Full resolution (TIFF) - On this page / på denna sida - Diurgærden.
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Dalkull; she has ornamented the boat, that
now shoots away, with green branches. Houses
and streets rise and unfold themselves; churches
and gardens start forth; they stand on Södermalm
high above the tops of the ships’ masts.
The scenery reminds one of the Bhosphorus
and Pera; the motley dress of the Dalkulls is
quite Oriental – and listen! the wind bears
melancholy Skalmeie tones out to us. Two
poor Dalecarlians are playing music on the
quay; they are the same drawn-out, melancholy
tones that are played by the Bulgarian
musicians in the streets of Pera. We stept out,
and are in the Diurgarden.
What a crowd of equipages pass in rows
through the broad avenue! and what a throng
of well-dressed pedestrians of all classes! One
thinks of the garden of the Villa Borghese,
when, at the time of the wine feast, the Roman
people and strangers take the air there. We
are in the Borghese garden; we are by the
Bosphorus, and yet far in the North. The
pine-tree rises large and free; the birch droops
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