Rising to a peak in popularity, Rudbeck was enjoying his own day in the sun. Adventurers, meanwhile, pledged to continue his chivalric quest. One Uppsala student, classicist Gustaf Peringer, for example, made an arduous ride of over one thousand kilometers to the far north and confirmed Rudbeck’s veritable bonanza of discoveries about Atlantis. He saw Tethis Fiord, the home of the Titan Tethys, as well as Atle’s Fiord, named after, he agreed, King Atle, or Atlas. The northern ports of Atlantis were also identified, as were Jupiter’s marsh, Tornea (Thor’s River), and other provocative place-names. Nearby, too, were the Atlas Mountains of mythology, the high plateaus where the famed Hyperborean stargazers first understood the riddles of the heavens and created the world’s oldest solar calendar. Here indeed in the cold, mountainous north was the “blazing fire” of Swedish ingenuity, where the pioneer Swedes had created classical Greek mythology.
From all around Europe, visitors flocked to see the sights of Atlantis, some hoping to receive a guided tour from the “oracle of the north” himself. This had not happened before, and Rudbeck noted in jest that there was something of a minor tourist industry. Visitors were shown what was effectively touted as one of the greatest sites in the world, older than the Pyramids, more significant than the Parthenon.
On one such occasion, in the spring of 1699, a Polish diplomat received the Rudbeckian welcome. The guest is not specifically named, though it was probably F. G. Galetzski, a representative of Augus-tus II, the king of Poland (and father of at least 354 acknowledged illegitimate children).
With the guests scheduled to arrive on a Saturday night in late April, Rudbeck and his fellow hosts waited eagerly to receive them. The tables were set, and all preparations made, but no one came. Then, late Sunday night, hardly a day or a time anyone expected a visitor, a student serving as a lookout rode back to Uppsala in a hurry. The Polish entourage was seen on the road from Stockholm and was very soon to arrive in town. The advance warning allowed enough time to notify the designated hosts and prepare at least some basic welcome. Rudbeck joked, “It fell upon old Rudbeck, that he would release his sweet lady from their midnight hug to cook and stew.”
But since the Polish ambassador went straight to bed, the real ceremonies did not begin until the next morning. After seeing Uppsala Cathedral and the relics of the country’s patron saint, Saint Erik, the guest officially met Rudbeck, who stood out among the brightly clad gentlemen in wigs with his black clothes and white collar, his long hair flowing naturally on his shoulders. When the Polish visitor learned that this old-fashioned man was the author of
Escorting the guest through town, Rudbeck showed him the Gustavianum, the anatomy theater, and the library treasures with the Gothic Bible and manuscripts. They continued to the exercise house, built by Rudbeck, used for fencing, riding, and now also for the new comedy theater attached for student productions. Then they went up the hill to the palace because the diplomat wanted to see where Queen Christina had abdicated the throne. A grand feast followed that showed just how playfully and passionately Rudbeck continued to embrace life.
Guests were served by the twelve tallest Uppsala students Rudbeck could find—Hyperborean waiters with “beards down to the knees.” Each toast to the king, the country, and the future was accompanied by a round of fire from the massive cannons Rudbeck had, for the occasion, stationed in the chancellor’s yard. Festive as they were, the salvos did somewhat frighten the guests, and almost caused the diplomat’s wife to faint. The music was of course arranged by Rudbeck, who also served as conductor with an orchestra of lutes, oboes, and violins of all sorts. Later a small orchestra played in the botanical garden, accompanied at strategic intervals, once again, by Rudbeck’s favorite cannons. After the five-hour celebration, the party culminated with a trip to Atlantis.
At this point the almost seventy-year-old Rudbeck was tired, and so his son Olof junior and Professor Lundius gave the tour of the sites, presumably showing the sacred spring, the grove, the temple, the racetrack, the place of human sacrifice, and the other discoveries. This appears to have been the common itinerary, given what is known about Rudbeck’s tours with other visitors, including Sweden’s crown prince and future king Charles XII. The diplomat and his entourage were both impressed and grateful. “I do not know,” Rudbeck said, “if my wife has kissed me so much in a year.”
Diplomacy in Stockholm was, unfortunately, not as successful as the party in Uppsala. A few months after the lively occasion, Poland would join Russia; and the two powers, along with Denmark, would declare war on Sweden. The Great Northern War had begun.
NOW, WITH HIS enemies defeated and rendered powerless by the king’s direct intervention, the last years of Rudbeck’s life were among the most peaceful he had known. His faith in Atlantis remained undiminished, and he kept on looking for evidence, poring over ancient texts for any possible reference to ancient Sweden. By the third volume of
Rudbeck was also still printing life-size images of the Atlantean knives and coins he had found. After publication of the third volume, he immediately started working on the fourth. He was joined by Olof junior, who had shown interest in the quest in the last few years. Like his father, Olof junior would study medicine, develop a great passion for botany, and then spend the last decades of his life attempting to extend the frontiers of his father’s lost Atlantis. Specifically, the younger Rudbeck was intrigued by the connections among Scandinavian, Asian, and Hebrew languages.
Olof junior and his sisters continued to work with their father on the botanical work
One surviving portrait captures the warmth and peace of this family. It is an evening of music in the parlor. The fireplace crackles in the corner, and the elder Rudbeck sits with a pair of reading glasses on his nose. He sings in his commanding baritone, holding sheets of music in one hand and directing the family choir with the other. His wife, Vendela, sits close beside him, perhaps not very differently from the way she had when they were newlyweds, some forty years before. The sons and daughters crowd around the affectionate couple, each more or less engrossed in the fun. Johanna Kristina and Vendela sing along, while Olof junior plays the clavichord. Gustaf stands in the back with the stylish wig and scarf so playfully mocked by his father. Young Vendela would later marry a man named Petrus Nobelius, thereby making Rudbeck one ancestor of the great Swedish inventor Alfred Nobel, founder of the Nobel Prize.
Looking back on Rudbeck’s extraordinary life and search, it had all corresponded so marvelously. No setback or problem, however insurmountable, had disappointed him for long. His brilliant mind found a way to crack each enigma, and then reconcile it with the larger vision of the past. Rudbeck’s obsession had never lost its grip, making
IN THE EARLY hours of May 16, 1702, a small fire began to burn. The dry air, wooden buildings, and great winds created a deadly combination. Within a few hours the town of Uppsala would be in flames.
The fire destroyed Rudbeck’s house and almost all his possessions, including the inventions, instruments, and discoveries from his excavations. Also burned were his printing press, his curiosity cabinet, some seven thousand completed woodcuts for his
As his life’s work turned to embers and ash, Rudbeck showed all the strength for which his long journey had
