Denmark, where his name and accomplishments
secured him a hearty welcome.

The result is an amusing and instructive
volume,* the strategetic portion of which is
here passed by, to leave more room for its social
sketches. But, the author's entry into Copenhagen
was anything but cheerful. Every heart
was oppressed with grief. He saw men weeping
bitterly as they passed in silence along the
streets. For Denmark is less a nation than one
large family. Every one knows everybody; and
there was no one then in Copenhagen who had
not a son, a brother, a cousin, a husband, or a
friend killed or wounded in that sacrifice to the
idol of German pride.

* Le Danemark tel qu'il est. Par Oscar Comettant.

The moral condition of a people is best seen
by studying their amusements. In honest
Denmark, where life flows calmly on in the
quiet enjoyment of family affection, you would
vainly seek those riotous pleasures which, in
certain great cities, are offered to youth as a
school of corruption. In Denmark, misconduct
conceals itself, as if it were crime. There
exist in that country none of those public
establishments in which music and dancing
serve as the pretexts for dissoluteness on the
one hand, and the vilest interests on the other.
And yet we are astonished that men accustomed
to frequent such haunts should lose at last all
moral sense, and should come to despising every
woman, even the poor girl whom they will one
day marry as a speculation; selling, in their
turn, for a handsome dowry, the same insincere
affection which they had been in the habit of
purchasing! It is not a British, but a Gallic
censor, who remarks, on this, that every effect,
good or bad, must necessarily have a cause. If,
in certain capitals, women of the world and
girls moving in good society have been gradually
losing, for some years past, that air of modesty
which was, as it were, the perfume of their age
and the halo of their innocence, this moral
decline is mainly to be attributed to the influence
of those vicious assemblies called public balls.
In order to please and aspire to become the
wives of men habituated to the sight of
Rigolboches publicly violating the laws of decency,
and to avoid appearing insipid in comparison,
the least that can be done is to assume an air
of importance and effrontery, to display their
shoulders like Venus rising from the sea, and
to dress at thermal watering-places in costumes
suitable for the Carnival or the Bal de I'Opéra.

Denmark is to be congratulated on knowing
all these fine things only by hearsay. It listens
to the descriptions of travellers just as you
would listen to a fictitious narrative, without
being affected by the contagion. Its own calm
and respectable amusements suffice, and it feels
for riotous and questionable pleasures both a
native aversion and a deliberate antipathy. It
is determined to keep itself pure, even at the
risk of becoming the laughing-stock of dissolute
braggarts and public-house sceptics.

It is impossible to enjoy one's self more
innocently than the Danes. In winter the
respectable citizens of Copenhagen go to the
theatre in family parties, or accept private
invitations, when they are not detained at their
own fireside. Public balls are few and far
between, and those which do occur no more
resemble the balls opened to the Parisian public,
than a religious procession resembles a
Carnival orgie. A public masked ball, given at
Copenhagen, went off with such decent reserve,
the dancing was so quiet and decorous, propriety
was so strictly observed, that everybody
present appeared to belong to respectable
society. Towards the close of the ball several
couples betook themselves to a saloon where
tables were laid, and supped with the same
respect for public morality. The conversation
was in an under tone, and when a powdered
clown begged a pink domino to accept a morsel
of lobster or a glass of champagne, he expressed
himself in the choicest terms, and with the most
scrupulous punctilio. One Amazon only
ventured to provoke her cavalier by a playful tap
with her riding-whip, and, notwithstanding the
person, the place, and the hour, the action was
remarked and considered offensive. Many
funerals in Paris go off more merrily than this
fancy ball. But between the excessive reserve
of Copenhagen, and the cynical shamelessness
displayed in similar assemblies in Paris, London,
and some other capitals, the choice cannot give
rise to a moment's doubt.

There are four theatres in Copenhagen, at the
head of which stands the Theatre Royal. This
house is subsidised by the state for the performance
of opera, tragedy, comedy, vaudeville, and
ballet. To the famous Holberg (who has been
surnamed the Danish Molière) must be ascribed
the honour of having founded the national
theatre. Before him, the Danes derived all
their literary notions from French authors, and
the French language was the only one admitted
into good society. In the time of Louis the
Fourteenth there existed in Copenhagen but
one single company of actors, and they were
French. They played comedy, performed ballets,
and, by way of variety, gave puppet-shows.
Their manager, one Montagu, was appointed by
King Frederic the Fourth professor of declamation,
with the charge of training pupils to
represent national pieces. With this view,
Molière's Avare was translated into Danish,
and was first performed at Copenhagen in 1722.
The experiment met with marvellous success,
and in the same year Holberg produced his first
work, The Tin-pot Maker, which is, perhaps,
also his best. His pieces are still played, ss
Molière's are in Paris, with the object of
maintaining in the multitude a taste for legitimate
and classical comedy.

Amongst the interpreters of these works,
Madame Heiberg is one of the foremost. On the
stage she appears to be only twenty years of age.
Her voice is sonorous and sweet at once, like the
sound of a musical instrument; her simple yet
intelligent gestures are full of the sympathetic
charm of youth. Like all artists of a superior