We were present at a state ball at Christiansborg. On arriving we
passed up a magnificent staircase and went through many large _salons_,
the walls of which were covered with fine tapestries and old Spanish
leather, and a long gallery of beautiful pictures, before we reached
the _salon_ where I belonged according to my rank (every one is placed
according to the rules of the protocol).
Their Majesties entered. The Queen looked dazzlingly brilliant. She
wore all the crown jewels and had some splendid pearls on her neck. The
King looked superb in his uniform. They were followed by the Princess
Thyra (the young and sympathetic Princess with eyes like a gazelle),
and the youngest son, Prince Valdemar.
The Crown Prince and Princess were already there. She also had some
wonderful jewels, inherited, they said, from her mother, who was of the
royal family of Holland.
Their Majesties were very gracious to me. The King even did me the
honor to waltz with me. He dances like a young man of twenty. He went
from one lady to another and gave them each a turn. I was taken to
supper by a person whose duty it was to attend to me--I forget his
name. The King danced the cotillon. You will hardly see that anywhere
else--a gentleman of sixty dancing a cotillon.
The principal street in Copenhagen is Ostergade, where all the best
shops are. It is very narrow. People sometimes stop and hold
conversations across the street, and perambulating nurses, lingering at
the shop windows, hold up the traffic.
There is a very pretty square called Amagertorv, where all the peasant
women assemble, looking very picturesque in their national dresses,
with their little velvet caps embroidered in gold, and their
Quaker-like bonnets with a fichu tied over them. They quite fill up the
square with flowers, fruits, and vegetables, and stand in the open air
by their wares in spite of wind, rain, and weather.
Around the corner, in front of Christiansborg Castle, by the canal,
your nose will inform you that this is the fish-market, where the fish
are brought every morning, wriggling and gasping in the nets in which
they have been caught overnight. It is a very interesting sight to see
all the hundreds of boats in the canal, which runs through the center
of the town.
The other evening there was a large musical _soirée_ given at
Amalienborg. I won't tell you the names of those who were present, as
you would not know them, but they are the most prominent names here.
Their Majesties sat in two gilded arm-chairs, in front of which was a
rug. There was a barytone from the Royal Theater who sang some Danish
songs; then the Princess Thyra and an English lady and I sang the trio
from "Elijah," and a quartette with the barytone. I sang several times
alone. There was an English lady, whose name I do not remember, who
played a solo on the _cornet à piston_. Her face was hidden by her
music, which was on a stand in front of her. After I had sung the
"_Caro Nome_" from "Rigoletto," and the English lady had played her
solo, the deaf Princess Caroline--who, with her ears filled with cotton
and encompassed by her flaxen braids, sat in front--said, in a loud and
penetrating voice, "I like _that_ lady's singing better than the other
one's"--meaning me. Every one laughed. I had never had a _cornet à
piston_ as a rival before.
_March 1, 1878._
Dear Mother,--Our last day here. I lunched at Amalienborg, and was the
only stranger present. The King, who sat next to me, said, "I feel
quite hurt that you have never asked me for my photograph."
"But I have one," I answered, "which I bought. I dare not ask your
Majesty to sign it."
"One must always dare," he answered, smilingly. "May I 'dare' to ask
you to accept one from me?" He got up from the table and left the room,
being absent for a few minutes. When the door opened again we saw the
King standing outside, trying to carry a large picture. His Majesty had
gone up to the room in which the picture hung, and the servant who had
taken it from the wall brought it to the door of the dining-room,
whence the King carried it in himself. The mark of the dusty cord still
showed on his shoulder. It was a life-size portrait of himself painted
in oil.