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Berlin, and it was on her return from that visit
that I first heard her utter the sentence, which
afterwards she repeated every year, and which
pained and wounded her friends: ‘The way
from Stockholm to Malmö appears to me one of
the finest railway lines I have ever seen; but the
way from Malmö to Stockholm, the ugliest,
slowest, dreariest journey I know.’
My heart shrinks when I think how often she
had to make that journey with ever increasing
bitterness, till at last it led her to her grave.
A letter to my brother that Christmas shows
how deeply melancholy her general disposition
was, in spite of all outward gaiety. Her friends
relate that during this visit to Berlin she was
more cheerful than they had ever seen her. She
regretted that in her youth she had neglected all
entertainments usually enjoyed by young people,
and now she was going to have compensation.
So she began to take lessons in dancing and
skating. As she did not wish to exhibit her first
attempts on the ice in a public place, one of her
friends and admirers arranged a private skating
corner for her in his own garden in a modern
suburb of Berlin. The dancing lessons went on
in the same way, in a private room, with a few
admirers as partners. She hurried on from one
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