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We now descend the broad, royal staircase,
and before it, where, in by-gone times, Oluf
Skötkonge stretched the iron chains across the
mouth of the Mälar Lake, there is now a
splendid bridge with shops above and the
Streamparterre below: there we see the little
steamer ’Nocken,’[1] steering its way, filled
with passengers from Diurgarden to the
Streamparterre. And what is the Streamparterre?
The Neapolitans would tell us: It is
in miniature – quite in miniature – the
Stockholmers’ "Villa Reale." The Hamburgers would
say: It is in miniature – quite in miniature –
the Stockholmers’ "Jungfernstieg."
It is a very little semi-circular island, on which
the arches of the bridge rest; a garden full of
flowers and trees, which we overlook from the high
parapet of the bridge. Ladies and gentlemen
promenade there; musicians play, families sit there
in groups, and take refreshments in the vaulted
halls under the bridge, and look out between
the green trees over the open water, to the
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