The Alhambra and the Kremlin: The South and the North of Europe

by Samuel Irenæus Prime

Odin or Woden (whence comes our Wedensday or Wednesday), a hero of the north,—in time to which history, at least reliable history, runneth not back,—here established the seat of his power, and it took its name from his original title, which was Sigge, and Tuna, which is our word town. Here Sigge, or Odin, reared stone temples, of which the ruins are before us. Here his power became so great, and such the reverence of rude peoples for power, that the temples and altars which he reared to gods whom he worshipped, became, in the eyes and hearts of the people, dedicate to him, whom they came to revere and worship as a god. From this spot the worship of Odin, and afterwards of his son Thor (whence our Thursday), spread through the whole of the North of Europe, and, in spite of the subsequent triumph of Roman Christianity, and then of the Lutheran Reformation, the Odin superstition—a secret, unconfessed, but controlling reverence for those heroic human deities, the hero worship of the human soul—still obtains among the more ignorant classes of the people over all this northern country. The legends that have come down from sire to son, keep alive in successive generations the hidden fear of these false gods, and form the largest part of the unwritten poetry and romance of all Scandinavia.

Pirates from Finland came here and laid waste the fortified town of Odin, and it has again and again been built and destroyed; but here is the remnant of an ancient temple or church, and three towers, which have the highest interest of antiquity (whatever that is) hanging, like mantling ivy, all about them. No one but an antiquary would wish to spend more than a moment in Sigtuna, among its 400 inhabitants. Tyre and Sidon on the sea coast are not so desolate as this spot, which seems accursed for its pagan crimes and impostures in days long since gone by.

Sweet pictures of rural life in Sweden were seen this morning as we sailed through this Lake Malar. Opposite Sigtuna, and a little farther on, we touched the shore, and landed Professor Olivecrona, of the University of Upsala, with his wife and a party of English friends. He had been to Stockholm to meet them, and bring them up the lake to his country residence in summer. It was a beautiful mansion, very near to the water’s edge, in the midst of woods and delightful walks. The children and servants came down to the landing just in front of the house, to a private wharf, and as the parents went ashore, and four lovely children in their light summer dresses welcomed them, and greeted the friends coming with them, it was a scene of domestic beauty and happiness that quite touched an old man’s heart some three or four thousand miles from home.

More islands, among which our boat makes its tortuous course, coming so near to the rocks that we might easily scrape them; now and then a bare white rock holds its peak solitary above the water, and a bird of prey perches on its top, looking into the deep for his dinner. Now the shores are clothed with green forests, and again we emerge among meadows, and in the bright sun the contrasts of light and shadow, as we pass by the pines and fir trees, are constantly pleasing. An air of infinite quietude pervades the region, and it is painful to believe that it was once a “habitation of cruelty.”

Suddenly a grand old chateau, the ancient residence of the Brahe family, one of the oldest and most illustrious in Sweden, opened on our view. It was built in 1630, and each one of its four towers is surmounted by an orrery, in honor of the famous astronomer whose name alone has made the family famous. A boat comes off from the shore, and takes passengers who wish to visit the house. Its library and museum and galleries of art make it a popular resort. On its walls are portraits of Tycho, and the Ebba Brahe, whom Gustavus Adolphus loved, and would have married but for more ambitious schemes of her mother that never came to pass.

During this delightful passage of six hours through Lake Malar, in one of the loveliest days of summer, we have not seen a sail nor a steamer, except the return boat of the line that has brought us. And this fact is sufficient to show the utter stagnation of commercial life in the interior of Sweden.

I confess to surprise on coming to Upsala and finding the ancient university here in high prosperity, with all the appliances of education that first-class institutions require. Linnæus, the great botanist, was professor here, and his statue is one of the ornaments of the university. The Hospital,—a new and extensive building,—a royal palace on a hill, the Agricultural College, the Library, &c., with a Botanical Garden and ample parks, suggest to the traveller that in Sweden one might find a home to his mind, if his lot had been cast in this part of the earth.

You have a fondness for old books and manuscripts. Here they are in abundance; not of the sort, perhaps, that most antiquarians would run after, but, nevertheless, very precious and costly.

Bishop Ulfilas, toward the close of the fourth century, translated the four gospels into the Gothic language, and his translation was copied in letters of silver upon vellum of a pale purple color, in characters very like the Runic. This manuscript is the very oldest extant in the Teutonic tongue, and was probably made by the Ostro-Gothic scribes in Italy. It was once owned by an abbey in Westphalia. Then it was treasured up in Cologne; then by the fortunes of war it passed to Konigsberg, and to Amsterdam, with Vossius, on whose death the Swedish chancellor bought it and presented it to the University of Upsala. It is known among biblical scholars as the Codex Argenteus, or Silver Copy, from the style of the lettering.