"It is a pity," he went on to say, "that he has no shield."
"How is that?" I asked. "I thought every one had a shield of some
sort?" To make it clearer to me, he said, uln Danish we call a shield a
_barn_."
"Is he a farmer?" said I, much puzzled.
"Oh dear, no! He is a lawyer like me."
"Then what does he want with a barn?"
"Every couple [pronounced copol] wants _burn_," he replied.
"What is it they want?" I asked. "What do you call _burn_?"
"Burn," he explained, "is _pluriel_ for barn. _Eight_ barn, two
_burn_."
"What?" I cried, "eight barns to burn! Why do they want to burn eight
barns? They must be crazy!"
All this will sound to you as idiotic as it did to me, but you will get
the explanation at the end of the chapter, as I did--on the drive
home--the two hours of which were entirely taken up in laughing at the
mistakes of the good lawyer, who did his best.
Our conversation languished after this. My brain could not bear such a
strain. Suddenly he got up from his chair. I thought that he was going
to take himself and his English away, but after he had quaffed a whole
glass of wine, at one swallow, bowed over it, and pointed his empty
glass at Johan, he resumed his seat, and conversation flowed again.
It seems that Johan had honored him with a friendly nod and an uplifted
glass, which obliged him to arise and acknowledge the compliment.
In Denmark there is a great deal of _skaal_-drinking (_skaal_, in
Danish, means drinking a toast). I think there must be an eleventh
commandment--"Thou shalt not omit to _skaal_." The host drinks with
every one, and every one drinks with every one else. It seems to me to
be rather a cheap way of being amiable, but it looks very friendly and
sociable. When a person of high rank drinks with one of lower the
latter stands while emptying his glass.
When we left the table I did not feel that my Danish had gained much,
and certainly my partner's English had not improved. However, we seemed
to have conversed in a very spirited manner, which must have impressed
the lookers-on with a sense of my partner's talent for languages.
On our return to the _salon_ we found more petroleum-lamps, and the
candelabra lighted to exaggeration with wax candles. The lamp-shades,
which I thought were quite ingenious, were of paper, and contained
dried ferns and even flattened-out butterflies between two sheets of
shiny tissue-paper. The _salon_ had dark walls on which hung a
collection of family portraits. Ladies with puckered mouths and
wasp-like waists had necks adorned with gorgeous pearls, which had
apparently gone to an early grave with their wearers. I saw no similar
ones on the necks of the present generation. After the coffee was
served and a certain time allowed for breathing, the daughter of the
house sat down, without being begged, at an upright piano, and attacked
the "Moonlight Sonata." This seemed to be the signal for the ladies to
bring out their work-bags.
The knitting made a pleasing accompaniment to the moonlight of the
sonata, as if pelicans were gnashing their teeth in the dimness. The
sterner sex made a dash for the various albums and literature on the
round table in the center of the room, and turned the leaves with a
gentle flutter. The sonata was finished in dead silence. As it was
performed by one of the family, no applause was necessary. I was asked
to sing; and, though I do not like to sing after dinner, I consented,
not to be disobliging. Before taking my seat on the revolving
piano-stool I looked with a severe eye at the knitting-needles. The
ladies certainly did try to make less noise, but they went on knitting,
all the same.
The flushed-with-success lawyer, wishing to show his appreciation of my
singing, leaned gracefully across the piano, and said, "_Kammerherrinde_
[that is my title], you sing as if you had a beard in your throat."
"A what?" I gasped. "A beard?"
"Yes! a beautiful beard," and added, with a conscious smile, "I sing
myself."