In Copenhagen 1909
“The train left Stockholm in the evening, and rattled overnight through the lit-up towns of Götaland and Scania, as well as the dark forests. (...) Twelve hours later we finally came to a halt at the southern tip of Sweden, in Malmö. A cool, but sunny morning. The station right on the sea front with the ship already waiting. And hardly had we left port, than the the outline of low coastline on the other side became visible across the opal sea. This was already Kongeriget Danmark. Only one-and-a-half hours voyage - through the sea teeming with sailing ships and other vessels, accompanied by large flocks of seagulls. They followed one ship over from the Swedish coast to Denmark, then followed another back again. The white sails and the swirling flocks livened up the monotonous surface of the sea. And this sea already seem bluer and more transparent than at our shores, though it is one and the same sea.

If the Swedish capital fascinates with its ancient culture, then Denmark does so with its own from times immemorial. The view already on approaching: blocks of building rising as if straight out of the greenish sea, buildings of a faded red and smokey blue in colour and behind them a number of spires. And the nearer you get, the more the patina of age becomes evident, the green and reddish brown of the oxydised roofs, and the greyish walls, all through a kind of drought-ridden haze. But at the same time, although everything is old, it is nevertheless alive, not grimly aged. The patches of mould caused by the damp climate are more like beauty spots on the surface of living life, its interior remaining untouched.

Yes, in the end, the pulse of life feels altogether younger as compared to that of Sweden with its exalted heartbeat and thin blood. At times it feels like a paradox. A city already housing three-quarters of a million people at the edge of a small kingdom, varied, flat and sloping down to the sea. Is this not expansion beyond its natural benefits? But there is nothing unnatural in it, because everything has grown in an organic manner, driven by its own inner strength. You are never struck by the thought, the way the prophets make the grim prophecy about Saint Petersburg: you have risen from the marshes you must sink back into them! No, this people has least of all anything to do with the mysticism of destruction!

The Stock Exchange with "four serpents with green tails like palms up on a high tower."

As soon as we landed, a walk of discovery through the city. Many living streets with buildings in Dutch style and in what is termed that of Christian IV. Occasionally a mixture of the exotic: black elephants supporting a portal, or four serpents with green tails like palms up on a high tower. Then again the silent-walled castles or the proud commercial palaces with their moss-green roofs. And everywhere towers and spires, as if the city were fearful of the proximity of the low countryside. And finally, I stood in an open square, where three towers rose, giving the square a stately look. This was Kongens Nytorv - the centre of Copenhagen.

The mass of people surged past, but in an easy-going manner, without the impatience of a large city. Healthy, red-cheeked faces, open smiles. And as a self-evident aspect of life here, a kind of especially democratic trait. This feeling of easy-going life was not dispersed either by the rows of vehicles, or the criss-cross of trams or the groups of cyclists. Cyclists crossed at intersections in large flocks, with lively swing.

When, however, the intersection was momentarily closed to traffic, they leant on their fellow-cyclists' shoulder as if by command, in order to keep their cycles upright. There were jokes, fragments of songs - then the cyclists moved off again like columns of soldiers. Truly, if in Czarist Russia it is said that human beings consist of body, soul and a passport, then in Denmark a person consists of body, soul and a bicycle. I listened to the hubbub of voices on the street, in the cafés, in the shops. The language here also seemed in harmony with the easygoing way of life. It is a Scandinavian language to be sure, but entirely incomprehensible to the unaccustomed ear. I understood the street signs and written texts, but not the spoken word. At the same time, people understood my stock of poor Swedish, but what they said in reply I could not begin to work out. And as foreign language they had English, as an Anglo-Saxon way of life is dominant in so many other matters. The day I spent in Copenhagen was, at any rate, a day full of impressions.

And I do not know what attracted me more: the everyday life of the Danish capital, or the Danish cultural heritage, as concentrated here. Everywhere striking examples of affluence and taste. I did, of course, visit the City Hall on Nytorv itself and the Museum of Art with its very rich collections of old art and new. But the institution which surprised me the most and which I never failed to visit on subsequent trips to Copenhagen, was the New Carlsberg Glyptothek - a really unique museum, devoted to sculpture.

Auguste Rodin: Borgerne i Calais (1889)

It is not easy to get to see large numbers of sculptures in one place, and it is difficult to get an overview. But precisely this is made possible at Copenhagen's Glyptothek. On account of some special interest, the founder of the museum places special emphasis on new French sculpture. And for the first time in my life I saw a large selection of works by Rodin, Meunier and Maillol. The impression was revelatory, given the fact that the way these masters handled form was very much in fashion at the time. I saw what you could hardly see anywhere else on Earth. Not far from the Glyptothek stands a copy of the famous group The Burghers of Calais. The sculptor evidently did not want his group placed on a high plinth, but at ground level. These tragic old men should not stand out from the surrounding crowds, they should be among the living, suffering populace. Of course the citizens of Calais did not follow the wishes of the sculptor. If there's to be a monument to their forefathers, then it should be visible from far off! Only in Copenhagen has Rodin's wish been realised, and here the work takes on its true symbolic meaning.

The day was drawing to a close as I left the Danish capital. All around the wide country, flat as a plank, with the low farms vanishing into the sunset, their windows lit up by the yellow rays of the sun. But the railway journey across Sjælland only lasted a couple of hours before we were in Korsør. Here the railway station was also at the port and again the ship stood waiting. The old ship had one low, wide indoor cabin, groups of people with bundles, in the light of the dim ceiling lighting, already a mixture of German being spoken, but the soft murmur of Danish could still be heard. The ship moved off, quietly throbbing, without any great rocking motion, a few hours through the Danish archipelago still lay ahead. But at night nothing could be seen but the flashing of the marker buoys. And soon the voices could no longer be heard above the throb of the engines..."