Part 18

One suit of armor is interesting from the tale of rude courtesy attached to it. It formerly belonged to a Count Eszterházy who fell in a battle against the old enemies of Hungary, the Turks. A ball from the Pasha's own pistol had already pierced the Count's cuirass, but, anxious to make more certain of his death, the Moslem leaped from his horse and beat the helmet of the Christian till he broke open his visor, when he discovered in the fallen foe an old friend by whom he had been most kindly treated when a prisoner in Hungary. Faithful to his friendship, the Turk made the only reparation in his power, for, after treating the body of Eszterházy with every possible mark of respect, he collected the armor in which he had died, and sent it, with the arms which had caused his death, as a present to his family.

A great number of banners, as well those taken from the enemy as those under which the followers of Eszterházy fought, are hung round the walls. It is characteristic of the times that most of the Hungarian flags bear a painting of the cross, with a figure of Christ as large as life.

In one room we noticed the genealogical tree of all the Eszterházys, in which it is made out, as clearly as possible, that, beginning with Adam, who reclines in a very graceful attitude at the bottom of the tree, they pass through every great name, Jewish as well as heathen, from Moses to Attila, till they find themselves what they are now, magnates of Hungary. What is still more extraordinary, there is a long series of portraits of these worthies from Attila inclusive, with their wives and families dressed in the most approved fashion, and continued down to the present century.

It is a pity the noble owner of Forchtenstein does not imbibe a little of that Gothic mania so often ill-directed in England, and restore this castle to its former state. As a national monument of the taste of the Middle Ages in Hungary its restoration would be very desirable, and it would possess peculiar attractions, not merely from being the only castle of the kind here, but as a specimen of that mixture of the Asiatic and Gothic which, in those days, so strongly characterized the habits and customs of the Magyars, and the remains of which even yet distinguish them from the rest of Europe.

The only purpose for which it is at present used, except as a prison, is to contain the treasures of the prince. Of these I can only speak from report, for previously to my visit I did not know that in order to see them it is necessary to have two persons present who live at a distance, each of whom has a key, without which the other is of no use, and therefore had not provided against the difficulty.

The splendor of the Eszterházy jewels is no secret in England, and it is in this good castle those heaps of treasure, which so tempted her majesty's fair lieges at her coronation, are commonly preserved. It is said that each prince is obliged to add something to these jewels, and that they can never be sold except to ransom their possessors from captivity among the Turks. When the French entered Hungary, a small party presented themselves before Forchtenstein and demanded its surrender. The grenadiers, however, shut the gates, cut the bridge, and set them at defiance; and, as the enemy had no means of enforcing obedience, Prince Eszterházy saved his jewels. Besides the jewels there is an extensive collection of ancient Hungarian costumes; among others, if I recollect rightly, one worn by King Mathias Corvinus.

FROM HAMBURG TO STOCKHOLM.

MRS. ANDREW CROSSE.

[It is a journey in Sweden which our traveller proposes to describe in the work from which we quote, but we find the story of her journey to Sweden more interesting, and give her graphic account of the German cities of Hamburg and Lübeck, and the picturesque water route along the Swedish coast, ending with an account of what she saw of interest in Sweden's capital city.]

Our route to Sweden was by Hamburg and Lübeck, for at the latter place we were to pick up some of our party; and, indeed, under any circumstances, it is the best route for a first visit to the country, for then you approach Stockholm by the Baltic. The average passage from London to Hamburg by steamer direct occupies forty hours, but the waves and winds were favorable, and we accomplished the distance in four hours less. However, calm as the seas were, every tourist's soul felt more in sympathy with Nature when we were actually in the river Elbe. By daybreak we were steaming up towards Hamburg, past the pleasant suburb of Blankensee, which reminds one very much of Richmond. It is a collection of magnificent villas--indeed, one might say palaces--built among the hanging woods of the river-bank.

Hamburg was more worth seeing than I expected; in the older parts there are very picturesque bits, consisting of tall, ancient houses, leaning at different angles over the dark and busy waters of the canal,--indeed, both streets and canals are crowded with the world's commerce. Everything nowadays comes from Hamburg. Chemistry competes with the vineyards of Spain in producing what we innocently drink as sherry. We survive it, so we must be grateful to Chemistry for her wonderful adaptations.

The modern portion of Hamburg has been entirely rebuilt since the memorable fire of 1842. What a useful renovator a great fire is to an old city; there is nothing like it for a great clearing out of nuisances! The new quarter here is extremely handsome and imposing. The greater part of the houses built around the artificially-formed lake called the Binnen Alster are the residences of the great citizens, for whom nothing seems too luxurious. The Binnen Alster communicates with the Grosse Alster, and here we saw for the first time the little fidgety steamboat-omnibuses which later on became so familiar to us at Stockholm.

Time did not permit us to see the Zoological Gardens, which are said to be almost the best in Europe; for the hour for starting for Lübeck had arrived, and we were obliged to leave the wealthy city of Hamburg but half explored.

During our pleasant railway drive of two hours we were struck with the immense number of birds that we saw; the whole air seemed alive with them. Every homestead has its stork's nest,--indeed, it forms part of the building, which is considered incomplete without it. The stork is held in great reverence among all the northern people, and any stranger who is wicked or foolish enough to molest one of these birds is sure to be severely punished. In Whitelocke's "Memorials," the author mentions that, in returning by this route from his embassy to Sweden, in the time of the Commonwealth, one of his suite killed a stork in this very district, and that he was with difficulty rescued by the ambassador himself from being seriously maltreated by the natives.

Arriving at Lübeck, when the evening light was red upon the beautiful Holstein Thor, and upon the many spires and towers of the quaint old town, it seemed almost as if we had been dropped into the Middle Ages. It impressed me more strongly with a sense of Old-World life than Nürnberg, Regensburg, or any other of the German towns that I have visited dating from about that time.

The environs of Lübeck are very pleasant in summer, for the whole country round is so densely wooded, and there are drives in all directions to quaint little villages that look like pictures out of the past....

I shall never forget our first night on the Baltic. It was a veritable poem of beauty. The sea was so tranquil that it reflected all the hues of the gorgeous sunset, and our ship seemed as though in a translucent medium of colored light, which came from below, around, above us. We watched and watched till the tremulous yellow and crimson horizon had paled in intensity, giving place to an exquisite golden green, which lingered on till the silvery moonlight made its path across the sea, and then we knew it must be night, though darkness there was none. If going to bed was not a sort of respectable duty enforced by the habits of the animal, I don't think we should any of us have gone below.

We did not sleep late, for six o'clock found us all reassembled again on deck, enjoying the crisp freshness of the morning air, and the sight of the waves dancing in the sunlight. The arrangements on board these steamers are excellent; everything is clean and comfortable, and the food well cooked. At six o'clock coffee and rolls are served on deck, at nine o'clock there is a serious breakfast in the saloon, where you have your choice of tea, coffee, or light claret, and a taste, if you like, of the national strong waters, which every Swede partakes of before a meal. Eggs, hot cutlets, with vegetables, are interspersed with a variety of savory cold dishes, such as dried salmon, reindeer tongue, or ham of bear, which is very good. The favorite breadstuff is a sort of biscuit made with seeds; it seems strange at first, but after a time one gets to like it very much. After this substantial breakfast you may very well subsist till two o'clock dinner,--a meal which occupies an hour and a half nearly. The cuisine is excellent, and there is nothing to do particularly on deck in the middle of the day except to select an easy seat under the shady awning, so you submit to the table-d'hôte with admirable patience.

After dinner the Swedes regale themselves with a glass of sherry or cognac, with a cigar, and an hour later you will see every coterie with their glasses of seltzer water and fruit syrup. At seven o'clock supper is served, and then "may good digestion wait on appetite," if happily you have any of the latter left. Before bedtime a seductive beverage called Swedish punch is produced, which is stronger than it seems, and should be sipped with caution. It is a noteworthy fact that the charge for all these good things was extremely moderate, as, indeed, prices are throughout Sweden. It seems the only cheap place for touring left in Europe. Norway is quite a third dearer,--thanks, I suppose, to the English invasion....

There is a peculiarity about the coast of Sweden; it is said to have two coasts, an inner and an outer one, the latter being a fringe of islets, so numerous that no map or chart can mark them. It is marvellous how vessels make their way through this labyrinth. If you leave Calmar in the evening, you find yourself the next morning in the thick of this _Skargard_, or reef defence. At first the scene is very desolate; the rocks are barren, and the only sign of life the lonely house of a pilot, round which the sea-birds were screaming in their whirling flight.

When about five hours' distance from Stockholm the scene changes; the barren desolation gives place to wooded islets clothed with the most exquisite vegetation. The beauty of a veritable fairy-land surrounds you. You are in the midst of floating groves and gardens. It is quite unlike any other scenery that I know in Europe; it is not like a lake or river, for there is no expanse of water. The steamer threads its way among a crowd of islands; you could sometimes touch land with a boat-hook. The character of the islets is most varied; at one moment you pass a tiny floating meadow enamelled with flowers, whose sweet scent is wafted in every zephyr; on the other side is a grotesque grotto, or the semblance of a ruin, shaded by the graceful birch-trees that group themselves together. Another time you pass a longer island, with its belt of dark firs, intersected with miniature fjords and little sanded bays. No pencil could do justice to the loveliness of this changing scene.

Approaching the capital, the islands are more extensive and numerous; pretty villas are dotted about the woods, and you see terraced gardens and well-kept lawns. It was market-day when we arrived, and it was very picturesque to see the boats laden with fruit, vegetables, and other necessaries of life proceeding on their way. Each house, or cottage, sent out its messenger boat to make purchases at the floating market, and the scene was very animated and amusing. In another half-hour we were passing the superb deer park of Stockholm, and then we were under the sentinel forts of the capital, and directly afterwards by the side of the busy quay. The first sight of the "Venice of the North" pleased us more than the far-famed Queen of the Adriatic, that city of souvenirs that can hardly be seen by the "light of common day."

Seen from the Kungsholmen, Stockholm looks like a city floating on the sea, especially when the image of all this crowd of churches, palaces, and towers is reflected in the blue mirror of the calm, tideless waters.

It is the fashion to admire the Royal Palace, built on the highest of the three islands of Stockholm, but it has too much the appearance of a vast barrack. It was completed in 1753, from a design of Count Tessin, a Swedish architect of renown. It seems to want towers, or irregularities of some sort, to break the painfully straight lines of this mass of building.

The interior bears a strong family likeness to every other palace in Europe. The upholsterer is decidedly the presiding genius in Royal apartments, where dazzling chandeliers, rich brocades, and oppressive gilding are more or less the properties of all alike. In Paris they vary the scene by turning the royal or imperial upholstery out of the window, from time to time, and making a bonfire of the same for patriotic reasons.

However, in the Royal Palace of Stockholm we did light upon some individual belongings,--some instances of characteristic taste. In the picture-gallery there was, at the time of our visit, an unfinished painting, from the pencil of the late King Carl. It stands on the easel, just as the master's hand had left it, a few months only before he passed away, in the prime of life and of popularity. The scene selected by the royal artist is one of those forest-fringed lakes of Dalecarlia, with a lovely and enticing vista of green valley and distant waterfall. The solemn aspect of the pine-woods, bathed in the after-glow of the delicious northern sunset, is well given in this picture, breathing forth something of that mingling of mystery, beauty, and gloom which characterizes the ancient mythology of the land. One might quote the king's own lines:

"Everywhere we found in Nature Spirits fitted to interpret Saga tales of Sweden's childhood."

[Our traveller here describes her visits to the scientific and educational institutions of Stockholm, and gives some statistics which we may safely omit.]

However, this is not quite the place for tabulating facts; for are we not on a holiday trip? We English have an almost incurable habit of trying to acquire useful information while _en voyage_. If a man goes up a mountain, instead of enjoying the fresh air and exercise, he must needs go armed with scientific apparatus enough to start a government laboratory. Now, in Stockholm you may really enjoy yourself thoroughly if you only keep clear of museums and learned institutes, those traps for the unsuspecting holiday-maker, who, before he is aware, finds himself suffering from a surfeit of useful knowledge. Don't look at "Murray" or "Baedeker," but just allow yourself to go with the tide in this pleasure-loving city. In the forenoon one must eat ices in the delicious little café called the Strömparterre. It is a garden by the water-side, and, though quite in the centre of the town, bright with a profusion of flowers and waving trees. Here you may sit and watch the little steamers coming and going every few minutes from the Djurgárd Park. The waters are alive with these boats, and with other craft, for the locomotion of the city is mostly conducted by water. One can go anywhere and everywhere, it would seem, for a few ocre, and remember there are a hundred ocre in a riksdollar, and a riksdollar is about thirteen pence of our money.

One of the first of many pleasant excursions that we made was to Mariefred and the royal castle of Gripsholm. This interesting place is on the south side of the Mälar Lake. The steamer from Stockholm takes about three hours, and the voyage gives one an opportunity of seeing some of the prettiest scenery in the environs of the capital. The deep fjords, the fairy islands, the well-wooded banks of the Mälar Lake, present an ever-changing combination of picturesque objects. Conspicuous among the rest is the high rock of Kungshatt, where stands a pole with a hat, to keep alive the story of some king of old, who jumped on horseback from this giddy summit into the water below, when pursued by enemies, and only suffered the inconvenience of losing his hat. What a habit this must have been in the old times! for one hardly ever sees a nasty bit of rock with an ugly chasm yawning beneath, that you don't hear of some ill-advised persons taking the leap either for love or hate....

The Castle of Gripsholm was erected in the twelfth century by Bo Jonsson Grip, a certain Croesus of those days; in fact, he was the most powerful noble in the land, and was selected by Alberta of Mecklenburg to be his "all-powerful helper," for then as now the Swedes hated the Germans. The Rhyming Chronicler of the time says that Bo Jonsson "ruled the land with a glance of his eye." He had a bad habit, however, of using his sword as well as his eye, for history tells us how he followed his foe, knight Karl Nilsson, into the church of the Franciscans at Stockholm, and hacked him to pieces before the high altar!

When Gustavus Vasa became king, after his romantic wanderings and hair-breadth escapes in Dalecarlia, he rebuilt Gripsholm, and it became the favorite residence of royalty. These castle walls have witnessed many dismal scenes, quite out of harmony with the lovely and natural surroundings, for there are few fairer spots in all Sweden.

In one of the towers Eric XIV. kept his brother John a prisoner for several years. The latter had married a Polish princess, and was concerned in a war against Sweden, but, falling prisoner, was sent by the king to the castle of Gripsholm. This Eric was one of our Queen Elizabeth's suitors, and history records that by way of making himself acceptable he sent ambassadors to the English court with costly gifts, among which were eighteen piebald horses and several chests of uncoined bars of gold and silver, strings of Oriental pearls, and many valuable furs. Queen Elizabeth accepted the gifts, but declined the alliance. It was a way she had.

The interior of Gripsholm is a perfect museum of curiosities: there are nearly two thousand historical portraits, and a vast quantity of antique furniture, old tapestry, and curious silver vessels, which had served their time at royal banquets.

THE MIDNIGHT SUN.

LANGLEY COLERIDGE.

[The midnight sun, as visible at the summer solstice from the North Cape of Norway, is becoming one of the necessary spectacles of modern travel. Alike for those who cannot and for those who hope to go there we give the following description of what a former traveller saw from this cape and on the way thither.]

I really cannot tell what is the great charm of Norway, nor do I think the nameless charm is the same for each. Perhaps those who are old travellers enjoy Norway most. It is well known that in order to do the Whole Duty of Travel an apprenticeship must be served, by no means an irksome one; on the contrary, full of delight; nevertheless, it is an apprenticeship, and, until it has been served, no man can pass as a member of the travelled community. The curriculum includes a knowledge of Paris, of the Rhine, of Switzerland, and a dozen regular rounds. When these have all been "done," then comes Norway as a land of pure delight to the traveller.

There are no picture-galleries to make one's neck ache; no museum to make the weary feet throb; no promenades; no sherry-cobblers to sip while bands play in the gardens; no continuations of London and Brighton. There are no crowds; you may see a magnificent waterfall all by yourself, or ascend a hundred Rigis without meeting a soul. There are no loafers; and you may get into boats and out of boats, into carrioles and out of carrioles, without one humpbacked beggar-boy or man with his eye in a sling to whine at you, or one officious person getting in the way in order to be paid for it. There are no mammoth hotels, where you have to climb a dozen flights of stairs before you can reach your bed; no billiards when once you have left the three chief towns; no stuffy railways to whizz you past the best scenery; no dressing for dinner.

Now, all these things, to one who has been over and over again to the most civilized places in the world, are very refreshing; and yet these are perhaps but minor points, and do not explain the secret of the great charm of Norway. Rip Van Winkle's was a wonderful sleep; he woke and found the world had gone forward a hundred years; but the traveller who sleeps on the North Sea and wakes up in the morning in Norway has had a more wonderful sleep. He wakes and finds the world has gone back half a millennium! Southward the countries of Europe have struggled and slaved in the race for the perfection of civilization, while Norway is as it was in the beginning. Southward the countries have obeyed the watchword, "Forward!" Norway has obeyed the signal, "As you were!"

Now, fancy yourself--you, who have done as the Southerners do--arriving at a little village in an out-of-the-way place in Norway. Nobody flutters about your carriole to escort you to a hotel, but you enter the "station," a low, rambling wooden structure, with diffidence. You see the lady of the house and shake hands with her; you ask her to be good enough to let you stay there the night; you enter a bedroom, where everything is plain as a deal box, but clean as a Dutch tulip. Then you sit down with the family in the general room to your meal. It will assuredly consist of either trout and salmon, or salmon and trout, with perhaps an egg, perhaps potatoes, perhaps black bread. No Bass, but perhaps some Norsk Öl, a very pleasant beverage. After supper you will smoke a pipe with your landlord, who will probably invite you to see the pigs, or will lend you a hand to splice up any broken harness of your carriole.

About nine or ten o'clock you will go to bed, in the broad daylight if it be summer-time, and in the morning you will wake up, finding the landlady's daughter at your bedside, with a delicious cup of hot coffee and a natty little roll, or perchance a biscuit. And then, still early in the morning, you will bid farewell as to old friends, you will shake hands all round, and away in your carriole to drive through romantic scenery, and to feel as though Norway had been made specially for you.

Before you have been two days in the country you will love the quaint, unsophisticated people, so hearty in their kindness, so ungrudging in their hospitality, and their Old-World manners and customs, so genuine in an age of sham, so solid in an age of veneer. One great charm of Norway, then, is its people; another, and perhaps more to be appreciated by some, is its scenery.