BOHUSLÄN
A more weather-worn and scarred coast than Bohuslän is difficult to
find, for the waves have cut so deeply into its shore that it presents
the appearance of a huge and abnormally uneven comb with countless
jagged teeth or “Naess”, between whose steep and precipitous banks
equally innumerable and winding fjords have eaten deeply into the land.
In winter, when both sky and rock are bleakly grey and repellent, it
brings suggestions of desolateness and strife, and affords foreboding
vistas of innumerable clusters of bare rock often separated by the
narrowest of channels, which some primordial giant of fable has
scattered all along the coast to protect the mainland from the
onslaughts of tide and breakers, and so maintain the integrity of the
rugged country over which Beowulf once held sway. This forbidding coast
has, however, many compensating advantages, and if only you explore
it during the summer months with a certain amount of thoroughness it
will never fail to appeal to any one who loves wild scenery. To see
it at its best you should of course visit it when the sky is azure
blue and the waves are beating against the rocky red granite islands
of the Skärgård, encircling them with snow-white foam, while the sun
is transfiguring even their most forbidding boulder into a dream of
beauty. But even if conditions are not as favourable, you may, if you
wander a little far afield, find concealed here and there among the
fjords and skerries many enchanting valleys and little coves where
trees grow luxuriantly and which are so protected from wind and storm
that even the most exacting lover of warmth and sunshine will in summer
imagine he has been transported to a more southern clime, without
too much stretching of his imagination. Arid and grey-looking as the
greater part of the mountain landscape may be, the restful green of
pine and fir is never entirely absent; and while there is also the
cool grey of crag and peak to delight the eye, even the wildest and
most rugged mountain feature feels ever companionably close—not
immeasurably distant and unattainable as the desert.
Of all the provinces of Sweden, Bohuslän is perhaps one of the earliest
inhabited, while the entire coast is stamped with memories, memories of
Viking days when in the fjords of the coast the Sea Kings fitted out
their fleets for voyages across the North Sea, or legends concerning
the great Beowulf, King of the Western Goths, whose name is so bound up
with Bohuslän that I cannot refrain from describing his most legendary
exploit more or less fully.
For many years Bohuslän had been looted and ravaged by Grendel the sea
monster without being able to retaliate, when very unexpectedly there
arrived in the land a strange boat full of armed men whose tall and
fair leader was brought before Hrothgar, the King of the Danes (who was
then ruling Bohuslän), and asked to account for his visit.
“We are of the Goths kin,” he replied, “Hygelac’s hearth sharers; my
father is widely known; he is the high-born lord Eogtheow.” Hrothgar
recognised him as Beowulf, and bidding him warmly welcome, escorted
him to his castle. That same night, as the King was sleeping, the sea
monster crept into the palace and seizing one of the sleeping knights,
“bit him through the body, drank his blood, and tore off his flesh
in great strips”. Then he advanced towards Beowulf, and would have
treated him in similar fashion if that knight had not forestalled him
by immediately attacking. Seizing the monster with his two hands,
Beowulf tore his shoulder open with a superhuman effort, and breaking
his sinews rendered him powerless. Grendel limped away mortally wounded
and made for the cavern at the bottom of the lake which acted as
his lair, leaving a trail of blood behind him, but succumbed to his
injuries while seeking to reach the bottom of the water. Next night
his infuriated mother left the cavern to avenge her son, and creeping
surreptitiously into the palace succeeded in killing one of the Danes
before Beowulf could prevent her. The sea monster then fled back to her
lair, with Beowulf following hard upon her. Reaching the lake he dived
to the bottom, and though seized by the monster as he reached it, was
able to draw his magic sword and slay his opponent. He then cut off
Grendel’s head, and returning to the surface took the trophy back to
the palace and laid it at the King’s feet. Some say that this legendary
hero is buried on a headland at Hronesnass near Gothenburg; others that
Upland was his last resting-place, while objects similar to those that
are depicted in the Beowulf Anglo-Saxon epic are shown to this day in
both places purporting to have been discovered in the near vicinity.
We should be too obviously departing from the legitimate scope of this
volume were we to enter upon any detailed account of the many other
legends which deal with Beowulf and his exploits. They are legion. It
must suffice to say that the student of folklore and mythology will
find in Bohuslän an almost inexhaustible fund of old legends at his
disposal, as well as an unusually rich store of relics from even the
earliest period of antiquity. I have been shown burial chambers and
vaults that were 4000 years old, and also inscriptions on slabs of
rocks dating from 1500 B.C. which purported to reproduce human
forms or animals, while the whole district also abounds in cairns and
grave finds of stone, bronze, and iron, many of these dating from the
Stone, Bronze, and Iron epochs, as well as numerous caverns and islands
that are popularly supposed to have been the favourite resorts of sea
monsters akin to Grendel.
As for the people of Bohuslän, they are in every respect worthy
descendants of their Viking ancestors, and while their lives are not
as equally colourful and picturesque, they are almost as constantly
exposed to danger both on land and sea. A hardy and energetic race that
turns to a seafaring life as by a natural instinct, they make ideal
sailors, deep-sea fishing with its accompanying sister industries of
salting and canning being one of their principal and most productive
occupations, while those who are not employed in fishing earn their
living quarrying granite, of which there are enormous quantities all
along the coast, and shipping it to foreign countries. This occupation,
though even more remunerative than that of herring fishing, entails
even more risks, owing to the unfortunate tendency that charges of
dynamite occasionally manifest of exploding at the wrong moment, large
blocks of stone having frequently been known to crash down on groups of
unfortunate workmen at the most unexpected moments.
While there are many pleasant excursions that can be made along the
coast of Bohuslän and among the islands of the Skärgård, there are none
which will give the visitor a more comprehensive idea of the coast in
as short a time as that which may be made by taking one of those many
small steamers that ply regularly from Gothenburg to Marstrand and
Lysekil, and then returning on the following day by the Uddevalla route.
Leaving Gothenburg, the steamer turns sharply northward, and after
passing a lighthouse enters the archipelago of the Skärgård, through
which it now proceeds to thread its way, stopping occasionally in
front of islands on which you see grouped near a landing-stage a
number of fishermen’s wooden houses, all painted red. Nothing very
distinctive about the scenery apart from its almost entire lack of
trees or vegetation, but many of the skerries are so protected from the
wind, and they evidently offer such remarkable facilities for boating,
yachting, and swimming, that you soon begin to realise the cause of
their popularity during the summer months, while the scenery and
conditions which they present are of so novel a character that you find
yourself enjoying every minute of your leisurely progress through the
channels and straits that separate them.
[Illustration: MARSTRAND]
After about two hours’ journey you arrive at Marstrand, one of the most
popular bathing resorts of the whole coast, and further meditations are
cut short by the captain’s announcement that you have barely three
hours for obtaining some food and also for seeing the town.
Marstrand is a city of great antiquity, perhaps the oldest in the
province after Kungälv (a town with which we will make acquaintance as
we proceed on our way to Stockholm by the Göta Canal route), and like
many towns that have enjoyed great prosperity, has little to suggest
its former greatness, apart from a few old seals and documents. Two
centuries ago it was one of the richest cities in Sweden, owing to its
thriving herring fishing industry, though an old writer informs us
that “the herrings suddenly began to disappear owing to the ungodly
ways of the fisherfolk, after which it rapidly declined and sank into
poverty and oblivion”. It has recovered, however, much of its former
prosperity, and in the summer months is thronged with visitors, mostly
Swedes and Swedish-Americans, who delight in its excellent boating and
yachting.
Built on a small island that is separated from another called Koön
that immediately faces it by a narrow strait, it is dominated by an
old dismantled fortress with a massive circular granite tower which
dates from the seventeenth century and affords a splendid view of the
skerries and surrounding country. As it entirely lacks even the most
conventional form of amusement, it will hardly appeal, I fancy, to
that class of tourist whose only conception of a seaside resort is
based on their experience of English or French watering-places, and
should therefore be avoided by any visitor who does not consider a
bracing air, excellent bathing, yachting, and camping-out facilities as
indispensable adjuncts to a holiday. In these respects, at any rate,
few seaside resorts excel Marstrand, which incidentally possesses the
additional inducement of a scenery that is almost unique in character,
while its hotels are comfortable and their proprietors so up-to-date
in their methods that almost before I had set foot on the island I
found myself being rushed off to a particular hostelry (the Grand) and
induced to order the most expensive and elaborate of meals. As Swedish
hotel managers all appear to possess an equally ingratiating manner, I
strongly advise people travelling with a light purse to fight shy of
any but the cheaper hotels. In justice to the particular restaurant
in which I was so dexterously inveigled I must add that, expensive as
was the bill with which I was presented, the luncheon which I consumed
was so excellently cooked as to almost justify the expenditure that
it incurred, the genial manager informing me that he had served a long
apprenticeship in France before the War, and that nowhere in Sweden
except at the Royal Hotel in Stockholm would I find a more delectable
and recherché cuisine. Judging from the many restaurants whose food I
subsequently sampled during my stay in this country, I rather fancy he
was right.
Passing on our way we then come to Lysekil, a busy little fishing town
whose herring industry ranks next to that of Marstrand in importance.
Like most Swedish cities of this part of Sweden its red-tiled houses
are nearly all built of wood, but it is picturesquely situated at the
mouth of the Gullmar Fjord and is not devoid of a certain charm, while
it is equally celebrated for the efficacy of its medicinal waters
and the excellence of its boating and bathing. Near the quays are
innumerable sailing boats specially built to accommodate parties of
twelve or more, in which one can comfortably cruise about the adjacent
fjords for the whole or part of a day at a price that is obtainable
nowhere in England, while the lover of sea-bathing will find every
facility that he can desire, not only in the octagonal wooden bathing
establishments that are to be found near the quays, but in the many
clear pools that abound among the rocks, the Swedish Mrs. Grundy being
very tolerant with regard to the costume that may be worn on these
occasions. But Lysekil possesses many other attractions, and is not
only an ideal place for fishing whether out at sea or in the fjords,
but the centre for many interesting excursions in the neighbourhood.
Over across the bay is the picturesque little village of Fiskebäckskil,
while further north is the seaside resort of Strömstad, quite near to
the Norwegian frontier, and beyond it the fortress of Frederikshald,
where Charles XII. was killed as he was attempting to invade Norway.
Near this fort, incidentally, is a small cove where this Swedish king
launched his galleys “after having had them dragged twelve English
miles across the land from Strömstad”, a feat which, according to
Emerson, was only rendered possible by the material help and advice of
Swedenborg.
The first part of the excursion being now completed, we then take
the train for Uddevalla, and after a short journey, during which the
scenery gradually loses its barren character, soon arrive at our
destination.
Delightfully situated at the foot of wooded hills and in a countryside
whose luxuriant fertility is a pleasant contrast to the barren
wildness of other parts of Bohuslän, Uddevalla is a busy little place
with a large paper-mill and other industries that was originally
founded by Dutch settlers. And like Marstrand and Lysekil, it is
thronged in summer by Swedish holiday-makers, its principal appeal,
apart from its pretty setting, lying in the splendid opportunities for
open-air life that, like other Swedish summer resorts, it is able to
offer to the visitor. Boarding the Gothenburg steamer, we then pass
through the Byfjord and begin a journey that if taken so as to include
a sunset will often present you with entrancing vistas of promontories
and rocky islands that appear to have been especially designed as
settings for the sun. And plodding our way among islands that by this
time have lost all sign of vegetation we deposit portions of our cargo
at various ports and pass countless granite boulders strewn along the
coast that, seen in a fading light, look like huge sea monsters on
whose bare backs the waves are beating in vain. Slowly the darkness
deepens, and as the sky assumes its many shifting colours the beams
from the lighthouses of Gothenburg come into view and very soon we
reach our moorings in the harbour.