I am Appointed Consul-General to India--Assassination of
Garfield--Departure for India--My Stay in Chicago and
Washington--Paris and Versailles--Rome--Naples--Pompeii--From Naples
to Alexandria--Interesting Acquaintances on the Voyage--The First
Impressions in Egypt.
In the morning papers of July 2, 1881, a telegram from Washington
announced that President Garfield had appointed me consul-general to
India, in the cabinet meeting of the previous evening. The same telegram
also announced that the president had left Washington for New England,
where he intended to spend his summer vacation in the country. It was
with mingled feelings of satisfaction and misgiving that I faced the
opportunity to satisfy my longing to see the wonderful Orient,
especially India, in which country the missionary Dr. Fjellstedt had
aroused my childish interest, as stated in the beginning of these
reminiscences. After consulting wife and children concerning this, to
us, important news, I walked down town, receiving congratulations from
friends and acquaintances on the way, and, arriving at one of the
newspaper offices, I found a large crowd of people eagerly reading on a
bulletin-board a dispatch to the effect that President Garfield had been
shot by Guiteau. The news caused an excitement and consternation almost
as intense as that produced by the assassination of Lincoln. Telegrams
were received from Washington continually, and outside the newspaper
offices were placed bulletins describing the condition of the wounded
president, who was very popular with the American people. The last
telegram of that day announced that he was very low, and would probably
die before morning. The next morning the dispatches announced that the
president was still living, and that on the previous evening, believing
that he had only a few more hours to live, he had caused to be made out
my own and four other commissions and had signed them with his dying
hand. I feel justified in narrating this in detail, inasmuch as I am in
possession of the document which contains the last official signature of
our second martyred president, and which is a very dear treasure to me.
Believing that it will interest the reader to see the last signature of
President Garfield, I submit a photographic fac-simile of the same.
[Illustration: GARFIELD'S SIGNATURE.]
I had only one month to prepare for the journey, and on account of the
long and expensive voyage, it was decided, in family council, that I
should go alone, leaving wife and children in Minneapolis. It was also
understood that I would only be absent about one year, for it was hardly
to be expected that a person of my age could stand the dangerous climate
of India much longer.
The 17th of August, 1881, was an important day for our little family,
for on that day I left my home for a journey of thirteen thousand
miles,--to distant Calcutta, the capital of India. Passing through
Chicago on the following day, a number of my Swedish friends at that
place had arranged a splendid banquet in my honor. About sixty of us
spent a most delightful evening around the bountiful table; but what I
prized more highly than anything else were the friendly and cordial
feelings which were expressed in speech and song.
In Washington I spent a few days in order to receive the last
instructions from the state department. Hon. W. Windom, who was
secretary of the treasury under the administration of Garfield,
accompanied me to the White house, where the president was yet hovering
between life and death. We were not admitted to the inner room, which
was separated from the front room only by draperies. I can vividly
recall the picture of the president's noble wife as she stepped out to
us, and, with an expression of the deepest suffering, affection and hope
in her face, told us that the patient had taken a few spoonfuls of
broth, and that he now felt much better, and would soon recover. Thus
life and hope often build air-castles which are destined to be torn down
again by the cruel hand of fate.
When the steamer touched the coast of Ireland the first news which the
eager passengers received was that the president was still living and
had been taken to a place on the coast. The voyage across the Atlantic
from New York to Liverpool was a pleasure trip in every respect, and was
favored by the most delightful weather. On board the White Star Line
steamer Celtic,--a veritable palace of its kind,--the passenger had all
he could wish, as far as solidity, speed, reliability, order, comfort,
and good treatment are concerned. On September 9th I arrived in Paris.
It seemed to me as if it had been only a couple of days since I was
sitting in the midst of that happy company of friends in Chicago, whose
tender and cordial farewell still sounded as an echo in my ears--or
maybe in my heart. Nevertheless I was already in the grand and happy
capital of the third French republic.
I had time and opportunity to stay a few days in the large cities
through which I passed, each one of which left a particular impression
on my mind, and, although they are similar in most respects, each of
them has its peculiarities, especially with regard to the character,
temperament and customs of the people. I cannot refrain from describing
a few of them. Washington did not seem to be itself when I passed
through it, a cloud of sadness and mourning brooding over it on account
of the critical condition of the president. Boston is prim and stiff,
and seems like a place of learning. New York is a turmoil of pleasure
and business. "Hurry up" seems to be written in every face; "tumble
harum-scarum in the ever-changing panorama of the world!" Liverpool is a
good deal like New York, but on a smaller scale. London is the stiff
colossus of Europe. Amsterdam and Rotterdam bear the stamp of thrift,
cleanliness, earnestness, and comfort. Antwerp and Brussels that of
joyous abandonment. Paris includes everything which is worth seeing in
the others, and shows everything in gayer colors and to greater
perfection.
I remained only four days in the city on the Seine, and the impressions
of such a short stay are naturally fleeting and probably even
unreliable. Paris has its imposing monuments from the days of Louis XIV.
and the two Napoleons, which glorify the exploits of war; it has its
beautiful churches, palaces and museums like other great cities; but in
my eyes the greatness of Paris is to be found in her boulevards and
public promenades. I also made a visit to Versailles, the wonderful city
of palaces, and spent a day among the great monuments of grandeur and
royalty, misery and tyranny. As works of art they are grand and
beautiful, but their historical significance produce varied feelings.
In the French capital everything seemed to indicate comfort and
satisfaction. The workman of Paris is a gentleman in the best sense of
the word. He feels free, independent, and proud in the consciousness
that he is a part of the state. Soldiers were no longer to be seen in
the city; they being garrisoned at Versailles and other neighboring
cities; still there has never before been such a feeling of profound
peace and security in France. Liberty is a great educator. The style,
name, and other indications of the empire are passing away, and the
republic has put its stamp on Paris. The commune is no longer feared,
for the state is no longer an enemy of the people, but a protector of
its rights and liberty. Fortunate Paris! Happy France!
But I must hurry on, in order to reach the end of my long journey. On
the 13th of September I saw the majestic Alps with their snow-clad
summits, which seemed to touch the very vault of heaven. The same day I
passed through the tunnel at Mont Cenis, and arrived the following day
at Rome, via Turin and Florence. And is this great and glorious Rome?
Yes! These walls, ruins, palaces, and Sabine hills,--aye, the very air I
breathe,--all this belongs to the eternal city. From the window of my
room in Hotel Malori I can read the signs,--"Via di Capo le Care," "Via
Gregoriana," etc., and among these an index pointing to the Rome and
Tivoli street-car line. Indeed, I have seen the great city of Rome, with
its churches, statues, paintings, and ancient ruins and catacombs; the
little monument to the Swedish Queen Christina in the St. Peter's
church; the triumphal arch which commemorates the destruction of
Jerusalem, and the temple of Vesta where the ancient vestal virgins
guarded the sacred fire. Two thousand years thus passed in review before
my eyes in a few days.
[Illustration: ROME.]
From Rome I proceeded to Naples. This city is built on the most
beautiful bay in the world, and has a population of six hundred thousand
inhabitants. It is built in the form of an amphitheatre, with a steep
decline toward the water. In the south we see the island of Capri,
fifteen miles distant, and on the east coast the volcano Vesuvius,
which, by its threatening clouds of smoke, seems to obscure the eastern
part of beautiful Naples, although it lies fourteen miles distant from
the city. Long before the time of Christ the bay looked about the same
as it does now. The chief cities around it at that time were Naples,
Herculaneum and Pompeii. Mount Vesuvius, however, did not look as it
does now, but rose as a green hill, called "La Somma," and served as a
summer resort for many wealthy Roman patricians. The city of Pompeii had
about forty thousand inhabitants. On August 23, A.D. 79, terrific
rumblings were heard from the interior of La Somma, the summit of which
suddenly burst open, and a pillar of ashes, steam, and red-hot rocks
shot up through the opening to a great height, and fell, scattering
itself over the surrounding country, while streams of melted lava rolled
down the hill-sides and buried Herculaneum and everything in it under a
layer of ashes and lava to the depth of eighty feet. Toward night the
eruptions increased in force, and before morning Pompeii and some
smaller towns were also buried under the glowing rivers of volcanic
rocks, ashes and mud.
The remarkable history of this place absorbed my mind as I passed
through the two thousand years-old streets of Pompeii, which, in the
course of this century have again been brought to light by the removal
of the petrified ashes and other volcanic matter. The ancient city now
looks a good deal as it did eighteen hundred years ago. It is situated
on a round knoll, and measures three miles in circumference. The houses
are built of stone, and only one story high, with roofs of brick and
floors of cut stone, just as the modern houses in that vicinity are
built to-day. Every house has an open court in the center, and all
aisles and doors lead to this. Glass windows were not used, but the
rooms received light from the open court, which could be covered by
canvass as a protection against the sun and rain. I measured the
streets. They proved to be twelve feet wide, with a four-foot-wide
sidewalk on either side. The paving consisted of boulders, with a flat
surface about twenty inches in diameter, and contained deep grooves made
by the chariot wheels. The houses were standing in their original
condition, with fresco paintings on the walls and statues in their
proper niches. The temples with their sacrificial altars, the theatres,
the court, the council-house, and all other public buildings were
adorned with marble pillars and choice works of sculpture. I saw a
barber-shop with chairs, niches for the soap and mugs, and the waiting
sofa. In a baker's house I saw the oven, the dough-trough, scales, and
petrified loaves of bread. In a butcher shop were a saw, a knife, and
other tools. There were also furniture, vessels for cooking, bowls,
grain, pieces of rope, and plaster of Paris casts of the human bodies
which had been found, generally prostrate, with the face pressed against
the ground. There lies a cast of a man with a pleasant smile on his
lips; he must have passed unconsciously from sleep to death. But it is
fruitless to try and describe this remarkable place which has no
parallel on the face of the earth. I heard the Swedish language spoken
in this city of the dead, and had the pleasure of making the
acquaintance of Alderman Toernquist and wife, from Wimmerby, and a Doctor
Viden and his daughter, from Hernoesand. Thus the living meet among the
dead, representatives of the new times stand face to face with the dead
of antiquity, children of the cool North in the sunny South. What a
wonderful world this is, to be sure!
The 17th of September I embarked on board the steamer La Seyne, destined
for Alexandria in Egypt. The warm, Italian noonday sun poured down its
dazzling rays; we were surrounded on all sides by ships and steamers
carrying the flags of all nations; hundreds of fishing crafts were
sailing out of the harbor, and in the distance the mighty volcano
Vesuvius towered in imposing majesty above the vine-clad hills. There
was a life and a traffic which it is difficult to describe. While La
Seyne was lying at anchor for several hours out in the bay, Italian
singers in their boats swarmed around the ship and entertained the
passengers with music. Other boats contained three or four men each, who
begged the passengers to throw coins into the water. As soon as a coin
was thrown, down dived one of the men to the bottom, and invariably
returned with the coin in his mouth although the water was very deep,
perhaps from seventy-five to one hundred feet. The voyage across the
Mediterranean was very pleasant, especially in the vicinity of the
island of Sicily. The deep blue sky, the orange groves and vineyards on
the island, and the neat, white cottages,--all gave an impression of
indescribable tranquility and happiness.
On this voyage, which lasted three days, I became acquainted with
several interesting persons, among others with a Professor Santamaria,
professor in an university in Egypt, and his family, and with a Jesuit
priest, Miechen by name. By birth a French nobleman of a very old and
rich family, he had been educated for a military life, and had served in
the army with distinction, and in the late Franco-German war he had been
advanced to the rank of major, although he was only thirty years of age.
But suddenly he had been seized with religious enthusiasm, and had given
up his illustrious family name, renounced his fortune, his honors, and
the brilliant military career which lay open to him, in order to become
a priest. After two years of theological studies he was ordained a
priest, and admitted into the Jesuit order.
He had now been ordered to supply himself with a full set of certain
scientific instruments, and with them to repair to Cairo, Egypt, where
he would receive further orders. I talked a great deal with this man. He
spoke English fluently, and was equally familiar with nearly all the
other European languages. He was no fanatic or religious crank, but a
polished, cultured gentleman, who had seen and learned to know the
world, reaped its honors and tasted its allurements, and he was
evidently as liberal and tolerant as myself. And this man went to a
field of action of which he had no knowledge whatsoever. Probably an
honorable position as professor in a university was awaiting him, or
perhaps he would have to go to some isolated mountain to observe a
phenomenon of nature in the interest of science, or penetrate a
malarious wilderness as missionary among savages, where he would be
debarred from all intercourse with civilized people, and deprived of all
the comforts and conveniences to which he had been used during his
previous life. Still he went willingly and joyfully to his work,
completely indifferent as to his fate, thoroughly convinced that he was
on the path of duty--to accomplish what God intended he should do. I was
on my way to a great country and a court as the representative of one of
the greatest nations on earth, but when I walked the deck arm in arm
with this humble priest, I felt my inferiority compared with him, and I
actually considered his position enviable. On the same voyage I became
acquainted with a Danish traveler,--A. d'Irgens-Bergh,--who afterward
met me in India, where we visited many places of interest together, and
established a friendship which afforded both of us much pleasure.
On the morning of September 21st the coast of Egypt appeared in sight.
There is Alexandria, founded by Alexander the Great, and formerly
renowned for its commerce, and as the centre of learning and culture of
the then known world. Even now this city is grand and beautiful,
although its beauty and style are different from anything else that I
have seen. We often form conceptions of things which we have not seen,
but which are interesting to us, and when we afterward find that those
conceptions are wrong we feel disappointed. Thus I had always thought of
Egypt as a country of a dark tone of color, probably on account of the
fertility of the soil of the valley of the Nile, since we Northerners
find that fertile soil is dark and poor soil of a lighter color.
Therefore I could hardly believe my own eyes when everything I saw on
the shore looked white. Not only the houses, palaces, and huts, but even
the roads and the fields, all had a white color.
As we neared the harbor, and even before the pilot came on board, we
noticed that all the flags were at half-mast. As soon as I landed and
had shown my passport to the customs officer an elegant equipage was
placed at my disposal under the charge of a dragoman, and we drove to
the office of the American consulate, where also the flag was at
half-mast. The sad occasion for this soon became apparent. President
Garfield had died during my voyage across the Mediterranean, and the
whole civilized world was in mourning.