Cousin-hunting in Scandinavia

by Mary Wilhelmine Williams

My dear Cynthia:

I have looped the loop, as you see—up through Sweden and down through Norway—and am again in Denmark’s capital. The King Haakon left Christiania on schedule time and had what I presume was a representative summer voyage to Copenhagen, a voyage which leads me to wonder what it would be like to make the passage in winter. The Cattegat, the strait separating Sweden from Denmark on the east, is notoriously rough, though; so my experience was not a complete surprise.

By a great streak of good fortune I entirely escaped being sea-sick. The boat sailed at two, and at first I sat on deck and watched the coast of Norway, which for a time we followed quite closely; by three o’clock, however, it seemed that nothing in the way of a view equal to the fiord coast would appear, so I decided that here was a good time to go to bed early and rest up; for I had been constantly on the go in Christiana. And down to bed I went.

I must have promptly fallen into a doze, for the next thing I knew it was late in the afternoon, the boat was rolling badly, and from fore and aft came sounds such as mark the last stages of sea-sickness. As time passed the sea grew rougher, and I felt more and more as one must feel who is strapped to the back of a bucking broncho. The sea-sick sounds increased in volume and number; and they were not restricted to the “gentler sex,” but very frequently came from masculine throats. As I awakened at intervals through the night, I discovered that the history of the early evening was repeating itself. The two women and two children who shared a stateroom with me were desperately sick; but I was not a bit, for I stubbornly concentrated my thoughts on something pleasant and clove to my berth with my spinal column, like an abalone to a rock, fervently thanking my Stars and Stripes that for once I had known enough to go to bed when I was tired.

Not till late the next morning, when I knew by the calm that we were past Helsingborg and Elsinore and were in the quiet Öresund, did I venture to rise; and when I did, I dressed as soon as possible and hurried on deck into the fresh air. By that time most of my fellow passengers were on deck, too. They were a dismal-looking assemblage. Scarcely one looked as if he had escaped. All seemed to have been at least mildly ill: a few were pale and wan; more were ghastly white; and others—many others—were almost pea green in color. I thanked my Stars and Stripes again, and more fervently, when I saw them.

It was much pleasanter to look at Copenhagen which we were approaching than at my fellow humans. We were entering the harbor with a bright blue sky above and a twinkling, sparkling blue sea about us. The spires and towers of the quaint old Danish capital seemed to beckon invitingly; and again I felt as if I were returning home. It is thrice delightful to return to a place. But I am not sure that I should feel such pleasure in returning to Christiania or Stockholm; Copenhagen, as I have said, has an unusual degree of personality and charm.

The Stork Fountain, near which I had my breakfast, seemed like an old friend. It is in the heart of the city, and appears to be a favorite landmark. Children, especially, enjoy playing around it under the spreading bronze wings of the storks; and it is appropriate that they should, for Hans Christian Andersen made the stork the children’s bird, and particularly the bird of the Danish children. Indeed, reared as I was on Andersen’s tales, I incline to think of the stork as the emblem of Danish childhood—a sort of rival of the three rampant lions on the royal coat-of-arms, which is merely the emblem of the Danish grown-ups.

When I was in Copenhagen before, it had been arranged by Cousin Lars that I was to stay with him upon my return. He did not know just when I was due in Copenhagen, however, so, besides breakfasting, I attended to several errands and did some shopping before going to his home in the residential part of the city.

I also explored the University of Copenhagen, which stands near Frue Kirke. The interior of the building is more pleasing than the smoke-begrimed exterior would lead one to suppose; the walls of the vestibule are tastefully decorated with frescoes, and good sculptures are placed here and there. Students in large numbers were in evidence, looking very much like those whom I had seen in Sweden and Norway, except that the caps which they wore were marked by buttons of the red and white of Dannebrog, instead of blue and yellow, or red, white and blue.

Cousin Lars was not at home when I reached his place, but his housekeeper was there to receive me, and he came in shortly after my arrival. During my brief visit he made as much fuss over me as the proverbial hen does over the proverbial one chicken; the routine of the household was turned topsy-turvy in my interest, and I had a very pleasant, homey sort of time. I soon found that he had planned various excursions and parties for me, but most of the plans had to be dropped because of the very limited time I could stay in Copenhagen.