On the Fourth of July Howard wished to give the peasants in the
neighborhood an entertainment to celebrate his country's "glorious
Fourth." He hoped to inspire them with due enthusiasm and give them a
good day's sport.
The Danish peasant's idea of amusement is to walk leisurely to the
place of rendezvous, to sit quietly and rest from his week's hard work,
eat plenty of Smörrebrod (sandwiches), drink barrels of beer, have
tobacco _ad libitum_, and finally to leave as lazily as he came.
This feast was going to be otherwise. Everything was to be done _à
l'Américaine_. The Fourth fell on a Sunday, and the farmers all
accepted and came on the stroke of the clock, dressed in their
Sunday-best clothes, which are of heavy broadcloth, made in the fashion
of Louis Philippe, voluminous over the hips, thick, heavy-soled boots,
and with long snake-like pipes hanging from their mouths.
Howard had arranged all sorts of _gymkhana_ sports, for which prizes
were to be given. There were to be the long jump, the high jump, a
running-race, catching the greased pig, pole-climbing, a race in a bag,
and so forth.
"They shall have a high old time," said Howard.
Their dismay only equaled their astonishment when they were told what
was expected of them. What! Jump, run, and be tied up in bags and climb
poles? Was this the way that they were going to amuse themselves on
this hot day? Were soiling their clothes, perspiring, and suffering
tortures in their tight boots the delightful, reposeful feast they had
been invited to? Their inborn politeness would not allow them to do
otherwise than obey the wishes of their host. They tried their best to
perform the feats put down on the program.
Their week's work of mowing, cutting trees, plowing, threshing, and the
different things belonging to a farmer's life seemed child's play
compared with this so-called enjoyment.
They did not understand why they got prizes for deeds they had not
done, and received the box of cigars or silver mug with unperturbed
serenity.
Consternation and resignation were the only expressions on their faces.
Neither did they understand when they were told to cry "Hurrah!" and
wave their hats after Howard should finish his oration. That he made
standing on a table. He expatiated on the beauty of liberty and the
soul-inspiring feeling of independence, and became quite eloquent. They
cheered in a spiritless and cheerless manner. For them liberty was a
high-sounding word which meant nothing. An enlightened government
provided them with all they needed. Why have the bother to choose your
doctor or your priest when all that is done for you? Only to pay taxes.
Can anything be more simple?
The games H. tried to teach them were not successful. They stood in a
circle and were told (Howard rubbed his hands in a dainty manner) that
"this is the way we wash our clothes." This did not appeal to them;
they knew too well how they washed theirs, and they saw no fun in
imitating such every-day affairs as washing and ironing.
Every way "we did" things had to be explained at length and translated
into Danish. And the most inexplicable of all the games was "Oranges
and lemons." When they were asked if they wanted oranges or lemons;
they all answered, truthfully and conscientiously, "Oranges." Who in
his senses would prefer a sour lemon to a juicy orange? The result was
that the battle was very one-sided--all oranges and only one lemon.
The dance was also rather dismal. The musicians played some national
waltzes, and the guests shuffled about on the sanded floor, treading a
slow measure and on one another's toes; the women held on to their
partners by their shoulders, and the men clutched the women round their
bulky waists. However, they all kept the measure, and some of the men
really danced quite well.
The _finale_ was the fireworks. It ought to have been a grand display,
but the rockets were damp, the "wheels," which ought to have wheeled up
in the air, merely whizzed on the ground and seemed to make for the
nearest guest in an absolutely vicious manner. All the things that
ought to have gone off stayed and sputtered.
As an entertainment it was a failure. The guests, however, had plenty
to eat and drink, and carried away pockets full of tobacco and cigars,
but it was rather pathetic to see the worn-out and weary farmers
dragging their tired limbs slowly and ponderously down the avenue with
a look of "Why all this?" depicted on their faces.
MONZA, _October 17th_.
After luncheon to-day we went out on the terrace to drink our coffee.
The sun was warm and the air deliciously cool, a typical Italian autumn
day. As we sat there we heard some mysterious noise which came from the
side of the park where the avenue terminates and is divided from the
deer-park by a large iron gate.
Looking down the avenue, we saw a man peering through the bars of the
gate. He had a bear with him. Her Majesty was curious to see them and
ordered the gate unlocked and the man and the bear permitted to enter.
The man was quite young, with soft black eyes and dazzling teeth. He
led the bear by a heavy iron chain passed through a ring in its nose.
The Queen went down the steps and talked with him.
"Will he bite me if I pat him?" she asked.
"No, signora; he is very good" ("_E molto buono_"). He hesitated a
moment, and then said, "Signora, will you tell me which of the ladies
there is the _Regina_?" The Queen was immensely amused, and answered,
"I am the Queen" ("_Son io la Regina_"). The young fellow was quite
overcome, and threw himself on the ground and kissed the hem of her
dress.
"How did you tame the bear?" inquired her Majesty.
He answered in a very agitated voice: "_Maesta_, it was very easy.
Bears are not difficult to tame. One must only be kind and patient."
"You look," said the Queen, "as if _you_ were very kind and patient."
The young Italian passed his hand lovingly over his companion's shaggy
head, and as he looked up at the beautiful and smiling Queen his eyes
filled with tears. "I love him," he said, simply; "he is my only
friend." We, who stood near enough to hear, were trembling on the verge
of weeping. He added, "We never leave each other; we eat and sleep
together, and all I have I share with him."
I saw tears in the Queen's eyes, which she quickly wiped away; and,
turning to the man, she asked, "Can he do any tricks?"
"_Si, maesta_, he can lie on his back and put his paws up in the air
and hum."
This did not seem much of a trick, probably being a bear's customary
attitude.
"Well," said the Queen, "let us see what he can do."
But, although the bear was addressed in terms of tenderest endearment
and although we hoped that he would obey his master and do honor to the
occasion, he did nothing of the kind. On the contrary, instead of lying
down and humming he stood up his full height on his hind legs and began
to waltz, swaying his long, plump body and shaking his thick, brown
fur.
He opened his mouth wide, showing his white teeth and his great red
tongue, and looked as if he were laughing and as if it was the funniest
thing in the world that he was doing.
"He does not seem to be very obedient," smiled her Majesty.
"He is afraid," said the man, trying to make excuses for his pet.
"You must come again," said the Queen, "when your bear is better
trained," and, turning to Signor Borea (her chamberlain), told him to
give the man some money and direct him to the forester's lodge, where
some food should be given to him.
The young Italian's face beamed with joy when he beheld the vast sum
(twenty lire) he had received, and led his disobedient companion away
in disgrace; but the bear, quite unconscious of being in disgrace,
turned his head for a last friendly glance, walked on his hind legs in
his clumsy and swaggering manner, but with a certain dignity, down the
avenue.
The King, who was with us on the terrace, had been a silent witness of
the whole scene, and, not being able to resist the promptings of his
kind heart, followed the couple. We saw him put a gold piece in the
brown palm of the poor fellow, whose "only friend" had failed him on
this unique occasion. He seemed quite overcome by this Danaë-like
shower of gold, and hesitated before taking the piece, thinking,
perhaps, that on this occasion honesty might be the best policy, and
said:
"The Queen has already given me much."
"That does not matter," said the King. "You must take what _I_ give
you. Do you know who I am?"
"No, signor. Are you Garibaldi?"