CHAPTER V
JOURNEYING ACROSS SWEDEN; STOCKHOLM
Stockholm, Sweden,
August 20, 191—
My dear Cynthia:
I do not mind admitting now that I was distinctly disappointed with my first glimpses of the Swedish landscape. You probably noticed that in my last letter I ‘demned it by faint praise.’ But since writing that letter I have crossed the peninsula from Gothenburg to Stockholm, and I have found that—at least so far as the eye will reach on either side of the railroad track—Sweden is far more beautiful than I had ever dreamed. It was such a satisfaction to the Swedish half of me to learn that.
The country was woodsy and rolling and rocky all the way; and it was more than that. As we journeyed, conifers, particularly fir and pine, were added to the dainty white-limbed birches and the oaks. Between Lakes Vennern and Vettern for many miles we passed through dense forests, largely evergreens. The trees pressed closely in on both sides of the track, so that I could almost touch their plumy green arms with my hand. There were plenty of rocks, too, but in the form of sightly crags or rugged bluffs which were really a contribution to the picture. Here and there were houses, mostly the typical dark red with white trimmings, which added a pleasant bit of color, peeping from between the openings in the forests, or well exposed and surrounded by fields. In some of the fields were men plowing with teams of oxen; in others were sheaves of rye or oats stuck on long, pointed stakes to dry. These spitted sheaves in some cases bore ghostly, grotesque resemblance to human beings. The railroad stations were mostly of red brick, with neat grounds frequently planted to flowers.
I have not yet mentioned the water. That deserves a paragraph by itself. If I had not already given you to understand that between Gothenburg and Stockholm there are houses and fields and forests and crags, I should be tempted to state that there is water everywhere. While this is not strictly true, water is astonishingly plentiful and is all mixed up with everything else. It has been said that when, in the act of creation, Jehovah parted the water from the land, he forgot Sweden. It certainly looks as if someone had forgotten. There are ditches between the fields to draw off the water; and lakes, large and small, from which brimming rivers flow, are scattered about in the most extravagant manner. Near Stockholm the lakes are closer together than at the Gothenburg end of the line. With their framing of gray, rocky bluffs and tall, dark forests reflected on their silvery surfaces, occasionally dotted with water lilies in full bloom, these lakes are charming indeed. Swedes have been fond of water since Viking times, you know. And last Friday they seemed to be enjoying their lakes to the full; some were swimming, and splashing and diving, like genuine amphibians; others were in boats—proud little steamers which made the reflected landscape tremble and quiver as they puffed and snorted about with a self-important air, and simple rowboats which glided modestly over the mirrored landscape. The train grazed the margin of one lake in which was a boat-load of laughing white-kerchiefed girls, rowed by a brown-armed young man, laughing, too. They were gathering pond lilies.
As the train entered the city by way of a bridge across the Gotha Canal, we noted a little Gothenburg steamer making its way between the green banks. It had taken about forty-eight hours longer than we to make the trip to the capital. But the trip by canal is a most delightful one, I have been told.
When I used the pronoun we in the foregoing, I did not have in mind the sum total of passengers who traveled in the same train with me from Gothenburg to Stockholm, but rather a woman who occupied the same compartment as I, on the train.
My lady, Fröken Nordstern—which, being interpreted, means Miss North Star—boarded the train at Gothenburg. Her air told me on the instant that she was a kindred spirit, so I responded as cordially as possible to her pleasant “God morgon.” After that it was easy to find an excuse for conversation. I soon found that the fröken was wide-awake and interested in the best things of the present, and zealous to contribute her share to the onward and upward progress of humanity. She spoke English very well; therefore, with my mongrel Scandinavian—which she was so good as to call Swedish—we had ample linguistic media for the expression of our thoughts.
We had exchanged remarks upon the subject of Gothenburg, where she is at the head of a small business house, and had branched out slightly in other directions, when she suddenly turned to me and announced that she would like to ask some rather personal questions. As I liked her, I replied that I was willing, and she proceeded.
Was I a vegetarian?
Theoretically, I stated, I was; the thought of devouring my fellow animals for food was abhorrent to me; but actually I was carnivorous in my habits—a piece of inconsistency made possible by dwarfed powers of imagination.
Was I interested in the peace movement?
Yes.
Did I belong to some organization working to banish from the earth the possibility of nation taking up arms against nation?
No; but I was a teacher of history, and I never lost an opportunity to point out the superiority of plowshares to swords and pruning hooks to spears.
Why didn’t I belong to a peace society? Did I not think that I could be more useful to the cause of peace if I belonged to an organization?
I had never given the matter serious thought, I replied.
Would I join a peace organization when I returned to my own country?
Yes; and I was grateful for the jolt.
My North Star lady now looked more hopeful. Lastly, did I believe in equal suffrage?
Here was my chance to come out strong. I was born a suffragist, I declared.
Fröken Nordstern grasped my hand and gave it a hearty squeeze of comradeship. The last answer evidently counted at least fifty per cent. I judge that I passed the examination with about B+.
After that we got on famously. The fröken gave an interesting account of what the Scandinavian people—the very great grandchildren of the warlike old Vikings—were doing to effect permanent peace and good will among the nations; and they are doing much, considering their numbers. Later in the summer she expected to attend the Scandinavian peace congress to be held in Christiania. It would be pleasant, she said, if I could spare the time to attend. It would, indeed, said I. And then I took the opportunity to express the gratification and relief which I had felt that no Scandinavian blood had been shed when Norway separated from Sweden in 1905. Characteristically, after this was spoken, it occurred to me that I might be skating on pretty thin ice; but my pacifist friend showed her breadth of mind by promptly and warmly expressing not only her sympathy with my view but also good-will and best wishes for Norway, adding, however, that she was a loyal Swede.
But equal suffrage was her dearest interest, for she believed that it would greatly increase the weight of the women’s wishes in connection with other reforms; and we talked long upon the subject. Iceland, Finland and Norway had full suffrage, she pointed out; Danish women could vote on many questions; the women of Sweden had had municipal suffrage since 1862, and the lower house of the Swedish parliament had recently passed the bill giving women full suffrage. King Gustav had shown his sympathy towards the reform. The delay was due merely to the conservative upper house. But Scandinavia, she declared, was easily leading Europe in the emancipation of women. This I knew to be a fact; I had swelled with pride over Scandinavia’s progress in this regard long before touching Scandinavian soil. But I did not know, until Fröken Nordstern told me, that Fredrika Bremer, the Swedish novelist whose books I long have loved, was a pioneer in the movement. Swedish women owe much to Miss Bremer, and in token of this, the great national organization for the enfranchisement and social betterment of women was named the Fredrika Bremer Association.
If you secure a chance to read Selma Lagerlöf’s “Ma’mselle Fredrika,” Cynthia, do not let it pass. The story is in the collection entitled “Invisible Links.” My fröken had a copy of the volume with her and took pleasure in reading over again with me the charming, mystical tribute of Miss Lagerlöf, in behalf of Sweden’s “bachelor women,” to the services of Miss Bremer. The story was new to me, but it is certainly one of the finest that Selma Lagerlöf has produced.
We talked also of Ellen Key. I suppose that she is best known in the United States by her book on “The Century of the Child,” which is an attempt to educate parents up to a proper sense of their duty to their children; for Miss Key believes that the education of parents is of far more importance than the education of children. But her books, “The Woman Movement,” “Love and Marriage,” etc., have received considerable American attention, as you probably know. She differs from most feminists in that she constantly emphasizes the mother quality of woman as well as her humanity. In this, I think, she performs a great service. However, there seems little doubt but that Ellen Key’s radical views upon love and marriage have contributed much towards giving the word “feminist” an uncomplimentary connotation. My North Star lady was gratified to learn that I was not scandalized over Miss Key’s views to the point of denunciation; but we agreed that hers seemed rather a dangerous doctrine to preach at the present stage of moral evolution. However, I suppose that prophets are occasionally far ahead of their times.
Some Swedes accuse Miss Key of spreading impure and immoral ideas, Fröken Nordstern said; and they feel that they must apologize to the world for her. Yet many of her critics, when it comes to the question of real nobility of character, are not worthy to tie her shoe strings. For that Ellen Key is a woman of rare character—as well as rare intellect—no one can doubt who knows the facts of her life—a life devoted to the uplift of humanity by teaching, writing, lecturing, and living.
Upon the shores of Lake Vettern, near which our train passed, Ellen Key now lives—lives an abundant life. In fact, the motto over her doorway of “Strand,” her home, is “Memento vivere”—Remember to live. And by her will she has provided in a lovely way to contribute the influence of her personality for mortal good as long as possible after she has gone to join the “choir invisible.” Her beautiful home is to be left just as it is, except for her physical presence, in control of a body of trustees who will invite working women, sufficiently intelligent to appreciate the culture of “Strand,” to come, four at a time, each to spend a month there between April and October, as “the guests of Ellen Key.”
My memory of the long journey across Sweden will always be pleasanter because Fröken Nordstern had a part in it. She was on a very hurried—for Sweden—business trip to the capital and I have not seen her since we parted at the station here. It would be a distinct pleasure to meet her again some time.
Now for Stockholm. It is perfectly charming, whether seen by night or day; but I saw its night beauty first. When the train pulled in, though it was past nine o’clock, darkness had scarcely settled down. The city lights, however, had been turned on, and they glimmered in zig-zag lines across the many canals over which the train rumbled, producing a weird, fairyland effect which quite excited me and promised new interests.
At the station, hotel agents were lined up in three rows, but they were so numerous that I was bewildered and sought help of a helmeted policeman who stood near at hand. “Temperance Hotel”! he called, and a properly labeled agent popped out of a line. In a twinkling I was seated in a drosky and on my way. The horse wore an arch of bells which tinkled festively as we drove through the dark, high-walled “foreign-looking” streets; the memory of the long, pleasant day was in the background of my mind; the charm of the first sight of the glimmering, zig-zag lights of Stockholm was in the fore; and I felt exactly as if I were some one else—a character, perhaps, in a story-book with a good ending.
But when the next morning dawned golden and glorious I realized to the full that I was something more enviable than that; I was a happy woman on a vacation in the land of the Swede.
Stockholm has not such a marked personality, such charming quaintness, as Copenhagen; but it is more, much more, beautiful, than Denmark’s capital. If the site had been selected, and the city all planned out by a modern landscape architect, it could scarcely be more charming. The place, however, is nearly seven centuries old and its founder, the Swedish warrior, Birger Jarl, was primarily looking for a good harbor, easily defended, when he selected the passageway between Lake Mälar and the Baltic, and proceeded to fortify the rocky, woodsy islands. It is this alternation of rugged, heavily forested island and mainland, and lake and river and sea which has given this “Venice of the North” a setting much more beautiful than Venice itself. But the hand and brain of the beauty-loving Swede has contributed greatly to the natural attractions. Most of the streets are wide, well-paved, and clean. Here and there, carefully distributed over the city, are little parks, bright with grass and trees and flowers, and further adorned by handsome fountains and by statues of men who have contributed toward the up-building of Sweden. The tasteful bridges which span the broad canals also add their share to the variety. And the buildings, especially the public ones, in many cases combine in an interesting manner an artistic charm with a dignified reserve characteristic of the Scandinavian north.
When in Germany I think that I told you about the “trinkhallen.” The more temperate Swedes have “vattenbutiker” (water shops, or stores). These are little booths, generally at street corners, where one can buy mineral waters, and various other temperance drinks, and little cakes; and may consume them out in the open air, perched on the high seats beside the counter. Vattenbutiker are as strictly respectable as automats, with which Stockholm is adequately supplied.
Are you surprised to learn that Sweden has preferred “water shops” to “drinking halls”? If so, I must tell you that from being among the most drunken and intemperate parts of Europe, as they were fifty years ago, the Scandinavian lands have become temperate and are the leaders in the European “dry” movement. Under Gustav III, who reigned in the last part of the eighteenth century, the manufacture of alcoholic liquors was made a government monopoly. This made the Swedes heavy drinkers, and soon a state of affairs existed which was heading Sweden rapidly towards destruction. In the other Scandinavian countries drunkenness and demoralization were almost as prevalent. But, in 1865, through the efforts of Peter Wieselgren of Gothenburg, the so-called Gothenburg system was introduced. This system provided that the monopoly of liquor distillation be given over to responsible philanthropic companies which controlled the sale and were permitted to retain only five per cent. of the profits from the traffic; the remainder must go to objects of public service. Norway, shortly afterwards, introduced a similar method of regulation and restriction. To me, one very interesting fact about the system is that part of the profits goes towards teaching the evils of intemperance. In Norway, the profits also go towards the building of better roads, the support of the National Theatre in Christiania, the upkeep of children’s hospitals, and other similar useful purposes.
The other Scandinavian lands were promptly influenced by the reform movement in Sweden and Norway; and all over Scandinavia increasingly severe restrictive laws were passed from time to time. The Scandinavian countries are all now well on the highroad towards total prohibition. Indeed, Iceland, Greenland, and the Faroes are teetotalers. Norway is almost completely under local option; Sweden is well in line; and sentiment is rapidly growing in Denmark. What is of special encouragement to a democrat from the “land of the free” is the fact that the Scandinavian people themselves have come to see the evil of the drink habit, and have cooperated to abolish it. In the Scandinavian lands, you must know, the government is “of the people, by the people, and for the people,” about as completely as in the United States. I am not at all certain that it is not more so.
Lest I have deluded you into believing that, in consequence of their freedom from evil practices, the Scandinavians have fully qualified for the harps and crowns of the New Jerusalem, I hasten to inform you that Scandinavia is in the grip of the tobacco habit; the people smoke like bad chimneys. And what is worse, the cigarette is the favorite form of the “weed.” All seem to smoke it except the babies. Small boys scarcely in their teens puff lustily at cigarettes; and I have seen several respectable-looking women smoking in the open-air cafés. Among women, however, the practice is limited to the upper middle class and the upper class.
Now, to return to Sweden’s capital. Riddarholmen, or the Island of the Knights, was one of the first three islands of the city to be fortified. On a square on this island is a statue of Birger Jarl mounted on a lofty pillar, from which he gazes over the happy city whose foundations he laid. This chieftain also conquered Finland and, hence, secured the basis of the later “Greater Sweden.” Though never crowned King of Sweden himself—largely because he was absent fighting the Finns when a vacancy occurred in the kingship—he was, nevertheless, the “father of the Folkungar Kings” and was really the power behind the throne during the rule of his son Waldemar. As a member of the “gentler sex” you will be interested to know that Birger had laws passed which gave to daughters half as much of the property of their parents as sons received, which, though still leaving room for amendment, was a decided improvement upon nothing.
For nearly a century and a half after the rise of Birger Jarl to royal power, Sweden remained an independent nation; but, in 1397, by the union of Calmar, she, with Norway and Denmark, became a member of the Scandinavian federation. This was in the days of Queen Margaret, daughter of the Danish King Waldemar IV, and widow of Haakon VI of Norway. At first Margaret ruled the two countries as regent for her son Olaf, but in her rule she showed such wisdom that when Olaf died, though there was no precedent for a female sovereign in the Scandinavian lands, the Danish nobles elected her as their “sovereign lady, princess, and guardian of all Denmark”; and the Norwegians followed suit. But the Queen herself adopted the modest title, “Margaret, by the Grace of God, daughter of Waldemar, King of Denmark.”
It happened that Sweden was at the time under the rule of Albert of Mecklenberg, who was far more German than Swedish in his interests. Albert was also one of the early “antis”; he poked fun at Margaret’s sex and gave her to understand that in exercising sovereign power she was out of her “sphere.” Meanwhile, through the oppression of his Swedish subjects and the favor which he showed to the Germans, Albert made himself so hated in Sweden that the Swedish nobles appealed to the Danish queen to be their ruler. Here was a choice opportunity for revenge which Margaret did not let slip; she invaded Sweden, overcame Albert and his German army and took Albert himself prisoner.