The Land of Thor
TextI had read somewhere, before visiting Sweden, that the Swedes are not very sociable toward strangers. Perhaps in this respect they do not produce so favorable an impression as the Germans, but my experience has been such as to give me a very pleasant idea of their social qualities. It is true they are not so demonstrative in their manners as the French, or so enthusiastic as the Germans; but I found no difficulty in becoming acquainted with them, and was invariably treated with kindness and hospitality. When a Swede manifests an interest in your behalf, it is pretty certain that he feels it. If you become acquainted with one respectable family, you have a general entree into the entire social circle. No pains are spared to render your visit agreeable; and although the demonstrations of kindness are never intrusive, you feel that they are cordial and sincere. There may be among the more polished classes a certain degree of formality which to a stranger bears the appearance of reserve; but this quickly passes away, and the pleasure is all the greater in finding that there is really very little reserve about them. With all their adhesion to forms and ceremonies, they are simple and unaffected in their manners, and have a natural repugnance to whatever is meretricious. In a word, the Swedes are an honest, straightforward, sterling people, resembling more, in certain points of character, the English than any of their Continental neighbors, though I must do them the justice to say that they rarely have so unpleasant a way of manifesting their best traits. I can readily believe that the longer they are known the better they may be liked. It is true I saw nothing of Swedish society beyond what a casual tourist can see in passing rapidly through the country, yet that little impressed me very favorably, and disposes me to rely with confidence upon what I gathered from others who have enjoyed a more extended experience.
The home sketches of Fredrika Bremer give a more thorough insight of Swedish life and manners than perhaps those of any other writer. Of late years, however, Miss Bremer does not appear to have maintained her early popularity. She is said to have written some things which have given offense and provoked severe criticism, and I was surprised to hear her productions mentioned by several of her countrymen in somewhat disparaging terms. This was a source of disappointment to me, for I had supposed she was the most popular writer in Sweden; and I could not easily forget the pleasure I had derived from the perusal of “The H – Family,” “Nina,” “The Professor,” and other of her charming delineations of domestic life. As no man is a prophet in his own valley, I suppose the same may be said of women. To this, however, Jenny Lind is an exception.
But, as usual, I find myself steering out of the channel. We were now in the great Wenern Lake, a vast sheet of water fifty miles broad by one hundred in length. The elevation of this lake is 147 feet above the sea level. Its shores are densely wooded, and it abounds in islands, many of which are inhabited and cultivated. Several rivers of considerable size empty their waters into the Wenern, among which is the Klar, a large and rapid stream having its source in the mountains of Norway, at a distance of two hundred and fifty miles to the north. Fishing and lumbering are the principal occupations of the inhabitants living on the islands and shores. All these interior waters are frozen over in winter, and communication is carried on by means of sledges. The winters are very severe; and it is said that great numbers of wolves, driven from their usual haunts by starvation, prowl along the public highways during the winter months in search of prey. Traveling parties are sometimes attacked, and it is considered dangerous for children to go from one farm-house to another. The government, however, by a system of rewards for the destruction of these vicious animals, has succeeded of late years in greatly reducing their numbers.
In speaking of the severity of Swedish winters, it may be well to state that the cold is uniform, and consequently more easily endured than if the temperature were subject to sudden variations. There is, of course, considerable difference between the northern and southern parts of the country; but, taking the average or central parts, the winters may be considered as lasting about five months. During that period the snow covers the earth, and the lakes and rivers are frozen. At Stockholm the thermometer averages in summer about 70 degrees above, and in winter 29 degrees below zero, of Fahrenheit. At Gottenburg the summers are not quite so warm and the winters not so cold. The temperature of the Norwegian coast facing the Atlantic is less rigorous than that of the Swedish coast on the Baltic, arising from the influence of the Gulf Stream, and partly from the proximity of the open sea. Even at Wammerfest, which lies within the arctic circle, the winters are comparatively mild. At Bergen it rains over two hundred days in the year, and the fjords are seldom frozen over.
Passing along the eastern shore of the Wenern, we passed a series of rocky islands, well wooded till we reached the town of Wenersberg – an important dépôt for the commerce and products of the lake. At this place a brisk trade in iron and lumber is carried on during the summer months, and the wharves present quite a lively appearance, with their shipping, and piles of lumber and merchandise. The population of Wenersberg is about 2500; the houses are neat, and the general appearance of the town is thrifty. We stopped long enough to enjoy a ramble through the streets, and take a look at the inhabitants, after which our little steamer proceeded on her way through the Wassbottom Lake. At the end of this we entered the Carls Graf, or that portion of the canal built by Charles IX., to avoid the upper falls of the Gota River. The canal is here cut through solid masses of rock, and must have been a work of great difficulty and expense.
Late in the evening we arrived at the Falls of Trolhætta.
CHAPTER XXVII.
VOYAGE TO CHRISTIANIA
I shall not stop to describe the Falls of Trolhætta. Better word-painters have so often pictured the beauties of this region that there is nothing left for an unimaginative tourist like myself.
A few hours’ travel by the river steamer brought me to Gottenburg, where, for the first time since my arrival in Europe, I really began to enjoy life. Not that Gottenburg is a very lively or fascinating place, for it abounds in abominations and smells of fish, and is inhabited by a race of men whose chief aim in life appears to be directed toward pickled herring, mackerel, and codfish. There was much in it, however, to remind me of that homeland on the Pacific for which my troubled heart was pining. A grand fair was going on. All the peasants from the surrounding country were gathered in, and I met very few of them, at the close of evening, who were not reeling drunk. Besides, they chewed tobacco – an additional sign of civilization to which I had long been unaccustomed.
At Gottenburg, in the absence of something better to do, I made up my mind to visit Norway. The steamer from Copenhagen touches on her way to Christiania. She has an unpleasant habit of waking people up in the middle of the night; and I was told that if I wanted to make sure of getting on board, I must sit up and watch for her. This is abominable in a mercantile community; but what can be expected of a people whose noblest aspirations are wrapped up in layers of dried codfish? By contract with the kellner at my hotel the difficulty was finally arranged. For the sum of two marks, Swedish currency, he agreed to notify me of the approach of the Copenhagen steamer. I thought he was doing all this solely on my account, but afterward discovered that he had made contracts at a quarter the price with about a dozen others.
It was very late in the night, or very early in the morning, when I was roused up, and duly put on board the steamer. Of the remainder of that night the least said the better. A cabinful of sea-sick passengers is not a pleasant subject of contemplation. When the light of day found its way into our dreary abode of misery, I went on deck. The weather was thick, and nothing was to be seen in any direction but a rough, chopping sea and flakes of drifting fog. A few doleful-looking tourists were searching for the land through their opera-glasses. They appeared to be sorry they ever undertook such a stormy and perilous voyage, and evidently had misgivings that they might never again see their native country. Some of them peeped over the bulwarks from time to time, with a faint hope, perhaps, of seeing something new in that direction; but from the singular noises they made, and the convulsive motions of their bodies, I had reason to suspect they were heaving some very heavy sighs at their forlorn fate. The waiters were continually running about with cups of coffee, which served to fortify the stomachs of these hardy adventurers against sea-sickness. I may here mention as a curious fact that in all my travels I have rarely met a sea-going gentleman who could be induced to acknowledge that he suffered the least inconvenience from the motion of the vessel. A headache, a fit of indigestion, the remains of a recent attack of gout, a long-standing rheumatism, a bilious colic to which he had been subject for years, a sudden and unaccountable shock of vertigo, a disorganized condition of the liver – something, in short, entirely foreign to the known and recognized laws of motion, disturbed his equilibrium, but rarely an out-and-out case of sea-sickness. That is a weakness of human nature fortunately confined to the ladies. Indeed, I don’t know what the gentler sex would do if it were not for the kindness of Providence in exempting the ruder portion of humanity from this unpleasant accompaniment of sea-life, only it unfortunately happens that the gentlemen are usually afflicted with some other dire and disabling visitation about the same time.
Toward noon the fog broke away, and we sighted the rocky headlands of the Christiania Fjord. In a few hours more we were steaming our way into this magnificent sheet of water at a dashing rate, and the decks were crowded with a gay and happy company. No more the pangs of despised love, indigestion, gout, and bilious colic disturbed the gentlemen of this lively party; no more the fair ladies of Hamburg and Copenhagen hid themselves away in their state-rooms, and called in vain to their natural protectors for assistance. The sea was smooth; the sun shot forth through the whirling rain-clouds his brightest August beams. All along the shores of the Fjord, the rocky points, jutting abruptly from the water, rose like embattled towers, crowned with a variegated covering of moss, grim and hoary with the wild winds and scathing winters of the North. Beautiful little valleys, ravines, and slopes of woodland of such rich and glittering green opened out to us on either side, as we swept past the headlands, that the vision was dazzled with the profusion and variety of the charms bestowed upon this wilderness of romantic scenery. A group of fishermen’s huts, behind a bold and jagged point of rocks – a rude lugger or fishing-smack, manned by a hardy crew of Norskmen, rough and weather-beaten as the ocean monsters of their stormy coast, gliding out of some nook among the rocky inlets – here the cozy little cottage of some well-to-do sea-captain, half fisher, half farmer, with a gang of white-headed little urchins running out over the cliffs to take a peep at the passing steamer, the frugal matron standing in the door resplendent in her red woolen petticoat and fanciful head-dress, knitting a pair of stockings, or some such token of love, for her absent lord – there, a pretty little village, with a church, a wharf, and a few store-houses, shrinking back behind the protecting wing of some huge and rugged citadel of rocks, the white cottages glittering pleasantly in the rays of the evening sun, and the smoke curling up peacefully over the surrounding foliage, and floating off till it vanished in the rich glow of the sky – all so calm, so dreamy in colors and outline that the imagination is absolutely bewildered with the varied feast of beauties: such are the characteristic features of this noble sheet of water.
The Christiania Fjord is one of the largest in Norway. Commencing at Frederickstadt on the one side and Sandesund on the other, it extends into the interior a distance of seventy or eighty miles, making one of the finest natural harbors in the world. The water is deep, and the shores are almost rock-bound. In many places the navigation is somewhat intricate, owing to the numerous rocky islands and rugged headlands; but the Norwegian pilots are thoroughly experienced in their business, and know every foot of the way as familiarly as they know their own snug little cabins perched up among the rocks.
Touching at the picturesque little town of Horten on the left, we discharged some passengers and took in others, after which we proceeded without farther incident to the town of Drobak on the right. Here the Fjord is narrow, presenting something the appearance of a river. A group of fortifications on the cliffs protects this passage. The view on leaving Drobak is inexpressibly beautiful. The Fjord widens gradually till it assumes the form of an immense lake, the shores of which rise abruptly from the water, covered with forests of pine. Moss-covered rocks, green wooded islands, and innumerable fishing-craft, give variety and animation to the scene. Range upon range of wild and rugged mountains extend back through the dim distance on either side till their vague and fanciful outlines are mingled with the clouds. Nothing can exceed the richness and beauty of the atmospheric tints. A golden glow, mingled with deep shades of purple, illuminates the sky. In the distance the snowy peaks of the vast interior ranges of mountains glisten in the evening sun. The deep green of the foliage which decks the islands and promontories of the Fjord casts its reflected hues upon the surface of the sleeping waters. In the valleys, which from time to time open out as we sweep along on our way, rich yellow fields of grain make a brilliant and striking contrast to the sombre tints of the pine forests in the rear.
It was long after sunset, but still light enough to enjoy all the beauties of the Fjord, when we saw before us the numerous and picturesque villas that adorn the neighborhood of Christiania. Passing the fine old castle of Aggershuus on the left, we rounded a point, and then came in full view of the town and harbor.
Surely there is nothing like this in the whole world, I thought, as I gazed for the first time upon this charming scene. The strange old-fashioned buildings, the castle, the palace on the hill-top, the shipping at the wharves, the gardens on every slope, the varied outlines of the neighboring cliffs and hills, covered with groves and green slopes of rich sward; every nook glimmering with beautiful villas; the whole reflected in the glowing waters that sweep through the maze of islands and headlands in every direction; can there be any thing more beautiful in all the world?
The steamer was soon hauled alongside the wharf, where a crowd of citizens was gathered to see us land. Here again was a scene characteristic of Norway. No hurry, no confusion, no shouting and clamoring for passengers, but all quiet, primitive, and good-humored. How different from a landing at New York or San Francisco! Three or four sturdy hack-drivers stood smoking their pipes, watching the proceedings with an air of philosophical indifference truly refreshing. Fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, and cousins of various parties on board, waved their handkerchiefs and nodded affectionately to their friends and relatives, but kept their enthusiasm within limits till the plank was put out, when they came on board, and kissed and hugged every body of their acquaintance in the most affectionate manner. The officers of the customs, good easy souls! also came on board, books in hand, and made a kind of examination of the baggage. It was neither severe nor formal, and I felt an absolute friendship for the chief officer on account of the jolly manner in which he looked at me, and asked me if I had any thing contraband in my little knapsack. I offered to open it, but with a wave of his hand he chalked a pass upon it and I walked ashore. For the first time in my life I here felt the inconvenience of not being persecuted by porters and hack-drivers. The few who were on hand seemed to be particular friends or relatives of parties on board, and were already engaged. I walked up the queer, grass-grown old streets, looking around in the dim twilight for a hotel; and after stumbling into half a dozen odd-looking shops and store-houses, contrived to make my way to the Hotel Victoria, said to be the best in Christiania.
As it is no part of my purpose to write a book on Christiania, I shall only say that for the next three days I rambled about enjoying all the objects of interest in this quaint northern city – the churches, the museum, the castle, the palace, the ups and downs of the streets, the market-places, wharves, and gardens, and the magic beauties of the neighborhood. There is a plainness and simplicity about the people of Christiania, a good-humor of expression, a kindliness of manner and natural politeness that impressed me very favorably. The society is said to be genial and cultivated. I have no doubt of the fact, though my stay was too short to afford an opportunity of making many acquaintances.
At the Hotel Victoria I met Ole Bull, who was on a tour through his native land. He sat near me at the table d’hôte, and I had an opportunity of noticing the changes which time has made in his appearance. The last time I had seen him was in Columbus, Ohio, in 1844. He was then in the very prime of life, slender and graceful, yet broad of shoulder and powerful of limb; with light straight hair, clear blue eyes, and a healthy Northern complexion. He is now quite altered, and I am not sure that I would have recognized him had he not been pointed out to me. In form he is much stouter, though not so erect as he was in former years. His hair is sprinkled with gray. He retains the same noble cast of features, and deep, dreamy, and genial expression of eye as of old, but his complexion is sallow, and his face is marked by lines of care. There is something sad and touching in his manner. I do not know what his misfortunes in America may have to do with his present dejected expression, but he seems to me to be a man who has met with great disappointments in life. Although I sat beside him at the table, and might have claimed acquaintance as one of his most ardent American admirers, I was deterred from speaking to him by something peculiar in his manner – not coldness, for that is not in his nature – but an apparent withdrawal from the outer world into himself. A feeling that it might be intrusive to address him kept me silent. I afterward sent him a few lines, expressing a desire to renew my early acquaintance with him; but he left town while I was absent on an excursion to the Frogner-assen, and, much to my regret, I missed seeing him.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
FROM CHRISTIANIA TO LILLEHAMMER
The population of Christiania is something over 40,000, and of late years it has become quite a place of resort for tourists on the way to the interior of Norway. The houses built since the fire of 1858, which destroyed a considerable portion of the town, are large and substantial, built of stone and covered with cement. The streets for the most part are broad and roughly paved. Very little of characteristic style is observable in the costume of the citizens. Plainness of dress, simple and primitive manners, and good nature, are the leading traits of the Norwegians. Christiania is the modern capital of Norway, and was founded by Christian IV. of Denmark, near the site of the ancient capital of Osloe, which was founded in 1058 by King Harold Hardraade. Some of the old buildings still remain in a state of good preservation; but the chief interest of the city consists in its castle, university, library, and museum of Northern antiquities. A traveler from the busy cities of America is struck with the quiet aspect of the streets, and the almost death-like silence that reigns in them after dark. In many places the sidewalks are overgrown with grass, and the houses are green with moss. Stagnation broods in the very atmosphere. Christiania is in all respects the antipodes of San Francisco. A Californian could scarcely endure an existence in such a place for six weeks. He would go stark mad from sheer inanity. Beautiful as the scenery is, and pleasantly as the time passed during my brief sojourn, it was not without a feeling of relief that I took my departure in the cars for Eidsvold.
The railway from Christiania to Eidsvold is the only one yet in operation in Norway. It was a pretty heavy undertaking, considering the rough country and the limited resources of the people; but it was finally completed, and is now considered a great feature in Norwegian civilization. Some idea may be formed of the backwardness of facilities for internal communication throughout this country when I mention the fact that beyond the distance of forty miles to Eidsvold and the Lake of Miösen, the traveler is dependent upon such vehicles as he takes with him, unless he chooses to incur the risk of procuring a conveyance at Hamar or Lillehammer. The whole country is a series of rugged mountains, narrow valleys, desolate fjelds, rivers, and fjords. There are no regular communications between one point and another on any of the public highways, and the interior districts are supplied with such commodities as they require from the sea-board solely by means of heavy wagons, sledges, boats, and such other primitive modes of transportation as the nature of the country and the season may render most available.
Like every thing else in Norway, the cars on the Eidsvold railway have rather more of a rustic than a metropolitan appearance. They are extremely simple in construction and rural in decoration; and as for the road, it may be very good compared with a trail over the Sierra Nevada Mountains, but it is absolutely frightful to travel over it by steam. Three hours is the allowance of time for forty miles. If I remember correctly, we stretched it out to four, on account of a necessary stoppage on the way, caused by the tumbling down of some rocks from an overhanging cliff. The jolting is enough to dislocate one’s vertebræ; and I had a vague feeling all the time during the trip that the locomotive would jump off the track, and dash her brains out against some of the terrible boulders of granite that stood frowning at us on either side as we worried our way along from station to station.
It was nearly dark when we came to a saw-mill by the roadside. The scenery is pretty all the way from Christiania, but not very striking till the train passes the narrow gorge in which the saw-mill is situated, where there is a tunnel of a few hundred feet that penetrates a bluff on the left. Emerging from this, we are close upon the charming little village of Eidsvold, one of the loveliest spots in this land of beauty. A few minutes more brought us to the station-house, where the railway ends. Here we found ourselves at a good hotel, picturesquely situated on the bank of the Wormen, a river flowing from the Miösen Lake.
At eleven o’clock on a fine Sunday forenoon I took my departure from Eidsvold on board one of the little lake steamers. These vessels are well managed, and not inconveniently arranged, but they are so very small that on particular occasions, when there is an unusual pressure of travelers, it is difficult to find room for a seat. Owing to the facilities afforded by the railway from Christiania, an excursion to Lillehammer is the most popular way of passing a Sunday during the summer months, and this being the height of the season, the crowd was unusually great. It also happened that two hundred soldiers, who had served out their time, were returning to their homes in the interior, so that there was no lack of company on board. If the soldiers were somewhat lively and frolicsome, it was nothing more than natural under the circumstances. A good many were intoxicated – at the idea, perhaps, of getting home once more, and their songs and merry shouts of laughter kept every body in a good humor. I am unable to account for a curious fact, which I may as well mention in this connection. Whenever the authorities of any country through which I chance to travel have occasion to send their troops from one point to another, they invariably send them upon the same boat or in the same railway train upon which I have the fortune to take passage. There must be something military in my appearance, or some natural propensity for bloodshed in my nature, that causes this affinity to exist between us, for it has happened altogether too often to be accidental. The King of Sicily, some years ago, sent a party of troops to keep me company to Palermo. Subsequently the King of Greece favored me with a large military convoy to one of the Greek islands. After that I had an independent supervision of various bodies of Turkish soldiers on board of different vessels within the Turkish dominions. Recently Napoleon III. sent down by the same train of cars, from Paris to Marseilles, about four hundred of his troops for Algiers. Being detained at Marseilles by some unforeseen circumstance, I had the pleasure of seeing these men shipped off on the first steamer. I took passage in the next. By some extraordinary fatality, for which there is no accounting, there were upward of five hundred additional troops shipped on this vessel. It was a consolation to know that a storm was brewing, and that they would soon be all sea-sick. Before we got out of the Gulf of Lyons I could have slain every man of them with a pocket-knife. It was therefore with a spirit of resignation that I saw the Norwegian soldiers come on board at Eidsvold. Fate had ordained that we should travel together, and it was no use to complain. Besides, I liked their looks. As stalwart, blue-eyed, jovial, and hearty-looking a set of fellows they were as ever I saw in any country – men of far higher intelligence and physical capacity than the average of soldiers in Continental Europe. That these were the right sort of men to fight for their country there could be no doubt. I have rarely seen finer troops any where than those of Norway.
The Miösen Lake is sixty-three miles in length, extending from Minde to Lillehammer, and varies in width from five to ten miles. The broadest part is opposite to Hamar, nearly at the centre, and not far from the island of Helgeö. The shores embrace some of the finest farming lands in Norway; and after passing Minde, the sloping hill-sides are dotted with pretty little farm-houses, and beautifully variegated with fields and orchards. In many places, so numerous are the cottages of the thrifty farmers hung in this favored region, that they resemble a continuous village, extending for many miles along the hill-sides. There is not much in the natural aspect of the country to attract the lover of bold mountain scenery. The beauties of the shores of Miösen are of a gentle and pastoral character, and become monotonous after a few hours. Near Hamar, on the right, there are the ruins of an old cathedral, burned and plundered by the Swedes in 1567.
Apart from the ordinary interest of the Miösen Lake, arising from the quiet, pastoral character of its shores, it possessed a peculiar charm to me, owing to the fact that, in 1755, when the great earthquake occurred at Lisbon, its waters rose twenty feet, and suddenly retreated. Only a few months previously I had visited the city of Lisbon, and stood upon the very spot, where, in six minutes, over sixty thousand souls had been buried beneath the ruins. I was now, so to speak, following up an earthquake.
It was late at night when we arrived at the pretty little town of Lillehammer, at the head of the lake. Leaving the steamer here, I found myself, for the first time, beyond the limits of the English language. A Norwegian with whom I had become acquainted on board the boat was kind enough to walk up town with me and show me the way to the post station, where I had some difficulty in procuring accommodations, owing to the number of recent arrivals.
The town of Lillehammer contains twelve or fifteen hundred inhabitants, whose principal industry consists in the lumber business. Immense rafts are towed down the lake every day by the returning steamers, and carried by rail from Eidsvold to Christiania. The logs are drifted down the Logen River from the interior, and cut up at Lillehammer and Eidsvold. Such as are designed for spars are dressed and stripped at the latter place. There are many other points on the lake from which supplies of timber are also transferred to Christiania, so that, between farming, fishing, and lumbering, the inhabitants of this region make out a very comfortable subsistence, and generally own the lands upon which they reside. Many of them are wealthy – for this part of the world.
Lillehammer is prettily situated on an eminence, and consists of log and frame houses, presenting much the appearance of a Western lake village in the United States. The view of the Miösen and its verdant shores is very fine from the top of the hill. It was ten o’clock at night when I arrived, although the sky was still lighted up with a purple glow from the departed sun. Something of the wonderful scenic beauties of the country were still visible. A party of French tourists, who had come to Norway to make a three days’ visit, set off at this late hour to see the torrent which breaks from the side of the mountain, about half a mile beyond the town. I was solicited to join them; but my passion for sight-seeing was rather obscured by the passion of hunger and thirst. At such times I am practical enough to prefer a good supper to the best waterfall in the world. Waterfalls can be postponed. Hunger must be promptly satisfied. Thirst makes one dry. A distant view of falling water is a poor substitute for a glass of good ale. There is no fear that any ordinary cataract will run itself out before morning.