Gösta Mittag-Leffler

On the evening of December 15, 1899, Professor Gösta Mittag-Leffler, along with his wife Signe and his personal physician, Dr. Wettervik, left Stockholm on the Continental train. It was bitterly cold, and during the night the water turned to ice in the sleeping compartment. Mittag-Leffler developed stomach pains, and in the morning, as they passed Lund, he was so weak that he couldn’t get up without assistance. It was these stomach pains, combined with rheumatism, that were the very reason for this journey. Having endured years of suffering, and in order to relax after an intense period of hard work, he was on his way to Egypt, hoping that a lengthy recuperative stay in that country would help. He was pinning his faith on sunshine and clean air, along with daily exercise and massage, hoping for a miracle, or at least that this would restore his health and make him better equipped for his future endeavors. He was 53 years old, a professor of mathematics at Stockholm College, and a distinguished figure in both the Swedish and international scientific communities. His wife, Signe, had just turned 38.

The Mittag-Leffler villa was one of the sights that Stockholmers wanted to see when they went out to visit the new residential development in Djursholm. Another attraction was Viktor Rydberg’s villa “Ekeliden,” which was right nearby. A third well-known figure who had moved into the area early on was the liberal parliament member and newspaperman Ernst Beckman. Since its founding in 1889, Djursholm had become a rapidly developing suburb preferred by many of society’s most prominent citizens. In a short time it had become a fashionable place where broadmindedness and tolerance provided fertile ground for new ideas and initiatives. Many of the first inhabitants were academics with good salaries and radical interests. It was a good environment for raising children, and one distinguished family after another moved into the area. Djursholm was Sweden’s first planned residential development, and in Mittag-Leffler’s time it was a power center in a society that was undergoing a strong social, economic, and political transformation.

In 1896, on his 50th birthday, Gösta Mittag-Leffler received a large genealogical chart of the family tree, created by his brother Frits. Ever since his student days, Frits had been involved in mapping the family’s ancestral roots, and when he presented his work to his brother, it included 530 branches of the family. Among them were a number of well-known families within the fields of science, art, industry, and government – both in Sweden and abroad. Several could be traced as far back as the 13th century. The most famous representative of the von Angerstein lineage founded the Avesta copper foundry in 1639. In the Bellinus family the most notable member was a bishop who lived to be 103 years old and had served as the leading advisor on ecclesiastical matters for the Vasa King Johan III. One distinguished member of the von Braun family was the author Wilhelm von Braun (1813–1860). The von Bülow lineage was also part of Frits’s family tree that included other names such as von Jahnke, von Koch, von Lübeck, von Stedingk, Scheffer, Helsingius, Hülphers, Sodenstjerna, Tessin, and Wahrendorph. The Hildebrandt family, with several famous artists, was also included. There were also links to the Scheele family with its great chemist Carl Wilhelm Scheele (1742–1786), and to the Grubbe family, whose most famous member was the philosopher Samuel Grubbe (1786–1853).

Gösta’s mother, Gustava Vilhelmina, was born on December 7, 1817, in Uppsala. She lived there for the first ten years of her life, in a pastor’s home furnished in the Empire style of the day and located in a building belonging to the cathedral. These first years seemed to have been marked by her father’s prosperity and success in both the scholarly and social spheres. Pastor Mittag was a gregarious man who, with his affable manner and a glint in his eye, felt at home everywhere and quickly became popular. Those who knew the family during that time said that Gustava was a particularly happy and lively girl, and that she had her father’s “brilliant temperament.” It was also said that Gustava had always had a good relationship with her father, and she was proud of his accomplishments. The learned Pastor Mittag took an interest in literature, and during the years in Uppsala he developed a close friendship with Sven Peter Leffler and his circle.

As a teacher at the Klara School, Johan Olof (Olle) Leffler and his wife were given lodgings in the school building, which was also the residence of the school’s principal and two other teachers. And it was there that Gösta was born on March 16, 1846. His baptismal name was Magnus Gustaf Leffler – Magnus from his paternal grandfather (Erik Magnus) and Gustaf from his maternal grandfather (Lorenz Gustaf). But from the very beginning he was called simply Gösta.

At the end of August 1861, 15-year-old Gösta and 26 other boys were enrolled in the first level, also called the first ring, at Stockholm Gymnasium. In the spring four years later, he and twelve other students at the school were deemed to be adequately prepared to take exams and graduate.

The four friends again spent a great deal of time together during the summer before beginning their university studies in Uppsala. Gösta visited both Hanstavik and Lännersta. In turn, Johan, Adrian, and Georg visited Vaxholm, which was where Gösta was staying that summer along with his parents and siblings. They were all glad to be done with secondary school, which they now labeled a “refuge for pedantry and pettiness.” In Vaxholm the Leffler family had rented a summer house in a beautiful setting. But their stay was marred by the fact that Mrs. Leffler, Gustava, was suffering from a lung ailment and required constant care. Gösta had made plans to go with Adrian on a walking tour in the Dalarna district or in Värmland, but he canceled the trip because his mother wanted to have all of her children close at hand. By early September, however, she was well enough to accompany her eldest son to Uppsala, and she stayed several days in order to get him settled in his new life as a university student. They traveled from Stockholm on a passenger boat that made daily crossings between the two cities. Johan was also on board. Gösta and Johan had rented rooms in the same building, at Övre Slottsgatan 15, right near the university library, known as

Carolina rediviva

.

His conversation with Hultman during Christmas convinced Gösta that he was on the right track. Hultman had even predicted that before long the two of them might collaborate on writing a mathematics treatise. For Gösta, Hultman’s enthusiasm went far beyond what he had hoped, especially because the professor always expected everyone else to have the same capacity for work that he possessed. Nevertheless, Gösta accepted the tutoring that Hultman offered, and he immediately began hearing interpretations about the benefits of the newfangled integral calculus. To prepare for the next semester in Uppsala and the lectures of Adjunct Herman Theodor Daug, Gösta was now studying differential equations as well. Otherwise he spent the Christmas vacation going to traditional parties and enjoying the company of his family. As usual, Gösta found great joy in spending time with his sister Anne Charlotte, and he was very fond of his sister’s friend, Thekla Sköldberg, a master at mimicry whose subjects included the famed Signe Hebbe.

During the summer of 1866, Gösta decided not to go back to Uppsala, but instead to spend the fall in Stockholm. The reason for this decision was two-fold. Partly it was because of his heath; he thought his stomach and digestive problems would improve if he lived at home. And partly it was because he thought – conceivably after a conversation with his teacher Mr. Hultman – that the best mathematics instruction available to him was offered by Hjalmar Holmgren, a professor at the Technological Institute in Stockholm (which in 1877 changed its name to the Royal Technical College, in Swedish KTH). Gösta attended Holmgren’s lectures, which he found challenging in every sense of the word, and he wrote extensive notes from these lectures under the title: “On Curvature and Radius of Curvature.” One thing he lamented was his poor ability to express himself mathematically, and he thought this might be the worst possible fault for a mathematician.

After visiting his relatives on the west coast, Gösta spent the rest of his vacation at Herrhamra “in rural enjoyments.” When the new semester started, he went back to his studies in Uppsala. He looked forward to the meetings of the mathematics association, and he attended lectures given by Daug, Dillner, and Ångström. His only complaint was that his stomach still bothered him now and then. He applied for the Jungblad stipend of 150

riksdaler

and then discovered that there was a much larger stipend available, the Byzantine travel grant. In his letters home, he still expressed concern about his father’s headaches and work in the Riksdag, and he complained that Anne Charlotte had gotten hold of a novel that he thought was improper reading material for a young girl with a vivid imagination. On the other hand, he thought it was a good idea that she had started taking lessons in Italian. And he always sent greetings to Viktor, and asked in great detail about how things were going for him.

Gösta took the train to Uppsala, but he arranged to have all his books and clothes sent in a trunk on board the steamboat. He asked his mother to tell the crew to take particular care of his trunk. Adrian and Georg had discovered that all their books and bed linens were soaked and subsequently ruined because the crew had forgotten to put a tarp over their trunks.

Before the fall semester began in 1869, Gösta and Frits spent several weeks with the rest of the family on the island of Smådalarö, one of the pearls of the Stockholm archipelago. Gösta also visited Lennartsnäs. Young Samuel had still not recovered his full health, and his parents wanted him to spend the winter in the eternal summer of Egypt. The baroness asked Gösta if he might consider accompanying Samuel. The only remaining question was whether the doctors would advise such a long journey for Samuel. In his diary, Gösta admitted that he wanted to make the trip for reasons that included being present to witness the opening of the Suez Canal in mid-November. And the trip would be good for

his

health as well. The invitation seemed tempting, and Gösta felt both frustrated and filled with doubts as to whether to accept. He could probably do a little studying along the way, but at the same time he knew that it would be unwise to interrupt his studies at the university. Fortunately, he wasn’t forced to make a decision. The doctors who examined Samuel determined that his health had improved significantly over the course of the summer, and they thought he would get well without traveling to warmer climes. Gösta was “quite happy” when he heard the doctors’ verdict. He hadn’t told his parents anything about these plans. In his diary he remarked that his mother would undoubtedly have said yes, while his father would have certainly advised against such a journey.

In late September 1870, Gösta was back in his student lodgings in Uppsala. He began studying Latin, attended meetings of the Stockholm Nation, and recorded the minutes of the physics-mathematics division. He was a strong advocate for having the division break away from the Natural Sciences Association to form its own association. (This did take place in the following term; in 1889 a further separation occurred, and the name was changed to the Mathematics Association.)

On August 19, 1871, Gösta went back to Stockholm to rejoin his family at the summer house they had rented in the archipelago. The reunion with his father was nothing like what he had hoped. Gösta found his father “sadly very changed” physically, and in his diary he characterized Mr. Leffler’s mental state as “very disquieting.” Gösta played croquet with Anne Charlotte and Viktor, but he didn’t stay any longer than seemed absolutely necessary. On his way to Uppsala he stopped to visit the af Ugglas family at Lennartsnäs. The baron and his wife were even more welcoming than before, and he felt more at home in their luxurious way of life than previously. His reunion with Uppsala was also marked by propitious signs: Everything was beautiful and green, the air was fresh and clean, and his room seemed bright and pleasant.

After resigning his position in the Demirgian household, Gösta looked around for others ways to earn an income. Eventually he was hired by Mrs. Hammarstedt, a pastor’s wife, to teach geometry classes at the girls’ boarding house that she ran. From the Riksbank he had taken out a loan in his mother’s name for 500

riksdaler

. Except during the times when he made trips to Uppsala, he lived at home in the Katarina Schoolhouse and spent his time working on his doctoral dissertation. He planned to defend his thesis in May.

The documents found after Gösta’s death include few records from the summer of 1872. By all accounts, he spent a large part of his vacation at Herrhamra. In late July he noted briefly that he was on his way to Österåker Parsonage via Vaxholm in order to visit his father. The meager reports received from there during that time indicate that Mr. Leffler was behaving well, although he spent most of the days in his room.

The Byzantine travel grant was awarded to Gösta Mittag-Leffler. The announcement was made in mid-May (1872), and it changed the plans that Gösta had already made. For him it would not be a “calm and undisturbed” summer; instead, as far as his “scientific ideas” were concerned, he would be very busy.

On his way south, Gösta stopped in Lund and Copenhagen. In Lund he visited the premises of the Academic Association, where he dined with acquaintances from the university community: Docent Andersson and Adjuncts Duné, Lang, and Wijkander. He spent a couple of hours talking with Bäcklund, who took him along to pay a brief call on the old mathematics professor, Carl Johan Hill. In Copenhagen Gösta took a room at the Industri Hotel, the same place where he had stayed for the natural sciences conference in the summer. He had two purposes for his visit: to meet with his friend Christian Christiansen, and to consult an eye doctor named Hansen. He and Christiansen went to performances at the Folketeater and the Tivoli Pavilion. They also visited the Polytechnic Institute where Christiansen was studying static electricity and experimenting with an eleven-meter-long magnet. For his part, Dr. Hansen was able to reassure Gösta that there was nothing wrong with his eyes. The fact that his vision sometimes seemed cloudy was due to a “nervous affliction,” and he should simply avoid overexerting himself with too much reading. He would benefit from rinsing his eyes with water, spending time in the mountain air, getting the proper sleep, and eating a “strong and healthy diet.” The doctor also thought that Paris would be a good place for him, and he recommended potassium bromide if his nervousness should become severe.

In the middle of the quiet week preceding Good Friday, 1874, Gösta left Paris. The train departed at 8 p.m. The next morning he sat in the train station in Cologne and wrote a letter home as he waited for the connecting train to Kassel. He was astonished by the fact that on his first day on German soil, he’d hardly been able to speak a single sentence in German. French words kept breaking through. Images from his days in Paris whirled through his mind, and he asked himself what he had gained during that time and what he had lost. The answer was: “I don’t know.” A multitude of ideas and viewpoints that he had never before encountered had broadened his horizons, even though he hadn’t come any closer to finding any solution to the “big questions” that had plagued humanity since the dawn of time, as he put it. With a mixture of wistfulness and joy he looked back on those days. Memories of the crowds of people and the splendor of the boulevards, the solitude and silence of his meager lodgings all flooded his “restless thoughts.”

Arriving in plenty of time before the new semester began in mid-October, Gösta got himself settled in Berlin. He had found a room at Leipzigerstrasse 108, a ten-minute walk from the venerable Friedrich Wilhelm University (since 1948 called Humboldt University), near the fashionable boulevard of Unter den Linden. He would end up staying for three semesters – with a summer break in Switzerland and Göttingen. From a scholarly perspective, his time in Berlin would be quite decisive for Gösta. The knowledge he acquired and the impulses he received for further endeavors became the foundation for his work in the field of mathematics.

On the evening of February 4, 1876 Gösta left Berlin by train. He stopped in Königsberg to see the city and the university where the philosopher Immanuel Kant had worked, and where Fuchs and other prominent mathematicians had lived. Gösta’s arrival in St. Petersburg had been well prepared in advance, and he was warmly received at the Norwegian-Swedish legation. Baroness af Ugglas’s brother, Oscar Björnstjerna, whom Gösta had met at Lennartsnäs, had left his ministry post and was now the foreign minister in Stockholm. But the new minister, Frederik Georg Due, already counted Gösta among his friends. Everyone was optimistic with regard to Gösta’s chances in Helsingfors. He was invited to a number of parties and dinners hosted by Due and others connected to the Swedish community in the city. They introduced Gösta to their Finnish contacts, including Bernhard Indrenius, formerly vice chancellor at the university, who had a great deal to recount about the conditions in Helsingfors. The fact that Gösta was Swedish would undoubtedly mobilize the nationalistic opposition forces that now marked public life in Finland. However, everyone in St. Petersburg would do what they could to help him, although they also indicated that the person chosen for the professor position would ultimately be decided by the authorities in Helsingfors.

Gösta arrived in Helsingfors on Saturday, February 12, 1876. He had written in advance to Johan Hagströmer’s sister, Hilda, who was now married to Georg Borgström. She had found lodgings for Gösta in the home of a lieutenant colonel at Kyrkogatan 6. Hilda and her family lived right nearby, in the stately house at Mariegatan 5 & 7. From the very beginning the powerful Borgström family became Mittag-Leffler’s social focal point in the Finnish capital.

On May 8, 1876, Mittag-Leffler was back in his hometown after more than two and a half years abroad. After visiting Anne Charlotte and her husband, he went on to Uppsala, where his mother was still living with Frits. There he also saw his best friend, Johan Hagströmer and his wife Ida, as well as their little son, Gösta. The newly arrived Mittag-Leffler was happy to see everyone again, but he had caught a cold along the way and had to take it easy for a couple of weeks before going to Lennartsnäs to see the baroness and discuss his prospects in Helsingfors with Baron af Ugglas. Without Mittag-Leffler’s knowledge, the baron had written to Lennart Reuterskiöld, who was the secretary of the Swedish legation in St. Petersburg, and asked him to contact the Russian ministerial state secretary on Mittag-Leffler’s behalf. He had also asked Reuterskiöld to find out what had happened with Malmsten’s letter of recommendation. Mittag-Leffler said that if he had known that those opposed to his candidacy would place such weight on the language requirement, he would have spent the month of April learning the basics – the requirements were so minimal that he thought a month would have been sufficient. But he added that then his opponents would have undoubtedly found some other weapon to use against him. But Baron af Ugglas thought Mittag-Leffler could rest easy. He assured him that few things would please him more than having contributed to “obtaining the title of professor for the Doctor.”

In Mittag-Leffler’s speech titled “Memories from Finland,” which he gave for a select audience in the fall of 1914, he explained that when he returned to Helsingfors in the spring of 1877, his first task was to present two wreaths at Runeberg’s funeral, one from Uppsala University and the other from the students in Uppsala.

After the end of the fall term, Mittag-Leffler took a brief trip to Sweden at Christmastime. There are no written reports from this trip, only the fact that by January 8, 1878, he was already back in Helsingfors – by all accounts early enough to ensure that the condition of the ice wouldn’t prevent him from returning. Presumably he traveled by train from Helsingfors to Hangö, and by the steamship

Express

between Hangö and Stockholm. That winter, for the first time, an attempt was made to have regular boat traffic to and from Stockholm. The steamship

Express

had been designed by Robert Runeberg and built to break through ice that was 12 cm thick; with 400 horsepower engines and with room for scores of passengers on board, the crossing was estimated to take 17 hours.

Mittag-Leffler traveled to the conference of natural scientists in St. Petersburg along with his gifted student, August Ramsay, and Professor Lemström. Mittag-Leffler gave a mathematics speech in French that was received with “thundering applause,” started by Sonya Kovalevsky and Chebyshev. A Russian named Alexander Vasiliev, who had just arrived from Berlin, reported that at a seminar, and with the “highest praise,” Weierstrass had lectured on the work that Mittag-Leffler had sent him, although he had waited so long to publish it. Another Russian just home from Paris recounted how Hermite, during one of his lectures, had spoken of Mittag-Leffler’s “discoveries.” Because of such reports, he was extremely well received by the Russian scientific community. Along with Countess von Born and her charming daughters, Mittag-Leffler was invited to dinner by the general and mineralogist Axel Gadolin; he also visited Minister Due. And he had several conversations with Sonya Kovalevsky about possible positions for her abroad. He thought both the water and the beer were bad, so he drank only wine. Even so, he developed stomach problems and left as soon as he could to seek medical help in Paris.

On his way to start the new fall term in Helsingfors, Gösta stopped in Stockholm, where the Leffler family had gathered for several days due to special circumstances. Mr. Leffler was due to be released from the hospital at Konradsberg. All spring Mrs. Leffler, Anne Charlotte, and Frits had been trying to put Mr. Leffler in private care. Several times he had also promised to go along when they came to get him, but then turned around in the doorway. Once he had actually set foot in the carriage when he suddenly changed his mind and returned to his room in the hospital. He said that he couldn’t leave as long as his food was being poisoned. But on September 5, 1880, he offered no objections, and he accompanied “both of his sons to Uppsala,” as it stated in the hospital records. Since their father was going to live with Frits in Uppsala, he was the one who signed the release form and assumed “full responsibility for Rector Leffler’s welfare, and for his actions and deeds.” It’s uncertain whether Mr. Leffler actually lived for a short time in the same house as Frits and Mrs. Leffler. Presumably care had already been arranged for him; in any case, the rest of the family was clearly relieved. Gösta left for Helsingfors feeling more optimistic than he had in a long time.

In love and feeling happy and optimistic, Mittag-Leffler was back in his home town in early June 1881. On June 11 came the official announcement that he had been appointed professor of pure mathematics at Stockholm College, without obligation to teach in mechanics. The date when he would begin was September 1, and he immediately started making plans for his teaching and the future of the school.

On Sunday, May 14, 1882, the wedding celebration took place in Helsingfors with Signe’s relatives and Gösta’s Finnish friends in attendance. The day had been chosen so that the newlyweds would be able to obtain suitable ship’s passage for their honeymoon, starting three days later. Wedding announcements had been sent to family members, close friends, and acquaintances both in Sweden and abroad. Good wishes had come streaming in from Paris, Göttingen, Berlin, and St. Petersburg, from relatives in Göteborg, and from friends in Hjo and Stockholm. Of Gösta’s family, only his sister, Anne Charlotte, came to the festivities in Helsingfors. But she had arrived from Stockholm ten days ahead of time in order to help with the preparations.

The repairs and renovation work in their apartment on Karlavägen went so slowly that Gösta often felt, in his own words, “desperate.” Otherwise his days were so busy that from seven in the morning until eleven at night he didn’t have a single free hour. He felt it was proof of his hectic schedule that Signe didn’t attend a single theater performance in Stockholm until October 28, and even then she had to go with Anne Charlotte. Gösta himself couldn’t get there until an hour after the play had started. What took most of his time was the work on the journal; the amount of submitted materials and correspondence was increasing day by day. He found it necessary to hire a secretary, also because he’d started having pain in arm from all the letter-writing. At the College he gave his lectures on general function theory and the theory of analytic functions for approximately twenty students. Among them was Ivar Bendixson, who had spent a couple of years studying in Uppsala but had now started at the College. He was soon attracting attention with his mathematics work. In addition to his lectures, Mittag-Leffler also gave a weekly seminar from six thirty until eleven p.m.

“If we’ve said A then we have to say B as well and make something truly great out of

Acta

,” wrote Mittag-Leffler to Malmsten in the winter of 1883. And several months later: “For me

Acta

has become a life’s work,” and: “The person who doesn’t

believe

in success will never have any success here in the world.”

The fact that Sonya Kovalevsky came to Stockholm in November 1883 also had to do with events in her personal life back in Russia. Vladimir Kovalevsky, the man to whom she had been married for fourteen years and with whom she had a daughter, had killed himself in April 1883 after several failed financial speculations. After months of grief, Sonya had gone to Berlin. Via Weierstrass, Mittag-Leffler had heard that Kovalevsky was again deeply immersed in mathematics issues, and that she had solved a hundred-year-old problem within the field of mathematical physics. This involved integrating completely the partial differential equations that govern the movement of light in double refractive crystals.

After the fall term ended in December 1884, Mittag-Leffler left Stockholm on what he called a trip “on behalf of

Acta

.” He took Signe along with him. It was to be a six-week-long triumphal journey; everywhere they basked in the glory of

Acta

’s great success. Whatever opposition there may have been, it seems not to have come to the surface.

Sonya Kovalevsky lectured during the spring semester 1885 on the theory of algebraic functions (based on Weierstrass), as well as elementary algebra – a total of three hours each week. And she proudly reported that she had many students in attendance. Mittag-Leffler continued his lectures on the Poincaré functions and, as previously, he held seminars at his home every Monday. Ivar Bendixson acted as his amanuensis, a role that in practice involved two hours a week spent tutoring new students so that they would be able to follow the professors’ lectures, conducting exercises, and occasionally giving lectures on function theory.

One of the last things that had landed on Mittag-Leffler’s desk before he left the Hôtel Zermatt in Switzerland was what he called an “extremely offensive” letter from Kronecker. In the letter Kronecker disavowed any further friendship or contact. Mittag-Leffler thought the reason for this was that Kronecker had not been chosen as a member of the committee for the King Oscar II Prize, nor had his advice been sought regarding the formulation of the questions. In the November 1885 volume of

Acta Mathematica

, the mathematics prize was officially announced. Four prize questions were proposed. The first asked how bodies in space move when they are influenced by gravitational forces – with the three-body problem as a special case. Another way of phrasing the question was: “Is our solar system stable?” This was a question that had preoccupied mathematicians and astronomers since the beginning of the 19th century. The three other prize questions had to do with diverse generalizations of elliptic and hyperelliptic functions, and thus they were more closely connected to current mathematics research. The submitted treatises were to have an epigram but they would be anonymous. The deadline was June 1, 1888. The jury members were Weierstrass, Hermite, and Mittag-Leffler, and the prize – a gold medallion worth 1,000 francs, along with 2,500 kronor in cash – would be awarded on the king’s sixtieth birthday, January 21, 1889.

As rector, Mittag-Leffler would promote the controversial views for which he had long been the spokesman. It was his opinion that Stockholm College had the character of a free academy without the responsibility for basic training and without obligations to arrange exams or hand out academic degrees. He wanted to make the College into an elite school for unrestricted, free research. With this in mind, it was crucial to control the hiring of new professors, and he won the support of some members of the teaching staff by standing firm on the school’s §7, which stated that “the closest custody of the College belongs to the teachers.” The leading figures on the board, however, with Albert Lindhagen in the forefront, wanted the College eventually to provide the youth of the city with an education in line with what was offered at the universities in Uppsala and Lund. In the tug-of-war that ensued with the board, Mittag-Leffler would end up distancing himself from his old friend and patron Gustaf af Ugglas. By the time his year as rector was over, Mittag-Leffler would feel that he had achieved a great deal to improve the school’s reputation, but in twelve months he “hadn’t had a single mathematical thought.”

The year 1887 began with conflicts at the Victoria and Skandia insurance companies. Should Victoria have its own administrative director, or should the two companies merge? Chairman of the board Lagregring wanted his brother-in-law Leijonhufvud to be hired for the position, and that was how things turned out in spite of strong opposition from others, including Mittag-Leffler, who was not particularly impressed. “The new director looks like a real sheep.” As an actuary and mathematician, Mittag-Leffler was now asked to take on a number of tasks. Knut Wallenberg asked him to calculate the “mathematical worth” of Skandia, to see whether the value was in proportion to earnings and profits.

After Gösta had been thoroughly examined by Jonquière, it was decided that both nostrils should be cauterized before the Mackenzie gutta-percha treatment could begin. (Gutta-percha is a flexible, rubberlike material.) Already after the first day of treatment, Mittag-Leffler reported of “strong and painful cauterization.” Afterwards there was time for letter-writing, a walk with Jonquière, his wife, and two sisters – before a “bad night” followed. The next day brought new, painful cauterizations – “a lesion in the rectum was also cauterized.” In the afternoon a walk with the Jonquière family, and then another bad night.

Mittag-Leffler was present on September 15, 1887, when the College welcomed the students to a new semester. He noted that among the new students was a beautiful 17-year-old American, Miss Rundström, and a 21-year-old Finnish woman named Sanny Söderhjelm, as well as 17-year-old Helge von Koch from Stockholm.

In mid-March 1888, the Mittag-Lefflers departed from a cold and wintry Stockholm. Their initial destination was Oran in Algeria, where a French scientific congress was to be held. Yet this was actually more of an excuse for their trip, especially in discussions with Gösta’s mother, who was left behind in their apartment. During their travels he wrote a number of long letters home, more than a hundred pages altogether.

Beginning in early July, Weierstrass went to stay in Wernigerode in the Harz Mountains. There he took several rooms at the Müller Hotel, both for himself and his two sisters. Sonya also came to visit from London and Paris, where she had gone with Maxim Kovalevsky. She was putting the finishing touches on her treatise that would secure the Bordin Prize for her, and she hoped to complete the work by spending time with Weierstrass.

Among the new students that fall was Ivar Fredholm, who had studied both at the Technical College and at Uppsala University. Another was Arthur G. Webster; after graduating from Harvard College and spending a couple of years studying in Europe, he had come from Paris to Stockholm to attend Mittag-Leffler’s lectures. Several months later Gustav Cassel was also among the newly enrolled. There were now more students studying mathematics than any of the other subjects, including botany, geology, zoology, physics, chemistry, or astronomy. Nevertheless, Mittag-Leffler had not given up the idea of seeking a position in the United States; in any case he was still asking for more information about Stanford University, which he thought sounded like a splendid institution of higher learning.

On January 21, 1889, King Oscar II turned 60. On the same day the king announced the winner of the mathematics prize that had been established in his name. All treatises had been submitted anonymously, supplied with a title and an envelope containing the author’s name. The envelopes were now opened with great ceremony. The winner was Henri Poincaré.

Reports of all the hubbub around the Bordin prize and Sonya in Paris, as well as her pleading letter asking for a leave of absence from her teaching obligations in Stockholm, came at the same time as Mittag-Leffler was preparing for the announcement of the Oscar II Mathematics Prize. After promising to obtain a leave of absence for her, he explained what was required: She needed to get a certificate from one of the renowned doctors in Paris – he mentioned Auguste Voisin and the even more famous Charcot. Then she needed to have the certificate sent to Stockholm via a doctor associated with the Swedish-Norwegian embassy. Next she had to write to the College to request that Phragmén take over her classes, and in return she would arrange to pay him in accordance with the established regulations. In his letter to Sonya, Gösta also reported on the situation at home. Little Sonya (now 10 years old) was “healthy and lively” and had joined them on a trip to Uppsala. At a meeting of “The 15,” the members had celebrated Sonya’s prize. Retzius had been shameless and envious, while Gyldén had been angry because of the prize that had been given to Poincaré.

In October 1889 the Djursholm Corporation was registered. The Mittag-Lefflers were well informed about the plans for the new residential development, and in September they had already purchased their first two building sites in Djursholm. The construction of their house began at New Year’s 1890. Including the pipelines, sewage system, and roads, their expenses would total 40,000 kronor.

The spring semester at Stockholm College began in February 1891. Sonya’s first lecture was scheduled for Friday, February 6. From the sunny Riviera Gösta received a letter in which she wrote that she wished she could be there for Carnival, and she asked whether it would matter if she stayed another week. But she supplied her own answer by adding that it would probably be best if she returned to Stockholm on time, since she was thinking of asking for a leave of absence in April. In a letter to her daughter, Sonya described the roses and violets in the garden outside the veranda in Beaulieu, where the camellia trees were in bloom and the oranges were ripening. And in a letter to Ellen Key, Sonya wrote that would have liked to remain in the sunshine and warmth of the south; she was not looking forward to winter in the north.

“The emptiness left by Sonya is very difficult for me to bear,” wrote Gösta to his sister a month after Sonya’s death. He admitted that his relationship with her during the past few years had not been the same as before. It had been impossible for him to take an interest in her “ruminations on love in general” or in her relationship with Maxim, which Gösta more and more had perceived as “sickly and overwrought,” and something that could not end well. At the same time he felt strongly that Sonya’s death marked “a definite turning point” in his life; but what it might signal, he didn’t yet know.

When the fall semester ended in December 1891, Gösta and Signe left Stockholm to celebrate Christmas with Anne Charlotte and Pasquale in Naples. Signe left a few days ahead of time in order to visit with her friend Miss Goldschmidt in Copenhagen. In Brussels Mittag-Leffler had business meetings with Tedaldi, Pasquale’s friend and colleague. The result was a good agreement regarding investments in the Bergslagen railway. For the time being Mittag-Leffler didn’t want the agreement to become known; he had numerous loans, some of them quite large, back in Sweden, and many people might be jealous of the good business deals he was in the process of making.

In his diary for April 8, 1892, Mittag-Leffler noted: “Severe financial worries. All stocks dropping sharply.” He had bought shares in Stockholm’s breweries worth 78,000 kronor, i.e., 156 shares at 500 each. Now the stock price had dropped to 350. A similar downturn was taking place in Göteborg’s breweries, in which he had invested close to 30,000 kronor. Yet worst of all was the Malmö-Trelleborg railway corporation, in which he had 2,655 shares purchased with borrowed funds at an average price of 210 kronor – these shares would now yield less than the loan payments he needed to make.

The loss of his sister put a damper on all of Gösta’s activities. Nevertheless, he managed to complete the series of lectures on the theory of elliptic functions, which he had begun in the fall term. But at Easter 1893, he obtained a doctor’s certificate and was granted a leave of absence for the rest of the semester. Together with Signe, he went to Naples to see his nephew Gaetano.

At the College, things were inexorably moving in a different direction than the one for which Mittag-Leffler had been fighting. The College Association and representatives for the city of Stockholm – the original initiators who had consistently wanted the school to offer an education in line with what was offered at the universities in Uppsala and Lund – gradually won increasing support among the teachers at the school. Mittag-Leffler stalwartly led an ever-shrinking group of teachers who wanted to make the school a radical alternative, a “true center of higher culture” and “a hotbed for true research.” These were the words that Mittag-Leffler used in a speech that he gave before the College board of directors in March 1894. The speech was immediately printed and distributed. Covering sixteen pages, the speech presented his viewpoints on teaching, curricula, and various degree regulations. In conclusion, he offered a compromise: If necessary, he might agree to the implementation of a licentiate degree – but definitely not a master’s or basic degree. To do so would signify the implementation of an entirely new form of teaching at the school.

On March 16, 1896, Mittag-Leffler turned 50, and the celebration was a revealing demonstration of his position and prominence. On the day itself volume 20 of

Acta Mathematica

was published – the volume included two treatises by Poincaré – and a formal written greeting, a so-called address covering twelve pages, was delivered to Gösta, beautifully bound and imprinted with the words:

Adresse présentée à Monsieur Mittag-Leffler le 16 mars 1896, jour du cinquantième anniversaire de sa naissance

. It was signed by 378 mathematicians from all parts of the world. They hailed Mittag-Leffler for founding

Acta Mathematica

, which in such a splendid way had contributed to the development of mathematics. They also emphasized the beneficial influence that he’d had on the study of science in Scandinavia, ranking him on a par with Linnaeus, Scheele, Abel, Berzelius, and Ørsted. Those who had signed the address had also contributed money – a total of 6,550 francs had been collected. Each country had had its own organizational committee, and the whole effort had been led by Appell and Painlevé in Paris.

On February 19, 1897, Weierstrass died. Mittag-Leffler immediately wrote an obituary that was printed in volume 21 of

Acta

. And he asked Poincaré to write an article about Weierstrass’s place in the history of mathematics, which appeared in volume 22 of

Acta

. Mittag-Leffler now regarded Poincaré to be without question the foremost living mathematician, but for the vacancy left by Weierstrass in the Academy of Sciences, he suggested one of the great old mathematicians, 73-year-old Brioschi. Poincaré was still young and could wait.

In the summer of 1897, Gösta wrote a letter to Signe – a letter that he archived under the heading “not sent” – in which he said that the past year had been one of the saddest he’d ever experienced. Previously he’d always felt happy in his marriage; he had never doubted his love for Signe, or her faithfulness and sincere character. But now what he called Signe’s “especially intimate friendship” with another man had developed to such an extent that he felt a need to react in some way.

It is not certain whether Signe possessed the patience, gentleness, and childish tenderness that Gösta thought were necessary to mollify Gustava. At any rate, Emma and Artur did their best to normalize the situation, and a little later when Signe had to take to her bed with influenza, they came to visit, bringing her flowers and chocolates. Signe was also having a great deal of trouble with her dog, Toutou, who had been in Copenhagen with her. In Djursholm the dog became ungovernable and several times bit the gardener on the hand. When the dog later bit Signe as well, it had to be put down.

In early April 1900, Mittag-Leffler returned from his trip to Egypt. But he wasn’t feeling well, and he thought it was too soon to be coming home to be overwhelmed by the piles of unanswered letters that awaited him. He also needed to make a number of decisions regarding scientific and business matters. He would have much preferred to continue working on his mathematical papers. In his own opinion, the work that he’d started in Egypt near the pyramids and the Sphinx was the best he’d ever done – as he got older he’d acquired a “clearer and calmer view” and stored up a large amount of factual information.

The year 1902 was to be marked by several anniversaries and congresses. At the conference of Scandinavian natural scientists held in Kristiania in 1886, a campaign was started to collect money to commission a statue of Abel. Ever since then there had been much discussion about the big celebration in his name. Mittag-Leffler had begun taking an interest in honoring Abel much earlier. Back in 1875 – after meeting Hermite and Weierstrass and seeing their admiration for Abel – he had mentioned his first plans to write a biography of Abel. When the first volume of

Acta Mathematica

was published in 1882, it was Abel’s portrait that appeared in front of Poincaré’s groundbreaking treatises. And twenty years later Mittag-Leffler dedicated an entire volume of

Acta

to Abel’s memory. This “anniversary volume” would also be

Acta

’s volume number 26 and thus usher in the second quarter of its first century in print. This was a point that Mittag-Leffler emphasized to the rest of the editorial board and in the numerous letters that he sent out inviting submissions. It soon became apparent that all the articles coming in would not fit into one volume. A total of three volumes –

Acta

volume 26, 27, and 28 – are titled “Niels Henrik Abel, in memoriam.” Together they contain almost 1,200 pages and close to 60 articles. Only the first volume would be finished in time for the actual celebration in the Norwegian capital in September 1902.

At his home in Djursholm, Mittag-Leffler now had two secretaries: Hilda Andersson and Maria Liljeblad – “my two girls,” as he liked to call them. Miss Liljeblad made clean copies of letter, took care of the mail, walked the dog, read to old Gustava, and helped her with her embroidery. She was good-natured and diligent, with a good head on her shoulders. “I wish I had such a daughter,” Mittag-Leffler noted a short time after the 21-year-old entered the household. In the beginning she occasionally assisted a hired librarian, but eventually she took over the work in the library. Hilda Andersson was a few years older than Maria, and she acted as the office manager. According to Mittag-Leffler, she was clever and energetic, but not always reliable when it came to showing up at the agreed time. In spite of this, he never considered firing her. Miss Andersson provided invaluable help with all of his business dealings, and gradually she was granted broad powers to act on Mittag-Leffler’s behalf. In addition to the two secretaries, there were six other servants who were part of the household.

Mittag-Leffler seems not to have participated in the internal discussions that were carried out regarding to what extent the Academy of Sciences should take on the task of awarding the Nobel Prizes in Physics and Chemistry. He was not on the committees that were handling this matter – which was only natural since he was neither a physicist nor a chemist. And when the recommendations for the final statutes for these two Nobel Prizes were approved by the Academy of Sciences on June 11, 1898, he had no objections. As a mathematician, Mittag-Leffler could not be part of the Nobel committees that were appointed – one for the physics prize and another for the prize in chemistry. These committees, each of which had five members, obtained expert opinions that were then discussed, eventually leading to a recommendation as to who should receive the prize. This recommendation was then presented to the physics and chemistry divisions, respectively, and subsequently to the entire academy, which, after more or less intense discussion, made the final decision. Mittag-Leffler took an active part in the plenary sessions and, like all academy members, he was invited to propose possible candidates. Every year he requested copies of the documents compiled by the physics and chemistry committees. These documents included summaries regarding submitted candidates, expert opinions, and all other materials that the committee had wanted in order to do its work. Mittag-Leffler made his own views known and exerted influence on friends and supporters who were members of the Nobel committees. He had particularly good contacts on the physics committee, and it was the physics prize that interested him most.

Publication of the annual almanac was a lucrative business in Sweden. In 1747 the Academy of Sciences had been granted by royal decree a monopoly to publish the almanac; ever since, this had provided an extremely important income for the natural sciences in Sweden. (The academy was founded in 1739.) So that the Academy of Sciences wouldn’t have to handle the production and distribution itself, an agreement was made – usually for a ten-year period – with either a book printer or a publisher. Since 1824, the firm of P. A. Norstedts & Sons in Stockholm had for decades enjoyed such an agreement with the Academy of Sciences – although the last couple of times not entirely to the satisfaction of the academy. According to the last contract, signed in 1896, the publisher paid 89,000 kronor per year, with an annual increase of 500 kronor, for this agreement. The call for bids regarding a new contract began in the fall of 1903. Norstedts immediately indicated that the company thought it was already paying too much – the publisher proposed 50,000 kronor per year as a more appropriate amount, taking into consideration printing costs and sales figures. To secure its position, Norstedts also purchased the Central Printing Company, a potential competitor. But there were other competitors as well.

Aftonbladet

(the corporation that owned the newspaper) offered 105,000 kronor yearly, plus an increase of 1,000 kronor per year, saying that this seemed to be a reasonable price. Other bids came in as well. A hectic period ensued, with a series of letters and references arriving from the various players, who kept raising their offers. In March 1904, when the Academy of Sciences was to decide who would print and publish the almanacs for the next ten years, there were four offers. The highest came from the book printing firm of Almqvist & Wiksell in Uppsala. The bid was for 140,000 kronor per year, with an annual increase of 1,000 kronor. That was 10,000 kronor more per year than the bid which Norstedts had, in the end, been forced to make. The newspapers reported on the matter, and many felt that Norstedts’ initial attempt to lower the price had weakened the company’s position. Once the Academy of Sciences had involved itself in the principles of competition, truly objective reasons ought to be required if the decision was made not to accept the highest bid.

Right after Julius af Lindfors died, Mittag-Leffler considered selling off all of his father-in-law’s business ventures so that he would be able to “live in peace, without any business worries!” as he expressed it. “But that probably won’t happen in my lifetime,” he added. He repeated that the reason for his numerous business ventures was his wish to create a stable financial basis for the mathematics institute, which he hoped would extend his life’s work and become a lasting legacy.

One of the first things that Mittag-Leffler did when he returned home to Stockholm in late January 1905 was to pay a visit to King Oscar II in order to convey greetings from King Victor Emanuel of Italy and to report on his conversations with Bjørnson. King Oscar spoke of the difficult negotiations with the Norwegians. The question of whether Norway should have it own consulates and hence its own foreign service had reached a crucial phase. The king felt that the Swedes had acted reasonably and honorably.

On March 16, 1906, Mittag-Leffler turned 60. Hundreds of letters, greetings, and telegrams poured in from all directions. Swedish and foreign newspapers wrote about the occasion, publishing feature articles and interviews. One report said that Stockholm College could someday expect a huge donation and that Mittag-Leffler had already given 5,000 kronor to the school, with the request that a prize should be established for outstanding mathematics work produced by the school’s students. This award, the Mittag-Leffler Prize, would be for 500 kronor, and it would be presented whenever there was a work worthy of the award and as long as funding existed. (Today, at Stockholm University, outstanding doctoral dissertations are still awarded the Mittag-Leffler Prize.) Behind these reports were concrete plans to transfer a portion of his shares (after his death) to the College, including the shares in Almqvist & Wiksell and at least 140,000 kronor in equity in the villa in Djursholm. In addition to these plans for donations to benefit mathematics, Mittag-Leffler was a strong supporter of a new commercial science institute at the College – plans that immediately caught the interest of Gustav Cassel, who continued to work on the idea.

In the spring of 1907, Mittag-Leffler once again went to northern Italy, traveling via Berlin to Lake Como. Signe went with him, both of them making the trip for the sake of their health. Gösta had undergone surgery on his nose at Sofiahemmet Hospital; the stay at Lake Como and the numerous bicycle excursions did him good. He received a visit from Volterra, and he had several discussions with Röntgen, who was also a guest at one of the hotels. Signe enjoyed herself too and was feeling stronger. On their way home, at a first-class hotel in Bordeaux, they celebrated their silver wedding anniversary. Gösta wanted to be home in time for the big Linnaeus anniversary and the celebration at the Academy of Sciences on May 25.

In order to increase the chances that a Nobel Prize would be awarded to Poincaré and theoretical physics, Mittag-Leffler thought it would be beneficial if the 1909 prize went to someone in a highly practical field. He therefore asked Painlevé whether he thought it possible to award the Nobel Prize for the invention of the airplane – and if so, whether it ought to go to the American brothers Wilbur and Orville Wright or to the Frenchman Henri Farman, or to all three. After several weeks he received an enthusiastic reply from Painlevé, who was delighted (enchanté) by the idea of awarding the 1909 prize for “aviation.” Painlevé had personally flown with Farman, who had just set a French record for flying and had won the “Grand prix d’aviation.” Painlevé had even spoken before the French national assembly to urge for the allocation of larger sums for the development of airplanes.

February 1, 1910, was the deadline for submitting recommendations for the yearly Nobel Prizes. By that time thirty-four nominations had been received for Poincaré; no previous candidate had ever received so many nominations. The instigator behind this was Mittag-Leffler. Well ahead of time he had asked Appell in Paris to be the

primus motor

for a comprehensive report on Poincaré’s work. It was best if the recommendation should come from Appell – also because that year the Nobel committee had invited Appell to present suggestions. Mittag-Leffler emphasized that it was important for the recommendation to be supported by everyone who had the right to make a nomination. He also asked Appell to ensure that no other French candidates were suggested. In the report there should not be too much talk about “mathematics”; instead, the expression “pure theory” could be used. And Mittag-Leffler reminded his French colleague that the Nobel committee consisted of experimentalists who were afraid of everything that smelled of mathematics. The report about Poincaré was written by Appell, Darboux, and Fredholm, and it was already finished in December 1909. Mittag-Leffler then sent it to close to fifty scientists who were qualified to recommend Nobel candidates.

Taking leave of Stockholm College turned out to be difficult. Mittag-Leffler could have held onto his position longer, but he didn’t wish to do so. This was partly due to health reasons and partly because he didn’t want to stand in the way of younger forces, as he said. On the other hand, he was reluctant to give up all of his teaching activities. He knew that he would miss teaching, and he wanted to be of service to the College as long as his strength held out. He also hoped to have some influence by stepping outside of the daily routines at the school. But difficulties quickly started piling up, and the antagonisms had a strong effect, especially in his relationship with Ivar Bendixson, who had now become the school’s rector and would remain in that position for the rest of Mittag-Leffler’s life.

In his diary Mittag-Leffler often wrote comments such as: “I’m so tired of all these business troubles, and wish I could return to mathematics.” He was struggling to consolidate his financial position. The drop in prices had brought a loss of close to a million kronor, and he claimed that he was “up to his neck in unprofitable enterprises.” On the other hand, he had purchased 500 equity shares in Nordiska Kompaniet at a price of 130 kronor per share, and he was managing his own business interests at Rösjö, in Umeå, and in Kinsarvik. Nor had he put aside plans for a wireless telegraph to London. At Rösjö agreements had been signed for delivering cheap cardboard to Russia. In Kinsarvik the construction work was underway and the potential for profits was still uncertain. When Mittag-Leffler was in Kristiania to discuss prospects with his Norwegian business partners, he also talked to Kristian Birkeland about technical innovations based on his scientific discovery for the production of potassium nitrate. Mittag-Leffler offered to act as agent for Birkeland’s method, with the idea of using it in Umeå as well.

The fateful year of 1914 had begun. The outbreak of the world war and its consequences would change the agenda for all international interactions. For Mittag-Leffler the year would entail him taking part in Swedish national politics in a dramatic fashion, and his actions would have a long-lasting impact on his posthumous reputation.

The night after he fell on the stairs, on November 9, 1914, Mittag-Leffler couldn’t sleep. He felt overwhelmed by a nervous irritation; even sessions in the light bath didn’t help. In the morning he noticed a numbness in his right arm and leg, and he experienced difficulty walking. Nonetheless, he traveled by car to Stockholm to attend a political meeting with the German minister Reichenau. The minister was adamant that Sweden should enter the war; Mittag-Leffler also thought this would happen, but definitely not yet. After his meeting with the German minister, Mittag-Leffler went to see the editor of

Svenska Dagbladet

, Helmer Key, who purportedly had learned that Foreign Minister Knut Wallenberg had unexpectedly changed his view and now favored Swedish participation in the war. On the way to his own office, Mittag-Leffler’s condition grew worse, and it was only with the help of his chauffeur that he managed to climb the stairs. A doctor was summoned – Dr. Berg, who had been among “The 17” guests on the previous evening. He ordered complete rest and quiet. Mittag-Leffler was driven home and carried to bed. The doctor thought that the paralysis was due to a shock to the nerves from the fall, possibly combined with a blockage in some blood vessels in the rear portion of the left hemisphere of his brain.

Mittag-Leffler’s illness in Tällberg was reported in the press.

Aftonbladet

said that he was convalescing but that his strength “had been significantly diminished,” that his fever had dropped, that his left lung had fully recovered, that the right lung was also expected to recover, and that Dr. Hildebrand in Rättvik was attending to the patient. A month later the

Djursholm Tidning

reported that Mittag-Leffler had practically regained his full health, but that he “could not go outdoors.” For his part, Mittag-Leffler experienced the illness as if he had truly hovered between life and death for a long time, as if the slightest breath of wind might extinguish “the flame of life,” as he expressed it. He had no doubt that it was his strong heart that had once again saved him.

When he went to Tällberg to celebrate Christmas, Mittag-Leffler took with him Signe, Miss Sahlén, and MacLeod, who was now his permanent librarian and had begun developing a close relationship with Miss Sahlén. Myrberg, who had received one of the first stipends, also joined them; during the past month he and Carleman had lived in Djursholm and become familiar with the library. Miss Andersson and Baron Bennet celebrated Christmas at her Tällberg villa. But for Mittag-Leffler, the Christmas holidays and first days of the new year were not a time for celebration and relaxation. The first thing he encountered was dissatisfaction and unrest among the workers on the farm; “the tenant farmer and farmhand” wanted higher wages, and they didn’t show up on Christmas Eve to receive their gifts as usual. Mittag-Leffler thought their demands were unreasonable. He had built a house for the tenant farmer with all the conveniences that any small middle-class family would have found satisfactory. The farmhand wanted 10 kronor per day, plus room and board.

During the first few days in Tällberg, Mittag-Leffler was in good spirits and filled with plans. Then suddenly, on the night of January 8, he awoke with intense rheumatic pains. The influenza grew worse and developed into pneumonia with complications. From Stockholm two doctors were summoned: first Floderus and then Hultgren. The latter thought the situation was serious, and he stayed for a couple of days. The local physician, Dr. Hildebrand, also looked in on the patient, who had a nurse with him at all times. When he was able to sit up in bed after a couple of weeks, Mittag-Leffler wrote: “My brain is empty and will no doubt remain so, and then life is no longer of any interest to me.” He recalled that on the worst night he was given an injection that had flooded him with a glorious warmth at the same time that his lower body turned cold, and an attempt was made to resuscitate him. He felt that he was in the process of “making the transition to the other world” where “utter light and clarity and truth” awaited him. He felt happy and glad and “everything from the past, his entire life was as if washed away.” Nevertheless, he began noting down fragments of his life, his “poor, tattered life,” as it had appeared to him during sleepless nights. He had seen and understood his mistakes, he had suffered and felt tormented. The only solace had been he had always aimed for something beyond the personal, and he had always loved Sweden with an affection that was so strong the mere thought still caused his poor heart “agony, as if enveloped in flames.” When he long ago had turned down a position in Berlin, it was in order to “find his way” to Stockholm, via Helsingfors.

On June 28, 1922, Mittag-Leffler left Stockholm by boat to attend the Scandinavian mathematics congress in Helsingfors, the fifth in a row. As they passed Hangö, he stood at the ship’s rail, thinking about previous trips that he’d made with Signe. He realized that this time he could see no familiar faces on the dock. He went up to the bridge and stood there for a while with the captain who, to his joy, wanted to talk about the political situation in Finland and the rumors that Russian battleships and thousands of soldiers were ready to attack. Mittag-Leffler had brought along his new secretary Eva Theorell and physical therapist Gerda Blomberg, who was called simply Blomman. Upon arrival in Helsingfors, the presentation of his passport was sufficient to exempt all three from any sort of customs inspection, and they were allowed to go ashore with their 13 suitcases. There they were welcomed by Signe’s relatives and taken to the Borgström house at Mariegatan 7. Four servants were put at their disposal for the two weeks that they would spend there.

Mittag-Leffler enjoyed a pleasant stay in Tällberg. The weather was radiant, he enjoyed walking in the garden and through the woods, and he constantly stopped to admire the beautiful view over Lake Siljan. He usually took Eva along on his walks. Blomman had resigned because she was going to get married. A new physical therapist named Tora Nordberg was hired. She was twenty-two years old and from Gävle; eventually she was called Miss N. B. In the middle of the month Carleman came to visit, and he wrote comments on parts of Mittag-Leffler’s treatise about Weierstrass’s function theory. Some of the chapters had already been translated into French by MacLeod and proofed by Gaston Julia in Paris. But Mittag-Leffler was worried that Julia might not be as willing to provide any more assistance, in spite of the fact that he’d received a complete set of

Acta

.

In the spring of 1925, Nørlund began preparations for Mittag-Leffler’s 80th birthday celebration, which would take place the following year. Three volumes of

Acta

would be dedicated to him. Everyone who was asked to contribute responded with enthusiasm. From Oxford, Hardy replied that both he and Littlewood would like to contribute articles; the only problem was to find something suitable. No one wanted to be represented in such a context with anything less than his very best.