Then came the Union of Calmar, formed in the name of Eric of Pomerania, Margaret’s grand nephew, who was chosen her heir; Margaret, however, was the real ruler of the Scandinavian lands as long as she lived. The treaty stipulated that the union should be a merely personal one and that each kingdom should retain its own nationality and laws. But Margaret had a vision of a Scandinavian nation; consequently, she worked towards the amalgamation of the three peoples by appointing Swedes to local offices in Denmark and Danes to similar positions in Sweden, and by other welding devices. It was a magnificent idea, and worthy of the great stateswoman that Margaret was. But it was doomed to failure. Though the Queen apparently tried to be prudent and tactful, the patriotic Swedes naturally viewed her as the usurper of their national liberties. Under the stupid Eric and his successors, dissatisfaction increased; the fifteenth century was punctuated with Swedish revolts. None proved successful, however, before the monster Christian II of Denmark had massacred in the Stockholm market place nearly one hundred Swedish nobles, after they had sworn allegiance to him.

This Stockholm “blood bath,” as the Swedes say, “drowned the union of Calmar”; and it nerved Gustav Vasa, son of one of the murdered nobles, to become the George Washington of Sweden. Supported, first by the mountain people of Dalecarlia, and later by the Swedes as a whole, he drove out the Danish oppressors, gave back to Sweden her independence, and in 1523 became the first king of the powerful house of Vasa.

But to return to the square guarded by the statue of Birger Jarl. Near the high-pedestaled figure is Riddarholms Kyrkan, the Westminster Abbey of Sweden. Here rest many of the Swedish celebrities, royal and otherwise, good and bad together. The building itself is handsome—in Gothic style with rich windows. The floor is largely composed of slabs marking tombs of notable Swedes, in some cases three centuries dead. In places on the pavement the carved reliefs have been nearly obliterated by the tread of feet of intervening generations. Around the sides are the chapels in which are buried many Swedish rulers. As I looked at the tombs behind the gratings, I remembered what happened to the royal French remains at the time of the Revolution and made a new and stronger resolution in favor of cremation.

The famous grandson of Gustav Vasa, Gustav Adolf, who lost his life on the battlefield of Lützen in the Thirty Years’ War, after he and his valiant Swedes had struck the decisive blow for Protestant freedom, is buried there in an elaborately carved coffin, surrounded by standards captured from the enemy, tattered and torn, but still gay in color. In the chapel opposite to that of Gustav Adolf are the huge coffins of Charles X and Charles XII. Charles X, you may remember, was the king who adventured into Denmark over the ice-bridged Great Belt two hundred and fifty years ago. Charles XII, the “last of the Vikings,” while a mere boy was able for a time to hold at bay and even to chastise severely the sovereigns of Russia, Poland and Denmark, who, presuming upon the youth of her king, were plotting to rob Sweden of her Baltic lands.

The chapel of the present dynasty, the Bernadotte, is near the door. Here is the sarcophagus of the founder of the line, Charles John, of red marble with claw feet. The plain blue marble tomb of the great and good Oscar II, the late king, is also here. Beside it is a wreath tied with white ribbon, bearing the names of the present king and queen, Gustav and Victoria.

I went to “Skansen” in company with Fröken Söderquist, from whose sister in Chicago I had brought a letter of introduction. Skansen is one of Stockholm’s most characteristic institutions—a natural park and a museum combined. It is really a branch of the Museum of the North, which is near at hand. The exhibit in the park consists mostly of runestones, Lapp huts and Lapps themselves, and houses furnished to show how the Swedes lived in ages past—even as early as the sixteenth century. The houses, which have been moved in from the country and set up in the park, are bona fide old buildings dating from the periods which they illustrate. I inspected several of them and found a considerable degree of similarity existing between them, though their original occupants had lived in different centuries and different parts of Sweden.

The building materials were boards or logs and the architectural style simple and much like the present. There were also the same small-paned German windows which characterize the country homes in Denmark as well as in Sweden; and their sills were filled with potted plants just as in the Scandinavian houses of later construction. The walls and ceilings were covered with quaint paintings or with embroidered linen hangings. The floors were bare but well scoured. The furniture was usually of simple pattern, but in some cases it was elaborately and grotesquely carved, especially the heavy oaken chests which stood along the walls. The bed in one of the houses was topped off with a wooden canopy, and a shallow wooden clothes closet took the place of the foot-board. In the poor cottages the beds were built into a recess in the wall, one above the other like berths, and concealed by a curtain. Ancient clocks—tall, severe-appearing timekeepers of the grandfather variety—held positions of honor. The fireplaces were large affairs with high, square hearths and square hoods, one corner of which projected out into the room. The pewter plates and tankards on display were genuine old-time utensils and also the spoons of pewter and of wood. On a table in one of the cottages were models of different varieties of seventeenth century cakes and breads. They looked as if their originals might have been very edible and appetizing. In each house was a man or woman dressed in the costume of the period to which the house belonged, ready to answer questions or sell post cards, as the case demanded. A quaint old Swede with a long gray beard, a long white coat, long red stockings, buff knee breeches and a funny round white cap was especially picturesque. He would have made an admirable Scandinavian Santa Claus.

These exhibition homes from Sweden’s past are scattered in a natural manner among the trees and rocks of Skansen as if they had been there through all the centuries. But it is not for the houses alone that the park is remarkable. It has other attractions—exclusive of the conventional zoo and the swan lake. A great May pole all decorated with festoons and stars and wreaths of various patterns stands near the ancient Swedish homes—a pretty relic of the days when the heathen Scandinavians worshiped the forest tree; and a handsome observation tower with many yellow and blue flags occupies an eminence. The tower is called “Bredablik” (Broad View). From its top, Fröken Söderquist pointed out the important buildings of the city, and the canals and the islands and the “Salt Sea.” This bird’s-eye view helped me more fully to realize what a really superb site Stockholm has, and how very much more beautiful this city is than Copenhagen. But Copenhagen is so quaint and charming and generally lovable.