No words can adequately describe the voyage through those lovely Finnish islands. The nearest approach to it is the trip through the Canadian Lake of the Woods or the Greek Archipelago. The little islands stood out like emeralds against the clear horizon line of glowing pink, yellowing into the deep blue of the night sky, with its crescent moon and evening star. The ice-blue waters were as placid as a lake, and no sound but the swish of the ship’s propeller disturbed the heavenly stillness that held us through the greater part of the night. Wealthy Americans who rush to Europe to see beauties which abound in their own country might do a service to mankind by popularizing this tour.
We were compelled to submit to medical examination both in Reval and Stockholm, but this being satisfactory, we proceeded to our hotel. The trip to Russia obliged us to spend two weeks in Stockholm, one week each way, because of the infrequency of boats to Russia; which gave us the opportunity of making some interesting acquaintances, and seeing with some degree of thoroughness the most beautiful city of Northern Europe, well wooded and spotlessly clean, and threaded through and through with canals and waterways—a veritable “Venice of the North.”
Amongst these new acquaintances was a lady I first met in Geneva at the conference of the Save the Children Fund. The Countess Wilamowitz-Moellendorf is a lovely woman of about thirty-two years of age, tall and graceful as a lily, with a lily’s whiteness in her skin, and a lily’s pale gold in her hair. She has a soft voice and a gentle blue eye, which occasionally sparkles with pure mischief. She possesses the elegance and simplicity of manner of the ancien régime, to which she belongs, and has the gift of humour, suggestive of the Irish strain that is actually hers. Her distinguished husband died during the war at Bagdad and lies buried there. She has an only child, a graceful girl of sixteen growing up into the likeness of her beautiful mother.
This charming woman and devoted mother, Swede by birth and German by marriage, is giving herself without stint to the work of saving the starving babies of Europe. She also has ideas on Labour and International questions which would raise the ghosts of many of her departed friends did they but know these. She attended with me a meeting at the Volkshaus in Stockholm to hear an address by a Labour speaker, and I saw with what regard she is held by the Radical forces of the city.
One day she came to the British Labour delegation to ask their interest in a matter of relief. The Swedish Red Cross, hearing of the epidemics in Russia, and particularly in Petrograd, organized a relief expedition comprising sanitary engineers, plumbers, doctors and nurses to the number of almost a hundred, with supplies of medicines, soaps, disinfectants, and all the equipment of a sanitary and medical expedition. Prince Charles, President of the Red Cross, was extremely anxious that the Mission should set out. He had written twice to the Russian Foreign Office offering his gift; but, although weeks had passed, there was no reply. Would it be possible for us to see Tchicherine and get something definite from him, either an acceptance or a rejection, so that in the event of the latter the Mission might proceed elsewhere?
Some of us saw Prince Charles and heard the story from his own lips. His sincerity was impressive. We promised to do what we could. This grave Swedish prince is a man of distinguished appearance, with a manner of great reserve. He is tall, grey haired and blue eyed, with strong, fine hands. His royal reserve melted for a moment and his blue eyes softened with appreciation when I ventured softly to commiserate him on the death of Sweden’s popular Crown Princess, who had died the preceding day. We left his presence reinforced in the belief that humane feeling and practical social service are the disposition and occupation of no particular class. They are the characteristics of the generous and refined of all classes. We told the story to Tchicherine when we saw him; but I very much doubt if the royal gift were accepted. The Russians trust only the Society of Friends. All other relief organizations do propaganda against the Soviet Government, they allege.
One of the most interesting personalities I met in Stockholm was the great traveller and scientist, the friend of kings and kaisers, the distinguished supporter of Germany, Sven Hedin. I lunched at his house in company with some of my fellow delegates. It is a lovely home, especially his own room. This room is lined with exquisitely bound books and filled with curios of priceless value collected during many marvellous journeyings. Signed photographs of numerous monarchs stand in the recesses and on tables. Rich Oriental carpets cover the floor, and precious hangings of rarest quality add colour and character to the room.
He is a remarkably handsome man, with a mass of raven hair slightly tinged with grey, brushed but rebellious; and brilliant eyes, flashing thought. He has a happy manner, full of little gallantries. He possesses the great and saving gift of humour, can be gaily ironical and ironically severe. He is unmarried; but is tenderly devoted to his adoring family of aged mother and gifted sisters. He has an astounding capacity for work, sleeps a little in the afternoon and then works till 4 o’clock every morning. We had great argument with him, which changed neither his opinion nor our own. But there was no crudity of speech or manner on either side to spoil our reputation in a neutral city, or to lessen the quality of his generous hospitality.
The Countess succeeded in getting permission for us to go to Berlin. She introduced us to the German Minister to Sweden, and Prince Wied of the Legation, who were touched by our interest in the children of Berlin. The tax upon aliens entering Germany—at this time about 60 marks—was graciously remitted in our case as we were going on relief work, and we booked our places on train and steamer and began to pack our bags.