Cousin-hunting in Scandinavia

by Mary Wilhelmine Williams

The Dal-people next appeared in their favorite rôle under the lead of Gustav Vasa. I have spoken of him already, but it is really only by constant repetition of the name of this Gustav that one comes to realize what an important part he played in Sweden’s history. In the days of his boyhood at Uppsala University, when the Danish yoke bore heavily upon the Swedish people, Gustav Vasa is said to have announced: “I will betake myself to Dalecarlia, rouse the Dalecarlians, and batter the nose of the Jute.” And he did. After the Dal-people had once got the idea of driving out the Danes, they fought stubbornly and effectively, bark-eaters though they were. Indeed, a Danish bishop of the time attributed their strength to their diet. When urging that Denmark abandon all further attempt to reconquer Sweden, he is reported to have argued: “A people that eat bark and drink nothing but water the devil himself cannot master.”

But the major part which they had played in putting Gustav Vasa upon the Swedish throne did not deter the Dalecarlians from being the first to revolt when the policy of the new king did not suit their very decided ideas of governmental administration. Twice they revolted against the great Gustav, the second revolt being caused by the oppressive taxation which the king found it necessary to levy in order fully to establish the independence of his realm and to put it on a stable basis. In order to pay a debt owed to the Hanseatic city of Lübeck, it was decreed by the king that the church bells should be collected and melted down. The Dalecarlians violently resisted the tax, and wrote to the king expressing in language which could not be misunderstood their opinion of his methods. Gustav, however, suddenly appeared in their midst with an army and put an end to the insurrection.

When the death of Ulrica Eleonora without heirs raised a dispute with regard to the succession, the Dalecarlians, in 1742, cooperating with the peasants of Helsingland, once more revolted and demanded Crown Prince Frederick of Denmark as king, a succession which would again establish a personal union between the three Scandinavian countries, and, they believed, secure Sweden against the enmity of Russia. Their opposition was put down; but subsequent events seem to have proved the wisdom of their demands. For in 1809 Finland was seized by Russia, which is to-day considered Sweden’s most dangerous enemy.

Falun, capital and the largest city of Dalecarlia, has a population of about ten thousand. It has all of the elements of solid worth possessed by the other Swedish cities which I have visited, and because of its location it has more of charm and beauty. It nestles in the valley of Lake Runn and has a beautiful framing of wooded hills. There is the usual natural forest park, and there is also a fine birch-bordered promenade. And within the city itself trees are so numerous as to give the impression that the city was planted in a forest, as it really was.

Falun is the home of Carl Larsson, the famous Swedish artist. Through the exercise of Larsson’s talent, the beautiful scenery and picturesque life of Dalecarlia is coming more and more to be known to the world outside of Scandinavia.

To me, however, the special attraction of this Dalecarlian town is the fact that Selma Lagerlöf, the queen of modern romanticism, lives here. Miss Lagerlöf, however, is not a native of the Dal-country, but of Vermland, lying just to the south. I have long worshiped Miss Lagerlöf afar off, and while in Paris became acquainted with a friend of hers who had seen “Nils Holgersson” in the making. This led me to become more interested in her, and, in consequence, I wanted most dreadfully to call upon her while here, but Dr. Selma was spared the visit of an additional lion hunter by my reflecting that doubtless all others who journey to Falun have similar longings, and that they have as great a claim upon her as I. Therefore, I contented myself by purchasing a copy of “Nils Holgerssons Underbara Resa” in the edition studied in the schools of Sweden, and walked up the street and took a good look at the restful hillside home of the lady of my admiration. The house is of the usual dark red with white trimmings, only it is larger and handsomer and “homier” than the average Swedish house; but then the house in which Selma Lagerlöf lives must always possess an unusual degree of the home quality. Surrounding the house is a characterful old garden with a hedge of lilacs by the fence and spreading shade trees, through which the red walls peep forth invitingly.

If you have not already done so, when opportunity offers it seize upon “The Story of a Country House,” which is translated into English. It contains a “Dalarne man” and is one of the best examples of Miss Lagerlöf’s touch of romantic magic. When held by the spell of the tale, it seems the height of naturalness and probability that an insane Dalecarlian who courtesied to cats—mistaking them for goats—should rescue a Vermland damsel from the grave in which she had been buried alive and carry her off to safety in his pedler’s pack; that under her tuition he should learn the distinction between cats and goats, and should finally recover his mind and marry the damsel and “live happily ever after.” By the time you are ready to lay down the book, you know that the whole thing happened exactly as Selma Lagerlöf has told you, and you wonder how doubters can doubt.

It is a far cry from modern romanticism to a Swedish copper mine; but as this is “Grufvan,” a very special mine, you will want to know about it. Grufvan is on the slope of a mountain on the outskirts of Falun—or probably it is more correct to say that Falun is on the outskirts of the mine, for the mine is centuries older than the city and really brought the city into being. Out of this mountain copper has been dug since time immemorial: I presume that the copper that went into the composition of some of the beautifully wrought bronze objects which I saw in the museum at Stockholm was dug by pagan Swedes from this same Kopparberg.

The environs of the mine are so covered by hillocks of the red earth from which the ore had been extracted that, when I went up to see Grufvan, for a while I was lost in the maze; but I soon met a woman, with a little girl, coming from there, and inquired the direction. The woman promptly offered to accompany me for a distance and to show me the road; and though I protested that I did not wish to trouble her and would have no difficulty if she would merely direct me, she insisted, and did not turn back until we were in plain view of the mine.

Grufvan is a great crater-like hole which ages of mining have dug out of the hillside. The crater is about a quarter of a mile long and deep, and about half as wide. The rich mineral colorings of the steep walls faintly suggest the Grand Cañon of the Colorado to my Far Western mind. The great mass of copper ore which has been gradually extracted from the interior of the mountain had, originally—so I was informed—the shape of an inverted cone. Through lack of proper engineering, about three centuries ago the roof fell in, resulting in excavation which produced the present crater-like opening. Now the mineral is extracted by means of tunnels and shafts. As I leaned over the railing around the walls of the mine, I could see, far below, many openings into which car tracks ran.