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be laid. The tomb of Berzelius is here, and I plucked a little pansy from it, and a good Professor heard of the act, and told his widow, and she came to see me, and to my great surprise I saw the old man's wife was a young woman; she was thirty years younger than the celebrated chemist. And now she comes to see me, and I visit at her pleasant house; because I plucked a forget-me-not from her husband's grave.
And this quiet Carlberg, to which Solna is attached, was once the residence of that. mad hero of the North, whose memory is still admired in Sweden: the improvements which his strange opponent, Peter I., made in Russia, benefit his country to this day; of all the wars of Charles XII., no fruit remains to Sweden.
There is a good bronze statue of Carl XII. in the museum of the Palace, showing him reclining in the position in which he fell; his hand mechanically grasping the hilt of the sword he expired without drawing.
A pleasant observance was instituted in the Swedish army by a king almost as much given to war, though in a very different manner. Gustavus Adolphus caused his soldiers to close their evening exercises with prayer and singing. The military pupils at Carlberg were dismissed in this way one evening when I was there; the effect was pleasing; the officer then thanked them, and bade them good night, to which they responded by a sort of shout that startled me: it is a kind of "Hurra," signifying the same good night to him.
Proceeding onward from Solna, we come to the large cemetery, the tombs of which are, as usual, neatly dressed, and mostly bear the sacred symbol of the faith—the most consoling and expressive that a Christian tomb can bear—the cross telling us that as the Saviour died, the dead in Christ shall live.
The simple tombs marked by it alone are in much purer and better taste than the more pompous, and generally ugly monuments, by which the Swedes sometimes evince their patriotic or social pride, and their family affection.
Much cause have we for thankfulness, that a still more generalby and grossly perverted monumental taste appears to be expiring in England. May its last moments speedily arrive! "No more heathen symbols, no more pharisaie inscriptions, disgrace the church-yards, and ehurch-walls, of a religious and Christian land! The um, by which heathens showed that the burned ashes of their dead denied the hope of a resurrection to life; the reversed torch, by which they proved that love was extinguished; the pagan sculptures, emblematising poetic ideas in mythological personages— these, and numberless such things, were long believed appropriate to the professing believer's tomb in England; and his sole hope—his trust— his glory—was omitted: the Cross of Jesus; with the inscription that best becomes the tomb of the greatest and the holiest of the children of men,— "He shall save His people from their sins."
After the cemetery, we came to Haga—delightful Haga. The Palace here, built by Gustavus III., is only such a house as might by us be expressed by that rather singular phrase—a country seat. It has the same appendage, or duplicate, which deforms the appearance of Rosendal, and which is indeed a custom almost common to country houses in Sweden—that is, another house built quite close to it, but not exactly connected with it. Anything worse than the effect of this is can scarcely be thought of. Yet the practice in the country is almost general. This adjunct is for the servants' and housekeeping departments.
But the charms of Haga do not consist in the house, but in its situation. King Gustavus III., it is supposed, was about to build a more stately edifice here; and what are curiously enough termed the Euins, are the underground works of that intended building. Public opinion finds matter of division in the character and conduct of that king, and the purpose of these so-called ruins is differently expounded by the different parties to whom Gustavus III. is more and more becoming a centre of attraction or repulsion. To the liberal party he is the former; for they believe that had his life not been cut off by assassination, he would have effected those reforms which they are desirous, even still, to see brought about. By the old nobility, he is looked on as the enemy of their order, influence, and power—as one who designed to engross the latter himself. The first party say these cell-like and underground works were merely the cellars of his new palace; the latter insist they were intended for dungeons for the nobles of Sweden.
There they remain, overhung by the green plants, and forming, perhaps, just as useful and easily proved a point of controversy as many of those that agitate England from year to year.
When we drew near to the Palace of Haga, some dishes were being borne from the second house to the King's table. At the side of the terrace, just before the windows, we found the chairs, that faced these windows, and not the prospect behind, were occupied by a party of Stockholmers, apparently of the middle rank of society, very gravely and quietly seated. It consisted of the usual and natural orders of men, women, and children: the latter were as quiet, motionless, and silent as their elders. There was not a sound to be heard, but all eyes were solemnly directed to the Line of large windows before them. "We walked about for some time; but they sat immovable, with their backs turned to the beauty I was admiring.
"What are they about?" I whispered my companion.
"They are seeing his Majesty eat his dinner," he replied. At the moment they all rose, walked up to the windows, and passed by them.
"There!" said my friend, "now the royal family have risen from table; see, there are the Princes at the window, and certainly his Majesty is to be seen too. Come forward, and you also shall see."
"Nay!" I cried, and drew back.