Cousin-hunting in Scandinavia

by Mary Wilhelmine Williams

As we neared Gothenburg the scenery improved; the rolling territory with its stones and stone walls gave place to a more hilly landscape with great rugged rocks and beautiful trees. On entering the town we passed Göta Lejon Fort, which stands on the summit of a hill. It is a large, round tower—very old but recently restored—built with exceedingly thick stone walls. It is surmounted by a rampant bronze lion wearing a golden crown and bearing a sword; hence the name. The mate of this fortress, Kronan, which is now a military museum, is topped off with a golden crown. Kronan is on a hill nearer the heart of the city, and is reached by a stairway of about two hundred steps.

Ezias Tegnér

Statue of Gustav Adolf, Gothenburg

A large bronze statue of Gustav Adolf—no true Swede would use the Latin form in these days—has the place of honor in the main public square. This Protestant warrior king was the founder of the town;—or, more strictly speaking, the inviter of the founders. Under his direction and at his invitation it was settled by Dutch people who were commercially inclined and saw great possibilities in a city built at the mouth of the Gotha River. Gothenburg has prospered since its foundation and now ranks second in size to Stockholm; but it still bears traces of its origin, in the form of the broad streets and the canals suggestive of Holland. Another peculiarity of the town is the numerous staircases for ascending and descending the granite hills. These staired streets are a great boon to pedestrians, who have the complete monopoly of them.

Slottsskogen, Gothenburg’s natural park, is on high ground outside of the city. It is a large woodsy stretch, with here and there great patches of purple heather, through which granite boulders peep. In the pretty, tree-rimmed lakes black and white swans were sailing, and in an inclosure were soft-eyed deer. From a cream-colored stone observation tower on the highest point in the park I secured a fine view. To the west was the broad mouth of the Gotha into which were steaming European merchant ships; for this burg on the Gotha is far-famed for its manufactures and its commerce. On to the northeast, like a silver-blue ribbon, the river curved, bearing other vessels bound for Stockholm, via the Gotha Canal.

I cannot leave Gothenburg without telling you about the “automat” and its possibilities. In Copenhagen I had noticed tempting-looking buildings conspicuously labeled “Automat,” but, fearing that they might be a new variety of “gilded halls of sin,” carefully avoided them. In Gothenburg yesterday, however, I saw a tremendously respectable-appearing woman, accompanied by a little girl, come out of an automat, and, thoroughly convinced that there was nothing immoral about the place, I went in to explore. An automat, Cynthia, is an automatic restaurant, non-alcoholic and immaculately respectable; it is the cafeteria idea carried to its logical conclusion. I have never seen automats in our own land; but they are wonderfully convenient, and do away with that survival of mediæval highway robbery called “tipping.” They are operated on the money-in-the-slot and the touch-the-button principle. Taking a meal in one of them is an interesting performance, partaking somewhat of the qualities of an adventure.

In one wall of the dining room are various slots and electric buttons, slides and faucet-like spouts, all properly labeled. Perhaps you would like a cup of cocoa. If so, place a cup and saucer, from the table near at hand, under the proper spout, drop a five-öre piece into the neighboring slot, and immediately cocoa will gush forth into your cup, stopping at just the right degree of fullness. The cocoa will be as good as the best and will cost less than two cents in American money. You will want a sandwich to eat with your cocoa, I am sure. There are almost as many kinds of sandwiches in Scandinavia as there are foods; and all are good. A veritable rainbow array of them is on exhibition in a round glass case divided into compartments. Rotate the case until the dish containing the variety which you would like most to sample is before the little metal door, drop your five-öre piece into the slot, and the door will open and out will slide the desired dish. You can supply yourself with the most delicious little cakes and tarts in the same way. Should you want something hot, roast beef and browned potatoes, for instance, or lamb stew, you will have to return to the wall. Put your money in the slot, press the button, and as soon as ever it can be dished up your order will come out through the side, piping hot and mighty good. Carry your spoils to one of the little tables, which are set as in a cafeteria, but supplied with hard bread in addition; help yourself to knife, fork and spoon and paper napkin from the side table; and—fall to.

You are convinced by this time, I presume, that I have become a perfect gourmand. Perhaps I have; but you would be too, under the same circumstances. I marvel no longer that the Scandinavians eat five times a day. And I hope that Stockholm for which I depart this morning is well supplied with automats. I shall write you from there. Meanwhile, as the Swedes say, “Adjö! Adjö!”