So far as regards their moral character, the Finns have as little cause

for reproach as any other people. We found them as universally honest

and honourable in their dealings as the Northern Swedes, who are not

surpassed in the world in this respect. Yet their countenances express

more cunning and reserve, and the virtue may be partly a negative one,

resulting from that indolence which characterises the frigid and the

torrid zone. Thus, also, notwithstanding physical signs which denote

more ardent animal passions than their neighbors, they are equally

chaste, and have as high a standard of sexual purity. Illegitimate

births are quite rare, and are looked upon as a lasting shame and

disgrace to both parties. The practice of "bundling" which, until

recently, was very common among Finnish lovers, very seldom led to such

results, and their marriage speedily removed the dishonour. Their

manners, socially, in this respect, are curiously contradictory. Thus,

while both sexes freely mingle in the bath, in a state of nature, while

the women unhesitatingly scrub, rub and dry their husbands, brothers or

male friends, while the salutation for both sexes is an embrace with the

right arm, a kiss is considered grossly immodest and improper. A Finnish

woman expressed the greatest astonishment and horror, at hearing from

Mr. Wolley that it was a very common thing in England for a husband and

wife to kiss each other. "If my husband were to attempt such a thing,"

said she, "I would beat him about the ears so that he would feel it for

a week." Yet in conversation they are very plain and unreserved, though

by no means gross. They acknowledge that such things as generation,

gestation and parturition exist, and it may be that this very absence of

mystery tends to keep chaste so excitable and imaginative a race.

Notwithstanding their superstition, their love of poetry, and the wild,

rich, musical character of their language, there is a singular absence

of legendary lore in this part of Finland. Perhaps this is owing to the

fact that their ancestors have emigrated hither, principally within the

last two centuries, from the early home of the race--Tavastland, the

shores of the Pajana Lake, and the Gulf of Finland. It is a difficult

matter to preserve family traditions among them, or even any extended

genealogical record, from the circumstance that a Finn takes his name,

not only from his father's surname, but from his residence. Thus, Isaaki

takes the name of "Anderinpoika" from his father Anderi, and adds

"Niemi," the local name of his habitation. His son Nils will be called

Nils Isakipoika, with the addition of the name of his residence,

wherever that may be; and his family name will be changed as often as

his house. There may be a dozen different names in the course of one

generation, and the list soon becomes too complicated and confused for

an uneducated memory. It is no wonder, therefore, that the Finn knows

very little except about what happened during his own life, or, at best,

his father's. I never heard the Kalewala spoken of, and doubt very much

whether it is known to the natives of this region. The only songs we

heard, north of Haparanda, were hymns--devout, but dismal. There must be

ballads and household songs yet alive, but the recent spiritual fever

has silenced them for the time.

I was at first a little surprised to find the natives of the North so

slow, indolent and improvident. We have an idea that a cold climate is

bracing and stimulating--_ergo_, the further north you go, the more

active and energetic you will find the people. But the touch of ice is

like that of fire. The tropics relax, the pole benumbs, and the

practical result is the same in both cases. In the long, long winter,

when there are but four hours of twilight to twenty of darkness--when

the cows are housed, the wood cut, the hay gathered, the barley bran and

fir bark stowed away for bread, and the summer's catch of fish

salted--what can a man do, when his load of wood or hay is hauled home,

but eat, gossip and sleep? To bed at nine, and out of it at eight in the

morning, smoking and dozing between the slow performance of his few

daily duties, he becomes at last as listless and dull as a hibernating

bear. In the summer he has perpetual daylight, and need not hurry.

Besides, why should he give himself special trouble to produce an

unusually large crop of flax or barley, when a single night may make his

labours utterly profitless? Even in midsummer the blighting frost may

fall: nature seems to take a cruel pleasure in thwarting him: he is

fortunate only through chance; and thus a sort of Arab fatalism and

acquiescence in whatever happens, takes possession of him. His

improvidence is also to be ascribed to the same cause. Such fearful

famine and suffering as existed in Finland and Lapland during the winter

of 1856-7 might no doubt have been partially prevented, but no human

power could have wholly forestalled it.

The polar zone was never designed for the abode of man. In the

pre-Adamite times, when England was covered with palm-forests, and

elephants ranged through Siberia, things may have been widely different,

and the human race then (if there was any) may have planted vineyards on

these frozen hills and lived in bamboo huts. But since the geological

_émeutes_ and revolutions, and the establishment of the terrestrial

_régime_, I cannot for the life of me see whatever induced beings

endowed with human reason, to transplant themselves hither and here take

root, while such vast spaces lie waste and useless in more genial

climes. A man may be pardoned for remaining where the providences of

birth and education have thrown him, but I cannot excuse the first

colonists for inflicting such a home upon centuries of descendants.

Compare even their physical life--the pure animal satisfaction in

existence, for that is not a trifling matter after all--with that of the

Nubians, or the Malays, or the Polynesians! It is the difference between

a poor hare, hunted and worried year after year by hounds and visions of

hounds and the familiar, confiding wren, happiest of creatures, because

secure of protection everywhere. Oh that the circle of the ecliptic

would coincide with that of the equator! That the sun would shine from

pole to pole for evermore, and all lands be habitable and hospitable,

and the Saharan sands (according to Fourier) be converted into bowers of

the Hesperides, and the bitter salt of the ocean brine (_vide_ the same

author) become delicious champagne punch, wherein it would be pleasure

to drown! But I am afraid that mankind is not yet fit for such a

millennium.

Meanwhile it is truly comforting to find that even here, where men live

under such discouraging circumstances that one would charitably forgive

them the possession of many vices, they are, according to their light,

fully as true, and honest, and pure, as the inhabitants of the most

favoured countries in the world. Love for each other, trust in each

other, faith in God, are all vital among them; and their shortcomings

are so few and so easily accounted for, that one must respect them and

feel that his faith in man is not lessened in knowing them. You who

spend your lives at home can never know how much good there is in the

world. In rude unrefined races, evil naturally rises to the surface, and

one can discern the character of the stream beneath its scum. It is only

in the highest civilisation where the outside is goodly to the eye, too

often concealing an interior foul to the core.

But I have no time to moralise on these matters. My duty is that of a

chronicler; and if I perform that conscientiously, the lessons which my

observations suggest will need no pointing out. I cannot close this

chapter, however, without confessing my obligations to Mr. Wolley, whose

thorough knowledge of the Lapps and Finns enabled me to test the truth

of my own impressions, and to mature opinions which I should otherwise,

from my own short experience, have hesitated in stating. Mr. Wolley,

with that pluck and persistence of English character which Emerson so

much admires, had made himself master of all that Lapland can furnish to

the traveller, but intended remaining another year for scientific

purposes. If he gives to the world--as I hope and trust he will--the

result of this long and patient inquiry and investigation, we shall have

at last a standard authority for this little-known corner of Europe. We

were also indebted to Mr. Wolley for much personal kindness, which I

take pleasure in acknowledging in the only way he cannot prevent.

CHAPTER XIV.

EXPERIENCES OF ARCTIC WEATHER.

We bade a final adieu to Muoniovara on the afternoon of the 24th of

January, leaving Mr. Wolley to wait for June and the birds in that

dismal seclusion. Instead of resuming _skjuts_, we engaged horses as far

as Kengis from Herr Forström and a neighbouring Finn, with a couple of

shock-headed natives as postillions. Our sleds were mounted upon two

rough Finnish sledges, the only advantage of which was to make harder

work for the horses--but the people would have it so. The sun was down,

but a long, long twilight succeeded, with some faint show of a zodiacal

light. There was a tolerable track on the river, but our Finns walked

their horses the whole way, and we were nearly seven hours in making

Parkajoki. The air was very sharp; my nose, feet and hands kept me

busily employed, and I began to fear that I was becoming unusually

sensitive to cold, for the thermometer indicated but 15° below zero when

we started. At Parkajoki, however, my doubts were removed and my

sensations explained, on finding that the temperature had fallen to 44°

below.

We slept warmly and well on our old bed of reindeer skins, in one

corner of the milk-room. When Braisted, who rose first, opened the door,

a thick white mist burst in and rolled heavily along the floor. I went

out, attired only in my shirt and drawers, to have a look at the

weather. I found the air very still and keen, though not painfully

cold--but I was still full of the warmth of sleep. The mercury, however,

had sunk into the very bulb of the thermometer, and was frozen so solid

that I held it in the full glare of the fire for about a minute and a

half before it thawed sufficiently to mount. The temperature was

probably 50° below zero, if not more--greater than any we had yet

experienced. But it was six o'clock, and we must travel. Fortifying

ourselves with coffee and a little meat, and relying for defence in case

of extremity on a bottle of powerful rum with which we had supplied

ourselves, we muffled up with more than usual care, and started for

Kihlangi.

We devoted ourselves entirely to keeping warm, and during the ride of

six hours suffered very little except from the gradual diminution of our

bodily temperature. It was a dreary journey, following the course of the

Muonio between black, snow-laden forests. The sun rose to a height of

seven or eight degrees at meridian; when we came over the same road, on

our way north, he only showed half his disc. At Kihlangi the people

recognised us, and were as well disposed as their stupidity would allow.

The old woman cooked part of our reindeer joint, which, with half a

dozen cups of strong coffee, brought back a comfortable warmth to our

extremities. There were still twenty-four miles to be traversed; the

horses were already exhausted, and the temperature only rose to -42° at

midday, after which it fell again. We had a terrible journey. Step by

step the horses slowly pulled us through the snow, every hour seeming

lengthened to a day, as we worked our benumbed fingers and toes until

the muscles were almost powerless, and yet it was dangerous to cease.

Gradually the blood grew colder in the main channels; insidious chills

succeeded, followed by a drowsy torpor, like that which is produced by a

heavy dose of opium, until we were fain to have recourse to the rum, a

horrid, vitriolic beverage, which burned our throats and stomachs like

melted lead, yet gave us a temporary relief.

We almost despaired of reaching Jokijalka, on finding, about ten o'clock

at night, that our postillions had taken us to the village of Kolare,

and stopped before a large log house, where they seemed to think we

would spend the night. Everybody had gone to bed, we knew not where we

were, and had set our hearts upon the comfortable guest's room at

Jokijalka. It was impossible to make the fellows understand me, but they

saw that we were angry, and after a short consultation passed on. We

again entered the snowy woods, which were dimly lighted up by an aurora

behind us--a strange, mysterious, ghastly illumination, like the

phosphorescent glow of a putrefying world. We were desperately cold, our

very blood freezing in our veins, and our limbs numb and torpid. To keep

entirely awake was impossible. We talked incessantly, making random

answers, as continual fleeting dreams crossed the current of our

consciousness. A heavy thump on the back was pardoned by him who

received it, and a punch between the eyes would have been thankfully

accepted had it been necessary.

At last, at last, Kolare church on the river bank came in sight; we

crossed to the Russian side, and drove into the yard of the inn. It was

nearly midnight, 47° below zero, and we had been for seventeen hours

exposed to such a temperature. Everybody had long been asleep. Locks and

bolts are unknown, however, so we rushed into the family room, lit fir

splinters, and inspected the faces of the sleeping group until we found

the landlord, who arose and kindled a fresh fire in the milk-room. They

made us coffee and a small bed, saying that the guest's room was too

cold, which indeed it was, being little less than the outside

temperature. On opening the door in the morning, the cold air rushed in

as thick and white as steam. We had a little meat cooked, but could not

eat enough, at such an early hour, to supply much fuel. As for taking

anything with us for refreshment on the road, it was out of the

question. One of our Finns turned back to Muoniovara with the laziest

horse, and we got another from our Russian landlord. But it was a long,

long journey to the next station (twenty miles), and the continuance of

the extreme cold began to tell upon us. This part of the road was very

heavy, as on the journey up--seemingly a belt of exposed country where

the snow drifts more than elsewhere.

At Kexisvara we found two of the three pleasant women, who cooked our

last fragment of reindeer meat, and sent off for horses to Kardis. We

here parted with our other Finn, very glad to get rid of his horse, and

take a fresh start. We had no difficulty now in making our way with the

people, as they all recognised us and remembered our overpayments;

besides which, I had enlarged my Finnish vocabulary at Muoniovara. Our

horses were better, our sledges lighter and we were not long in reaching

the iron-works at Kengis, which we passed at dusk. I should willingly

have called upon the hospitable _bruk-patron_, but we were in too great

a hurry to get out of the frigid zone. We were warmed by our meal, and

sang lustily as we slid down the Torneå, finding its dreary,

sparsely-settled banks cheerful and smiling by contrast with the

frightful solitudes we had left. After some hours the postillion stopped

before a house on the Swedish bank to hay his horses. We went up and

found a single inhabitant, a man who was splitting fir for torches, but

the conversation was limited to alternate puffs from our pipes. There

was a fine aurora behind us--a low arch of white fire, with streamers

radiating outward, shifting and dancing along its curve.

It was nearly ten o'clock before we reached Kardis, half unconscious

from the cold. Our horse ran into the wrong place, and we lost sight of

the baggage-sled, our only guide in the darkness. We could no longer

trust the animal's instinct, but had to depend on our own, which is

perhaps truer: at least, I have often found in myself traces of that

blind, unreasoning faculty which guides the bee and the bird, and have

never been deceived in trusting to it. We found the inn, and carried a

cloud of frozen vapor into the kitchen with us, as we opened the door.

The graceful wreaths of ice-smoke rolled before our feet, as before

those of ascending saints in the old pictures, but ourselves, hair from

head to foot, except two pairs of eyes, which looked out through icy

loop-holes, resembled the reverse of saints. I told the landlord in

Finnish that we wanted to sleep--"_mia tarvi nuku á_." He pointed to a

bed in the corner, out of which rose a sick girl, of about seventeen,

very pale, and evidently suffering. They placed some benches near the

fire, removed the bedding, and disposed her as comfortably as the place

permitted. We got some hot milk and hard bread, threw some reindeer

skins on the vacant truck, and lay down, but not to sleep much. The room

was so close and warm, and the dozen persons in it so alternately

snoring and restless, that our rest was continually disturbed. We,

therefore, rose early and aroused the lazy natives.

The cold was still at 47° below zero. The roads were so much better,

however, that we descended again to our own runners, and our lively

horses trotted rapidly down the Torneå. The signs of settlement and

comparative civilisation which now increased with every mile were really

cheering. Part of our way lay through the Swedish woods and over the

intervening morasses, where the firs were hung with weepers of

black-green moss, and stood solid and silent in their mantles of snow,

lighted with a magnificent golden flush at sunrise. The morning was

icy-clear and dazzling. There was not the least warmth in the sun's

rays, but it was pleasant to see him with a white face once more. We

could still stare at him without winking, but the reflection from the

jewelled snow pained our eyes. The cold was so keen that we were obliged

to keep our faces buried between our caps and boas, leaving only the

smallest possible vacancy for the eyes. This was exceedingly

disagreeable, on account of the moisture from the breath, which kept the

squirrel tails constantly wet and sticky. Nevertheless, the cold

penetrated through the little aperture; my eyes and forehead were like

marble, the eyeballs like lumps of ice, sending a sharp pang of cold

backward into the brain. I realised distinctly how a statue must feel.

Beyond Pello, where we stopped to "fire up," our road lay mostly on the

Russian side. While crossing the Torneå at sunset, we met a drove of

seventy or eighty reindeer, in charge of a dozen Lapps, who were

bringing a cargo from Haparanda. We were obliged to turn off the road

and wait until they had passed. The landlord at Juoxengi, who was quite

drunk, hailed us with a shout and a laugh, and began talking about

Kautokeino. We had some difficulty in getting rid of his conversation,

and his importunities for us to stay all night. This was the place where

they tried to make us leave, on the way up. I replied to the landlord's

torrent of Finnish with some choice specimens of Kentucky oratory, which

seemed to make but little impression on him. He gave us excellent

horses, however, and we sped away again, by the light of another

brilliant auroral arch.

Our long exposure to the extreme cold, coupled as it was with lack of

rest and nourishment, now began to tell upon us. Our temperature fell so

low that we again had recourse to the rum, which alone, I verily

believe, prevented us from freezing bodily. One is locked in the iron

embrace of the polar air, until the very life seems to be squeezed out

of him. I huddled myself in my poesk, worked my fingers and toes, buried

my nose in the damp, frozen fur, and laboured like a Hercules to keep

myself awake and alive--but almost in vain. Braisted and I kept watch

over each other, or attempted it, for about the only consciousness

either of us had was that of the peril of falling asleep. We talked of

anything and everything, sang, thumped each other, but the very next

minute would catch ourselves falling over the side of the sled. A

thousand dreams worried my brain and mixed themselves with my talk; and

the absurdities thus created helped to arouse me. Speaking of seeing

some wolves in the woods of California, I gravely continued: "I took out

my sword, sharpened it on the grindstone and dared him to come on," when

a punch in the ribs stopped me. Another time, while talking of

hippopotami in the White Nile, I said: "If you want any skins, you must

go to the Hudson's Bay Company. They have a depôt of them on Vancouver's

Island." Braisted gave me much trouble, by assuring me in the most

natural wide-awake voice that he was not in the least sleepy, when the

reins had dropped from his hands and his head rocked on his shoulder. I

could never be certain whether he was asleep or awake. Our only plan was

not to let the conversation flag a minute.

At Torakankorwa we changed horses without delay, and hurried on to

Matarengi. On turning out of the road to avoid a hay-sled, we were

whirled completely over. There was no fun in this, at such a time. I

fell head foremost into deep snow, getting a lump in my right eye, which

completely blinded me for a time. My forehead, eyebrows, and the bridge

of my nose were insufferably painful. On reaching Matarengi I found my

nose frozen through, and considerably swollen. The people were in bed,

but we went into the kitchen, where a dozen or more were stowed about,

and called for the landlord. Three young girls, who were in bed in one

corner, rose and dressed themselves in our presence without the least

hesitation, boiled some milk, and gave us bread and butter. We had a

single small bed, which kept us warm by obliging us to lie close.

Sometime in the night, two Swedes arrived, who blustered about and made

so much noise, that Braisted finally silenced them by threats of

personal violence, delivered in very good English.

In the morning the mercury froze, after showing 49° below zero. The cold

was by this time rather alarming, especially after our experiences of

the previous day. The air was hazy with the fine, frozen atoms of

moisture, a raw wind blew from the north, the sky was like steel which

has been breathed upon--in short, the cold was visible to the naked eye.

We warmed our gloves and boots, and swathed our heads so completely that

not a feature was to be seen. I had a little loophole between my cap and

boa, but it was soon filled up with frost from my breath, and helped to

keep in the warmth. The road was hard and smooth as marble. We had good

horses, and leaving Avasaxa and the polar circle behind us, we sped down

the solid bed of the Torneå to Niemis. On the second stage we began to

freeze for want of food. The air was really terrible; nobody ventured

out of doors who could stay in the house. The smoke was white and dense,

like steam; the wind was a blast from the Norseman's hell, and the touch

of it on your face almost made you scream. Nothing can be more

severe--flaying, branding with a hot iron, cutting with a dull knife,

&c., may be something like it, but no worse.

The sun rose through the frozen air a little after nine, and mounted

quite high at noon. At Päckilä we procured some hot milk and smoked

reindeer, tolerable horses and a stout boy of fourteen to drive our

baggage-sled. Every one we met had a face either frozen, or about to

freeze. Such a succession of countenances, fiery red, purple, blue,

black almost, with white frost spots, and surrounded with rings of icy

hair and fur, I never saw before. We thanked God again and again that

our faces were turned southward, and that the deadly wind was blowing on

our backs. When we reached Korpikilä, our boy's face, though solid and

greasy as a bag of lard, was badly frozen. His nose was quite white and

swollen, as if blistered by fire, and there were frozen blotches on both

cheeks. The landlord rubbed the parts instantly with rum, and performed

the same operation on our noses.

On this day, for the first time in more than a month, we saw daylight,

and I cannot describe how cheering was the effect of those pure, white,

brilliant rays, in spite of the iron landscape they illumined. It was no

longer the setting light of the level Arctic sun; not the twilight

gleams of shifting colour, beautiful, but dim; not the faded, mock

daylight which sometimes glimmered for a half-hour at noon; but the true

white, full, golden day, which we had almost forgotten. So nearly,

indeed, that I did not for some time suspect the cause of the unusual

whiteness and brightness. Its effect upon the trees was superb. The

twigs of the birch and the needles of the fir were coated with crystal,

and sparkled like jets of jewels spouted up from the immaculate snow.

The clumps of birches can be compared to nothing but frozen

fountains--frozen in full action, with their showery sheaves of spray

arrested before they fell. It was a wonderful, a fairy world we

beheld--too beautiful to be lifeless, but every face we met reminded us

the more that this was the chill beauty of Death--of dead Nature. Death

was in the sparkling air, in the jewelled trees, in the spotless snow.

Take off your mitten, and his hand will grasp yours like a vice; uncover

your mouth, and your frozen lips will soon acknowledge his kiss.

Even while I looked the same icy chills were running through my blood,

precursors of that drowsy torpor which I was so anxious to avoid. But

no; it _would come_, and I dozed until both hands became so stiff that

it was barely possible to restore their powers of motion and feeling. It

was not quite dark when we reached Kuckula, the last station, but thence

to Haparanda our horses were old and lazy, and our postillion was a

little boy, whose weak voice had no effect. Braisted kept his hands warm

in jerking and urging, but I sat and froze. Village after village was

passed, but we looked in vain for the lights of Torneå. We were

thoroughly exhausted with our five days' battle against the dreadful

cold, when at last a row of lights gleamed across the river, and we

drove up to the inn. The landlord met us with just the same words as on

the first visit, and, strange enough, put us into the same room, where

the same old Norrland merchant was again quartered in the same stage of

tipsiness. The kind Fredrika did not recognise us in our Lapp dresses,

until I had unrobed, when she cried out in joyful surprise, "Why, you

were here before!"

We had been so completely chilled that it was a long time before any

perceptible warmth returned. But a generous meal, with a bottle of what

was called "_gammal scherry_" (though the Devil and his servants, the

manufacturers of chemical wines, only knew what it was), started the

flagging circulation. We then went to bed, tingling and stinging in

every nerve from the departing cold. Every one complained of the

severity of the weather, which, we were told, had not been equalled for

many years past. But such a bed, and such a rest as I had! Lying between

clean sheets, with my feet buried in soft fur, I wallowed in a flood of

downy, delicious sensations until sunrise. In the morning we ventured to

wash our faces and brush our teeth for the first time in five days, put

on clean shirts, and felt once more like responsible beings. The natives

never wash when the weather is so cold, and cautioned us against it. The

wind had fallen but the mercury again froze at 47° below zero.

Nevertheless, we went out after breakfast to call upon Dr. Wretholm, and

walk over the Torneå.

The old Doctor was overjoyed to see us again. "Ah!" said he, "it is a

good fortune that you have got back alive. When the weather was so cold,

I thought of you, travelling over the Norwegian _fjeller_, and thought

you must certainly be frozen to death." His wife was no less cordial in

her welcome. They brought us ale and Swedish punch, with reindeer cheese

for our frozen noses, and insisted on having their horse put into the

sled to take us over to Torneå and bring us back to dinner. The doctor's

boy drove us, facing the wind with our faces exposed, at -42°, but one

night's rest and good food enabled us to bear it without inconvenience.

Torneå is a plain Swedish town, more compactly built than Haparanda, yet

scarcely larger. The old church is rather picturesque, and there were

some tolerable houses, which appeared to be government buildings, but

the only things particularly Russian which we noticed were a Cossack

sentry, whose purple face showed that he was nearly frozen, and a

guide-post with "150 versts to Uleaborg" upon it. On returning to the

Doctor's we found a meal ready, with a capital salad of frozen salmon,

_bouillon_, ale, and coffee. The family were reading the Swedish

translation of "Dred" in the _Aftonblad_, and were interested in hearing

some account of Mrs. Beecher Stowe. We had a most agreeable and

interesting visit to these kind, simple-hearted people.

I made a sunset sketch of Torneå. I proposed also to draw Fredrika, but

she at once refused, in great alarm. "Not for anything in the world,"

said she, "would I have it done!" What superstitious fears possessed her

I could not discover. We made arrangements to start for Kalix the next

day, on our way to Stockholm. The extreme temperature still continued.

The air was hazy with the frozen moisture--the smoke froze in solid

masses--the snow was brittle and hard as metal--iron stuck like glue--in

short, none of the signs of an Arctic winter were wanting. Nevertheless,

we trusted to the day's rest and fatter fare on the road for strength to

continue the battle.

CHAPTER XV.

INCIDENTS OF THE RETURN JOURNEY.

We left Haparanda on the 30th of January. After six days of true Arctic

weather--severer than any registered by De Haven's expedition, during a

winter in the polar ice--the temperature rose suddenly to 26° below

zero. We were happy and jolly at getting fairly started for Stockholm at

last, and having such mild (!) weather to travel in. The difference in

our sensations was remarkable. We could boldly bare our faces and look

about us; our feet kept warm and glowing, and we felt no more the

hazardous chill and torpor of the preceding days. On the second stage

the winter road crossed an arm of the Bothnian Gulf. The path was well

marked out with fir-trees--a pretty avenue, four or five miles in

length, over the broad, white plain. On the way we saw an eruption of

the ice, which had been violently thrown up by the confined air. Masses

three feet thick and solid as granite were burst asunder and piled atop

of each other.

We travelled too fast this day for the proper enjoyment of the wonderful

scenery on the road. I thought I had exhausted my admiration of these

winter forests--but no, miracles will never cease. Such fountains,

candelabra, Gothic pinnacles, tufts of plumes, colossal sprays of coral,

and the embodiments of the fairy pencillings of frost on window panes,

wrought in crystal and silver, are beyond the power of pen or pencil. It

was a wilderness of beauty; we knew not where to look, nor which forms

to choose, in the dazzling confusion. Silent and all unmoved by the wind

they stood, sharp and brittle as of virgin ore--not trees of earth, but

the glorified forests of All-Father Odin's paradise, the celestial city

of Asgaard. No living forms of vegetation are so lovely. Tropical palms,

the tree-ferns of Penang, the lotus of Indian rivers, the feathery

bamboo, the arrowy areca--what are they beside these marvellous growths

of winter, these shining sprays of pearl, ivory and opal, gleaming in

the soft orange light of the Arctic sun?

At Sängis we met a handsome young fellow with a moustache, who proved to

be the _Länsman_ of Kalix. I was surprised to find that he knew all

about us. He wondered at our coming here north, when we might stay at

home thought once would be enough for us, and had himself been no

further than Stockholm. I recognised our approach to Näsby by the

barrels set in the snow--an ingenious plan of marking the road in places

where the snow drifts, as the wind creates a whirl or eddy around them.

We were glad to see Näsby and its two-story inn once more. The pleasant

little handmaiden smiled all over her face when she saw us again. Näsby

is a crack place: the horses were ready at once, and fine creatures they

were, taking us up the Kalix to Månsbyn, eight miles in one hour. The

road was hard as a rock and smooth as a table, from much ploughing and

rolling.

The next day was dark and lowering, threatening snow, with a raw wind

from the north-west, and an average temperature of 15° below zero. We

turned the north-western corner of the Bothnian Gulf in the afternoon,

and pushed on to Old Luleå by supper-time. At Persö, on the journey

north, I had forgotten my cigar-case, an old, familiar friend of some

years' standing, and was overjoyed to find that the servant-girl had

carefully preserved it, thinking I might return some day. We drove

through the streets of empty stables and past the massive church of Old

Luleå, to the inn, where we had before met the surly landlord. There he

was again, and the house was full, as the first time. However we

obtained the promise of a bed in the large room, and meanwhile walked up

and down to keep ourselves warm. The guests' rooms were filled with

gentlemen of the neighborhood, smoking and carousing. After an hour had

passed, a tall, handsome, strong fellow came out of the rooms, and

informed us that as we were strangers he would give up the room to us

and seek lodgings elsewhere. He had drunk just enough to be mellow and

happy, and insisted on delaying his own supper to let us eat first. Who

should come along at this juncture but the young fellow we had seen in

company with Brother Horton at Månsbyn, who hailed us with: "Thank you

for the last time!" With him was a very gentlemanly man who spoke

English. They were both accompanied by ladies, and were returning from

the ball of Piteå. The guests all treated us with great courtesy and

respect, and the landlord retired and showed his surly face no more. Our

first friend informed me that he had been born and brought up in the

neighborhood, but could not recollect such a severe winter.

As we descended upon the Luleå River in the morning we met ten sleighs

coming from the ball. The horses were all in requisition at the various

stations, but an extra supply had been provided, and we were not

detained anywhere. The Norrland sleds are so long that a man may place

his baggage in the front part and lie down at full length behind it. A

high back shields the traveller from the wind, and upon a step in the

rear stands the driver, with a pair of reins as long as a

main-top-bowline, in order to reach the horse, who is at the opposite

end of a very long pair of shafts. In these sleds one may travel with

much comfort, and less danger of overturning, though not so great speed

as in the short, light, open frames we bought in Sundsvall. The latter

are seldom seen so far north, and were a frequent object of curiosity to

the peasants at the stations. There is also a sled with a body something

like a Hansom cab, entirely closed, with a window in front, but they are

heavy, easily overturned, and only fit for luxurious travellers.

We approached Piteå at sunset. The view over the broad embouchure of the

river, studded with islands, was quite picturesque, and the town itself,

scattered along the shore and over the slopes of the hills made a fair

appearance. It reminded me somewhat of a small New-England country town,

with its square frame houses and an occasional garden. Here I was

rejoiced by the sight of a cherry-tree, the most northern fruit-tree

which I saw. On our way up, we thought Piteå, at night and in a

snow-storm, next door to the North Pole. Now, coming from the north,

seeing its snowy hills and house-roofs rosy with the glow of sunset, it

was warm and southern by contrast. The four principal towns of West and

North Bothnia are thus characterised in an old verse of Swedish

doggerel: Umeå, _the fine_; Piteå, _the needle-making_; Luleå, _the

lazy_; and in Torneå, _everybody gets drunk_.

We took some refreshment, pushed on and reached Abyn between nine and

ten o'clock, having travelled seventy miles since morning. The sleighing

was superb. How I longed for a dashing American cutter, with a span of

fast horses, a dozen strings of bells and an ebony driver! Such a

turnout would rather astonish the northern solitudes, and the slow,

quaint northern population. The next day we had a temperature of 2°

above zero, with snow falling, but succeeded in reaching Skellefteå for

breakfast. For the last two or three miles we travelled along a

hill-side overlooking a broad, beautiful valley, cleared and divided

into cultivated fields, and thickly sprinkled with villages and

farm-houses. Skellefteå itself made an imposing appearance, as the lofty

dome of its Grecian church came in sight around the shoulder of the

hill. We took the wrong road, and in turning about split one of our

shafts, but Braisted served it with some spare rope, using the

hatchet-handle as a marlingspike, so that it held stoutly all the rest

of the way to Stockholm.

We went on to Burea that night, and the next day to Djekneboda, sixty

miles farther. The temperature fluctuated about the region of zero, with

a heavy sky and light snow-falls. As we proceeded southward the forests

became larger, and the trees began to show a dark green foliage where

the wind had blown away the snow, which was refreshing to see, after the

black or dark indigo hue they wear farther north. On the 4th of

February, at noon, we passed through Umeå, and congratulated ourselves

on getting below the southern limit of the Lapland climate. There is

nothing to say about these towns; they are mere villages with less than

a thousand inhabitants each, and no peculiar interest, either local or

historical, attaching to any of them. We have slept in Luleå, and Piteå,

and dined in Umeå,--and further my journal saith not.

The 5th, however, was a day to be noticed. We started from Angersjö,

with a violent snow storm blowing in our teeth--thermometer at zero. Our

road entered the hilly country of Norrland, where we found green

forests, beautiful little dells, pleasant valleys, and ash and beech

intermingled with the monotonous but graceful purple birch. We were

overwhelmed with gusts of fine snow shaken from the trees as we passed.

Blinding white clouds swept the road, and once again we heard the howl

of the wind among boughs that were free to toss. At Afwa, which we

reached at one o'clock, we found a pale, weak, sickly young Swede, with

faded moustaches, who had decided to remain there until next day. This

circumstance induced us to go on, but after we had waited half an hour

and were preparing to start, the weather being now ten times worse than

before, he announced his resolution to start also. He had drunk four

large glasses of milk and two cups of coffee during the half hour.

We went ahead, breaking through drifts of loose snow which overtopped

our sleds, and lashed by the furious wind, which drove full in our

faces. There were two or three plows at work but we had no benefit from

them, so long as we were not directly in their wake. Up and down went

our way, over dark hills and through valleys wild with the storm, and

ending in chaos as they opened toward the Bothnian Gulf. Hour after hour

passed by, the storm still increased, and the snow beat in our eyes so

that we were completely blinded. It was impossible to keep them open,

and yet the moment we shut them the lashes began to freeze together. I

had a heavy weight of ice on my lids, and long icicles depending from

every corner of my beard. Yet our frozen noses appeared to be much

improved by the exposure, and began to give promise of healing without

leaving a red blotch as a lasting record of what they had endured. We

finally gave up all attempts to see or to guide the horse, but plunged

along at random through the chaos, until the postillion piloted our

baggage-sled into the inn-yard of Onska, and our horse followed it. The

Swede was close upon our heels, but I engaged a separate room, so that

we were freed from the depressing influence of his company. He may have

been the best fellow in the world, so far as his heart was concerned,

but was too weak in the knees to be an agreeable associate. There was no

more stiffness of fibre in him than in a wet towel, and I would as soon

wear a damp shirt as live in the same room with such a man. After all,

it is not strange that one prefers nerve and energy, even when they are

dashed with a flavour of vice, to the negative virtues of a character

too weak and insipid to be tempted.

Our inn, in this little Norrland village, was about as comfortable and

as elegant as three-fourths of the hotels in Stockholm. The rooms were

well furnished; none of the usual appliances were wanting; the

attendance was all that could be desired; the fare good and abundant,

and the charges less than half of what would be demanded in the capital.

Yet Stockholm, small as it is, claims to be for Sweden what Paris is to

France, and its inhabitants look with an eye of compassion on those of

the provinces. Norrland, in spite of its long winter, has a bracing,

healthy climate, and had it not been for letters from home, facilities

for studying Swedish, occasional recreation and the other attractions of

a capital, I should have preferred waiting in some of those wild valleys

for the spring to open. The people, notwithstanding their seclusion from

the world, have a brighter and more intelligent look than the peasants

of Uppland, and were there a liberal system of common school education

in Sweden, the raw material here might be worked up into products alike

honourable and useful to the country.

The Norrlanders seem to me to possess an indolent, almost phlegmatic

temperament, and yet there are few who do not show a latent capacity for

exertion. The latter trait, perhaps, is the true core and substance of

their nature; the former is an overgrowth resulting from habits and

circumstances. Like the peasants, or rather small farmers, further

north, they are exposed to the risk of seeing their summer's labours

rendered fruitless by a single night of frost. Such a catastrophe, which

no amount of industry and foresight can prevent, recurring frequently

(perhaps once in three years on an average), makes them indifferent, if

not reckless; while that patience and cheerfulness which is an integral

part of the Scandinavian as of the Saxon character, renders them

contented and unrepining under such repeated disappointments. There is

the stuff here for a noble people, although nature and a long course of

neglect and misrule have done their best to destroy it.

The Norrlanders live simply, perhaps frugally, but there seems to be

little real destitution among them. We saw sometimes in front of a

church, a representation of a beggar with his hat in his hand, under

which was an iron box, with an appeal to travellers to drop something in

for the poor of the parish; but of actual beggars we found none. The

houses, although small, are warm and substantial, mostly with double

windows, and a little vestibule in front of the door, to create an

intermediate temperature between the outer and inner air. The beds, even

in many of the inns, are in the family room, but during the day are

either converted into sofas or narrow frames which occupy but little

space. At night, the bedstead is drawn out to the required breadth,

single or double, as may be desired. The family room is always covered

with a strong home-made rag carpet, the walls generally hung with

colored prints and lithographs, illustrating religion or royalty, and as

many greenhouse plants as the owner can afford to decorate the windows.

I have seen, even beyond Umeå, some fine specimens of cactus,

pelargonium, calla, and other exotics. It is singular that, with the

universal passion of the Swedes for flowers and for music, they have

produced no distinguished painters or composers--but, indeed, a Linnæus.

We spent the evening cosily in the stately inn's best room, with its

white curtains, polished floor, and beds of sumptuous linen. The great

clipper-plows were out early in the morning, to cut a path through the

drifts of the storm, but it was nearly noon before the road was

sufficiently cleared to enable us to travel. The temperature, by

contrast with what we had so recently endured, seemed almost

tropical--actually 25° above zero, with a soft, southern breeze, and

patches of brilliant blue sky between the parting clouds. Our

deliverance from the Arctic cold was complete.

CHAPTER XVI.

CONCLUSION OF THE ARCTIC TRIP.

On leaving Onska, we experienced considerable delay on account of the

storm. The roads were drifted to such an extent that even the ploughs

could not be passed through in many places, and the peasants were

obliged to work with their broad wooden spades. The sky, however, was

wholly clear and of a pure daylight blue, such as we had not seen for

two months. The sun rode high in the firmament, like a strong healthy

sun again, with some warmth in his beams as they struck our faces, and

the air was all mildness and balm. It was heavenly, after our Arctic

life. The country, too, boldly undulating, with fir-forested hills,

green and warm in the sunshine, and wild, picturesque valleys sunk

between, shining in their covering of snow, charmed us completely. Again

we saw the soft blue of the distant ranges as they melted away behind

each other, suggesting space, and light, and warmth. Give me daylight

and sunshine, after all! Our Arctic trip seems like a long, long night

full of splendid dreams, but yet night and not day.

On the road, we bought a quantity of the linen handkerchiefs of the

country, at prices varying from twenty-five to forty cents a piece,

according to the size and quality. The bedding, in all the inns, was of

home-made linen, and I do not recollect an instance where it was not

brought out, fresh and sweet from the press, for us. In this, as in all

other household arrangements, the people are very tidy and cleanly,

though a little deficient as regards their own persons. Their clothing,

however, is of a healthy substantial character, and the women consult

comfort rather than ornament. Many of them wear cloth pantaloons under

their petticoats, which, therefore, they are able to gather under their

arms in wading through snow-drifts. I did not see a low-necked dress or

a thin shoe north of Stockholm.

"The damsel who trips at daybreak

Is shod like a mountaineer."

Yet a sensible man would sooner take such a damsel to wife than any

delicate Cinderella of the ball-room. I protest I lose all patience when

I think of the habits of our American women, especially our country

girls. If ever the Saxon race does deteriorate on our side of the

Atlantic, as some ethnologists anticipate, it will be wholly their

fault.

We stopped for the night at Hörnäs, and had a charming ride the next day

among the hills and along the inlets of the Gulf. The same bold,

picturesque scenery, which had appeared so dark and forbidding to us on

our way north, now, under the spring-like sky, cheered and inspired us.

At the station of Docksta, we found the peasant girls scrubbing the

outer steps, barefooted. At night, we occupied our old quarters at Weda,

on the Angermann river. The next morning the temperature was 25° above

zero, and at noon rose to 39°. It was delightful to travel once more

with cap-lappets turned up, fur collar turned down, face and neck free,

and hands bare. On our second stage we had an overgrown, insolent boy

for postillion, who persisted in driving slow, and refused to let us

pass him. He finally became impertinent, whereupon Braisted ran forward

and turned his horse out of the road, so that I could drive past. The

boy then seized my horse by the head; B. pitched him into a snow-bank,

and we took the lead. We had not gone far before we took the road to

Hernösand, through mistake, and afterwards kept it through spite, thus

adding about seven miles to our day's journey. A stretch of magnificent

dark-green forests brought us to a narrow strait which separates the

island of Hernösand from the main land. The ice was already softening,

and the upper layer repeatedly broke through under us.

Hernösand is a pretty town, of about 2000 inhabitants, with a

considerable commerce. It is also the capital of the most northern

bishopric of Sweden. The church, on an eminence above the town, is, next

to that of Skellefteå, the finest we saw in the north. We took a walk

while breakfast was preparing, and in the space of twenty minutes saw

all there was to be seen. By leaving the regular road, however, we had

incurred a delay of two hours, which did not add to our amiability.

Therefore, when the postillion, furiously angry now as well as insolent,

came in to threaten us with legal prosecution in case we did not pay him

heavy damages for what he called an assault, I cut the discussion short

by driving him out of the room, and that was the last we saw of him. We

reached Fjäl as the moon rose,--a globe of silver fire in a perfect

violet sky. Two merry boys, who sang and shouted the whole way, drove

us like the wind around the hay to Wifsta. The moonlight was as bright

as the Arctic noonday, and the snowy landscape flashed and glittered

under its resplendent shower. From the last hill we saw Sundsvall, which

lay beneath us, with its wintry roofs, like a city of ivory and crystal,

shining for us with the fairy promise of a warm supper and a good bed.

On the 9th, we drove along the shores of the magnificent bay of

Sundsvall. Six vessels lay frozen in, at a considerable distance from

the town. Near the southern extremity of the bay, we passed the village

of Svartvik, which, the postillion informed us, is all owned by one

person, who carries on ship-building. The appearance of the place

justified his statements. The labourers' houses were mostly new, all

built on precisely the same model, and with an unusual air of comfort

and neatness. In the centre of the village stood a handsome white

church, with a clock tower, and near it the parsonage and school-house.

At the foot of the slope were the yards, where several vessels were on

the stocks, and a number of sturdy workmen busy at their several tasks.

There was an air of "associated labour" and the "model lodging-house"

about the whole place, which was truly refreshing to behold, except a

touch of barren utilitarianism in the cutting away of the graceful firs

left from the forest, and thus depriving the houses of all shade and

ornament. We met many wood-teams, hauling knees and spars, and were

sorely troubled to get out of their way. Beyond the bay, the hills of

Norrland ceased, sinking into those broad monotonous undulations which

extend nearly all the way to Stockholm. Gardens with thriving

fruit-trees now began to be more frequent, giving evidence of a climate

where man has a right to live. I doubt whether it was ever meant that

the human race should settle in any zone so frigid that fruit cannot

ripen.

Thenceforth we had the roughest roads which were ever made upon a

foundation of snow. The increase in travel and in the temperature of the

air, and most of all, the short, loosely-attached sleds used to support

the ship-timber, had worn them into a succession of holes, channels, and

troughs, in and out of which we thumped from morning till night. On

going down hill, the violent shocks frequently threw our runners

completely into the air, and the wrench was so great that it was a

miracle how the sled escaped fracture. All the joints, it is true, began

to work apart, and the ash shafts bent in the most ticklish way; but the

rough little conveyance which had already done us such hard service held

out gallantly to the end. We reached Mo Myskie on the second night after

leaving Sundsvall, and I was greeted with "_Salaam aleikoom, ya Sidi!_"

from the jolly old Tripolitan landlord. There was an unusual amount of

travel northward on the following day, and we were detained at every

station, so that it was nearly midnight before we reached the

extortionate inn at Gefle. The morning dawned with a snow-storm, but we

were within 120 miles of Stockholm, and drove in the teeth of it to

Elfkarleby. The renowned cascades of the Dal were by no means what I

expected, but it was at least a satisfaction to see living water, after

the silent rivers and fettered rapids of the North.

The snow was now getting rapidly thinner. So scant was it on the

exposed Upsala plain that we fully expected being obliged to leave our

sleds on the way. Even before reaching Upsala, our postillions chose the

less-travelled field-roads whenever they led in the same direction, and

beyond that town we were charged additional post-money for the circuits

we were obliged to make to keep our runners on the snow. On the evening

of the 13th we reached Rotebro, only fourteen miles from Stockholm, and

the next morning, in splendid sunshine, drove past Haga park and palace,

into the North-Gate, down the long Drottning-gatan, and up to Kahn's

Hotel, where we presented our sleds to the _valet-de-place_, pulled off

our heavy boots, threw aside our furs for the remainder of the winter,

and sat down to read the pile of letters and papers which Herr Kahn

brought us. It was precisely two months since our departure in December,

and in that time we had performed a journey of 2200 miles, 250 of which

were by reindeer, and nearly 500 inside of the Arctic Circle. Our frozen

noses had peeled off, and the new skin showed no signs of the damage

they had sustained--so that we had come out of the fight not only

without a scar, but with a marked increase of robust vitality.

I must confess, however, that, interesting as was the journey, and

happily as we endured its exposures, I should not wish to make it again.

It is well to see the North, even _after_ the South; but, as there is no

one who visits the tropics without longing ever after to return again,

so, I imagine, there is no one who, having once seen a winter inside the

Arctic Circle, would ever wish to see another. In spite of the warm,

gorgeous, and ever-changing play of colour hovering over the path of

the unseen sun, in spite of the dazzling auroral dances and the magical

transfiguration of the forests, the absence of true daylight and of all

signs of warmth and life exercises at last a depressing influence on the

spirits. The snow, so beautiful while the sunrise setting illumination

lasts, wears a ghastly monotony at all other times, and the air, so

exhilarating, even at the lowest temperature, becomes an enemy to be

kept out, when you know its terrible power to benumb and destroy. To the

native of a warmer zone, this presence of an unseen destructive force in

nature weighs like a nightmare upon the mind. The inhabitants of the

North also seem to undergo a species of hibernation, as well as the

animals. Nearly half their time is passed in sleep; they are silent in

comparison with the natives of the other parts of the world; there is

little exuberant gaiety and cheerfulness, but patience, indifference,

apathy almost. Aspects of nature which appear to be hostile to man,

often develop and bring into play his best energies, but there are

others which depress and paralyse his powers. I am convinced that the

extreme North, like the Tropics, is unfavourable to the best mental and

physical condition of the human race. The proper zone of man lies

between 30° and 55° North.

To one who has not an unusual capacity to enjoy the experiences of

varied travel, I should not recommend such a journey. With me, the

realization of a long-cherished desire, the sense of novelty, the

opportunity for contrasting extremes, and the interest with which the

people inspired me, far outweighed all inconveniences and privations. In

fact, I was not fully aware of the gloom and cold in which I had lived

until we returned far enough southward to enjoy eight hours of sunshine,

and a temperature above the freezing point. It was a second birth into a

living world. Although we had experienced little positive suffering from

the intense cold, except on the return from Muoniovara to Haparanda, our

bodies had already accommodated themselves to a low temperature, and the

sudden transition to 30° above zero came upon us like the warmth of

June. My friend, Dr. Kane, once described to me the comfort he felt when

the mercury rose to 7° below zero, making it pleasant to be on deck. The

circumstance was then incomprehensible to me, but is now quite plain. I

can also the better realise the terrible sufferings of himself and his

men, exposed to a storm in a temperature of -47°, when the same degree

of cold, with a very light wind, turned my own blood to ice.

Most of our physical sensations are relative, and the mere enumeration

of so many degrees of heat or cold gives no idea of their effect upon

the system. I should have frozen at home in a temperature which I found

very comfortable in Lapland, with my solid diet of meat and butter, and

my garments of reindeer. The following is a correct scale of the

physical effect of cold, calculated for the latitude of 65° to 70°

North:

_15° above zero_--Unpleasantly warm.

_Zero_--Mild and agreeable.

_10° below zero_--Pleasantly fresh and bracing.

_20° below zero_--Sharp, but not severely cold. Keep your fingers and

toes in motion, and rub your nose occasionally.

_30° below zero_--Very cold; take particular care of your nose and

extremities: eat the fattest food, and plenty of it _40°

below_--Intensely cold; keep awake at all hazards, muffle up to the

eyes, and test your circulation frequently, that it may not stop

somewhere before you know it.

_50° below_--A struggle for life.

* We kept a record of the temperature from the time we left

Sundsvall (Dec. 21) until our return to Stockholm. As a matter

of interest, I subjoin it, changing the degrees from Reaumur

to Fahrenheit. We tested the thermometer repeatedly on the way,

and found it very generally reliable, although in extremely

low temperature it showed from one to two degrees more than a

spirit thermometer. The observations were taken at from 9 to

8 A. M., 12 to 2 P. M., and 7 to 11 P. M., whenever it was

possible.

_Morning._ _Noon._ _Evening._

December 21 + 6 .. zero.

" 22 + 6 .. - 3

" 23 -22 -29 -22

" 24 - 6 -22 -22

" 25 -35 -38 mer. frozen.

" 26 -30 -24 -31

" 27 (storm) -18 -18 -18

" 28 (storm) zero. zero. zero.

" 29 - 6 -13 -13

" 30 - 6 -13 -22

" 31 (storm) - 3 + 9 + 9

January 1, 1857 + 3 + 3 + 3

" 2 - 6 - 6 - 6

" 3 -30 -22 -22

" 4 -18 .. -22

" 5 -31 -30 -33

" 6 -20 - 4 zero.

" 7 + 4 +18 +25

" 8 +18 .. -11

" 9 -28 -44 -44

" 10(storm) - 5 .. - 2

" 11(storm) - 2 zero. - 5

" 12, 1857 (storm) - 5 - 4 - 4

" 13 (storm) + 5 + 5 + 5

" 14 - 6 -13 - 6

" 15 - 8 -13 -33

" 16 - 9 -10 -11

" 17 (fog) zero. zero. zero.

" 18 -10 -18 -23

" 19 (storm) - 3 - 3 - 9

" 20 +20 .. + 6

" 21 - 4 zero. zero.

" 22 + 2 - 6 -13

" 23 -13 - 3 -13

" 24 -15 -22 -44

" 25 mer. froz. -50? -42 mer. frozen

" 26 -45 -35 -39

" 27 frozen -47? -45 -35

" 28 frozen -49? -47 -44

" 29 -47? -43 -43

" 30 -27 -11 -35

" 31 -17 -16 - 7

February 1 zero. - 9 -13

" 2 + 2 + 6 zero.

" 3 zero. zero. zero.

" 4 - 9 zero. - 3

" 5 (storm) + 3 + 3 + 3

" 6 +25 +25 +18

" 7 +14 +18 +25

" 8 +25 +39 +22

" 9 + 5 +22 +16

" 10 +25 +37 +37

" 11 +34 +34 +32

" 12 +32 +37 +23

" 13 +16 +30 +21

" 14 +25 +30 +25

CHAPTER XVII.

LIFE IN STOCKHOLM.

The Swedes are proud of Stockholm, and justly so. No European capital,

except Constantinople, can boast such picturesque beauty of position,

and none whatever affords so great a range of shifting yet ever lovely

aspects. Travellers are fond of calling it, in the imitative

nomenclature of commonplace, the "Venice of the North"--but it is no

Venice. It is not that swan of the Adriatic, singing her death-song in

the purple sunset, but a northern eaglet, nested on the islands and

rocky shores of the pale green Mälar lake. The _Stad_, or city proper,

occupies three islands, which lie in the mouth of the narrow strait, by

which the waters of the lake, after having come a hundred miles from the

westward, and washed in their course the shores of thirteen hundred

islands, pour themselves into the outer archipelago which is claimed by

the Baltic Sea. On the largest of these islands, according to tradition,

Agne, King of Sweden, was strangled with his own golden chain, by the

Finnish princess Skiolfa, whom he had taken prisoner. This was sixteen

hundred years ago, and a thousand years later, Birger Jarl, on the same

spot, built the stronghold which was the seed out of which Stockholm has

grown.

This island, and the adjoining _Riddarholm_, or Island of the Knights,

contain all the ancient historic landmarks of the city, and nearly all

of its most remarkable buildings. The towers of the Storkyrka and the

Riddarholm's Church lift themselves high into the air; the dark red mass

of the _Riddarhus_, or House of Nobles, and the white turrets and

quadrangles of the penitentiary are conspicuous among the old white,

tile-roofed blocks of houses; while, rising above the whole, the most

prominent object in every view of Stockholm, is the _Slot_, or Royal

Palace. This is one of the noblest royal residences in Europe. Standing

on an immense basement terrace of granite, its grand quadrangle of

between three and four hundred feet square, with wings (resembling, in

general design, the Pitti Palace at Florence), is elevated quite above

the rest of the city, which it crowns as with a mural diadem. The chaste

and simple majesty of this edifice, and its admirable proportions, are a

perpetual gratification to the eye, which is always drawn to it, as a

central point, and thereby prevented from dwelling on whatever

inharmonious or unsightly features there may be in the general view.

Splendid bridges of granite connect the island with the northern and

southern suburbs, each of which is much greater in extent than the city

proper. The palace fronts directly upon the _Norrbro_, or Northern

Bridge, the great thoroughfare of Stockholm, which leads to the Square

of Gustavus Adolphus, flanked on either side by the palace of the Crown

Prince and the Opera House. The northern suburb is the fashionable

quarter, containing all the newest streets and the handsomest private

residences. The ground rises gradually from the water, and as very

little attention is paid to grading, the streets follow the undulations

of the low hills over which they spread, rising to the windmills on the

outer heights and sinking into the hollows between. The southern suburb,

however, is a single long hill, up the steep side of which the houses

climb, row after row, until they reach the Church of St. Catherine,

which crowns the very summit. In front of the city (that is eastward,

and toward the Baltic), lie two other islands, connected by bridges with

the northern suburb. Still beyond is the Djurgård, or Deer-Park, a

singularly picturesque island, nearly the whole of which is occupied by

a public park, and the summer villas of the wealthy Stockholmers. Its

natural advantages are superior to those of any other park in Europe.

Even in April, when there was scarcely a sign of spring, its cliffs of

grey rock, its rolling lawns of brown grass, and its venerable oaks,

with their iron trunks and gnarled, contorted boughs, with blue glimpses

of ice-free water on all sides, attracted hundreds of visitors daily.

The streets of Stockholm are, with but two or three exceptions, narrow

and badly paved. The municipal regulations in regard to them appear to

be sadly deficient. They are quite as filthy as those of New-York, and

the American reader will therefore have some idea of their horrid

condition. A few _trottoirs_ have been recently introduced, but even in

the Drottning-gatan, the principal street, they are barely wide enough

for two persons to walk abreast. The pavements are rough, slippery, and

dangerous both to man and beast. I have no doubt that the great number

of cripples in Stockholm is owing to this cause. On the other hand, the

houses are models of solidity and stability. They are all of stone, or

brick stuccoed over, with staircases of stone or iron, wood being

prohibited by law, and roofs of copper, slate or tiles. In fact, the

Swedes have singularly luxurious ideas concerning roofs, spending much

more money upon them, proportionately, than on the house itself. You

even see wooden shanties with copper roofs, got up regardless of

expense. The houses are well lighted (which is quite necessary in the

dark streets), and supplied with double windows against the cold. The

air-tight Russian stove is universal. It has the advantage of keeping up

sufficient warmth with a very small supply of fuel, but at the expense

of ventilation. I find nothing yet equal to the old-fashioned fireplace

in this respect, though I must confess I prefer the Russian stove to our

hot-air furnaces. Carpets are very common in Sweden, and thus the

dwellings have an air of warmth and comfort which is not found in

Germany and other parts of the Continent. The arrangements for sleeping

and washing are tolerable, though scanty, as compared with England, but

the cleanliness of Swedish houses makes amends for many deficiencies.

The manner of living in Stockholm, nevertheless, is not very agreeable

to the stranger. There is no hotel, except Kahn's, where one can obtain

both beds and meals. The practice is to hire rooms, generally with the

privilege of having your coffee in the morning, and to get your meals at

a restaurant, of which there are many, tolerably cheap and not

particularly good. Even Davison's, the best and most fashionable, has

but an ordinary _cuisine_. Rooms are quite dear--particularly during our

sojourn, when the Diet was in session and the city crowded with country

visitors--and the inclusive expenses of living were equal to Berlin and

greater than in Paris. I found that it cost just about as much to be

stationary here, as to travel with post-horses in the Northern

provinces. The Swedes generally have a cup of coffee on getting out of

bed, or before, a substantial breakfast at nine, dinner at three, and

tea in the evening. The wealthier families dine an hour or two later,

but the crowds at the restaurants indicate the prevailing time. Dinner,

and frequently breakfast, is prefaced with a _smörgås_ (butter-goose),

consisting of anchovies, pickled herrings, cheese and brandy. Soup which

is generally sweet, comes in the middle and sometimes at the end of

dinner, and the universal dessert is preserved fruit covered with

whipped cream. I have had occasion to notice the fondness of the Swedes

for sugar, which some persons seem to apply to almost every dish, except

fish and oysters. I have often seen them season crab soup with powdered

sugar. A favourite dish is raw salmon, buried in the earth until it is

quite sodden--a great delicacy, they say, but I have not yet been hungry

enough to eat it. Meat, which is abundant, is rarely properly cooked,

and game, of which Sweden has a great variety, is injured by being

swamped in sauces. He must be very fastidious, however, who cannot live

passably well in Stockholm, especially if he has frequent invitations to

dine with private families, many of whom have very excellent cooks.

My Swedish friends all said, "You should see Stockholm in summer! You

have passed the worst part of the whole year among us, and you leave

just when our fine days begin." I needed no assurance, however, of the

summer charm of the place. In those long, golden evenings, which give

place to an unfading twilight, when the birch is a network of silver and

green, and the meadows are sown with the bright wild flowers of the

North, those labyrinths of land and water must be truly enchanting. But

were the glories of the Northern Summer increased tenfold, I could not

make my home where such a price must be paid for them. From the time of

our arrival, in February, until towards the close of April, the weather

was of that kind which aggravates one to the loss of all patience. We

had dull, raw, cloudy skies, a penetrating, unnerving, and depressing

atmosphere, mud under foot, alternating with slushy snow,--in short,

everything that is disagreeable in winter, without its brisk and bracing

qualities. I found this season much more difficult to endure than all

the cold of Lapland, and in spite of pleasant society and the charms of

rest after a fatiguing journey, our sojourn in Stockholm was for a time

sufficiently tedious.

At first, we lived a rather secluded life in our rooms in the

Beridarebansgatan, in the northern suburb, devoting ourselves

principally to gymnastics and the study of the Swedish language,--both

of which can be prosecuted to more advantage in Stockholm than anywhere

else. For, among the distinguished men of Sweden may be reckoned Ling,

the inventor of what may be termed anatomical gymnastics. His system not

only aims at reducing to a science the muscular development of the body,

but, by means of both active and passive movements, at reaching the

seat of disease and stimulating the various organs to healthy action. In

the former of these objects, Ling has certainly succeeded; there is no

other system of muscular training that will bear comparison with his;

and if he has to some extent failed in the latter, it is because, with

the enthusiasm of a man possessed by a new discovery, he claimed too

much. His successor, Prof. Branting, possesses equal enthusiasm, and his

faith in gymnastics, as a panacea for all human infirmities, is most

unbounded. The institution under his charge is supported by Government,

and, in addition to the officers of the army and navy, who are obliged

to make a complete gymnastic course, is largely attended by invalids of

all ages and classes.

Neither of us required the system as a medical application. I wished to

increase the girth of my chest, somewhat diminished by a sedentary life,

and Braisted needed a safety-valve for his surplus strength. However,

the professor, by dint of much questioning, ascertained that one of us

was sometimes afflicted with cold feet, and the other with headaches,

and thereupon clapped us both upon the sick list. On entering the hall,

on the first morning of our attendance, a piece of paper containing the

movements prescribed for our individual cases, was stuck in our bosoms.

On inspecting the lists, we found we had ten movements apiece, and no

two of them alike. What they were we could only dimly guess from such

cabalistic terms as "_Stödgångst_," "_Krhalfligg_," "_Simhäng_," or

"_Högstrgrsitt_." The hall, about eighty feet in length by thirty in

height, was furnished with the usual appliances for gymnastic

exercises. Some fifty or sixty patients were present, part of whom were

walking up and down the middle passage with an air of great solemnity,

while the others, gathered in various little groups on either side,

appeared to be undergoing uncouth forms of torture. There was no

voluntary exercise, if I except an old gentleman in a black velvet coat,

who repeatedly suspended himself by the hands, head downwards, and who

died of apoplexy not long afterwards; every one was being exercised

upon. Here, a lathy young man, bent sideways over a spar, was

struggling, with a very red face, to right himself, while a stout

teacher held him down; there, a corpulent gentleman, in the hands of

five robust assistants, was having his body violently revolved upon the

base of his hip joints, as if they were trying to unscrew him from his

legs; and yonder again, an individual, suspended by his arms from a

cross-bar, had his feet held up and his legs stretched apart by another,

while a third pounded vigorously with closed fists upon his seat of

honour. Now and then a prolonged yell, accompanied with all sorts of

burlesque variations, issued from the throats of the assembly. The

object of this was at first not clear to me, but I afterwards discovered

that the full use of the lungs was considered by Ling a very important

part of the exercises. Altogether, it was a peculiar scene, and not

without a marked grotesque character.

On exhibiting my _matsedel_, or "bill of fare," to the first teacher who

happened to be disengaged, I received my first movement, which consisted

in being held with my back against a post, while I turned my body from

side to side against strong resistance, employing the muscles of the

chest only. I was then told to walk for five minutes before taking the

second movement. It is unnecessary to recapitulate the various

contortions I was made to perform; suffice it to say, that I felt very

sore after them, which Professor Branting considered a promising sign,

and that, at the end of a month, I was taken off the sick list and put

among the _friskas_, or healthy patients, to whom more and severer

movements, in part active, are allotted. This department was under the

special charge of Baron Vegesach, an admirable teacher, and withal a

master of fencing with the bayonet, a branch of defensive art which the

Swedes have the honour of originating. The drill of the young officers

in bayonet exercise was one of the finest things of the kind I ever saw.

I prospered so well under the Baron's tuition, that at the end of the

second month I was able to climb a smooth mast, to run up ropes with my

hands, and to perform various other previous impossibilities, while my

chest had increased an inch and a half in circumference, the addition

being solid muscle.

During the time of my attendance I could not help but notice the effect

of the discipline upon the other patients, especially the children. The

weak and listless gradually straightened themselves; the pale and sallow

took colour and lively expression; the crippled and paralytic recovered

the use of their limbs; in short, all, with the exception of two or

three hypochondriacs, exhibited a very marked improvement. The

cheerfulness and geniality which pervaded the company, and of which

Professor Branting himself was the best example, no doubt assisted the

cure. All, both teachers and pupils, met on a platform of the most

absolute equality, and willingly took turns in lending a hand wherever

it was needed. I have had my feet held up by a foreign ambassador, while

a pair of Swedish counts applied the proper degree of resistance to the

muscles of my arms and shoulders. The result of my observation and

experience was, that Ling's system of physical education is undoubtedly

the best in the world, and that, as a remedial agent in all cases of

congenital weakness or deformity, as well as in those diseases which

arise from a deranged circulation, its value can scarcely be

over-estimated. It may even afford indirect assistance in more serious

organic diseases, but I do not believe that it is of much service in

those cases where chemical agencies are generally employed. Professor

Branting, however, asserts that it is a specific for all diseases

whatsoever, including consumption, malignant fevers, and venereal

affections. One thing at least is certain--that in an age when physical

training is most needed and most neglected, this system deserves to be

introduced into every civilised country, as an indispensable branch in

the education of youth.

I found the Swedish language as easy to read as it is difficult to speak

correctly. The simplicity of its structure, which differs but slightly

from English, accounts for the former quality, while the peculiar use of

the definite article as a terminal syllable, attached to the noun, is a

great impediment to fluent speaking. The passive form of the verb also

requires much practice before it becomes familiar, and the mode of

address in conversation is awkward and inconvenient beyond measure. The

word _you_, or its correspondent, is never used, except in speaking to

inferiors; wherever it occurs in other languages, the title of the

person addressed must be repeated; as, for example: "How is the Herr

Justizråd? I called at the Herr Justizråd's house this morning, but the

Herr Justizråd was not at home." Some of the more progressive Swedes are

endeavouring to do away with this absurdity, by substituting the second

person plural, _ni_, which is already used in literature, but even they

only dare to use it in their own private circle. The Swedes, especially

in Stockholm, speak with a peculiar drawl and singing accent, exactly

similar to that which is often heard in Scotland. It is very inferior to

the natural, musical rhythm of Spanish, to which, in its vocalisation,

Swedish has a great resemblance. Except Finnish, which is music itself,

it is the most melodious of northern languages, and the mellow flow of

its poetry is often scarcely surpassed by the Italian. The infinitive

verb always ends in _a_, and the language is full of soft, gliding

iambics, which give a peculiar grace to its poetry.

It is rather singular that the Swedish prose, in point of finish and

elegance, is far behind the Swedish poetry. One cause of this may be,

that it is scarcely more than fifty years since the prose writers of the

country began to use their native language. The works of Linnæus,

Swedenborg, and other authors of the past century must now be translated

into Swedish. Besides, there are two prose dialects--a conversational

and a declamatory, the latter being much more artificial and involved

than the former. All public addresses, as well as prose documents of a

weighty or serious character, must be spoken or written in this pompous

and antiquated style, owing to which, naturally, the country is almost

destitute of orators. But the poets,--especially men of the sparkling

fancy of Bellman, or the rich lyrical inspiration of Tegner, are not to

be fettered by such conventionalities; and they have given the verse of

Sweden an ease, and grace, and elegance, which one vainly seeks in its

prose. In Stockholm, the French taste, so visible in the manners of the

people, has also affected the language, and a number of French words and

forms of expression, which have filtered through society, from the

higher to the lower classes, are now in general use. The spelling,

however, is made to conform to Swedish pronunciation, and one is amused

at finding on placards such words as "_trottoar_," "_salong_," and

"_paviljong_."

No country is richer in song-literature than Sweden. The popular songs

and ballads of the different provinces, wedded to airs as original and

characteristic as the words, number many hundreds. There are few Swedes

who cannot sing, and I doubt whether any country in Europe would be able

to furnish so many fine voices. Yet the taste for what is foreign and

unaccustomed rules, and the minstrels of the cafes and the Djurgård are

almost without exception German. Latterly, two or three bands of native

singers have been formed, who give concerts devoted entirely to the

country melodies of Sweden; and I believe they have been tolerably

successful.

In these studies, relieved occasionally by rambles over the hills,

whenever there was an hour's sunshine, and by occasional evenings with

Swedish, English, and American friends, we passed the months of March

and April, waiting for the tardy spring. Of the shifting and picturesque

views which Stockholm presents to the stranger's eye, from whatever

point he beholds her, we never wearied; but we began at last to tire of

our ice-olation, and to look forward to the reopening of the Gotha

Canal, as a means of escape. Day after day it was a new satisfaction to

behold the majestic palace crowning the island-city and looking far and

wide over the frozen lakes; the tall, slender spire of the Riddarholm,

soaring above the ashes of Charles XII. and Gustavus Adolphus, was

always a welcome sight; but we had seen enough of the hideous statues

which ornament the public squares, (Charles XII. not among them, and the

imbecile Charles XIII. occupying the best place); we grew tired of the

monotonous perambulators on the Forrbro, and the tameness and sameness

of Stockholm life in winter: and therefore hailed the lengthening days

which heralded our deliverance.

As to the sights of the capital, are they not described in the

guide-books? The champion of the Reformation lies in his chapel, under a

cloud of his captured banners: opposite to him, the magnificent madman

of the North, with hundreds of Polish and Russian ensigns rustling above

his heads. In the royal armory you see the sword and the bloody shirt of

the one, the bullet-pierced hat and cloak of the other, still coated

with the mud of the trench at Fredrickshall. There are robes and weapons

of the other Carls and Gustavs, but the splendour of Swedish history is

embodied in these two names, and in that of Gustavus Vasa, who lies

entombed in the old cathedral at Upsala. When I had grasped their

swords, and the sabre of Czar Peter, captured at Narva, I felt that

there were no other relics in Sweden which could make my heart throb a

beat the faster.

CHAPTER XVIII.

MANNERS AND MORALS OF STOCKHOLM.

As a people, the Swedes are very hospitable, and particularly so toward

foreigners. There is perhaps no country in Europe where travellers are

treated with so much kindness and allowed so many social privileges.

This is fortunate, as the conventionalities of the country are more

rigid than the laws of the Medes and Persians. Nothing excites greater

scandal than an infraction of the numberless little formalities with

which the descendants of the honest, spontaneous, impulsive old

Scandinavians have, somehow or other, allowed themselves to be fettered,

and were not all possible allowance made for the stranger, he would have

but a dismal time of it. Notwithstanding these habits have become a

second nature, they are still a false nature, and give a painfully stiff

and constrained air to society. The Swedes pride themselves on being the

politest people in Europe. Voltaire called them the "Frenchmen of the

North," and they are greatly flattered by the epithet. But how much

better, to call themselves _Swedes_?--to preserve the fine, manly

characteristics of their ancient stock, rather than imitate a people so

alien to them in blood, in character, and in antecedents. Those

meaningless social courtesies which sit well enough upon the gay,

volatile, mercurial Frenchman, seem absurd affectations when practiced

by the tall, grave, sedate Scandinavian. The intelligent Swedes feel

this, but they are powerless to make headway against the influence of a

court which was wholly French, even before Bernadotte's time. "We are a

race of apes," said one of them to me bitterly. Gustavus III. was

thoroughly French in his tastes, but the ruin of Swedish nationality in

Stockholm was already commenced when he ascended the throne.

Stockholm manners, at present, are a curious mixture of English and

French, the latter element, of course, being predominant. In costume,

the gentlemen are English, with exaggeration. Nowhere are to be seen

such enormously tall and stiff black chimney-pots (misnamed _hats_),

nowhere such straight-cut overcoats, descending to the very heels. You

might stick all the men you see into pasteboard cards, like a row of

pins, so precisely are they clothed upon the same model. But when you

meet one of these grim, funereal figures, he pulls off his hat with a

politeness which is more than French; he keeps it off, perhaps, while he

is speaking; you shake hands and accept his invitation to enter his

house. After you are within, he greets you a second time with the same

ceremonies, as if you had then first met; he says, "_Tak for sist!_"

(equivalent to; "thank you for the pleasure of your company the last

time we met!") and, after your visit is over, you part with equal

formality. At dinner the guests stand gravely around the table with

clasped hands, before sitting down. This is repeated on rising, after

which they bow to each other and shake hands with the host and hostess.

Formerly they used to say "I thank you for the meal," a custom still

retained in Denmark and Norway. Not long ago the guests were obliged to

make a subsequent visit of ceremony to thank the host for his

entertainment, and he was obliged to invite them all to a second dinner,

in consequence thereof; so that giving one dinner always involved giving

two. Fortunately the obligation was cancelled by the second, or the

visits and dinners might have gone on alternately, _ad infinitum_.

At dinners and evening parties, white gloves and white cravats are

invariably worn, and generally white vests. The same custom is observed

at funerals, even the drivers of the hearse and carriages being

furnished with resplendent white gloves for the occasion. I have a

horror of white cravats, and took advantage of the traveller's privilege

to wear a black one. I never could understand why, in England, where the

boundaries of caste are so distinctly marked, a gentleman's full dress

should be his servant's livery. The chimney-pots are no protection to

the head in raw or very cold weather, and it required no little courage

in me to appear in fur or felt. "I wish I could wear such a comfortable

hat," said a Swede to me; "but I _dare not_; you are a traveller, and it

is permitted; but a Swede would lose his position in society, if he were

to do so." Another gentleman informed me that his own sisters refused to

appear in the streets with him, because he wore a cap. A former English

Consul greatly shocked the people by carrying home his own marketing. A

few gentlemen have independence enough to set aside, in their own

houses, some of the more disagreeable features of this conventionalism,

and the success of two or three, who held weekly soirees through the

winter, on a more free and unrestrained plan, may in the end restore

somewhat of naturalness and spontaneity to the society of Stockholm.

The continual taking off of your hat to everybody you know, is a great

annoyance to many strangers. A lift of the hat, as in Germany, is not

sufficient. You must remove it entirely, and hold it in the air a second

or two before you replace it. King Oscar once said to an acquaintance of

mine, who was commiserating him for being obliged to keep his hat off,

the whole length of the Drottning-gatan, in a violent snow-storm: "You

are quite right; it was exceedingly disagreeable, and I could not help

wishing that instead of being king of Sweden, I were king of Thibet,

where, according to Huc, the polite salutation is simply to stick out

your tongue." The consideration extended to foreigners is, I am told,

quite withdrawn after they become residents; so that, as an Englishman

informed me, Stockholm is much more pleasant the first year than the

second. The principle, on the whole, is about the same as governs

English, and most American society, only in Sweden its tyranny is more

severely felt, on account of the French imitations which have been

engrafted upon it.

I do not wish to be understood as saying a word in censure of that

genial courtesy which is characteristic of the Swedes, not less of the

_bonder_, or country farmers, than of the nobility. They are by nature a

courteous people, and if, throughout the country, something of the

primness and formality of ancient manners has been preserved, it the

rather serves to give a quaint and picturesque grace to society. The

affectation of French manners applies principally to the capital,

which, both in manners and morals, can by no means be taken as a

standard for the whole country. The Swedes are neither licentious, nor

extravagantly over-mannered: the Stockholmers are both. During the whole

of our journey to Lapland, we were invariably treated with a courtesy

which bordered on kindness, and had abundant opportunities of noticing

the general amenity which exists in the intercourse even of the poorest

classes. The only really rude people we saw, were travelling traders,

especially those from the capital, who thought to add to their

importance by a little swaggering.

I recollect hearing of but a single instance in which the usual

world-wide rules of hospitality were grossly violated. This occurred to

an English traveller, who spent some time in the interior of the

country. While taking tea one evening with a prominent family of the

province, he happened to make use of his thumb and fore-finger in

helping himself to a lump of sugar. The mistress of the house

immediately sent out the servant, who reappeared after a short time with

another sugar-bowl, filled with fresh lumps. Noticing this, the

traveller, in order to ascertain whether his harmless deviation from

Swedish customs had really contaminated the whole sugar-bowl, sweetened

his second cup in the same manner. The result was precisely the same:

the servant was again sent out, and again returned with a fresh supply.

The traveller, thereupon, coolly walked to the stove, opened the door,

and threw in his cup, saucer, and tea-spoon, affecting to take it for

granted that they never could be used again.

Speaking of King Oscar reminds me that I should not fail to say a word

about this liberal and enlightened monarch. There is probably no king in

Europe at present, who possesses such extensive acquirements, or is

animated by a more genuine desire for the good of his kingdom. The slow

progress which Sweden has made in introducing needful reforms is owing

to the conservative spirit of the nobility and the priesthood, who

possess half the legislative power. I do not believe there is a greater

enemy to progress than an established church. Oscar is deservedly

popular throughout Sweden, and I wish I could believe that his successor

will exhibit equal intelligence and liberality. During my stay I saw all

the members of the Royal Family frequently, and once had an informal

self-presentation to the whole of them. I was descending the stairway of

Kahn's Hotel one afternoon, when a tall, black-bearded, Frenchy

gentleman coming up, brushed so close to me in the narrow passage that

he received the full benefit of a cloud of smoke which I was

ejaculating. It was the Crown Prince, as a servant whispered to me, but

as my cigar was genuine Havana, and he is said to be a connoisseur of

the article, there was no harm done. As I reached the street door a

dragoon dashed up, preceding the carriages containing the Royal Family,

who were coming to view Professor Enslen's panoramas. First, the Crown

Princess, with her children; she bowed gracefully in answer to my

greeting. The Princess Eugenia, a lady of twenty-seven, or thereabouts,

with a thoroughly cheerful and amiable face, came next and nodded,

smiling. With her was the Queen, a daughter of Eugene Beauharnais, a

handsome woman for her years, with the dark hair and eyes of her

grandmother, Josephine. King Oscar followed, at the head of a company

of officers and nobles, among whom was his second son, Prince Oscar, the

handsomest young man in Stockholm. He wore his Admiral's uniform, and

made me a naval salute as he passed. The King is about medium height,

with a symmetrical head, a bold, finely-cut nose, keen, intelligent

eyes, and a heavy grey moustache. There was something gallant, dashing,

and manly in his air, despite his fifty-seven years. He gave me the

impression of an honest, energetic and thoroughly accomplished man; and

this is the character he bears throughout Sweden, except with a small

class, who charge him with being insincere, and too much under the

influence of the Queen, against whom, however, they can find no charge,

except that of her Catholicism.

I was sorry to notice, not only in Stockholm, but more or less

throughout Sweden, a spirit of detraction in regard to everything

Swedish. Whenever I mentioned with admiration the name of a

distinguished Swede, I was almost always sure to hear, in return, some

disparaging remark, or a story to his disadvantage. Yet, singularly

enough, the Swedes are rather sensitive to foreign criticism, seeming to

reserve for themselves the privilege of being censorious. No amount of

renown, nor even the sanctity which death gives to genius, can prevent a

certain class of them from exhibiting the vices and weaknesses of their

countrymen. Much the severest things which I heard said about Sweden,

were said by Swedes themselves, and I was frequently obliged to rely

upon my own contrary impressions, to protect me from the chance of being

persuaded to paint things worse than they really are.

Just before leaving Stockholm I made application, through the Hon. Mr.

Schroeder, our Minister Resident, and Baron Lagerheim, for the privilege

of an interview with the king. A few days previously, however, he had

been attacked with that illness which has obliged him to withdraw from

the labours of government, and was advised by his physicians to receive

no one. He sent me a very kind message, with an invitation to renew my

request as soon as his health should be restored. Gentlemen who had

opportunities of knowing the fact, assured me that his health broke down

under an accumulation of labour and anxiety, in his endeavours to bring

the question of religious liberty before the Diet--a measure in which he

had to contend with the united influence of the clergy, the House of

Peasants, whom the clergy rule to a great extent, and a portion of the

House of Nobles. It is not often that a king is in advance of the

general sentiment of his people, and in losing the services of Oscar, I

fear that Sweden has lost her best man. The Crown Prince, now Prince

Regent, is said to be amiably weak in his character, rather reactionary

in his views, and very ambitious of military glory. At least, that is

the average of the various opinions which I heard expressed concerning

him.

After speaking of the manners of Stockholm, I must not close this

chapter without saying a few words about its morals. It has been called

the most licentious city in Europe, and, I have no doubt, with the most

perfect justice. Vienna may surpass it in the amount of conjugal

infidelity, but certainly not in general incontinence. Very nearly half

the registered births are illegitimate, to say nothing of the

illegitimate children born _in_ wedlock. Of the servant-girls,

shop-girls, and seamstresses in the city, it is very safe to say that

scarcely ten out of a hundred are chaste, while, as rakish young Swedes

have coolly informed me, many girls of respectable parentage, belonging

to the middle class, are not much better. The men, of course, are much

worse than the women, and even in Paris one sees fewer physical signs of

excessive debauchery. Here, the number of broken-down young men, and

blear-eyed, hoary sinners, is astonishing. I have never been in any

place where licentiousness was so open and avowed--and yet, where the

slang of a sham morality was so prevalent. There are no houses of

prostitution in Stockholm, and the city would be scandalised at the idea

of allowing such a thing. A few years ago two were established and the

fact was no sooner known than a virtuous mob arose and violently pulled

them down! At the restaurants, young blades order their dinners of the

female waiters, with an arm around their waists, while the old men place

their hands unblushingly upon their bosoms. All the baths in Stockholm

are attended by women (generally middle-aged and hideous, I must

confess), who perform the usual scrubbing and shampooing with the

greatest nonchalance. One does not wonder when he is told of young men

who have passed safely through the ordeals of Berlin and Paris, and have

come at last to Stockholm to be ruined.[B]

It is but fair to say that the Swedes account for the large proportion

of illegitimate births, by stating that many unfortunate females come up

from the country to hide their shame in the capital, which is no doubt

true. Everything that I have said has been derived from residents of

Stockholm, who, proud as they are, and sensitive, cannot conceal this

glaring depravity. The population of Stockholm, as is proved by

statistics, has only been increased during the last fifty years by

immigration from the country, the number of deaths among the inhabitants

exceeding the births by several hundreds every year. I was once speaking

with a Swede about these facts, which he seemed inclined to doubt.

"But," said I, "they are derived from your own statistics." "Well," he

answered, with a naïve attempt to find some compensating good, "you must

at least admit that the Swedish statistics are as exact as any in the

world!"

Drunkenness is a leading vice among the Swedes, as we had daily

evidence. Six years ago the consumption of brandy throughout the kingdom

was _nine gallons_ for every man, woman, and child annually; but it has

decreased considerably since then, mainly through the manufacture of

beer and porter. "_Bajerskt öl_" (Bavarian beer) is now to be had

everywhere, and is rapidly becoming the favourite drink of the people.

Sweden and the United States will in the end establish the fact that

lager beer is more efficacious in preventing intemperance than any

amount of prohibitory law. Brandy-drinking is still, nevertheless, one

of the greatest curses of Sweden. It is no unusual thing to see boys of

twelve or fourteen take their glass of fiery _finkel_ before dinner. The

celebrated Swedish punch, made of arrack, wine, and sugar, is a

universal evening drink, and one of the most insidious ever invented,

despite its agreeable flavor. There is a movement in favor of total

abstinence, but it seems to have made but little progress, except as it

is connected with some of the new religious ideas, which are now

preached throughout the country.

I have rarely witnessed a sadder example of ruin, than one evening in a

Stockholm café. A tall, distinguished-looking man of about forty, in an

advanced state of drunkenness, was seated at a table opposite to us. He

looked at me awhile, apparently endeavoring to keep hold of some thought

with which his mind was occupied. Rising at last he staggered across the

room, stood before me, and repeated the words of Bellman:

"Så vandra våra stora män'

Från ljuset ned til skuggan."[C]

A wild, despairing laugh followed the lines, and he turned away, but

came back again and again to repeat them. He was a nobleman of excellent

family, a man of great intellectual attainments, who, a few years ago,

was considered one of the most promising young men in Sweden. I saw him

frequently afterwards, and always in the same condition, but he never

accosted me again. The Swedes say the same thing of Bellman himself, and

of Tegner, and many others, with how much justice I care not to know,

for a man's faults are to be accounted for to God, and not to a

gossiping public.

FOOTNOTES:

[B] The substance of the foregoing paragraph was contained in a letter

published in _The New-York Tribune_ during my travels in the North, and

which was afterwards translated and commented upon by the Swedish

papers. The latter charged me with having drawn too dark a picture and I

therefore took some pains to test my statements, both by means of the

Government statistics, and the views of my Swedish friends. I see no

reason to change my first impression: had I accepted all that was told

me by natives of the capital, I should have made the picture much

darker. The question is simply whether there is much difference between

the general adoption of illicit connections, or the existence of open

prostitution. The latter is almost unknown; the former is almost

universal, the supply being kept up by the miserable rates of wages paid

to female servants and seamstresses. The former get, on an average,

fifty _rigsdaler_ ($13) per year, out of which they must clothe

themselves: few of the latter can make one rigsdaler a day. These

connections are also encouraged by the fact, that marriage legitimates

all the children previously born. In fact, during the time of my visit

to Stockholm, a measure was proposed in the House of Clergy, securing to

bastards the same right of inheritance, as to legitimate children. Such

measures, however just they may be so far as the innocent offspring of a

guilty connection are concerned, have a direct tendency to impair the

sanctity of marriage, and consequently the general standard of morality.

This, the most vital of all the social problems, is strangely neglected.

The diseases and excesses which it engenders are far more devastating

than those which spring from any other vice, and yet no philanthropist

is bold enough to look the question in the face. The virtuous shrink

from it, the vicious don't care about it, the godly simply condemn, and

the ungodly indulge--and so the world rolls on, and hundreds of

thousands go down annually to utter ruin. It is useless to attempt the

extirpation of a vice which is inherent in the very nature of man, and

the alternative of either utterly ignoring, or of attempting to check

and regulate it, is a question of the most vital importance to the whole

human race.

[C] "Thus our great men wander from the light down into the shades."

CHAPTER XIX

JOURNEY TO GOTTENBURG AND COPENHAGEN.

I never knew a more sudden transition from winter to summer than we

experienced on the journey southward from Stockholm. When we left that

city on the evening of the 6th of May, there were no signs of spring

except a few early violets and anemones on the sheltered southern banks

in Haga Park; the grass was still brown and dead, the trees bare, and

the air keen; but the harbour was free from ice and the canal open, and

our winter isolation was therefore at an end. A little circulation

entered into the languid veins of society; steamers from Germany began

to arrive; fresh faces appeared in the streets, and less formal

costumes--merchants and bagmen only, it is true, but people of a more

dashing and genial air. We were evidently, as the Swedes said, leaving

Stockholm just as it began to be pleasant and lively.

The steamer left the Riddarholm pier at midnight, and took her way

westward up the Mälar Lake to Södertelje. The boats which ply on the

Gotha canal are small, but neat and comfortable. The price of a passage

to Gottenburg, a distance of 370 miles, is about $8.50. This, however,

does not include meals, which are furnished at a fixed price, amounting

to $6 more. The time occupied by the voyage varies from two and a half

to four days. In the night we passed through the lock at Södertelje,

where St. Olaf, when a heathen Viking, cut a channel for his ships into

the long Baltic estuary which here closely approaches the lake, and in

the morning found ourselves running down the eastern shore of Sweden,

under the shelter of its fringe of jagged rocky islets. Towards noon we

left the Baltic, and steamed up the long, narrow Bay of Söderköping,

passing, on the way, the magnificent ruins of Stegeborg Castle, the

first mediæval relic I had seen in Sweden. Its square massive walls, and

tall round tower of grey stone, differed in no respect from those of

contemporary ruins in Germany.

Before reaching Söderköping, we entered the canal, a very complete and

substantial work of the kind, about eighty feet in breadth, but much

more crooked than would seem to be actually necessary. For this reason

the boats make but moderate speed, averaging not more than six or seven

miles an hour, exclusive of the detention at the locks. The country is

undulating, and neither rich nor populous before reaching the beautiful

Roxen Lake, beyond which we entered upon a charming district. Here the

canal rises, by eleven successive locks, to the rich uplands separating

the Roxen from the Wetter, a gently rolling plain, chequered, so far as

the eye could reach, with green squares of springing wheat and the dark

mould of the newly ploughed barley fields. While the boat was passing

the locks, we walked forward to a curious old church, called Vreta

Kloster. The building dates from the year 1128, and contains the tombs

of three Swedish kings, together with that of the Count Douglas, who

fled hither from Scotland in the time of Cromwell. The Douglas estate is

in this neighbourhood, and is, I believe, still in the possession of the

family. The church must at one time have presented a fine, venerable

appearance: but all its dark rich colouring and gilding are now buried

under a thick coat of white-wash.

We had already a prophecy of the long summer days of the North, in the

perpetual twilight which lingered in the sky, moving around from sunset

to sunrise. During the second night we crossed the Wetter Lake, which I

did not see; for when I came on deck we were already on the Viken, the

most beautiful sheet of water between Stockholm and Gottenburg. Its

irregular shores, covered with forests of fir and birch, thrust out long

narrow headlands which divide it into deep bays, studded with wild

wooded islands. But the scenery was still that of winter, except in the

absence of ice and snow. We had not made much southing, but we expected

to find the western side of Sweden much warmer than the eastern. The

highest part of the canal, more than 300 feet above the sea, was now

passed, however, and as we descended the long barren hills towards the

Wener Lake I found a few early wild flowers in the woods. In the

afternoon we came upon the Wener, the third lake in Europe, being one

hundred miles in extent by about fifty in breadth. To the west, it

spread away to a level line against the sky; but, as I looked southward,

I perceived two opposite promontories, with scattered islands between,

dividing the body of water into almost equal portions. The scenery of

the Wener has great resemblance to that of the northern portion of Lake

Michigan. Further down on the eastern shore, the hill of Kinnekulle, the

highest land in Southern Sweden, rises to the height of nearly a

thousand feet above the water, with a graceful and very gradual sweep;

but otherwise the scenery is rather tame, and, I suspect, depends for

most of its beauty upon the summer foliage.

There were two or three intelligent and agreeable passengers on board,

who showed a more than usual knowledge of America and her institutions.

The captain, however, as we walked the deck together, betrayed the same

general impression which prevails throughout the Continent (Germany in

particular), that we are a thoroughly _material_ people, having little

taste for or appreciation of anything which is not practical and

distinctly utilitarian. Nothing can be further from the truth; yet I

have the greatest difficulty in making people comprehend that a true

feeling for science, art, and literature can co-exist with our great

practical genius. There is more intellectual activity in the Free States

than in any other part of the world, a more general cultivation, and,

taking the collective population, I venture to say, a more enlightened

taste. Nowhere are greater sums spent for books and works of art, or for

the promotion of scientific objects. Yet this cry of "Materialism" has

become the cant and slang of European talk concerning America, and is

obtruded so frequently and so offensively that I have sometimes been

inclined to doubt whether the good breeding of Continental society has

not been too highly rated.

While on the steamer, I heard an interesting story of a Swedish

nobleman, who is at present attempting a practical protest against the

absurd and fossilised ideas by which his class is governed. The nobility

of Sweden are as proud as they are poor, and, as the father's title is

inherited by each of his sons, the country is overrun with Counts and

Barons, who, repudiating any means of support that is not somehow

connected with the service of the government, live in a continual state

of debt and dilapidation. Count R----, however, has sense enough to know

that honest labour is always honourable, and has brought up his eldest

son to earn his living by the work of his own hands. For the past three

years, the latter has been in the United States, working as a

day-labourer on farms and on Western railroads. His experiences, I

learn, have not been agreeable, but he is a young man of too much spirit

and courage to give up the attempt, and has hitherto refused to listen

to the entreaties of his family, that he shall come home and take charge

of one of his father's estates. The second son is now a clerk in a

mercantile house in Gottenburg, while the Count has given his daughter

in marriage to a radical and untitled editor, whose acquaintance I was

afterwards so fortunate as to make, and who confirmed the entire truth

of the story.

We were to pass the locks at Trollhätta in the middle of the night, but

I determined to visit the celebrated falls of the Gotha River, even at

such a time, and gave orders that we should be called. The stupid boy,

however, woke up the wrong passenger, and the last locks were reached

before the mistake was discovered. By sunrise we had reached Lilla Edet,

on the Gotha River, where the buds were swelling on the early trees, and

the grass, in sunny places, showed a little sprouting greenness. We shot

rapidly down the swift brown stream, between brown, bald, stony hills,

whose forests have all been stripped off to feed the hostile camp-fires

of past centuries. Bits of bottom land, held in the curves of the river,

looked rich and promising, and where the hills fell back a little, there

were groves and country-houses--but the scenery, in general, was bleak

and unfriendly, until we drew near Gottenburg. Two round, detached

forts, built according to Vauban's ideas (which the Swedes say he stole

from Sweden, where they were already in practice) announced our

approach, and before noon we were alongside the pier. Here, to my great

surprise, a Custom-house officer appeared and asked us to open our

trunks. "But we came by the canal from Stockholm!" "That makes no

difference," he replied; "your luggage must be examined." I then

appealed to the captain, who stated that, in consequence of the

steamer's being obliged to enter the Baltic waters for two or three

hours between Södertelje and Söderköping, the law took it for granted

that we might have boarded some foreign vessel during that time and

procured contraband goods. In other words, though sailing in a narrow

sound, between the Swedish islands and the Swedish coast, we had

virtually been in a foreign country! It would scarcely be believed that

this sagacious law is of quite recent enactment.

We remained until the next morning in Gottenburg. This is, in every

respect, a more energetic and wide-awake place than Stockholm. It has

not the same unrivalled beauty of position, but is more liberally laid

out and kept in better order. Although the population is only about

40,000, its commerce is much greater than that of the capital, and so

are, proportionately, its wealth and public spirit. The Magister

Hedlund, a very intelligent and accomplished gentleman, to whom I had a

letter from Mügge, the novelist, took me up the valley a distance of

five or six miles, to a very picturesque village among the hills, which

is fast growing into a manufacturing town. Large cotton, woollen and

paper mills bestride a strong stream, which has such a fall that it

leaps from one mill-wheel to another for the distance of nearly half a

mile. On our return, we visited a number of wells hollowed in the rocky

strata of the hills, to which the country people have given the name of

"The Giant's Pots." A clergyman of the neighbourhood, even, has written

a pamphlet to prove that they were the work of the antediluvian giants,

who excavated them for the purpose of mixing dough for their loaves of

bread and batter for their puddings. They are simply those holes which a

pebble grinds in a softer rock, under the rotary action of a current of

water, but on an immense scale, some of them being ten feet in diameter,

by fifteen or eighteen in depth. At Herr Hedlund's house, I met a number

of gentlemen, whose courtesy and intelligence gave me a very favourable

impression of the society of the place.

The next morning, at five o'clock, the steamer Viken, from Christiania,

arrived, and we took passage for Copenhagen. After issuing from the

_Skärgaard_, or rocky archipelago which protects the approach to

Gottenburg from the sea, we made a direct course to Elsinore, down the

Swedish coast, but too distant to observe more than its general outline.

This part of Sweden, however--the province of Halland--is very rough and

stony, and not until after passing the Sound does one see the fertile

hills and vales of Scania. The Cattegat was as smooth as an inland sea,

and our voyage could not have been pleasanter. In the afternoon Zealand

rose blue from the wave, and the increase in the number of small sailing

craft denoted our approach to the Sound. The opposite shores drew nearer

to each other, and finally the spires of Helsingborg, on the Swedish

shore, and the square mass of Kronborg Castle, under the guns of which

the Sound dues have been so long demanded, appeared in sight. In spite

of its bare, wintry aspect, the panorama was charming. The picturesque

Gothic buttresses and gables of Kronborg rose above the zigzag of its

turfed outworks; beyond were the houses and gardens of Helsingör

(Elsinore)--while on the glassy breast of the Sound a fleet of merchant

vessels lay at anchor, and beyond, the fields and towns of Sweden

gleamed in the light of the setting sun. Yet here, again, I must find

fault with Campbell, splendid lyrist as he is. We should have been

sailing

"By thy _wild and stormy steep_,

Elsinore!"

only that the level shore, with its fair gardens and groves wouldn't

admit the possibility of such a thing. The music of the line remains the

same, but you must not read it on the spot.

There was a beautiful American clipper at anchor off the Castle.

"There," said a Danish passenger to me, "is one of the ships which have

taken from us the sovereignty of the Sound." "I am very glad of it," I

replied; "and I can only wonder why the maritime nations of Europe have

so long submitted to such an imposition." "I am glad, also," said he,

"that the question has at last been settled, and our privilege given

up--and I believe we are all, even the Government itself, entirely

satisfied with the arrangement." I heard the same opinion afterwards

expressed in Copenhagen, and felt gratified, as an American, to hear the

result attributed to the initiative taken by our Government; but I also

remembered the Camden and Amboy Railroad Company, and could not help

wishing that the same principle might be applied at home. We have a

Denmark, lying between New-York and Philadelphia, and I have often paid

_sand_ dues for crossing her territory.

At dusk, we landed under the battlements of Copenhagen. "Are you

travellers or merchants?" asked the Custom-house officers. "Travellers,"

we replied. "Then," was the answer, "there is no necessity for examining

your trunks," and we were politely ushered out at the opposite door, and

drove without further hindrance to a hotel. A gentleman from Stockholm

had said to me: "When you get to Copenhagen, you will find yourself in

Europe:" and I was at once struck with the truth of his remark. Although

Copenhagen is by no means a commercial city--scarcely more so than

Stockholm--its streets are gay, brilliant and bustling, and have an air

of life and joyousness which contrasts strikingly with the gravity of

the latter capital. From without, it makes very little impression, being

built on a low, level ground, and surrounded by high earthen

fortifications, but its interior is full of quaint and attractive

points. There is already a strong admixture of the German element in the

population, softening by its warmth and frankness the Scandinavian

reserve. In their fondness for out-door recreation, the Danes quite

equal the Viennese, and their Summer-garden of Tivoli is one of the

largest and liveliest in all Europe. In costume, there is such a thing

as individuality; in manners, somewhat of independence. The Danish

nature appears to be more pliant and flexible than the Swedish, but I

cannot judge whether the charge of inconstancy and dissimulation, which

I have heard brought against it, is just. With regard to morals,

Copenhagen is said to be an improvement upon Stockholm.

During our short stay of three days, we saw the principal sights of the

place. The first, and one of the pleasantest to me, was the park of

Rosenborg Palace, with its fresh, green turf, starred with dandelions,

and its grand avenues of chestnuts and lindens, just starting into leaf.

On the 11th of May, we found spring at last, after six months of

uninterrupted winter. I don't much enjoy going the round of a new city,

attended by a valet-de-place, and performing the programme laid down by

a guide-book, nor is it an agreeable task to describe such things in

catalogue style; so I shall merely say that the most interesting things

in Copenhagen are the Museum of Northern Antiquities, the Historical

Collections in Rosenborg Palace, Thorwaldsen's Museum, and the Church of

our Lady, containing the great sculptor's statues of Christ and the

Apostles. We have seen very good casts of the latter in New-York, but

one must visit the Museum erected by the Danish people, which is also

Thorwaldsen's mausoleum, to learn the number, variety and beauty of his

works. Here are the casts of between three and four hundred statues,

busts and bas reliefs, with a number in marble. No artist has ever had

so noble a monument.