While thus musing on the past, a strain of delicious music broke the stillness. I rambled over the granite cliffs in the direction of the sound, and soon came to a grove of trees, with an open space in the middle, occupied by a band of musicians, who were surrounded by a group of citizens, thus pleasantly passing the summer evening. Booths and tents were scattered about in every direction, in which cakes and refreshments were to be had; and gay parties of young people were seated on long planks so arranged as to make a kind of spring seats, upon which they bounced up and down to the time of the music. Children were playing upon the grass, their merry shouts of laughter mingling pleasantly with the national air performed by the band. On the moss-covered rocks sat groups of young ladies, guarded by their amiable mothers or discreet duennas, as the case might be, trying hard not to see any of the young gentlemen who lounged about in the same vicinity; and young gentlemen prowled about puffing cigars as if they didn’t care a straw whether the young ladies looked at them or not—both being, of course, according to the established usages of society, natural enemies of each other. For the life of me, I can’t tell why it is that young ladies and gentlemen should be thus everlastingly at war. Would it not be better to kiss and make it up, and try, if possible, to get along peaceably through the world?
But the steamer blows her whistle—the bell rings—I must hurry on board. Good-by, dear Finns, big and little, I like you all. God bless you! Good-by old Abo, with your ancient church, and your moss-grown streets, and deserts of houses—I feel sorry for you, but I can’t help it! Good-by, Russia! If I don’t call again, attribute it to no want of interest in the great cause of civilization. Just drop me a line and let me know when the serfs are free and a constitutional government is established, and I will strain a point to pay my respects to Alexander II. I rather like the young man, and have an idea that he is capable of noble deeds and heroic sacrifices. But he must abolish his secret police, punish them for whipping women, open universities upon a liberal basis, throw the camarilla and the aristocracy overboard, quit murdering the poor Poles at Warsaw, and do several other things before he can have my support. Should he accomplish these beneficial reforms, and at any future time think proper to settle in my neighborhood, where the climate is more genial, I shall cheerfully vote for him as mayor of the city of Oakland.
CHAPTER XXIV.
STOCKHOLM.
The passage from Abo to Stockholm occupies about eighteen hours, and in fine weather affords a constant succession of agreeable scenes. With the exception of about four hours of open sea in crossing the Gulf of Bothnia, the steamer is constantly surrounded by islands, many of them highly picturesque, and all interesting from their peculiar geological formation. Occasionally the island winds like a snake through a wilderness of naked granite boulders, round and slippery, and barely high enough out of the water to afford a foundation for a few fishermen’s huts, which from time to time break the monotony of their solitude. Sometimes the channel opens out into broad lakes, apparently hemmed in on all sides by pine-covered cliffs; then passing between a series of frightful crags, upthrown, as it were, out of the water by some convulsion of nature, the surging waves lash their way through the narrow passages, and threaten each moment to ingulf the frail vessel, or dash it to atoms against the rocks. The greatest danger in making this trip arises from the number of sunken rocks, which often approach to within a few feet of the surface without being visible. The depth is usually marked by poles or buoys, and it often happens that the steamer plies her way for hours between these water-marks, where there is no other indication of danger. The Swedish and Finnish pilots are proverbially among the best in the world. We had an old Finn on board—a shaggy old sea-dog, rough and weather-beaten as any of the rocks on his own rock-bound coast, who, I venture to say, never slept a wink during the entire passage, or if he did, it was all the same. He knew every rock, big and little, visible and invisible, that lay on the entire route between Abo and Stockholm, and could see them all with his eyes shut. An uncouth, hardy, honest old monster was this Finn—a Caliban of a fellow, half human, half fish—with a great sou’wester on his head, a rough monkey-jacket buttoned around his body, and a pair of boots on his legs that must have been designed for wading over coral reefs, through seas of swordfish, shovel-nosed sharks, and unicorns. His broad, honest face looked for all the world like a granite boulder covered with barnacles and sea-weed, and ornamented by a bunch of mussels for a nose, and a pair of shining blue pebbles by way of eyes; and when he spoke, which was not often, his voice sounded like the keel of a fishing-smack grating over a bank of gravel. I strongly suspect his father was a sea-lion and his mother a grampus or scragg whale, and that he was fished up out of the sea when young by some hardy son of Neptune, and subsequently trained up in the ways of humanity on board a fishing-smack, where the food consisted of polypi, lobsters, and black bread. Yet there was something wonderfully genial about this old pilot. He chewed enormous quantities of tobacco, the stains of which around his mouth greatly improved the beauty of his countenance; and when he was not chewing pigtail he was smoking it, which equally contributed to soften the asperities of his features. Having sailed in many seas, he spoke many languages, but none very intelligibly, owing to some radical defect in the muscles of his mouth. As to the channel between Abo and Stockholm, which lies partly through the Aland Islands and numerous adjacent rocks, above and below water, I believe he had traveled over it so often that he could steer a vessel through it standing backward as readily as box the compass, or shut both his eyes and tell where the deepest water lay by the smell of the air and the taste of his tobacco.
The passage across the Gulf of Bothnia was somewhat rough, and most of the passengers were sea-sick, owing, no doubt, to the short chopping motion which prevails on board of all kinds of sea-going vessels in these inland seas. Having performed various voyages in various parts of the world, I was, of course, exempt from this annoyance; but my digestion had been impaired in Russia by the vast quantity of tea, cucumbers, veal, cabbage-soup, and other horrible mixtures which I had been forced to consume while there, and which now began to tell on my constitution. Notwithstanding repeated doses of cognac, taken from time to time as I walked the decks, the sea began to whirl all round, the clouds overhead to swing about at random through the rigging, and the odor of the machinery to produce the strongest and most disagreeable sensations. I went below to see how things looked there; but, finding the atmosphere dense and the prospect gloomy, returned in great haste and looked over the bulwarks to see how fast we were going through the water. While thus engaged, an amusing thought occurred to me. Suppose the mermaids who lie down in the briny depths form their ideas of the beauty of the human countenance from the casual glimpses thus afforded of our features, would it be possible for the most susceptible of them to fall in love with us? The idea was so droll that I was almost convulsed with laughter; but, not wishing to attract attention by laughing aloud at my own thoughts, I merely clung to the bulwarks and doubled myself up, trying to avoid the appearance of eccentricity. At or about the same moment, the old Finnish pilot, with whom I had formed an acquaintance, came along, and said good-naturedly, “Hello, sir! I dink you pe sea-sick.” “Sea-sick?” said I, a little nettled. “Oh no, Herr Pilot, I’m an old sailor, and never get sea-sick.” “Vel, I dought you was sick—you look bad, sir,” answered the good old pilot; “de sea is very rough, sir.” Here the steamer took a notion to pitch down into the water and jump up again suddenly, and then rolled on one side and then on the other, and at the same time a number of the passengers began to make grotesque and disagreeable noises, which amused me so much that I had to turn away my face and look at the water again to avoid laughing. “Sir,” said the old pilot, who observed the contortions of mirth by which I was moved, “vil you have some schnapps? I dink schnapps is goot for de sea-sick.” “Thank you,” said I, the tears streaming from my eyes, “I won’t have any just now.” “Vel, ’twon’t last long, any how,” suggested the good-natured monster. “By’m-by we be up to Vaxholm—in pout two hours. Dere’s land! Don’t you see it?” I saw it, and right glad I was too, for it is always refreshing to see land from the deck of a steamer. In half an hour more we entered a smooth stretch of water, and soon the wood-covered islands and shores of Sweden were close ahead.
Passing the fortress of Waxholm, we entered the magnificent fjord or arm of the sea which extends for a distance of ten or twelve miles up to the city. The scenery on this part of the route is very fine. All along the shores of the main land and adjacent islands rugged cliffs of granite reared their hoary crests over the waters of the fjord. Forests of oak and pine cover the rolling background, and beautiful villas, with parterres and blooming gardens, peep from every glen. Sometimes for miles the solitude of the forests and rock-bound shores is unbroken, save by an occasional fisherman’s hut or an open patch of green pasture; then suddenly, upon turning a point, a group of red-roofed villas glimmer through the foliage; sail-boats are seen gliding over the water with gay companies of ladies and gentlemen from the city enjoying the fresh breeze that sweeps up from the Gulf; now a hay-boat or a clumsy lugger laden with wood drifts along lazily toward the grand centre of trade; and as we approach nearer to the dim smoke-cloud that hangs over the city, big and little craft gather thicker and thicker before us, till the whole fjord seems alive with masts and sails. Soon the outlines of the churches and castles break through the dim distance, and, like some grand optical illusion, the whole city gradually opens up before us.
To say that I was charmed with the first view of Stockholm would but faintly express the feelings with which I gazed upon this beautiful metropolis of the North. Though different in almost every essential particular, it has been not unaptly compared to Venice; and certainly, if the sparkling waters from which it seems to rise, the wood-covered islands, the rich and varied outlines of its churches and castles, the forests of shipping at its wharves, the many-colored sail-boats and gondolas sweeping hither and thither, the glowing atmosphere, and surrounding gardens, villas, temples, and pavilions, can entitle it to that distinction, Stockholm well deserves to rank with the Queen City of the Adriatic.
The landing for the Baltic steamers is at the head quay called the Skepsbron, which in summer is well lined with shipping, and presents rather an animated appearance. Very little formality is observed in regard to the baggage of passengers, and passports are not required, or at least no demand was made upon me for mine. All I had to do was to show my knapsack to the custom-house officer, who put a chalk-mark upon it, signifying, no doubt, that it contained nothing contraband; after which I stepped ashore, and, aided by a friendly fellow-passenger, found lodgings at a dirty little hotel close by, called the “Stadt Frankfort.” If there is any worse place to be found in Stockholm, it must be the very worst on the face of the earth, for the “Stadt Frankfort” is next thing to it. Being dirty and foul of smell, and abounding in vermin, of course the charges are, as usual in such cases, proportionally high, for which reason I recommend it to any gentleman traveling in this direction whose main object is to get rid of his money for an equivalent of filth, fleas, bugs, bad bread, and worse coffee. The main part of the city, embracing the King’s Palace, the Bourse, the Church of St. Nicholas, the Barracks and public buildings, is built upon an island fronting the Baltic on the one side and the Malar Lake on the other. This is the most populous and interesting part, though the streets are narrow and irregular, and the houses generally old and dilapidated, with dark, gloomy fronts, and a very fishy and primitive expression of countenance. The new parts of the city, called the Normalm to the north and the Sodmalm to the south, which are connected with the island by bridges, have some fine streets and handsome rows of buildings in the modern style, especially the Normalm, which contains the King’s Garden, the Arsenal, the Opera-house, and the principal hotels and residences of the foreign ministers. This part of Stockholm will compare favorably with second or third-rate cities in Germany; for it must be borne in mind that, striking as the external aspect of Stockholm is, the interior is very far from sustaining the illusion of grandeur cast around it by the scenic beauties of its position. In nothing is the traveler more disappointed than the almost total absence of business excitement. With the exception of a few stevedores at work on the wharves and a trifling jostle at the market-places, the whole city seems to be sitting down in its Northern solitude, waiting, like Mr. Micawber, for something to turn up. In some parts one may walk half a mile without hearing a sound save the echo of his own footsteps. It is, emphatically, a “slow” place—so slow, indeed, compared with the marts of commerce to which I had been accustomed in California (especially the city of Oakland), that I was constantly impressed with the idea that every body was fast asleep, and that if three or four of them should happen to wake at the same time, it would be fearfully startling to hear their eyelids crack open and the hollow streets echo to their yawns.