Cousin-hunting in Scandinavia

by Mary Wilhelmine Williams

But the distinctive gem of the collection is the “Silver Bible” (Codex Argenteus), of Ulfilas. It is by far the oldest example of the Gothic language in existence, and is a thing of great beauty as well as a priceless treasure from a philological viewpoint. It was a real joy to me to see it; I have wanted to do so for years. The guard turned over the book in order that I might view both the cover and the parchment pages. Originally the parchment was of a purple color and the lettering was of silver; but the purple has long since faded into a beautiful rose, and the letters have oxidized black. The cover, however—from which the Bible gets its name—is of bright, richly worked silver and is only three centuries old. The cover was made in Sweden. This Gothic Bible was rediscovered to the world in Germany during the sixteenth century. Later it was carried away to Sweden by the soldiers of Gustav Adolf, and subsequently was given to Queen Christina, shortly after which it reached its present abode.

I am not a defender of international highway robbery, nevertheless I feel that there is a decided appropriateness in Sweden’s being the guardian of this oldest relic of Gothic culture. For Scandinavia is commonly recognized as the cradle-land of the Teutonic peoples, of which the Goths were a branch, and the Scandinavians are the purest blooded existing descendants of the ancient Teutons. Of the three Scandinavian countries, Sweden, too, seems the best entitled to the honor of possessing the Goths’ Bible, for one of her provinces is still named Gothland—a survival of the name applied in historic times to the whole south of Sweden, whose inhabitants were called Goths, as their neighbors to the North were called Swedes. It almost seems as if the bringing of the Bible of Ulfilas to Sweden were a restoration—a return to the home of its remotest origin.

The handwriting of a person who has passed from this life helps me, far more than does his tomb, to a realization of his personality and of the force of his one-time existence. Hence, the sight of the collection of autographic writings of some of the greatest figures of Sweden’s past which occupy the room with the Silver Bible, was a real contribution to my contact with the humanity of the ages. The strong, bold autographs of Gustav Vasa and Gustav Adolf, the signatures of Swedenborg, and Tegnér, and Linné spoke eloquently to me of giant achievement; as did also the delicate, modest hand of Fredrika Bremer, a giant too, whose spirit still lives mightily in the women of Sweden. This closer contact with Miss Bremer made me want to read again “The Home” and “Strife and Peace,” and other works of hers which contributed to the pleasures of my girlhood.

Before taking final leave of Sweden’s oldest university, I want to remind you that it was this university which conferred upon Selma Lagerlöf the honorary degree of doctor of letters in 1907; and she stood beneath the monument to Carl Linné in the Uppsala cathedral when the laurel wreath was placed upon her brow. Two years later she received the Nobel prize.

My last remark moves me to ask: Did you know that Alfred Nobel, the founder of the Nobel Prize Fund, was a Swede? And did you know that he was the inventor of dynamite, smokeless powder, and other explosives, by which he made his fortune? His arrangement for the prize fund reminds me of the Gothenburg temperance system; the money made from the invention and manufacture of war materials contributes not only toward a prize fund for those who have excelled in science and literature, but also for those who have done most in the interest of universal peace.

My pilgrimage from the famous modern Uppsala to Gamla or Old Uppsala will always be one of the choicest of my Scandinavian memories. Gamla Uppsala was the ancient capital of Sweden and the last stronghold of the pagan cult of Thor and Odin. In the dark forests of this Uppsala during heathen times lives of men as well as of beasts were sacrificed to the mighty gods of the North.

The old town is less than four miles from the new, and the road stretched so smooth and inviting that I decided to walk there. And I promptly realized that my decision was a wise one, for the landscape was charming—suggestive of dear old Bornholm, and yet with a Swedish stamp. Patches of woods in varied greens and of golden fields with bright farmhouses here and there furnished perfect backgrounds for the harvesters near at hand; and the pinks and blues and reds of the dresses worn by the white-aproned and white-kerchiefed women working among the sheaves gave just the needed touch of color to the foreground of the picture.

After I had passed the turn in the road, the famous mounds of Gamla Uppsala came clearly into sight, with the steep, gabled roof of the old church peeping above them. As I wished to take a picture of the mounds, I turned off the highway and followed the railroad track, from which approach I could obtain a more unobscured view.

I did not take to walking the railroad ties, however, with perfect security of mind, for my observation of affairs European had convinced me that but rarely are passengers permitted to stand on car platforms, even “at their own risk.” Consequently, I quaked inwardly upon perceiving a brass-buttoned man on the track ahead; but I walked past him with my best American air, and proceeded to adjust my camera. Presently the official approached me, and suddenly I remembered that “ignorance of the law excuses no one.” Visions of arrest and disgrace loomed large. With a waist-deep Swedish bow, the man of the shining buttons handed me a paper. It was a black strip from the film-pack of my camera which I had thrown away, and which had blown in his vicinity! After I had thanked him and explained that I had discarded the paper, he politely asked a question or two about the operation of my camera, executed another ninety-degree bow, and withdrew. Obviously the man was not so unsophisticated as really to think that strip of paper of any value. He simply used it as an excuse for attempting to satisfy masculine curiosity roused by the foreign-looking person upon his railroad track. Swedes do occasionally stoop to such depths of diplomatic cunning!

The three so-called burial mounds of Frey, Thor, and Odin, the mightiest gods of Northern paganism, stand in a row, Odin’s being nearest the church. They are real burial mounds, as was proved when they were opened some years since and were found to contain the remains of human beings, with the usual pagan equipment of weapons, and utensils, and other objects intended to contribute to the welfare of the Asgard-bound traveler. From the top of Odin’s mound I obtained a good view of the surrounding country. Near at hand was a lower and flatter eminence. Upon it in heathen times the Swedish parliament assembled and under the open sky enacted the laws; and even as late as the sixteenth century Gustav Vasa addressed his people from the mound. This good old custom of holding open-air parliaments seems to have existed in times past wherever Scandinavians ruled. The Thingvellir of Iceland got its name from the fact that the Thing, or parliament, met there for its deliberations; and the quaint ceremonies by which the newly-enacted laws of the Isle of Man are still promulgated by the House of Keys from the top of Tynwald Hill on the fifth of each July are a vestige of the same custom, and are Scandinavian in origin.