WALKS ABOUT STOCKHOLM.
If you expect any very lively or striking pictures of Stockholm from a
tourist like myself, whose besetting trouble in life is a
constitutional melancholy, I am afraid you will be disappointed. It is
beyond doubt one of the most agreeable cities in the North, and, so
far as public institutions are concerned, affords a fine field of
research for the antiquarian and the naturalist. Any enterprising
gentleman who desires to improve his mind by the study of Puffendorf
can here find the original. Linnaeus, Berzelius, and others will
materially assist him in grasping at the mysteries of animated
creation; and if he be of a poetical turn, he can enjoy Belman in the
unadulterated Scandinavian metre. For me, however, the public museums
and libraries possessed only an external interest. I would gladly have
devoted the remainder of my life to Scandinavian researches, but,
having several other important matters to attend to, I was reluctantly
forced to give up the idea. The main object at present was to escape
from "an eternal lethargy of woe," which seemed to grow worse and
worse every day. I really had nothing particular to afflict me, yet I
both felt and looked like "a man sore acquaint with grief." Day after
day I wandered about the streets in search of excitement. All in vain;
such a luxury is unknown to strangers in Stockholm. I visited the
fruit-markets, jostled about among the simple and kind-hearted
peasants, bought bunches of cherries and baskets of raspberries from
the pretty peasant-girls, and then stood eating my way into their
acquaintance, while they laughed, and talked, and wondered where in
the world such a strange man came from, and when I told them I came
from California they looked incredulous, having probably never of such
a country. Then I strolled down through the fish-market, where there
were a great many queer fish exposed for sale by ancient and slimy old
men and women, whose hands and aprons were covered with fish-scales,
and whose faces had a very fishy expression. They offered me fish in
every shape--skinned, gutted, chopped up, or whole, just as I pleased
to buy them. One wrinkled old woman, with a voice much broken by
shouting against the Gulf storms from high rocks, or some such cause,
called my attention to a monster fish that must have weighed at least
sixty pounds, and insisted upon letting me have it at a reduced price.
I shook my head and smiled. In that smile I suppose the sagacious old
fishwoman discovered the pliancy of my disposition, for she
immediately commenced a wild harangue on the merits of the fish,
scarcely a word of which I understood. Two or three times I started to
leave, but each time she made a motion to detain me. The fact is, I
was afraid she would get hold of me with her fishy hands, and was
considerably embarrassed what to do. The price of the fish was
reasonable enough--only two marks (about forty cents); but I had no
use for it, and did not like to carry it to my hotel. The worst of it
was, the old woman thought the price was the only obstacle, and
finally came down to a mark and a half. What was to be done? From
Billingsgate to Stockholm, it is notorious that a disappointed
fishwoman is a very dangerous and uncertain foe to be encountered by
any man, however brave. She began to get excited at the bare prospect
of having taken so much trouble for nothing. Several of her friends
began to gather round. A cold tremor ran through my frame. There
seemed to be no possible way of evading the purchase without creating
an unpleasant scene. To make an end of it, I bought the fish. With a
bunch of grass wrapped around its tail, I made my way through the
crowd. To be sure, I felt a little ashamed to be perambulating the
streets of a strange city with a big fish in my hand, yet I could not
well throw it down on the sidewalk, and was afraid, if I offered it to
some little boy, he might stick his tongue in his cheek, and ask me if
I saw any thing green in the corner of his eye. The case was getting
worse and worse every moment. People stopped and looked at me as I
passed. My arm was getting tired. Fortunately, I was close to the
quay. A happy thought struck me; I walked over to the water's edge and
cast the fish into his native element. "Go," said I, in the language
of my uncle Toby; "there's room enough in the world for you and me."
What the by-standers thought of the act I did not wait to see. It was
enough that I was clear of a very unpleasant companion, though an
ancient and fish-like odor remained with me for some time after. As
for the fish, I doubt if he ever came to life; he must have been dead
for several days when I bought him, judging by a taint upon my hands,
which the best soap could not eradicate.
After this I rambled gloomily along the quays, and wondered what every
body was waiting for. There were small vessels enough lying at the
wharves, but every body on board seemed to be taking it easy. Cooks
were lying asleep on the galleys; skippers were sitting on the poop,
smoking socially with their crews; small boys, with red night-caps on
their heads, were stretched out upon the hatchways, playing push-pin,
and eating crusts of black bread; stevedores, with dusty sacks on
their shoulders, were lounging about on the wharf, waiting for
something in the way of trade to turn up; shabby citizens, who seemed
to be out of profitable employment, were sitting on the loose timbers
overlooking the water, bobbing for fish, and never catching any so far
as I could perceive; and scattering crowds of idlers were strolling
idly along like myself, in search of something particular to look at,
but, failing to discover it, they looked about at things generally,
and then strolled on to look at something else. I sighed at the
stagnation of business, and hoped it would never be my fate to be
engaged in mercantile affairs in Stockholm. Before the Gotha Canal was
completed this was a very brisk city; but since that period,
Gottenburg, being more accessible, has monopolized much of the
European trade. The principal trade of Stockholm now consists of
exports of iron, and imports of sugar, coffee, and liquors. Throughout
the interior the peasantry manufacture most of the articles required
for their own use, such as clothing, implements of husbandry, etc., so
that they are not large consumers of foreign commodities. Finding it
very dull in town, I walked out in the suburbs, which are pretty and
picturesque, though primitive enough to be a thousand miles from a
commercial city. The houses are chiefly constructed of wood, painted
yellow, with red roofs, and neatly ornamented with verandas; and the
people have a quaint and simple look, as if they knew but little of
the world, and did not care much to trouble their heads about the
progress of events. Here as well as elsewhere, children continue to be
born in great numbers, and groups of them were to be seen before every
house playing in the mud just as little cotton-headed children play
all over the world. I say cotton-headed, because these were of the
blue-eyed, white-haired race who have a natural affinity for muddy
places, and whose cheeks have a natural propensity to gather bloom and
dirt at the same time.
I struck out on the high points of the Normalm, and on one of them
discovered an old church, surrounded by trees, with benches
conveniently placed beneath their shade for weary pedestrians. Here
were family groups quietly enjoying the fresh air, the men smoking and
drinking, while the women and girls economized time by knitting and
sewing. I took a vacant seat and looked down over the city. Surely a
prettier prospect could not exist upon earth. There lay the city of
the sea outspread beneath, its irregular streets, quaint old houses
and churches covering every available space; the numerous wooded
islands in the vicinity dotted with villas; sloops and boats floating
dreamily on the Malar Lake, and larger vessels gliding over the waters
of the Baltic; dense forests of pine dim in the distance; and over all
a strangely colored Northern light, that gave the scene something of a
spectral aspect. Yet the spirit of repose that seemed cast over this
fair scene was absolutely oppressive to one like myself, accustomed to
an active life. From the high points I wandered down into the low
places, through narrow and tortuous streets; gazed into the stables
and cow-houses; watched the tinners, and coppersmiths, and shoemakers
as they wound up the labors of the day in their dingy little shops;
peered into the greasy little meatshops and antiquated grocery-stores;
studied the faces of the good people who slowly wended their way
homeward, and bowed to several old ladies out of pure kindliness and
good feeling; then wandered back into the public places, still pursued
by a green and yellow melancholy. I gazed steadfastly at the statues
of Gustavus Vasa, Charles XII., and Berzelius, and tried in vain to
remember something of their history. I went into the picture-shops,
took off my hat to small boys behind the counter, looked at the
pictures, and bought several, for which I had no earthly use; then I
went to the cafe on the bridge, drank coffee and cognac, and attempted
to read the Swedish newspapers, of which I understood every letter,
but not a word; after which I heard the whistle of a small steam-boat
at the end of the cafe garden, and ran down in a hurry to get on
board. The steam-boat was about equal to a good-sized yawl, and was
bound for some port unknown to me; but that made no difference. I
never see a boat of any kind going any where, or a locomotive, or a
carriage, or any thing that moves by steam, sails, horse-power, or
electricity, without feeling an unconquerable desire to be off too, so
that I very much fear, if I should come across a convict vessel bound
for Van Diemen's Land, it would be impossible for me to avoid jumping
on board and going with the crowd. In the present case it was
essentially necessary that I should keep moving. I was almost sinking
under the oppressive loneliness of the place. Rather than remain
another hour within the limits of such a dreary old city, I would have
taken passage in a tread-mill, and relied upon the force of
imagination to carry me to some other place. Nay, a hangman's cart on
the way to the gallows would have presented a strong temptation. In
saying this I mean nothing disrespectful to Birger Jarl, who founded
Stockholm, and made it his place of residence in 1260; nor to
Christina Gyllenstierna, who so heroically defended it against
Christian II. of Denmark in the sixteenth century; nor to Gustavus
Vasa, the brave liberator of Sweden; nor his noble and heroic
grandson, Gustavus Adolphus; nor any body else famous in Swedish
history; but the truth of it is, Sweden at the present day is
essentially a home country, and the people are too domestic in their
habits and modes of thought to afford any peculiar interest to a
casual tourist. I like their simple and genial manners, and respect
them for their sterling integrity, yet these are traits of no great
value to one who travels so far out of the world in search of objects
of more stirring interest. The ordinary traveler, who has no time to
dive very deep beneath the surface of human life, is not satisfied to
find things nearly as he finds them at home; streets, shops, and
houses undistinguished by any peculiarity save the inconveniences and
oddities of age; people every where around him who dress like all
other civilized people, and possess the standard virtues and
weaknesses of humanity; the proprieties of life decently observed, and
loyalty to forms and time-honored usages a national characteristic. A
Swede would no more violate a rule of etiquette, smile or bow out of
place, eat a beefsteak or drink his schnapps at an unusual hour, or
strike out any thing novel or original in the way of pleasure, profit,
or enterprise, than a German. The court circle is the most formal in
Europe, and the upper classes of society are absolute slaves to
conventionality. A presentation at court is an event of such signal
importance that weeks of preparation are required for the impressive
ordeal; and when the tailor, and shoemaker, and the jeweler have done
their part, and the unhappy victim, all bedeviled with finery and
befrogged with lace, is brought into the presence of royalty, it is a
miracle if he gets through without committing some dire offense
against the laws of etiquette. Fine carriages, coats of arms,
uniforms, and badges of office, are held in high veneration; and while
the government is liberal and the people profess to be independent,
their slavish devotion to rank, dress, and etiquette surpasses any
thing I saw in Russia. With this, to be sure, is mingled a certain
simplicity of manner and kindliness of expression toward inferiors
which sometimes lead the stranger to believe that he is among a
democratic people, but they are as far from democracy as the Prussians
or the Austrians. The very affability of the superior to the inferior
is the best evidence of the inseparable gulf that lies between them.
In Russia there is the charm of barbarism, savagery, filth, and show;
the people are loose, ferocious, daring, and wild; here in Sweden, the
quiet, decent, home-aspect of the people, their rigid observance of
the rules of etiquette, their devotion to royalty, law, and order, are
absolutely depressing. In the abstract, many traits in their character
are worthy of admiration, but as a traveler I detest this kind of
civilization. Give me a devil or a savage at all times, who outrages
the rules of society and carries an advertisement of character on his
back. As an artist I can make something of him, either in the way of
copy or pencil-sketches.
Which brings me back to my situation, in the natural course of events.
The whistle blows. The little steam-boat is about to stop at the
landing-place of the Djurgaard. The engineer, smutty and oily with
hard service, gives a turn to the crank, pulls an iron bar with a
polished handle, and then pushes it; the tea-kettle boiler fizzes and
whizzes, and lets off steam; the paddles stop paddling; the gentlemen
passengers stand up and adjust their shirt collars; the ladies gather
their shawls around them, and pick up their scattered bundles; with a
whirl and a jerk we are alongside the wharf, and the captain jumps
from the bow with a rope in his hand, and makes all fast to a
logger-head. And now step ashore, if you please, ladies and gentlemen,
and let us take a stroll through the deer garden, where
"The ash and warrior oak
Cast anchor in the rifted rock."
The walks through this beautiful park (said to be the finest attached
to any capital in Europe) are broad, and handsomely graded. Grand old
forest-trees on either side make "a boundless contiguity of shade"
over the greensward. Pavilions and rustic summer-houses stand on the
high points of rock, commanding magnificent views of the adjacent
islands and waters of the lake. Flower-gardens are numerous, and every
nook and dell contains some place of refreshment, where the gay
company who frequent these delightful grounds in the long summer
evenings can drink their tea and enjoy the varied beauties of the
scene. Wandering through these sylvan glades, the eye is continually
charmed with the rare combinations of natural and artificial beauties
scattered around in every direction with such wonderful prodigality.
At one moment you imagine yourself in a wilderness, hundreds of miles
from any human habitation, so dense are the shades of the grand old
forest-trees, and so wild and rugged the moss-covered rocks; a few
steps bring you suddenly upon some fairy scene, where palaces and
temples, gilded carriages, gayly-dressed companies of ladies and
gentlemen, and groups of children sporting upon the grass, dispel the
illusion. Ascending to the highest points by the narrow and tortuous
by-paths, I could almost fancy myself in the midst of the Coast Range,
so perfect was the isolation; then coming out suddenly upon some
projecting cliff, the change of scene from rugged grandeur to the
perfection of civilization was absolutely magical. Vegetation in this
northern region, where the summer are so short and warm, flourishes
with an almost tropical luxuriance. The melting of the snows in
spring, followed by heavy rains and sudden heat, causes the earth to
give forth its products with a prodigality that compensates in some
degree for the long and dreary winters. Trees burst into leaf as if by
magic; flowers shoot up and bloom in a few weeks; the grass, enriched
by the snows, springs forth and covers the earth like a gorgeous
carpet of velvet. All nature rejoices in the coming of the long summer
days. The birds sing in the groves; the bees hum merrily around the
flowers; the gay butterflies flit through the sunbeams; and day and
night are an almost continued period of revelry for all those
beautiful and ephemeral creatures that droop and die with the flowers.
I have nowhere seen such a profusion of intensely rich green and such
wonderfully deep shades as in the neighborhood of Stockholm. It is
almost oppressive to one accustomed to California scenery, where the
whole face of the country wears a dry red-and-yellowish hue in summer.
Strange how one's tastes change by association! I well remember when I
first entered the Golden Gate, in August, 1849, after a long and
dreary voyage round Cape Horn. Glad as I was to see land once more, it
struck me that I had never looked upon so barren and desolate a
country. The hill-sides had the appearance of parched and sodless
deserts. Yet I soon learned to like that warm glow. I slept upon those
parched hills, breathed the invigorating air, and felt the inspiration
of California life. I would not now exchange the summer drapery of our
hills and valleys for the deepest green upon earth. To my present
frame of mind there is something flat and chilling in this redundancy
of verdure that reminds one of death and the grave-yard. The
moss-covered rocks jutting from the cold, grassy earth; the dripping
fern; the pale, flitting gleams of sunshine struggling through the
depths of foliage; the mould that seems to hang in the air--all these
strike me as death-like. I long for the vital glow of a more genial
sun, whose all-pervading light is reflected from the rich golden
earth, shooting health and vigor through every fibre of the frame,
permeating body and soul with its effulgence. Such intensity of light,
such warmth of colors, fill the dullest mind with inspiration; the
blood is quickened in its circulation; the respiration is full and
free; the intellect becomes clearer and sharper; the whole man is
quickened into the highest condition of mental and physical vitality.
Is it a matter of wonder, then, that the people of California should
be brave, generous, and loyal--that they should have a high sense of
right, and an undying scorn of wrong? I hold that the species is
improved by the climate and the country--that stronger men and better
men are now undergoing the process of development in California than
in any other country on the face of the earth. If we live fast and die
suddenly, it is the natural consequence of increased bodily and mental
vigor, which too often leads to excesses, but which, under proper
training, must eventually lead to the highest moral and intellectual
achievements. The fault does not lie in our climate. I have yet seen
none to equal it North or South--not even in Italy. I do not think the
climate of Sweden is conducive to longevity, or extraordinary mental
or bodily vigor. Indeed, the same may be said of any climate abounding
in such rigorous extremes. The Swedes, it is true, lead a placid and
easy life, content with ordinary comforts, and worried by no exciting
or disquieting ambitions; hence they enjoy good health, and generally
get through the usual span allotted to man. If the same sanitary rules
were observed in our country, there would be less sickness and fewer
untimely deaths. Dissipation is not rare in Sweden, especially in the
capital cities, but it is more methodical with us. The people have
certain times and occasions for getting drunk; they make a regular
business of it. Virulent and disgusting diseases are also prevalent
among them, so that between the rigors of climate and other causes
less excusable, they frequently appear old and decrepit before their
time. That among the middle classes there are fine-looking men and
beautiful women, is true; that in literature, science, and music, they
can boast names that will go down to posterity, is a fact that can not
be denied; but I think such a climate and the habits engendered by it
are inimical to the highest order of physical and mental development
among the masses. Hence we find throughout the country many diseased
and deformed persons of both sexes; many weakly and not a few
imbecile. The peasants are not so hardy and robust as I expected to
find them; and I was told by competent judges, better informed than I
could hope to become during so brief a sojourn, that they are
progressively degenerating year after year, and can not now compare
with the peasants of former times.
To say that I was charmed with my ramble through the Djurgaard would
but faintly express the pleasure I derived from my visit to this
beautiful park. Of all the resorts for recreation that I have yet seen
in Northern Europe, I give it the palm for natural beauty and tasteful
cultivation. In this the Swedes excel. Their villas, gardens, and
parks are unsurpassed, and no people in the world better understand
how to enjoy them.
Late in the evening I returned to my hotel, delighted with all I had
seen. I was anxious to extend my rambles to Upsala, and to visit more
in detail the various beautiful islands and places of interest in the
vicinity of Stockholm; but the season was advancing, and I was
reluctantly compelled to push on toward Norway.