CHAPTER VIII.

_MOLDE AND THE ROMSDAL._

CHRISTIANSUND—RESTING AT MOLDE—LEPROSY IN NORWAY—FIRST CARRIOLE DRIVE—STRUGGLING WITH THE NORSE LANGUAGE—WALK THROUGH THE ROMSDAL.

The “Kong Halfdan” remained part of a day at Throndhjem. We visited again the interesting old cathedral, and walking outside the city we watched in a large field the drilling of some soldiers, whose lack of discipline would have caused a Prussian to faint at the sight. The town was decorated with triumphal arches of evergreen, rows of fir and pine trees bordered the sides of the streets, festoons of bunting and flags adorned the buildings, all in honor of the king and royal family, who were expected to arrive the next day to visit the exhibition which had been formally opened that morning.

We saw nothing new nor striking at the exhibition, except the fine display of fish, and the pretty costumes of the cow girls. Each cow, on exhibition in the department devoted to live stock, had for an attendant a girl dressed in an ample skirt, bright red bodice over a white waist, a jaunty cap on her head, and silver trinkets at her throat; she ministered to the wants of the cow, bringing pails of water and armfuls of hay, stroking her sleek blanketed sides with as much pride and affection as though the cow were her child.

The crowds thronging the streets were interesting, but we were disappointed at finding so few costumes of any striking effect or beauty worn by the peasants, who had flocked in from the neighboring districts.

We went to a restaurant for supper, hoping to escape the everlasting salmon, but it was the first dish to greet us as we sat down to the table; and we gave up struggling against the inevitable and ate it with the best grace we could command.

In the evening we said good-bye to our steamer party, who left us here, and returned to the “Kong Halfdan,” as she was to sail early in the morning for Molde. At the breakfast table we found many new faces, and the familiar cabin did not seem wholly natural; the scenery, also, through which we passed during the day was very tame and uninteresting compared with that we had so recently enjoyed, and we devoted the time to arranging the details of our future journey through the country.

At Christiansund the steamer remained for several hours, and we went ashore in a rowboat. It is a town of twelve thousand inhabitants, most picturesquely built upon four islands, upon the largest of which we landed. It has steep streets running at haphazard, and leading finally to a church, and some pretty gardens and promenades upon the heights, from which there was an extended view of the hills and masses of rock; but little of the ocean could be seen.

Many of the windows of the houses were filled with potted plants in blossom; some houses four stories high, evidently divided into tenements, had every window, even to the topmost, filled with bright flowers, furnishing a pretty and a cheerful sight, and one that in our travels through Norway we often saw repeated; for the natives are very fond of flowers, and, as they will flourish but a short time out of doors, they grow them in their houses.

Many wealthy fish merchants reside here, who carry on a large trade with Spain in _Klipfisk_ (dried codfish), the preparation of and trade in which forms the chief industry of the place.

On leaving Christiansund we also left the island belt, and the remainder of the journey, until we entered the Moldefjord, was very disagreeable.

Molde is one of the most charming places in Norway, and is “well adapted for a long stay,” as Baedeker puts it. It is a trim and clean little town of less than two thousand inhabitants, situated on the fjord of its own name, facing the south, and lying at the base of high hills sheltering it from the cold north and west winds. The vegetation is luxuriant; numerous gardens were bright with roses, honeysuckle, and other flowers; and the fields brilliant with wild flowers, many of which were strangers to us.

The Grand Hotel stands upon a small promontory, a little removed from the town, commanding a lovely view of the fjord, surrounding hills, and distant mountains. It is a new structure, most comfortable in all its appointments and reasonable in its charges, and in our opinion fulfils the claim of its proprietor of being “the best hotel in Norway.” Certainly no pleasanter place than Molde could be found for a few days’ stay, where the traveller can rest and take things easy after his long sea voyage north, or his drive across country in coming from Christiania or Bergen. It is quite a central point, from which radiate several lines of steamers, and, lying directly in the line of travel north and south, its hotels in summer are well filled.

The town itself has no especial interest, though we enjoyed visiting the little shops, and looking at the queer silver rings and brooches with many pendants, and the bridal crowns of gold and silver worn by the peasant girls; we also saw interesting old coins, weapons, knives, drinking cups, and other articles, but the time has gone by when Norwegian curios and antiquities can be bought for less than a good round sum.

It is an extremely rough path by which one climbs to the Moldehei, through fields and woods, and after a rain it is like the bed of a torrent; but once upon the summit one is rewarded by a beautiful view, embracing the little town at your feet, the blue fjord dotted with islands, and a magnificent range of mountains partly covered with snow, the lofty peak of the Romsdalshorn dominating all others.

A good road extends east and west along the fjord, affording agreeable walks, especially during the long bright twilight, when the fjord reflects the dark islands and shores in its clear waters, while over distant snow-capped mountains, and hills close at hand, is the beautiful, almost unnatural, light, rendering everything ethereal and unsubstantial.

In our walks, every one greeted us with a _God Dag_ (good day) or a _God Aften_ (good evening); and if by chance we gave anything to a child he took our hand and shook it, without saying a word, as an expression of thanks; certainly a most sincere and natural way, and one that goes directly to the heart. Whoever objects to shaking hands with old and young, rich or poor, should stay away from Norway, for whenever money is paid or anything is given to a Norwegian, it is followed by a shake of the hand.

We were astonished to find at one end of Molde a hospital for lepers. Leprosy is the most terrible curse of Norway, and for the treatment of its victims five hospitals have been erected, of which the largest are at Molde and Bergen. The lepers mostly come from the fishing districts in the north, where the disease is caused by a continued fish diet and absence of fruit and vegetables. It is said that some victims when first brought to the hospital appear to be perfectly well, but as the disease advances the fingers, toes, or nose drop off, the bones in the hands and feet disappear, rendering them helpless; some become blind; the face and body are covered with spots, and the victims become white as chalk. It is a slow and torturing death by inches, as member after member decays and drops off. It is not considered contagious, and visitors are even allowed to mingle with the victims at the hospital. Being regarded as hereditary, it is hoped at least to prevent the propagation of the disease by the marriage of its victims, and whenever a person is known to be tainted with leprosy he is sent to a hospital.

From Molde we travelled up the winding Romsdalsfjord, every turn of the steamer developing new beauties of cliff and mountain scenery. The farther we advanced the narrower grew the fjord, and the nearer approached the mountains. Landing at Veblungsnaes, a little settlement at the end of the fjord, a crowd of men and boys surrounded us, all anxious to furnish a horse and carriage for a drive up the valley.

I left my friends here for a few days, and started alone on my first carriole drive. The carriole is an open, two-wheeled vehicle resembling a gig, with a small seat for one person, who drives himself; you hang your legs out at the sides of the very narrow body of the carriole, resting your feet upon braces; at the back, on a narrow cross bar, is strapped your baggage, which is necessarily limited in quantity, and upon it sits the _Skydsgut_ (post-boy), who always accompanies you and returns with the horse and carriole when you take a fresh one at the next station.

It began to rain, but donning my rubber coat (a prime necessity in Norway), and buttoning the leather boot tightly to the back of the seat keeping me warm and dry, we started on a twenty mile drive up the Romsdal. The horse was small, sure footed, and tolerably fast, the springs of the carriole rendered it an easy riding vehicle, and as the rain soon ceased it proved an enjoyable drive up the grand valley, with its steep rocky sides, and a river foaming far below the smooth and solid roadway. The boy’s English was confined to “Oh, yes!” which he fired at me in answer to every question; therefore our conversation was limited.

We stopped at a little posting station to feed the horse, and I improved the chance to take supper. I was served with a quart of cold milk, four boiled eggs, with bread, cheese, fancy crackers, and crullers, _ad libitum_, and was charged fifty öre (about thirteen cents). The long drive and mountain air had given me a good appetite, so I left very little food upon the table, and felt decidedly guilty as I thought how much the poor people must have lost on my supper, as I paid the modest charge, and received a hearty hand shake from the assembled household. A small station called Flatmark was my objective point, and we arrived there early in the evening. Paying the boy the fixed charge of so much per kilomètre (five-eighths of a mile), and a few cents extra as a fee for himself, he shook my hand and then returned with the horse.

The inn, which was only a common farm-house, was not very inviting on its exterior; no one about the place could understand a word of English, so I racked my brain trying to recall the few Norse words I knew, and at last had recourse to my phrase book; but I cast it aside in despair, for it always opened to this sentence, _Jeg har været gift og har et Barn_ (I am married, and have one child). Now, for a confirmed bachelor of many years’ standing, seeking a bed for the night, and striving to arrange for breakfast in the morning, what could be more useless than such a sentence, torturing him with the recollection of unattained connubial bliss, and if uttered, causing him to sail under false colors into the sympathies of this daughter of the midnight sun? Therefore, without going into details of my family relations or heart’s aspirations, I managed to select from the twenty Norwegian words at my command a few which, when uttered, resulted in my being conducted into a neat and plainly furnished room, from which opened two bedrooms. I placed my knapsack in one of them, and then, as it was yet early in the evening, started to walk up the valley towards Ormeim.

The rocky sides of the valley are almost perpendicular, and over them came waterfalls and cascades precipitated from rock to rock, a distance of over two thousand feet; great mountain peaks towered in the background; the river Rauma rushed o’er its rocky bed, the whole forming a most imposing scene, tempting me to prolong my walk until nearly midnight.

Returning to the farm house I found that my bed was of straw, and the bedstead about a foot shorter than myself; but the bed linen was fresh and clean, and my long walk in the clear air quickly sent me to the arms of Morpheus.

A breakfast of fresh eggs, coffee with rich cream, good wheat and rye bread, and cheese, was neatly served, and paying forty cents for my lodging and breakfast, which was received with a thankful shake of my hand, I started on my twenty mile walk down the valley to Veblungsnaes, whence I had driven the previous day. The sky was cloudless, it was a warm and sunny day, and every breath of the sweet fresh air was as exhilarating as champagne.

The Romsdal is the finest valley in Norway, and the road running through it is one of the most celebrated routes in the country. Beyond Flatmark the valley broadens into a large basin, where the road and the river wind among a bewildering collection of boulders and great masses of rock, piled up in the wildest confusion, which during the flight of time, have been brought down by tremendous landslips. One would think that a great mountain had been split up, and its fragments scattered broadcast over the valley, and it seems the realization of chaos as one walks amid this maze of boulders, among which the river threads its way, lashing them with its foam. This wild and imposing scene was followed by quiet stretches of valley, where little farm houses nestled in the midst of green fields, and the river gleamed brightly in a grassy plain.

The station inn at Horgheim was in full possession of a large excursion party from Scotland, who had arrived the previous evening at Veblungsnaes, in the steamer that was taking them on a two weeks’ trip to the most accessible points in Norway.

They had swarmed up the valley that morning in a long procession of vehicles, and had halted at the little inn, where the inmates were almost distracted while trying to understand the many questions and satisfy the demands of the noisy crowd, amid the sound of bagpipes and the confusion of fifty voices talking all at once in a foreign tongue.

The rational traveller who visits a foreign country, not simply for the sake of saying he has been there, but to become acquainted with the life and customs of its inhabitants, and who finds one of its chief charms in the open-hearted, unsophisticated nature of its common people, views with dismay and sorrow its invasion by large conducted parties, whose members rush through the country like a flock of sheep, all crowding close to the leader. The simple natives are at first appalled at the sight of the noisy clamoring crowd, whose inquisitive glances and prying questions wound their honest pride and open nature, and they shrink from being made spectacles for the curious; their straightforwardness then changes into a cold, calculating nature, and they grow to consider their visitors as their reasonable prey, and in time, instead of finding a people who in a sincere unaffected manner receive you as a friend, and render your stay at an inn similar to a visit in a private house, you are met by a people who gauge all attentions by their money value, and extortion and overcharge, in modern hotels, follow the homelike cheer of the primitive inns. Happily, the greater part of the interior of Norway is yet inaccessible to large parties of Cookies and the “personally conducted,” and the unspoiled natives still minister in their simple way to intelligent, travelling, free moral agents.

Horgheim lies in the midst of the grandest scenery of the valley. The Romsdalshorn here rises with its huge pointed peak 5090 feet high, its granite sides in places as straight and smooth as if it were an immense cheese, and a knife had been used to cut off the blocks of granite, which lie piled up at its base and scattered over the valley. Opposite the Romsdalshorn are the Trolltinder, 5880 feet high, rearing their sharp-cut jagged pinnacles in such weird and fantastic forms that the name “witches’ pinnacles” has been applied to them. The deep crevices of this wall of rock are filled with snow; high up the mountain lies a crystal mass from which rise the clear-cut rocky shafts, and at times is heard the rumble and roar of the falling avalanche, as a great body of snow slides down the smooth surface of the rock, until caught in some deep depression or its course is arrested by a projecting ledge. In the narrow space between these scarred and rugged walls leaps and foams the river Rauma, adding life and animation to the grand and desolate scene. In the grandeur and abruptness of its rock formations, the Romsdal almost equals the far-famed Yosemite. The Romsdal is 235 feet above sea-level, while the Yosemite is 4060 feet; for that reason the mountains here appear much higher. The Romsdalshorn rises 1500 feet higher above its valley than does El Capitan, and in places its sides are nearly as abrupt and clean cut; but the magnificent waterfalls, and great variety of peaks and domes of the Yosemite far surpass those of the Norwegian valley in beauty and grandeur.

Back of the Romsdalshorn are still more lofty peaks; and viewed that day, when every outline of the mountain tops and sharp-cut pinnacles stood out against the blue vault of heaven, with the great Horn towering above, its seamed walls of rock destitute of every form of vegetation, with no sound to break the stillness save the rushing river and falling avalanche, it was a sublime sight.

At Aak, whence one obtains the most striking view of the mountains of the Romsdal, the little inn has been purchased by an English gentleman for a summer residence. One could not find a more charming spot, for there are also lovely views up the Isterdal, a valley lined by mountain peaks opening into the Romsdal at this point, and westward the view is closed by the village of Veblungsnaes and the fjord encircled by mountains.

The valley here becomes wider, with tracts of cultivated land, and cosy farm houses, among which winds a good road to Veblungsnaes, whose scenery and surroundings are its only attractions.

A MOUNTAIN WALK.