_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.