CHAPTER 26

In Leipzig, Mamah was twice the age of the other students. She sat upright, intently scribbling Swedish phrases into a notebook, while all around her, young men lolled in their seats, intoxicated by the approach of spring and the promise of beer in the evening.

Her professor, an ebullient fellow in his fifties, was an acquaintance of Ellen Key’s. He addressed his lessons to the dark-haired woman in the front row, pleased to have someone respond to his questions.

Twice Mamah traveled to Berlin to visit with Wasmuth, to assess the state of the portfolio’s printing, and to report to Frank her findings. Otherwise, she lived quietly in Leipzig, allowing herself few indulgences. Her pleasure came from growing confident in Swedish.

In late May, as she prepared to depart for Italy, she received a letter from Ellen inviting her to visit her new home on Lake Vattern. Mamah carefully worded a telegram to Frank asking his indulgence once more.

Take what time you need, he replied. Within a few days, she was on her way.

Arriving in Alvastra, she was met by an elderly gentleman whose words were incomprehensible, thanks to a considerable wad of chewing tobacco in his cheek. He ferried Mamah by wagon to Ellen’s house, which was set just above Lake Vattern, then led her into the front door, where she stood in a hallway with white walls, a redbrick floor, and rows of freshly painted red doors along its sides. Near the ceiling ran a stenciled frieze of green garland. Above the front door, painted in red, were the words MEMENTO VIVERE. Remember to live.

At that moment Mamah was nearly toppled by a Saint Bernard who came roaring from the end of the hallway.

“Wild,” Ellen Key said when she found Mamah wiping her wet hands on her skirt. “That’s his name. He’s an affectionate fellow, but sloppy.” Ellen embraced her heartily. “Welcome to Strand, my dear. Now sign my guest book. You’re one of the first.”

         

THAT A WOMAN could make a house like this, on her own, was a wonder Mamah pondered over the next five days. She had not read Ellen’s book Beauty for Everyone, but in the rooms, she saw her “light and healthy” aesthetic. Gustavian furniture painted pearly gray. Every window in the house open to the June breeze. Folk crafts scattered all around.

“Why did you name your home Strand?” she asked Ellen once the young housekeeper had brought tea.

“Come over here.” Ellen led Mamah back out into the hallway and pointed to a framed map of the Vattern area. Painted in blue and yellow letters above it were the words DÄR LIVETS HAV OSS GETT EN STRAND.

“‘Where life’s sea has given us a strand,’” Mamah translated.

“That came quite easily. You’ve been working at it, haven’t you?”

         

“IT IS MY QUIET STRAND,” Ellen said later. They were sitting near the lake on a bench in a circular columned portico that perched atop some rocks just above the waterline. Wild rested at Ellen’s feet. “It’s so beautiful here, especially in the morning.” She stopped to reconsider. “No, especially at night under the stars. Well, you’ll see. I’ve been sitting out here lately, thinking that I want to make Strand a kind of legacy once I’m gone. I’m just drawing up a will now that spells it out. What it will be is a haven for workingwomen who need a rest. They can actually have a holiday.”

Mamah smiled. “Am I the first?”

“I suppose you are.” Ellen grinned as if the idea pleased her. “It has been a hard go of it, yes?”

The question caused Mamah to close her eyes.

“Come along, dear,” Ellen said. “Let’s have a swim.”

They changed into bathing suits, black baggy things, and swam out into Lake Vattern. Mamah floated on her back, studying the cloud formations. From time to time she saw Ellen dive under the surface with her broad back arched, then reappear seconds later some distance away, her head popping up like a seal’s.

“Please, Ellen Key,” she called to her friend, “no more talk of wills. I want you to live here forever.”

“I’ll do my best,” Ellen called back.

During the next four days, Ellen’s small, womanly kindnesses moved Mamah deeply. Gerda, the house girl, brought her breakfast in bed with flowers on the tray every morning. The sheets smelled as if lilacs had been pressed into them.

In the hours they spent together, talking of so many things, she watched Ellen’s face. Ellen was calm here, less dogmatic. In fact, she was maternal. Mamah wondered what sadness she had experienced in her own life. How had she ended up alone? The professor of Swedish in Leipzig had spoken of a married man in her life for many years, who had failed to leave his wife. Mamah wanted desperately to ask if this were true, but she held her tongue. Ellen Key was like her sister Lizzie in that way. There was deep vein of goodness in her, but she kept most people at arm’s length.

Still, Mamah could see that her visit pleased Ellen. To her surprise, she also discovered that the great philosopher was a little vain. At one point she showed Mamah a magazine cut of an official portrait that had been painted by a Norwegian artist.

“What do you think of the likeness?” she asked.

Mamah examined the picture. “He’s depicted you as a seer, hasn’t he? A sort of high priestess. It’s a very lovely likeness.”

Ellen beamed.

“But these curtains,” Mamah said playfully, pointing to the abstract drapes that curved over the top two corners of the painting. “Can’t you talk him into painting them out? My goodness. They look like two ugly blobs on either side of your head.”

Ellen shot her an offended look. Then she burst into laughter. “I like someone who speaks her mind.”

         

LATE IN THE DAY, walking down to the water, Mamah felt the dry ferns brush against her ankles. She sat down cross-legged on the floor of the portico and listened to the waves lap against the rocks beneath her. She wanted a home like this of her own. In the past, she had thought only in the abstract about a house for herself and Frank, but now she could picture some details. It would be out in the country, near water, but close to a city, as this place was close to Stockholm. A home that guests would remember for its small indulgences. Frank would make it a miracle of light and space. And she would make it feel the way this place felt.

They spent their mornings in Ellen’s study, talking. Mamah guessed the pile of letters on Ellen’s desk could be from any of the famous figures she said she corresponded with. Sitting in the sun-filled room, a lake breeze quivering the beech leaves outside, she was struck by the honor of being among the first guests at Strand. How strange to be sitting across from a woman her countrymen regarded as Ibsen and Strindberg’s equal.

Photos of Ellen’s famous friends—Rilke, Bjornsen—hung on the wall above her desk, interspersed among the colorful prints of family life painted by her friend Carl Larsson. Mamah tried to imagine what gift she might contribute to the house that could possibly measure up to the personal objects Ellen had already assembled. Then it struck her. She would ask Frank for one of his beloved Hiroshiges to send to Ellen.

         

“WOMEN NEED TO DEVELOP their personalities from within,” Ellen said. They had been talking for hours about how Mamah might get Ellen’s essays into The American magazine, how different pieces might be edited down, how best to reach women readers in the United States.

“It’s hard to say how The Morality of Woman will be received once it’s published there,” Mamah said. “The focus of the Woman Movement in America is the vote and equal pay.”

Gerda came into the study and set down their dinner: rib roast and potatoes.

“To free women from conventionalism—that should be the aim of the struggle.” Ellen’s tone was agitated. “What good does it do if woman is emancipated but has little education and no courage to act?”

“But there are many women—” Mamah began.

Ellen either ignored her or didn’t hear. “Men have always been trained to have the courage to dare.” She chewed meat off a rib bone. “Women, on the other hand, are stuck being the keepers of memories and traditions. We’ve become the great conservators. Oh, I suppose we’re suppler, as a result, because we’ve learned to see many sides. But what a price has been paid. It has kept us from greatness! And most women are happy just to repeat opinions and judgments they’ve heard, as if they thought of the ideas themselves. It’s dangerous!” She poked the air with the white bone. “Women need to understand evolutionary science, philosophy, art. They need to expand their knowledge and stop assassinating each others’ characters.”

“This has been a personal struggle for you,” Mamah said gently.

“They say I’m licentious, all sorts of sordid things.” Ellen’s proud, full face took on a haggard expression. The deep lines beside her mouth made her look like a bitter old warhorse. “It’s a very effective method: Attack the personal character of the thinker, and you will kill her ideas. I have been forced to live a careful life as a result.”

Gerda came in to clear their plates, then returned with generous slices of butter cake. Ellen’s whole countenance changed. “Oh,” she said, lacing her fingers together like a child at an unexpected treat. While Mamah picked at her dessert, she watched Ellen eat her slice with abandon, then chase the remaining crumbs around her plate with a fork.

Mamah felt a pang of pity for the solitary life Ellen had ended up with. She searched her mind for some little kindness to bestow. “You remind me of Frank,” she said.

Ellen’s eyebrows went up. She leaned back in her chair.

“You each have made a reputation with your aesthetic ideas about making a home. You both seem to take great pleasure in writing sayings on your walls,” Mamah teased. “And you’re both ornery as can be.”

Ellen Key’s earthy laugh filled the room. “I shall have to meet this man.”

         

THE NEXT MORNING as Mamah prepared to depart, Ellen embraced her at the front door. “You know, you were wound tight as a top when you arrived here,” she said. “Stay the course, daughter. But show yourself some kindness along the way.”

Mamah climbed up into the wagon.

“And get your picture made,” Ellen called to her, waving. “I’ll want it for my study.”