Tímarit Þjóðræknisfélags Íslendinga - 01.01.1963, Qupperneq 122

104
TIMARIT ÞJÓÐRÆKNISFÉLAGS ÍSLENDINGA
ship decorated with flags, and flow-
ers, and cheers burst out on all
sides. As Thorvaldson was led to a
decorated carriage, the throng be-
came so insistent that there was no
way of moving at all. Some of the
most enthusiastic stalwarts then un-
hitched the horses, and started pull-
ing the carriage themselves. Thor-
valdson, who in his accustomed
modesty had attributed this extrava-
gant welcome to the fact that the
Danes were hailing their flagship
of the fleet, was by now so over-
whelmed that he was almost dizzy,
but he refused to let people pull his
carriage as if they were “beasts of
burden”.
Seeing the gendarmes decked out
in their glittering uniforms, to pay
tribute to him, may have reminded
him of an incident from his child-
hood, when the officers of the King
had handled him with less than re-
spect in this same Kongens Torg.
This had happened when he was
about eight years old. With some
older boys he had been playing
around the majestic equestrian
statue of King Charles V, when
the boys had dared him to climb
up, mount the horse and sit behind
the King. By dint of much pushing
and boosting from the bigger boys,
he was finally settled on his pre-
carious perch, when a pair of gend-
armes passed on their rounds. The
older boys quickly skipped off leav-
ing young Bertel tearfully clutch-
ing the Royal Person, twelve feet
above the ground. The gendarmes
who had never witnessed such se-
dition, contumely or whatever,
quickly hustled him off to the po-
lice station, with an ungentle hold
on his coat collar. All he got from
the stern judge was an ominous
warning never to do such a thing
again; from his father he naturally
got a flogging, “for his own good”,
for Gottskálk was not one to shirk
his duty in bringing up a well-
behaved properly respectful son.
Poor young Bertel volunteered to
excuse his father for this chastise-
ment and so he got a few extra
lashes for being “so smart”!
When Thorvaldsen, in Rome, had
told this story to his good friend,
Hans Christian Andersen, there was
much merriment, and the famous
author, with his usual wit and keen-
ness, asked: “And did you ever do
it again? ITl never tell”. ‘Since you
promise not to divulge it, I’ll con-
fess that I did repeat the offence,—
some forty-two years later!” laughed
Thorvaldsen. “I was on my way
home from a reception, alone and
at midnight. I saw the great horse
and rider gleaming in the moon-
light, as I crossed the Kongens
Torg, and recalled vividly how I had
occupied that lofty perch and been
hauled down by the scandalized of-
ficers. I remembered the warning of
the stern judge as to what would
happen to me if I ever again dese-
crated the sacred statue of King
Charles. Hastily I removed my coat
and hat and clambered up on the
pedestal, seized a leg of the Royal
Personage, and swung up behind.
For some minutes I sat there defy-
ing the State and muttering un-
speakable things about all gen-
darmes and Copenhagen gendarmes
in particular!”