Midnight Sunbeams; or, Bits of Travel Through the Land of the Norseman. Edwin Coolidge Kimball

      CHAPTER I.

       COPENHAGEN AND ENVIRONS.

       Table of Contents

      Lübeck—Journey to Copenhagen—Herr Rentier—Bertel Thorvaldsen—Museums—An Evening at the Tivoli—Souvenirs of Hamlet—A Famous Mother-in-law—The Frederiksborg Palace—An Aimless Widow.

      It was on a charming day in June, after an hour’s railway ride from Hamburg, that we arrived at Lübeck—the starting point of our journey through Scandinavia. Lübeck is the smallest of the three independent Hanseatic towns of the German Empire, both Hamburg and Bremen far surpassing her in size and importance, yet at one time she stood at the head of the Hanseatic League—the alliance of the great commercial towns of North Germany.

      Architecturally, Lübeck is one of the most interesting places in Germany. You enter the town from the railway station through the Holstenthor, a wonderful mediæval gateway of red brick and terracotta, and soon reach the market-place, on two sides of which rises the venerable Rathhaus, a Gothic building in brick, with many gables, turrets and quaint spires; extending underneath it is the Rathskeller, remarkable for its well-preserved vaulting, as well as for its excellent Rhine wines and claret. The chimney piece in the apartment, where wedding festivities were formerly celebrated, bears the following inscription—a genuine bachelor sentiment—Mennich man lude synghet wen me em de Brut bringet; weste he wat men em brochte, dat he wol wenen mochte (Many a man sings loudly when they bring him his bride; if he knew what they brought him, he might well weep).

      On one side of the square is the handsome modern post-office constructed in the mediæval style; here and there in the quiet streets we came upon the elaborately carved fronts of the ancient guild halls, and buildings with high steep roofs filled with odd windows like great blinking eyes; in one of the squares is a handsome modern fountain, and before a hotel near by stand two colossal cast-iron lions designed by the famous German sculptor Rauch, while scattered about the city are numerous churches containing interesting monuments, mural paintings and ancient altar-pieces.

      The river Trave winding about the city renders it almost an island; the old ramparts have been converted into promenades and pleasure gardens, and from them one has an extended view of the busy harbor and its shipping, while the many towers, and lofty numerously windowed roofs of the houses and public buildings rising above it, present a striking and picturesque effect. We could not think of leaving the old city without first investing in some of the marzipan, for which Lübeck is celebrated; it is a sort of confect or cake made of sugar and almonds, very sweet and insipid to the taste, and doubtless one must acquire a liking for it the same as for the varied assortment of German sausages.

      At four o’clock in the afternoon we stood on the deck of the “Orion,” watching the many tall and slender spires of the churches of Lübeck receding from view, as we steamed onward down the narrow winding river, nine miles to Travemünde, a little sea-bathing resort for the Lübeckers at the river’s mouth, where we entered upon the Baltic. We sat on deck watching the sunset and the outlines of the German coast, the country where we had spent nearly a year and which had grown to seem like home, growing more and more indistinct; the sea was as calm as a mill pond, there being scarcely any perceptible motion; the moon appeared and we remained for a long time upon deck, in perfect enjoyment of the scene, then retired to our state-rooms to sleep soundly until our arrival at Copenhagen, soon after six o’clock in the morning.

      Copenhagen impressed us at first like a Dutch city. The long quays covered with merchandise and lined with shipping, and, as we drove to our hotel, the vistas down side streets of canals filled with vessels, reminded us strongly of Amsterdam and the other Dutch dams we had visited.

      In many European hotels the servant who conducts you to your room upon your arrival hands you a printed form to be filled out, giving information as to your place of birth, your age, where you came from, where you are going to, and your quality or profession. We had generally written tourist, traveller, or student in answer to the last, but as students are often classed with socialists and other suspicious characters, we registered this time that coveted European title—Rentier (a gentleman living on his income). Later, as we came out of the hotel, on a great black-board at the foot of the staircase we saw, in large letters, so that “he who ran could read,” Herr Rentier E., Herr Rentier K., against the number of our room, and the line of servants greeting us with obsequious bows gave us an exalted opinion of our own importance, but filled us with alarm when we thought of the fees that would be expected from gentlemen with titles associated with big money bags.

      The great centre of the life and activity of the city is the Kongens Nytorv (King’s Market), a large square from which radiate thirteen streets. Trees surround a king’s statue in the centre, on the south side rises the National Theatre, the principal hotels and shops are in, or near, this square, and the greater part of the