Part 8

We were up early indeed the morning after arrival at Hellesylt. What a morning! Hardly a breath as the steamer lay at the little pier waiting for us. We had arranged with Captain Dahl to go up the Geiranger as far as Maraak, so as to pass the glorious fall of the “Seven Sisters,” and see it in all its beauty. We were very fortunate in all the circumstances connected with this visit—weather fine, scenery grand, cicerone full of enthusiasm and information, companions reliable, food, after Haugen, one may say “good, plentiful and good.” The characteristic features of this Geiranger, which has only been known to travellers during the last few years, are the extremely precipitous façade of rocks that enclose it, the paucity of landing places, and its beautiful fall, the Seven Sisters. We arrived at the foot of it about six o’clock A.M., and, as the sun was well to the eastward, the effect was fairylike—the prismatic rays seemed to pervade the base of the fall. The Seven Sisters come over and take their first flight some two thousand feet above the fjord, and the streams, seven in number, according to the pressure of melted snow above, combine and separate, lose themselves in spray and spoondrift, and then collect again from the dripping face of the rock, and finally the whole base is “gauzed,” so to speak, with the dash of mist and the prismatic rays called by sailors “blossoms”—really portions of rainbows. We wanted to linger over the beauty of this spot—such delicacy of form, as the streams shot forth some of the rocket jets, losing themselves for a time, and then collecting with renewed energy for the final dash into the fjord; but at last even Captain Dahl goes ahead, and we steam on for Maraak, at the end of the fjord. Opposite to the falls we see a relic of old Scandinavian paganism. Jutting from steep rocks, of two thousand or three thousand feet, above a solitary boathouse, is shown a prominent rock, called the “Pulpit,” and above that the gigantic profile of a Viking; while higher still are situated some farms, well away from modern improvements. If any one dies there during the winter the inhabitants keep the body until the snow is sufficiently melted to allow of its being brought down for conveyance to Hellesylt. It is their custom also to tether their children, for the “go-cart” conveyance of the seventeenth century, as shown in Quarles’s “Emblems,” would soon be over the edge, urging its wild career to the depths below. The very thought of such a position would be enough to frighten some people; but how happy in themselves are these poor folks in their simple belief and faith, their home love and trust! How difficult is it to consider this kind of happiness, when the same family goes on in the same position in life for three or four hundred years, in the same costume, and with the same old silver ornaments! “How bad for trade!” some would say. “What stagnation! how slow!” Yet how enviable when we have tasted the bitters of overstrained brain-work, and the furious competition of millions of people, all massed and arrayed for the daily struggle of modern times! It is from this latter that men retire for awhile to take a refresher, a change of air and circumstance becoming a matter of necessity; and so London, after a season of gaiety and rush, is left in favour of outlandish places, simple fare, and, in fact, to get away from the daily jostle of life, to be ready for the next bout.

After our return from Maraak, Captain Dahl continued his passage towards Aalesund. The Geiranger features were less marked until we arrived at an immense perpendicular surface of rock, evidently but recently exposed to view; and its appearance is explained by the fact that some years ago the whole facing of this mountain came bodily down into the fjord, raising an immense wave which swept across the expanse of water, and almost entirely destroyed the village on the opposite side. A more recent case occurred in the Nordfjord. The Hornelen Mountain rises majestically from the fjord, going down from Bryggen. Out of compliment to this monarch and giant a new steamer was named after it; and, on the first occasion of passing, the captain honoured Hornelen with a salvo, which was promptly answered by a great mass of rock being launched from the mountain side, throwing up a wave which nearly annihilated the saluters, and frightened some of them so much that they will never venture to repeat their _feu de joie_. It is equally dangerous to disturb or cause any considerable vibration in the atmosphere under glacial ice or snowdrift: many lives have been lost in this way, and the fact cannot be too strenuously impressed on the minds of all travellers.

VI.

MOLDE AND ROMSDAL.

MOLDE—THE GOOD SHIP “TASSO”—STATLAND—AALESUND—MOLDE LANDING—HERR BUCK—THE LOVE OF FLOWERS AT MOLDE—THE LEPER HOUSE—MOLDE TO VEBLUNGSNÆS—THE BEAR AND THE PIGE—ROMSDAL FJORD—AAK—THE RAUMA—THE OLD CHURCH OF GRYTEN—THE CANDELABRA—HERR ONSUM—NÆSS—THE SKYD-GUT—THE SAIL WITH SEA ROVERS—THE INEBRIATED BAKER OF WHITE BREAD—OLE LARSEN—THE LAAVE—HERR LANDMARK AND THE HOTEL AT AAK—KJERULF THE COMPOSER—THE ROMSDAL HORN—THE TROLTINDERNE—FIVA—THE MEAL HOUSE—THE STEEN-SKREED—THE SOLGANG WIND—THE SHEEP BOY AND GOAT HORN—SEA-FISHING—WOODWORK—CARRIOLES—HOW TO CROSS A RIVER—OLD KYLE—MØLMEN CHURCH, AND THE SLEEPER’S CURE—FLIES—SALMON-FISHING FROM A TINE.

To those going northward Molde has especial interest for many reasons: its situation is beautiful, its climate delightful, its vegetation luxuriant, its flora abundant, and, as a centre to radiate from, it is most convenient. To arrive there one becomes associated _pro tem._ with the good ship _Tasso_. “Good ship” is used, in this instance, as a term of affection among old Norwegians. In former days it was rarely that any save real sportsmen or regular fishers were to be found on board. Every one was known. The steward knew every one by name; the captain looked forward to seeing his “regulars,” and could tell exactly how much he would see of each individual passenger. Judging from the weather, he could guess the number for each festive meal in the saloon, and knew without a doubt who would propose to smoke a cigar on deck, or one more pipe before turning in, and who would be ready to spin a good yarn if there were any chance of conversation flagging. From Hull to Trondhjem a fraternity existed, on condition that no one betrayed undue curiosity about his fellow-traveller’s river. That condition carried out, any one might kill his fish over and over again, and even add a pound or two, rather than the relater should not be happy. The captain of the _Tasso_ was decidedly a favourite, and could the weather at all times have proved as fair as the captain himself, the _Tasso_ would have been always crowded with passengers; for even in spite of the stormy winds of the North Sea there has been such a thing as a telegram for the captain, hoping he would wait for the next train, as —— wanted to go by the _Tasso_. There is much sentiment about this dear old vessel. Light as a cork, in a breeze she can throw you up off your legs, and catch you somehow when you come down. She is lively, but that is better than being driven through everything, tunnelling the long seas. Besides, if the Saturday be very bad, and Saturday night too, Sunday afternoon generally improves matters, and by the evening some ladies venture up in the captain-cabin on deck for a little fresh air, and are well looked after; for the captain himself, in spite of having been up all night, comes out with his personal appearance unimpaired, and buttoning his gloves, which he wears only on Sundays. He had a very impressive way of buttoning the right glove, as if a great work had just been completed, and the mere act would revive the passengers. Still he was a thorough sailor and a great favourite, and everybody regrets that he no longer commands the _Tasso_.

This vessel, which leaves Hull on Friday night, with her course north-east, ploughs, or rather bruises, the North Sea until Monday morning, when the first land is made, which is generally Statland—bluff, wild, precipitous, and if not almost uninhabited, at all events very sparsely populated. Having made this point, the _Tasso_, altering her course, runs up the coast for Aalesund, before reaching which the number of passengers on deck increases. Passengers are always divided into two classes—the well and the unwell, or “marines.” It is surprising how strongly the marines muster at this point, and discover that they would have come up before if they had known there was anything really worth getting up for. Not a syllable do they utter about how they envied those humble people who were always asking for more roast beef, and who relished bottled stout. Neptune’s habit of rocking stops many a hearty meal, and keeps many a visitor from Norway, levelling even the great and mighty; for even the president of a learned society has been seen lying on the deck, rolled up in a blanket, with the large red letters “Scandinavia” across his vertebræ, helpless and mute, though his object in coming was to talk Norske; but the sea god denied him the luxury until he arrived at the land of Thor and Odin. Aalesund will be described afterwards.

The _Tasso_ arrives at Molde on Monday afternoon or evening, according to the run. If it is a fine evening, what a lovely sight after the permanent unbroken horizon of the last three days! On the left lies Molde; on the right, mountains, snow ranges, islands, and fjord entrances running up to Veblungsnæs, Alfernæs, and Eikesdal. Some have described Molde as a Naples; but the two places are as different as is Stockholm—sometimes called the Venice of the North—from Venice itself. Let each have praise for its individual beauty and grandeur, but no comparison can well be made.

The _Tasso_ does not come alongside; the small coasting steamers do. Boats, therefore, come out, when one soon sees what seamen these Norsemen are; and the women are as good as the men. The principal figure as well as the voice most distinctly heard is that of Jacob, the polyglot and ubiquitous porter from the hotel. Molde was once famous for an hotel kept by Herr Buck and family, whose kindly reception and unceasing attention were a pleasure to the visitor. In front of the house were honeysuckles, clustering roses, geraniums—not yet called pelargoniums at Molde—wallflowers, fuchsias, and almost every kind of flower. With such good quarters, such attention, and such natural beauty, how could any one be disappointed in Molde? Yet so it was; one’s fancy was blighted by the footmark of civilisation—modern dress had supplanted costume. The _taille de Paris_ was attempted, although it has not, up to this time, much reduced the general solidity of the Scandinavian waist. The heads of the people are much more transformed, and soon become smiling victims to the first phases of the vile taste for artificial flowers, feathers, and tawdry finery. If they only knew the dignity of simplicity and the charm of good silver ornaments handed down for generations, they would never so debase themselves.

Molde is almost entirely built of wooden houses painted white. In the lower basement the storehouses run out over the water for some distance, being built on most picturesque piles of timber, with solid galleries, affording delightful peeps seaward. This warm spot, nestling under the mountains, faces the south, and is naturally celebrated for the vigour of its vegetation and the luxuriance of every variety of floral growth, which is centred in the churchyard, where every Moldean tries to outvie his neighbour in the culture of fair flowers on the graves of those dear ones who have been called home. What a beautiful thought is this to keep before one through life—to be called home, and to look upon death as a friend, or as a schoolboy does upon his exit! Happy indeed are those who can do so! It has a soothing influence, which conduces to cheerfulness in old age; and what is cheerfulness in old age but a looming of the immortality of the soul, as the outer case begins to fade away?

This lovely spot has been selected as the best locality for an establishment to solace the poor victims of that terrible scourge of the North—leprosy. White as a leper, and shining as Gehazi, Elijah’s servant—that is the aspect of Eastern leprosy. Not so in the North. The features of the Northern leper become purple and hard, and the feet swollen and fearfully disfigured. It is brought on by the absence of vegetable diet and the constant use of salt fish. The hospital is situated outside the town, on the south-west side, and is coloured yellow.

Many routes start from Molde, and much character may be noticed on board the steamers—small practical craft, with very efficient captains—good seamen and remarkably obliging—a quality most acceptable to the traveller. But this attention is only accorded to those who adopt the axiom of the late Dr. Norman Macleod, who said the best language to travel with was, “Yes, if you please,” and “No, I thank you,” whether in domestic life or _en voyage_. It would conduce greatly to home harmony if this were more generally adopted. It is a wholesome contrast to a woodcut in _Punch_ by that keen observer of human nature, John Leech, who portrayed a Transatlantic brother holding a revolver at the head of the person sitting next to him, adding only the simple words, “Pass the mustard.” To return, however, to the deck of the steamer.

The lower class in Norway chew and expectorate; the upper class smoke, and some carry pipes. Carry is the correct term, for the pipe belongs to the class impedimenta. As the map of France is divided into departments, so may be the travelling pipe of Norway. First department, the mouthpiece; next, the elastic, to ease off the roll of steamer or jostle of stranger; then a huge silver tassel, generally two; then a stem and a joint; and finally the bowl of meerschaum. What an _écume de mer_! What a responsibility to travel with such an instrument! It is quite an apparatus—worse than a _narghile_ or _chibouque_: less coil, but more tassel. The bowl of the pipe is generally surmounted by a huge silver cover in the form of a crown. Our woodcut gives a specimen of one in the possession of an officer on a tour of inspection along the coast or fjord. As he is represented with his back to the land, it is only just to mention that there was some object of interest in front of him.

One more word for the _Tasso_. Returning from Trondhjem, she generally calls at Molde. Should bad weather come on, the waiting for twenty-four or forty-eight hours in constant expectation is wearying to a degree. One hardly dare patronise the good baths of Molde, admirably arranged as they are, so unmercifully do the jelly-fish sting; but the advantages of sea-bathing are irresistible, so, in spite of being stung, we indulge in a bath while waiting for the steamer, and in the midst of it we hear the alarming whistle of the _Tasso_. Rapid exit and hurry-skurry, in which tradition says the Tentmaster-general, anxious to be first, was last, from having tried to put on his flannel shirt without towelling sufficiently beforehand. Hurried as we were, there was still a ceremony to go through, which could not be omitted without giving offence. The bath attendant is most careful in his attention to visitors, who generally give him twopence. On receiving this honorarium he observes an old custom in Norway, that of shaking hands and thanking the donor; so we all kept up the good old charter, and received his kind wishes for our safe return to England and our homes. Unquestionably we carried with us delightful recollections of the kindness of the people, and especially of the _bönder_ folk—many souvenirs to remind us of localities visited, and very deep impressions of the charm of their simple life, undisturbed, as it seemed, by those little envyings, strivings, emulations, and jealousies which, like mosquitoes, sting and irritate, to the misery of their unhappy victims.

Surely the man who loves God, worships Him through nature, and traces his majesty in creation, would enjoy the spot depicted in the woodcut, where the village of Veblungsnæs is shown close to the edge of the fjord, backed by the snow range. What a neighbourhood to have round one! And what a contrast to the idea conveyed by the same word in modern acceptation! Here the sea-water of the fjord washes the edges of the hamlet, in many parts bluffly repelled by huge and mighty façades of rocks; there a ravine terminates in a waterfall into the sea itself. Valleys branch off in all directions, excursions are numerous, and many new ones still remain unexplored. The high fjeld is easy of access from Veblungsnæs, and real bear valleys are near, where Bruin exists and has met with his death at the hands of our countrymen. Natives have offered to go on the terms of “no bear, no pay.” This betokens an amount of practical confidence which is a prominent feature in all bargains between Scandinavians and our folk. Bruin is still a terror in some parts, and especially to the _sæter_ people, or _piger_. For instance, near Isterdal the following circumstance occurred to a friend:—Scene, lonely _sæter_. English traveller approaching. _Pige_ appears at window imploring help and beseeching traveller’s assistance. A bear has been down, and killed a cow. The _pige_ positively dare not come out until the Englishman shoots the bear that killed the cow that frightened the _pige_. Now comes the sad finale. The dead cow could not be found, neither could the bear; and even had the latter been discovered, the traveller had no rifle to shoot him with. Still there can be no doubt of there being many yet left to be laid low by our enthusiastic fellow-hunters in days to come. Veblungsnæs is hardly appreciated by travellers, who are generally so bent on rushing forward to the well-known comforts of Aak, that they are blind to the beauty _en route_. Perhaps an innate longing to get away from villages makes them anxious to dive at once to the more placid and less populated parts. This place is generally reached by those who come from Molde by steamer, in which case the entrance to the Romsdal fjord is a grand subject, affording the most magnificent mountain and sea-scape combined. Happier far is the traveller who goes in a small sailing boat, with a good south-wester behind him, a tight sheet, and the water hissing away all round her, thrown off from her bows and rushing from her stern, as the crew lie down singing good Norske songs, some of which are as long as Gaelic ones; and that is saying a good deal.

Veblungsnæs is close to the mouth of the Rauma, which rises in Lesje Vand, and after forcing its way through rocks and every kind of obstruction, finally finishes its course among peaceful sand plains. The village can boast of many good things. First, the church, or _kirke_, then the post-office, telegraph office, station for carrioles, a compulsory school, a baker of white bread, _præstegaard_, and a pier, to say nothing of the store or shop. Having made a bouquet of these charms, let us refer to them _seriatim_.

The church is the old wooden structure from Gryten which was buried in the sand, and stood, as shown by the spire on the right hand side of the illustration, looking from Næss. It was moved about fifty years ago, and at that time was painted red, having only of late years assumed the more sombre hue which now characterizes its roof and spire—namely, black. The interior is plain fir; the pulpit is high up over the altar, and of a general light blue tone; while on the right side, on the ground, is the bishop’s stall, panelled up to the galleries, which go round the church. The candelabrum that hangs in the centre from the ceiling is very elegant in design, and made of pinchbeck; it is dated 1770. The silver candlesticks on the altar, one on each side, are large and massive; these are lighted three times a year—Christmas, Easter, and at the end of the forty days. The first priest appointed to Gryten commenced his work in 1514.

Here we saw a funeral, which was largely attended, as the church is on a main road. The coffin was followed by seven _stolkjærs_ and many people, some of whom had driven on before; but there was no clergyman to officiate.

The post-office is kept in a very unofficial way. Calling one day, we found that the _post kontouress_ (who, by the way, is a very superior person) was not at home, having left her official duties to assist at four o’clock tea—_société_. The postman is picturesque, with an enormous portmanteau, with irons, chains, and such fastenings, to assist in the protection of which he carries a horn and a revolver (see p. 87). He goes from this office to Dombaas, so that sometimes, from the difference of elevation, he will sledge one part regularly, and carriole the other. Before leaving the post-office we will thank the _chef_ for all her kind attentions to us and many of our countrymen.

The telegraph office is admirable. English spoken, and every information.

The carriole station is at Herr Onsum’s, who seems to be the squire of Veblungsnæs. Here _tout est Onsum_—hotel, boats, land, and store. Every one has a good word for the member of the Storthing, Herr Onsum, and his musical and well-educated family.

The school is, throughout Norway, for all denominations, and compulsory.