Friday, June 29th.
It has been frightfully hot all day. I stayed at home all the morning. W. and Richard went off early to the Museum. I had a visit from Kergorlay. He has an interesting face, is a widower, poor fellow, with four children, one boy of two and a half. They say he is so devoted to the children. I told him I should like to see them, and he will send them—at any rate we shall see them to-morrow night, as we dine at the Legation. Richard came back to breakfast. He said it was cool enough in the Museum, and we started off for the Thorwaldsen Gallery. Of course some of the statues and has reliefs are very fine, but they are enormous, almost more than life size. We went on to the Frauen Kirche to see his statues of the 12 Apostles which are there. They were strangely familiar. We must have seen them reproduced in plaster at home. Both St. Peter and St. John I knew quite well, and didn't like them much. While we were loitering about the church the suisse told us a wedding was just going to take place, it might perhaps amuse us to see it, so we stepped into one of the side aisles and saw the cortége. The bride was the regulation white-veiled figure, I think she had a green wreath (it may have been myrtle like the German brides), the man was in uniform. What was really interesting was the dress of the two pastors. They wore black coats with white ruffles, just as they did in Luther's time. That reconciled me a little to this very uninteresting town.
It was still very warm, but we did a little shopping, photographs and one or two trifles. Richard leaves to-night at 7.30, and we shall dine early with him. He is to stop a day or two with Mary at Meiningen, pick up his mother who is there, and bring her back to France. Mary wanted us to come, and I wish we could have managed it. It would have been nice to have been there all together, and they would have enjoyed hearing all our impressions while they were so absolutely fresh, particularly Charles, who leads a very quiet life now ever since his accident at the Quai d'Orsay. It is extraordinary how the last thing seen remains in one's memory. Already Moscow and that splendid pageant is fading a little, and I see Stockholm, and the green islands, and the dancing river.
Saturday, June 30th.
It is still frightfully hot—not a breath of air. I have made as much of a draught as I can by opening the door into the passage. It isn't very convenient, as we are just at the head of the big staircase, but I have put a high-backed arm-chair between me and the passers by. It was really very warm until 11 o'clock last night. We dined downstairs with Richard, and were very sorry to see him go. Then we went to Mrs. Baldwin (the Admiral had gone off for two days) to ask her if she would drive with us. We made the usual turn, the only variety being our tea place—we take a new one every time. The gérant of the hotel explains to the coachman where to go, and he chooses very well. It was lovely driving, and so cool on the top of the cliff that we walked about a little after tea. There is always a long, clear evening, not like Russia, but still very pleasant and pretty, such a soft light over everything. The moment we turned away from the sea back into the town we felt the difference, but the long drive had cooled us. I have asked for my breakfast upstairs in the salon. I really can't dress and sit in that hot room in this weather. W. is at the Museum, but comes back at 4 with the Director, who is to show us some of the treasures of the town. I am getting on very well here with "La Guerre et la Paix," as I am not distracted all the time as I was at Stockholm. I think you would like it, the Russian side of Napoleon's great campaign is so interesting, also the pictures of the society of Moscow at that time, which they say is extremely well done.
W. came in about 4, not very warm, as he says the rooms of the Museum are cool, with such thick walls, and while we were waiting for Monsieur Warsoe, the Directeur, Mr. Vivian, English Minister, paid us a visit. He is very anxious we should come and see them at Elsinore, says it is most interesting (all memories of Hamlet). I should like it extremely, but W. thinks we must get home. I liked Vivian very much. He talked very easily about everything—he is going to dine with us at Kergorlay's, says all the colleagues are most anxious to hear about the Coronation. M. Warsoe appeared about 4.30 and we drove at once to Rosenburg, an old château where there is a fine collection of all sorts of things. Some of the Danish porcelain was lovely, also some fine tapestries. They showed us with much pride their trésor, jewels, and gold and silver services, but really after Moscow and the quantities of gold, silver, enamel, crowns, and jewels of all sorts that one had seen the others made no effect, though of course there were some handsome stones, rubies. What I did like was the 4 lions (couchant) of massive silver, which are always put at each side of the throne whenever there is a great ceremony at Court. They must look splendid.
We went again to the Frauen Kirche, as W. had not seen it, and the second time I liked the Apostles better, a little better. I think it was too hot, and I was too tired when I was there before. We drove out to an old bridge, which was curious, and in some old street where I had never penetrated. The trams worry me, they are so frightfully civilized and up-to-date, however they were crowded, so evidently the Danes are not of my way of thinking.
Our dinner at Kergorlay's was very pleasant and handsome. Adelaïde was again frightfully put out at my garment, and she is right, it is really a street dress, and this time there are several women. I don't know why I didn't keep out one evening dress. It was rather stupid to send everything back. However, I made my excuses to the ladies, and said I was "en touriste." They were all very élégantes, though they were all already settled in the country, and went off about 10 o'clock by the last train. Kergorlay's children came in before dinner. The eldest girl is 10, and the baby two and a half. It was so pathetic to see them in their white dresses and black sashes and to think whom the mourning was for. The dinner was very gay. We had Count and Countess Toll (he is Russian Minister here, and a brother of Countess Pahlen), Marochetti (Italian Minister) and his wife (a Frenchwoman, née Grandval), Vivian (she didn't come, was in the country and rather exhausted with the great heat), General and Madame Appert, and two secretaries. Count Toll was very keen to hear all about Moscow, and what we thought of the great show (he speaks English quite well). I told him we were enchanted, and that one of the great features was Comte Pahlen with his velvet coat and white staff of office with a big sapphire at the top. He certainly took no end of trouble, and looked his part very well. They all seem to like Copenhagen pretty well, except for the climate, which seems most trying. Countess Toll was in white with handsome pearls. I felt rather like a pensionnaire in my simple little dress—foolish, too; I ought to have known better.
We got home quite early, so I can still have a little Tolstoy before I go to bed. Adelaïde instantly inquired what the other ladies had on and was much put out. "C'était Madame l'Ambassadrice qui était le plus mal"—"oh! cela oui, et de beaucoup." I suppose it reflects upon the femme de chambre when the mistress is not up to the mark.
Sunday, July 1st.