On the next morning an old friend of ours, Mr. Stcherbatcheff, the first Secretary of the Russian Embassy, came to see us. He was begged to wait for me in a small tobacco-shop belonging to our hostess, in the next house, while I finished dressing. Mr. Stcherbatcheff was horrified when he saw our lodging, and said that he had an apartment ready for us in the house where he dwelt, and we resolved to remove immediately to our new apartment, looking out into the most fashionable and animated quarter of the town, and furnished in showy fashion. It seemed palatial in comparison with our miserable room.
During our stay in Copenhagen the anniversary of the ninth century of the institution of Christianity in Russia was celebrated. Sergy went to the Russian church to be present at the official Te Deum, and was invited afterwards by our priest to take a cup of tea. On that same afternoon we visited the Museum where we saw prodigious sculptures, the work of Thorwaldsen, the famous Danish sculptor. After dinner we went by train, in an open car, to Klampenberg, about an hour’s drive. A peasant woman, returning from market sat opposite to us with a basket on her knees, which contents appeared to be stinking fish. Our road ran along the sea-coast and was sheltered by roses and creepers. A strong odour of seaweed came over to us. When we arrived at Klampenberg we took a carriage to drive within the precincts of the beautiful park, and chose a coachman who could speak German. His comrades jeered at him and called his horse Eine alte Katze, out of spite, of course.
We hadn’t time to have dinner that day, and we went to bed famished. I roamed about the room looking for something to eat, opening drawers and exploring them, but there was nothing, not even the skin of a sausage.
On the following morning we went out shopping and saw my picture painted in the Greenaway style on a cardboard plate exposed in a bookseller’s shop window. When we entered the shop one of the clerks, who had noticed the resemblance at once, asked me if I had sat for that picture. It really bore a striking likeness to me and we bought it as a souvenir.
On the 16th of July we saw the arrival of Kaiser Wilhelm II. It was his first visit to Denmark after the taking of Schleswig by the Prussians. Our Ambassador, Count Toll, offered a window to us at the Russian Embassy, but we preferred to stand near the Royal Pavilion, erected on the landing-place for the reception of the Kaiser, so as to have the best view of the proceedings. Towards ten o’clock in the morning Mr. Stcherbatcheff, arrayed in full diplomatic uniform, covered all over with golden embroideries, came to fetch us in his carriage. Driving through the streets took a long time, the crowd was so great. When we approached the Royal Palace, we heard cannon reports. A stir among the throng heralded the coming of the King of Denmark, followed by his brothers and the Heir to the throne of Greece. Soon after appeared in a coach driven by a team of white horses the old Queen, aged seventy-two, but still very alert, accompanied by the Duchess of Orleans. Then a murmur arose among the crowd, and we saw a steam-launch, with the German flag flying at the prow, moored to the Danish shore, and Kaiser Wilhelm, his blond moustache curled upwards, stepped out upon the elegantly decorated pier, followed by a numerous suite. The King came up to him and embraced him. After a long exchange of amiabilities the Kaiser approached the Queen and kissed her hand, whilst the soldiers, standing in lines, presented arms to him. Only a few hurrahs were heard here and there. We were told that strong measures had been taken by the police to avoid demonstrations in the streets against the Kaiser. A squadron of hussars was given to him as an escort, and all the way to the Palace infantry regiments formed long lines. The Danish soldiers did not look very imposing, being mostly of small stature. The circulation of carriages and trams was stopped during the passing of the troops, and we had to walk home, running the risk of being crushed by the crowd.
Having passed a fortnight at Copenhagen we returned to St. Petersburg by the same way, taking at Stockholm the “Constantin,” another Finnish boat. There were many passengers on board. During dinner I sat next to a young Mexican, Señor Lopez, who was very sarcastic, and found plenty to criticise. (The task is so easy!) He actually tore all our fellow-passengers to pieces. That snob thought himself very sharp-witted and was rather put out that I did not think him so. Opposite me sat an old Frenchman, M. Prévost-Rousseau and his pretty daughter Melle. Camille, who had been touring in Norway and were now on their way back to Paris, passing through St. Petersburg. Melle. Camille was an accomplished linguist, speaking English, German and Italian equally well. I discovered that we had a great deal in common, and an instinctive comradeship sprang up between us. I am not much given to making new friends, but I had a liking to Melle. Camille the moment I saw her, for I generally like or dislike a person at once.
We had a bad crossing; the sea was rough and the ship rolled very unpleasantly. Towards morning the wind having changed, calm came on, and I hurried on deck to rejoin Melle. Camille, my new-found friend. We established ourselves comfortably in a secluded spot on the prow of the vessel; scrambling over a pile of boxes we found a seat on a barrel of oil, and had a nice chat. Señor Lopez, who was in the mood of making the most open court to me, and followed me everywhere like a shadow, discovered our hiding place, but we packed him off very soon, and he had to withdraw, ruffled, and out of sorts.
We anchored at Helsingfors in the evening and went on shore to stretch our legs. I wanted to boast of the first Russian town before our fellow-passengers, who were visiting our country for the first time, but failed, alas, for the boulevards were full of half-drunken Russian sailors, loafing about, elbowing us and using bad language. Fearing a skirmish, we hurried back on board. At St. Petersburg we parted, with regret with our French friends, who invited us to pay them a visit, some day in Paris.