Thanks to the Exhibition in Copenhagen, all the hotels and boarding-houses were full, and it was with great difficulty that we succeeded in finding a shelter in a private house. By a winding staircase we were ushered into a dark, low room, looking into a grim back-yard, and scantily furnished with two beds, a few cane, inhospitable-looking chairs and a sofa losing its horse-hair through wide gaping wounds. Feeling very tired and sleepy, I lay down to rest a bit, but sprang up hastily, for the bed was abominable, the mattress as hard as stone and the pillows so thin that they could easily be folded in two. To crown all, behind the wall our landlady’s children were shrieking with all their might. It was impossible to go to sleep, and we decided to go and take the train to Tivoli and explore the Exhibition, with its chief attraction, an enormous elevator representing a huge bottle of beer with a magnificent bird’s-eye view of Copenhagen. We had dinner in a restaurant on board a ship of the middle-ages, and were brought in a barge with a three-storied poop to this curious establishment. The waiters were dressed in the costume of sailors belonging to that long past epoch, wearing broad-brimmed Rembrandt hats. 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.