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

by Samuel Irenæus Prime

It was so early when we came to the little wooden tavern that no one was astir. We went around to the back door, as the porter led us, and there knocked long and loud, till a maid thrust her head out of the window, and made signs that she would come down and let us in, which she did. The American language was of no use now. French was no better. But we managed to let her know, morning as it was, we wanted beds. She led us to the chambers, and when we pointed to the sheets as having already seen service since the last wash, she took the hint in a moment, and, pulling them off, supplied their places with linen without wrinkles. After a few hours sleep we rose for breakfast, taking what should be set before us. It proved to be comfortable. Coffee with delicious cream, bread and beefsteak on a novel plan, chopped fine, made into cakes and fried in butter with spices.

It was our first sabbath in Sweden. An ancient brick church with a spire, a venerable structure, stood near a swiftly flowing stream of water, embowered in majestic trees, and surrounded with the graves of buried generations of those who had worshipped within its old walls. It was a solemn, yet beautiful spot, and all its surroundings were in keeping. The graveyard was laid off in little plats, and the graves were bordered with flowers. On some graves pots of flowers were set, and on others fresh-plucked flowers were strewn, soon to wither and to be replaced. The bell was tolling and the people were assembling; all came on foot and by walks leading through the yard from various parts of the village. Some had come evidently from a distance in the country, with books in their hands. All were decently devout in their deportment as they came; even among the young there was no levity, they were on a solemn errand, and were sensible of the time and place.

The sexton sat at the door, with a big key in his hand, and opened the door to let the people in, but locked it when prayer began, and kept it locked till prayer was ended, and then admitted those who had gathered. Earthen pitchers or jugs stood on stools near the door to receive the offerings, and many cast in what they had. The floor was of stone, and many were tombstones, the inscriptions worn by the footsteps of the living, so that the names of the dead were illegible. Eight immense whitewashed pillars supported Gothic arches on which the roof rested. The pulpit was of wood, elaborately carved, with Scripture scenes and figures. A sounding-board above it was ornamented with quaint devices, and surmounted by a human figure, perhaps an image of the Saviour. On the front the word Jehovah, in Hebrew letters, was inscribed. The pews were very plain, unpainted slips, with doors locked until the owners came, whose names were on slips of paper attached. On the sides of the church, long rude seats were free. We occupied them. The congregation was very slow in getting in. The same variety of dress that would mark one of our rural churches was apparent. Rich and poor met together. Some of the ladies were dressed elaborately with the flat French bonnet; others in a costume of the country, a small black shawl or kerchief thrown over the head and pinned under the chin. The men were all rustic in garb and manner, accustomed to out-of-door hard work. All appeared devotional, respectful; old and young, on coming in, bowed in silent prayer; all stood in singing. The service was Lutheran, the established religion. All had books of the service, which was read with a loud voice and much intonation by the clerk. The preacher was a handsome young man, with great energy of voice and no action. His text had the name Jesus Christ in it, and the words were often repeated with tenderness and earnestness. I could understand no other words, and could only hope that as even those were sweet to my ears, the preacher was commending him to the congregation as the chief among ten thousand, the one altogether lovely.

Many of the men took snuff. The man on my right, two on my left, two in front of me, held the box under their noses to catch what fell back in the operation. They also offered the same boxes to me. One of the men sneezed immoderately four or five times. The sexton going up the aisle, and standing on the tombstone of some old saint, blew his (the sextons, not the saint’s) nose with his fingers, wiped it with a blue cotton handkerchief, polished it off with the back of his hand, and then walked up to the pulpit to do his errand.

Bating the snuff-taking and the nasal twang in the singing, the service was pleasing even to us who heard no words that we could understand. We worshipped in spirit, and felt at home among the children of our Father, not one of whom knew that two strangers from beyond the sea were in their village church on this pleasant summer sabbath morning.

Soderkoping proved to be more of a place than we had anticipated. It was, and is even a watering-place. Pleasantly planted on the banks of the great canal, with historic and towering heights rising by its side, and rejoicing also in the possession of a mineral spring, whose healing virtues have been spread among the people of this and other countries, it has become a resort for invalids. It maintains at one end of the village a series of bathing-houses, and modest lodgings for visitors, and a “conversation hall” of moderate dimensions, and some hundreds of the ill-to-do may be carefully cared for, and, perhaps, cured at the same time. But there is no hotel, nor any thing worth the name. The village is primitive, simple, neat as a new pin, not the sign of a new building going on anywhere. It might have been finished years ago, and kept in order to be looked at as a curiosity. The dwellings are, all of them, low, unpretending, small, and usually of wood.

Dr. Gustaff Bottiger, physician and surgeon, called at our lodgings in Soderkoping. He spoke the French well, and English tolerably, and we were able to get on with him delightfully. He is a fine looking man, accomplished in manners, and superintendent of the “Water Cure.”

The mineral waters of this locality have had a reputation in Europe through the long period of eight hundred years. They were formerly resorted to by invalids from Italy and Spain, as well as other countries. But in the course of time, and after the discovery of other springs, and the invention of more, the fame of these in Sweden declined. The town declined also. But when the modern water-cure idea sprang into being, an establishment was opened here, which has proved to be a wonderful success. It is resorted to by a thousand persons every year, who come as patients, and patiently submit to the hydraulic, hydrostatic, and hydropathic, and all the hydra-headed processes of scientific treatment requisite to purify the system and make the patient clean inside and out. The cure is sure for nearly all diseases to which flesh is heir, but is specially efficient in expelling such monsters as rheumatism, gout, and dyspepsia. The College of Health in Sweden, a national institution, has the establishment under its control, and the company that have taken out a royal charter, and built the bath and packing houses, have made provision for ninety patients, who are constantly lodged, fed, and water-cured at public expense, and one hundred and thirty more are treated gratuitously, with the use of the establishment, while they pay for their board and lodging. Six hundred patients can be supplied with baths at one time.

The establishment thus combines the advantages of a free and pay hospital, as do many of our asylums for the afflicted in America. But I am not aware that any of our States have made provision for sending their invalid poor to water cures. Our inebriate asylums may be called water cures in the best sense of the term, and it is quite certain, whether intemperance be a sin or a disease, or both, there is no hope of a cure without the use of cold water.

Here at Soderkoping the rich and the poor are so mingled and packed and purified, that the distinction is not palpable, and the institution is a model of social and medical propriety and equality.