OMNIPOTENT KRONER--THE FAMILY PARLOR AT ODNÆS--RANDS AND CHRISTIANIA
FIORDS.
At the Sanitarium we scraped acquaintance with one of the ever-friendly
English race. When he learned that we were bound to Odnæs that
afternoon through the rain, which was still pouring, he expressed
his sympathy. For he explained that it was impossible to get any
accommodations at the only hotel there. He and a party of friends had
been turned away from that house the night before, and had come on in
the dark to the Sanitarium, where they were fortunate in securing the
billiard-table--the only sleeping-place (except the floors) not then
engaged.
As there was no prospect of a relief from the pressure at any place
on the road while the severe storm lasted, we were in a quandary. But
I had unfailing faith in the power of kroner, and decided to go on.
We could not be worse off at Odnæs than at the Sanitarium, and, when
there, would be so much farther on the way to Christiania and the home
comforts of the Victoria Hotel.
If the day had been fine, the view from this watering-place in the
hills would have been magnificent. It takes in a marvelous combination
of peaks, table-lands, valley, lakes, and rivers. But none of these
objects were visible through the rain; and, after many abortive efforts
to catch glimpses of grandeur and loveliness which we had come so far
to see, we shut ourselves up in the carriage as tightly as possible,
and tried in vain to sleep.
The road to Odnæs was down-hill most of the way, and the drivers, whom
we changed twice, made good time. After five hours of imprisonment in
the carriage, relieved only by alighting at two little stations while
fresh horses were put to the pole, we reached Odnæs. The moment we
came in view of the hotel I realized how hopeless was the expectation
of obtaining any bed there. Six or eight vehicles of different kinds
were drawn up in front of the door. Others were squeezed into the small
sheds near the large stables, the stalls of which had long been filled
with horses, the later comers being tied to trees near the house.
But the most convincing evidence of an overflow was the human crowd
on the balcony, in the doorways and windows. Every pane of glass had
its peering face. There were rows of people standing on tip-toe and
looking over one another’s heads at us as our driver brought round
the carriage as near the front door as he could get. The countless
lookers-on smiled sarcastically as they saw us about to alight. That
unanimous grin suddenly decided my line of action.
The head-porter of the hotel presented himself at the door of the
carriage. He had good manners, and spoke a little English. He deeply
regretted that they could not give us anything better than a place on
the floor, without bedclothes of any kind.
“Very well,” said I, pointing to a neat little house--the only one in
sight--“perhaps they can take us in.”
“Varee soree, sir, but they been all full two day.”
In this serious emergency, I must test the virtue of kroner. I handed
one to the head-porter, and promised him three more if he would secure
a bed for us in that cottage.
“I vill try, sir,” he replied, with a slight shrug of the shoulders;
but he spoke as one not without hope.
Jumping to the front seat by the side of the driver, he ordered the
carriage on to the other house. We pulled up before it, and waited
there in the rain while the head-porter went inside to interview the
proprietor.
We knew from the exterior of the dwelling that it was private, and that
lodging and board were provided by the occupants only as a favor to
those who could not possibly be accommodated at the hotel.
In about five minutes, that seemed equal to fifteen--so acute was our
suspense--the good fellow returned beaming with smiles, and followed by
a man who looked a welcome which he could not speak.
The head-porter wore an air of mystery as he thrust his head into the
carriage and said, in a low voice: “You vill have de best room--de
parlor. Dey vill make you much attention. Don’t say noting.”
“Mum’s the word,” said I, not understanding the object of the last
remark, and not caring to ask. It was evident, from the manner of the
master of the house, that, during the last five minutes, he had been in
some way powerfully impressed with a sense of our importance; and, in
consequence, had consented to give up his parlor, which he had refused
to all previous comers. I appreciated the courtesy, knowing from books
how sacred in the eyes of all these northern races is the parlor--or
best room--of the house.
The promised reward was slipped into the hand of the diplomatic
head-porter. He smiled his thanks.
“You vill please be so goot to step out,” he then said, taking his hat
off in the rain to mark his profound respect for us.
We observed that this act had its effect on the man who stood looking
down from the piazza, for he bowed in sympathy.
I do not to this day know by what highly colored representations the
extraordinary privilege was obtained. I only know that, as if by magic,
the prohibition was removed from this almost holy room, and two single
beds--which probably were in use elsewhere by members of the family at
the time of our arrival--were brought in. The proprietor, his wife,
and three bright little girls all lent ready hands to transforming
the parlor into a comfortable sleeping-room. As not one of them could
speak any English, they only looked at us deferentially. In their eyes
we were persons of great distinction--thanks, no doubt, to the lively
imagination of our good friend from the Odnæs Hotel.
The parlor had a neat, home-woven carpet--a rare decoration in
Norwegian houses--an excess of new furniture in mahogany and
horse-hair, brightly figured window-curtains, and family photographs
hung on the papered walls. Having arrived late, we were anxious to sup
at once, and the head-porter had told them to hurry up. But they were
desirous to show their respect in preparing a supper of unimpeachable
excellence. We were, therefore, kept waiting and hungry for about
an hour; and, during this interval, the pleasant landlady and her
daughters frequently knocked at the door, and, upon being admitted,
would courtesy, and proceed to bring in more towels, or water, or
drinking-glasses, or something else supposed to be conducive to our
comfort. Among the other offerings was a vase of flowers.
The supper would have been very good for persons who could not have too
many hard-boiled eggs at once. They were the principal dish, and in
the abundance of their supply we recognized a marked compliment. For
ordinary persons probably not more than four eggs apiece would have
been served. There were about two dozen in the bowl before us, covered
by a steaming napkin to keep them warm. The only meat was ham unboiled
and thin slices of sausage, which did not commend themselves to
conservative palates. But berries and cream, the bread and butter, and,
above all, the cheese were highly relished, and the only fault with the
tea was what one finds everywhere--its weakness. We were waited on by
the little girls, looking nice with their hair done up in ribbons, and
long, snow-white aprons strapped about their shoulders. They watched
us with great curiosity, and occasionally compared notes in whispers.
Their manner indicated that they were overawed.
Meanwhile our presence in the house had caused no small stir among
other guests, who filled every available nook and corner. It may well
have surprised them to see the spacious apartment, which they had all
longed to occupy at any price, finally given up to two persons, when,
with close packing, it might have sufficed for a stag-party of ten.
We were much stared at whenever we entered and left the room; and two
Englishmen, after eying me closely awhile, tried to draw me into a
conversation about myself; but I recalled the mysterious injunction,
“Don’t say noting!” and stood on my dignity. If there was any illusion
of which we were reaping the advantage--if, for example, we had been
represented by the romancing head-porter as a princely couple traveling
_incognito_--it was not for me to assist in dispelling it.
After a good night’s rest, we sat down to more hard-boiled eggs about
six o’clock in the morning. We breakfasted thus early in order to take
the steamer down the Rands-Fiord to the point of rail connection with
Christiania. The rain had ceased, the air was temperate, and we could
see all around us signs of the approaching departure of guests so long
weather-bound at Odnæs. Most of them were going on to Sörum, over the
road we had traveled the day before. Only two or three persons from the
hotel--and none from the little cottage--were destined for the steamer.
The bill for our accommodation was presented, and proved to be
reasonable. If we had unconsciously been posing as high and mighty
personages, we were not unduly charged for it. When the family
assembled on the piazza to see us off, their manners showed how much
they appreciated the honor we had done them. May they never be made
victims of a less innocent imposition! If, to keep up the character
thrust upon me, I tipped a trifle to the daughters of the house, I hope
to be pardoned for that much complicity in the fraud.
Our guide-book said that the Rands-Fiord was only six and a half
miles long, and we had thoughtlessly supposed the miles in question
to be English. But, to be sure of it, when we got on board I asked
the captain (who spoke English fairly) what time the boat was due at
the railway-station down the fiord. Looking at his watch--which then
marked seven o’clock--he replied, “At half-past one.” “What!” said
I, in amazement, “six hours and a half for as many miles?” “Yes,” he
answered, laughing, “Norwegian miles!” One of these equals seven of
English measure.
There was some little delay in putting the carriage--the trusty
companion of our travels--on board. It had been hauled down from the
house where we passed the night, and hoisted to the upper deck of
the baby-steamer, out of the way. This done, we began the passage of
the Rands-Fiord, and found it pleasantly unexciting. It is almost a
duplicate of Lake Spirellen, save that the water has less of a current,
and the surrounding mountains are tamer. There is no apparent reason
why the one sheet of water is called a lake and the other a fiord.
They are both expansions of rivers, like the Tyri-Fiord heretofore
described, and in no sense inlets of the sea, though they may empty
into it by long and winding streams. We stopped many times on the trip
to take on or let off passengers. With only a few exceptions, the
transfer, as on Lake Spirellen, was made rapidly by small boats, which
put off for the shore as we approached a landing-place, and did the
business of shipping or unloading passengers and freight with neatness
and dispatch. These transfers, often as they occurred, were in the
nature of “incidents” of the voyage, and every person on board watched
the operation for the twentieth time with unabated interest.
The great event of the day was a dinner served at 1 P. M. in the small
cabin below deck. It was a solid meal, with varieties of meat, which
we were glad to taste again after our short deprivation of fresh beef
and mutton. Just before we reached our destination at the end of the
fiord, the sun shone out with a splendor that rejoiced all hearts. It
made the little dancing waves of the Rands-Fiord sparkle, and threw a
warm flush over the dark hills on either hand. As we looked back on the
water which had been traversed, it recalled the Tappan-Zee of the noble
Hudson River as seen from Piermont.
At the Rands-Fiord station we took rail--the carriage following by
the goods-train--for Christiania. This part of the route, though one
from which the traveler expects the least, is no less interesting than
the rides by carriage or steamer. The train passes through one of the
loveliest districts of Eastern Norway. The line skirts the west shore
of the Tyri-Fiord, affording glimpses of blue mountains not seen on
our journey along the east shore. It passes through the old towns of
Hangsund and Drammen, enabling the tourist to see occasionally from
the car-windows houses and costumes slightly different from those he
finds in the more modern and conventional Christiania. And then, with
a mighty curve, the train follows the trend of the magnificent and
properly named fiord upon which Christiania stands. The views here are
very fine. From the height above the water one can look down on the
calm expanse dotted with little islands, each one green with its patch
of woodland, or brown with its ripe rye and barley. The sails of the
pleasure-yachts and fishing-smacks gleam against the dark bosom of the
fiord; and at intervals of a few miles along the shore are towns or
villages where white houses shine from afar--proofs positive of the
industry and thrift of the Scandinavian race. One may travel thousands
of miles west and east, north and south in Norway and never behold a
fairer scene than that which made everybody on the train thrust head
out of window and gaze at it until a range of low coast-hills shut it
from view.