Father and I Visit Relatives in Stockholm
Ah, those two weeks in Stockholm! I could write a book about the things I saw.
From: Unknown To: 1926 C.E.
Note: This article has been excerpted from a larger work in the public domain and shared here due to its historical value. It may contain outdated ideas and language that do not reflect TOTA’s opinions and beliefs.
“Father and I Visit Relatives in Stockholm” from When I Was A Girl in Sweden by Anna-Mia Hertzman, 1926.
My father had only one sister, married to a newspaper man and living in Stockholm. They had but one child, my cousin Ebba.
At the time of my Confirmation, Ebba had come down to Oscarshamn to visit us. She was a year and five months older than I. Mother was very kind to her, and my sisters simply adored our pretty cousin with her fashionable frocks and hats. Ebba’s visit made me very happy, and when we parted, Father promised to bring me up to the Capital of Sweden towards the end of the summer.
Ah, those two weeks in Stockholm! I could write a book about the things I saw. It was the most thrilling sight to see the Royal Guards on splendid horses and in bright blue-and-gold uniforms dash through the streets to the tunes of martial music. And then the regiments of the Svea-Guards who were marching up Lions Hill to the central court of the Royal Castle, where, at the stroke of twelve each noon, they relieved those soldiers who had guarded the castle and their king for the past twenty-four hours.
It may be that His Majesty, the well-beloved King Oscar, would step out on one of the balconies and graciously smile down on his soldiers and his civilian subjects who thronged the castle slope and the inner court. He was a tall, slim, truly nobly fashioned man, half a head taller than most of his subjects, and in his time the most learned monarch in Europe. Master of more than a dozen languages including Sanskrit and the Pali, that summer when an Orientalist Congress was held in Stockholm and a number of stately, turbaned, white-robed Hindoo princes were the guests of the king, he was able to converse with them in their native languages.
But the National Museum I think proved most interesting to me, for here were to be viewed the art treasures of Sweden; priceless paintings, many dealing with historical subjects. Here I saw the likeness of Karin Mansdotter, the beautiful and unhappy queen of Eric XIV, who in the year 1568 made her his queen. Karin was of very humble birth—her father was merely a corporal of the king’s life-guard—but her sweetness and charm of person had won the heart of the king, and he had at once ordered her to become one of the attendants on his sister, the Princess Elizabeth. Soon after this marriage, the king was forced to abdicate, and his younger brother, Prince Johan, became king. But Johan, after having treated his brother Eric most cruelly during several years of imprisonment, finally had him killed by poison. Queen Karin fled to Finland with her two children, Sigrid and Gustaf. Here she lived for some years with her sad memories.
As I looked at the two life-size paintings of those royal lovers, tears filled my eyes, for Mother had read to us so often from the romance of Karin Mansdotter, written by Wilhelmina Stalberg.
Father now led me to a painting that quickly made me smile: Malmstrom’s “The Dance of the Elves.” Here were beauty and airy grace, elfin forms draped in gossamer garments flitting over a midsummer landscape, softly illuminated by the twilight of the sun merely dipping below the horizon for a brief hour.
Then I was taken to the marble statue of Endymion, asleep. No wonder Diana felt tempted to kiss that fair face of the sleeping shepherd boy. This statue had been found in fragments at the excavation of Pompeii, bought by beauty-loving Gustaf III, and the precious fragments carefully cemented together. So now Endymion sleeps in far-away Sweden instead of in a ruined Italian city.
We also visited the Royal Library, which was set in the midst of a beautiful park, Humlegarden. Father was a book lover, and he found much to occupy his mind in this delightful building. But Ebba, being impatient to show me more sights, took me out into the park and led me to the statue of Sweden’s famous botanist, Carl von Linne, [“Linnaeus”] who was born in my own province, Smaland.
As any present-day school-child knows, Linne was the scientist who classified the earth’s flora and fauna. The Linnean Binominal Nomenclature was part of his gift to the world. He was the son of very poor parents, but he had courage and a great hunger for learning. During his student years at the University, he was so poor that, instead of socks, he had to wrap his feet in paper to keep them warm in the severe winter weather of Sweden. He tutored during most of his spare time studying at night. To-day his name ranks as one of the highest among the scientists of the world.
The Swedish people here in America, wishing to honor the memory of their famous countryman, set about erecting a great statue of Carl von Linne in Lincoln Park, Chicago. One of the most charming native flowers of Sweden, the Linnea borealis, is named in honor of the noted botanist. This plant is a fairy-like creeper with the tiniest, bell-shaped, pink flowers of a most delightful fragrance, and growing in the pine woods.
Stockholm is a city of nearly half a million inhabitants, and it was founded by one of Sweden’s most far-sighted rulers of the thirteenth century, Biger Jarl. The city really began as a fortification, to defend the country from the invasion of foreign foes. It is a city built on a number of large and small islands as well as on the mainland. For that reason the capital of Sweden is often called the Venice of the North, and communications between various points are by means of swift little steamers darting back and forth, although, of course, there are also street-cars and the omnibus services, as well.
As an outdoor pleasure resort this city is ideal for the provincial population flocking to Stockholm during the summer. There are band concerts in the parks with cafe and open-air restaurant arrangements where excellent food is served at all hours, often by pretty waitresses in colorful peasant costumes.
In the oldest parts of the city, the streets are so narrow that two carriages can scarcely pass each other, while the houses themselves are six stories high, with stone walls seven feet thick. Quaint street names, commemorating great historical events, meet the eyes at every turn. For Stockholm has often, during seven hundred years as a city, been the storm-center of various political factions. Now and then noble and innocent heads have fallen under the executioner’s axe.
Years ago, when Father took me to visit my relatives in Stockholm, that city was said to have the best fire department of any city in Europe. It was wonderful to see the firemen rush like a whirlwind through the streets to reach a fire.
Hertzman, Anna-Mia. When I Was a Girl in Sweden. Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co., 1926.
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