To H. L. K.
Stockholm,
Sunday, June 24th, 1883.
Well, Dear, we arrived at 12 o'clock this morning, and I was quite sorry to leave the boat and my nice big cabin, and the good-natured stewardess. Last night was enchanting. We sat on deck until 12.30. W. treated us all to Swedish punch and cakes. It was decidedly cooler—for the first time I had on the warm, long, blue cloth coat I started in from Paris, and there was rather more motion. How it would amuse you—I wish you were here. The deck looks quite picturesque—lots of little round tables with groups of three or four people, all drinking something, and most of them playing cards. Between 11 and 12 there is a sort of night, or darkness, so they brought up some lamps, which looked weird, and gave a faint, flickering light. We run sometimes so close to the islands, between several, in a narrow channel, that one would think it was impossible to pass, but evidently it is deep sea everywhere, and we go steadily on without slackening. I am delighted we decided to come by sea. It is again a most novel experience, and such a contrast to our Moscow stay—all gold and glitter, and colour and courtiers.
We were just getting out of the little channels and islands and making for the open sea when I went downstairs. The captain came and sat with us a little while, and told us where we were. Some of the lights on the small islands looked as if they were rising straight out of the sea. The water was grey, and the rock grey—one only saw the light.
We didn't meet many ships—a few sailing boats as we left Abo—but no steamers or big ships. We were up fairly early, as they told us the entrance to Stockholm was so beautiful. Coming by water it rises straight out of the sea like Venice. There were quantities of islands, but much greener than those of the Finnish coast, and the cliffs higher. Villas everywhere, close down to the water's edge, and running up the hills. Little pleasure boats and yachts skimming all over the harbour. As it was fête St. Jean all the peasants and country people were out in flat-bottomed boats, crowded with women and children down to the water's edge—the boats quite covered with green boughs and leaves, the women in costume—a white skirt, coloured bodice embroidered in gold or silver—silver charms and big pins in their hair. It really was fairy-like for quite two hours before we arrived.
We got in at twelve exactly, and breakfasted on board. The river is so deep that big ships run straight up into the town. The American frigate, Lancaster, which arrived last night, is anchored directly in front of the hotel, under our windows.
We took a most cordial leave of our Captain, who expressed great gratification at having had us on board—hoped we were satisfied and would recommend his boat to any of our friends who wanted to make the same trip. W. and Richard were astounded at the cheapness of the journey. I think they made out it was about 50 francs apiece—tout compris. We were three nights on board, and had all our meals except the day at Helsingfors.
We found various people waiting for us at the quai—one of the secretaries of our Legation—the gérant of the Hôtel de l'Europe—one or two members of the French colony here, and M. Mathias, a French engineer who lives here. We went across to the hotel in a ferry-boat and found charming rooms, with windows and balconies on the river. The proprietor informed us with much pride that the last distinguished foreigner that had occupied the apartment was Mdme. Sarah Bernhardt.
We found quantities of letters, unpacked a little—I wasn't sorry to get out of my blue cloth into something lighter, as it is warm. They say it is going to rain, and it has been dull and grey all the morning. M. Patenôtre, French Minister, has sent word that he will come and see us about 2.30. The King is here, and will receive W. The Queen and Princesses are away, so I have nothing to do. The Royal Palace is opposite—a big square building.
7 o'clock.