, as you
will frequently in a lumber-room, amid a deal of absolute dross,
stumble upon an object of rare and curious value, so also in America
you may, among heaps of human trumpery, be startled by the sparkle of
a genuine human jewel. Our friend here, I need not add, is such a
jewel, though cut according to the fashion of the last century, when
men went wild over liberty and other illusory ideals and when, after
having exhausted all the tamer kinds of dissipation, they amused
themselves by cutting each other's heads off. Far be it from me to
impute any such truculent taste to my honored guest. I only wish to
observe that the land from which he hails has not yet outlived the
revolutionary heresies of a century ago, that his people is still
afflicted with those crude fever fantasies, of which Europe was only
cured by a severe and prolonged bleeding. It has always been a
perplexing problem to me, how a man who has seen the Old World can
deliberately choose such a land as his permanent abode. I, for my
part, should never think of taking such a step until I had quarrelled
with all the other countries of the world, one by one, and as life is
too short for such an experience, I never expect to claim the
hospitality of Brother Jonathan under his own roof.
"As regards South America, I never could detect its use in the cosmic
economy, unless it was flung down there in the southern hemisphere
purely as ballast, to prevent the globe from upsetting.
"Now, the moral of these edifying remarks is that I would urge my
guest to correct, as soon as possible, the mistake he made in the
choice of his birthplace. As a man never can be too circumspect in
the selection of his parents, so neither can he exercise too much
caution in the choice of his country. My last word to thee is: 'Fold
thy tent, and pitch it again where mankind, politics and cookery are
in a more advanced state of development.' Friends, let us drink to the
health of our guest, and wish for his speedy return."
I replied with, perhaps, some superfluous ardor to this supercilious
speech, and a very hot discussion ensued. When the company finally
broke up, Dannevig, fearing that he had offended me, laid his arm
confidentially on my shoulder, drew me back from the door, and pushed
me gently into an easy-chair.
"Look here!" he said, planting himself in front of me. "It will never
do for you and me to part, except as friends. I did not mean to
patronize you, and if my foolish speech impressed you in that way, I
beg you to forgive me."
He held out his long, beautiful hand, which after some hesitation I
grasped, and peace was concluded.
"Take another cigar," he continued, throwing himself down on a
damask-covered lounge opposite me. "I am in a confiding mood to-night,
and should like to tell you something. I feel an absolute need to
unbosom myself, and Fate points to you as the only safe receptacle of
my confidence. After to-morrow, the Atlantic will be between us, and
if my secret should prove too explosive for your reticence, your
indiscretion will do me no harm. Listen, then. You have probably heard
the town gossip connecting my name with that of the Countess von
Brehm."