BROTTEM, AUNE, SLIPER, GJORA, SUNDALSOREN, ETC.
We had a splendid pony and quite a comfortable stolkjaerre from Brottem
to the next station, where we took the train to our resting-place for
the night, a well-known fishing hotel at Storen. One of the excellent
incidents of travelling in Norway is the service, which is exceedingly
well done by women. They are so quick and clean and agreeable that
they contribute to the enjoyment of one's wayfaring. The deft maids at
the Storen hotel were no exception to the rule; but the place was not
very sympathetic to us. We stayed only long enough for Nico to make
one or two pictures of spots which pleased him. Then we began a long
drive right across the country, half the distance off the main road,
having as our destination the town of Molde. We lingered for weeks
over our drive, staying for days at the various little stations which
appealed to us specially by reason of that mystic attraction some
spots have and others lack, which can neither be analysed nor
explained.
At a place called Aune we left the main route, and here the road began
to be exceedingly bad--far and away the worst we came across in
Norway. Before this we were struck with the splendid way the roads are
constructed and kept.
Our hearts were in our mouths one dusky evening as we galloped down
the narrow road cut out of the precipitous side of a mountain: seven
hundred feet below foamed and roared a torrent. We reached the valley
in safety; but I had terrible dreams about frightened or unsteady
ponies for nights afterwards.
At Aune we met two very handsome Norwegians, who were crossing the
country on foot. They were taking a holiday in this way; but many poor
students are obliged to make use of shanks' ponies for the strongest
of reasons. This slow driving during long distances becomes very
expensive, and I presume that the continual stoppages at hotels must
be an important item. I mention these good-looking people, not because
we found them very interesting, but because I was surprised all
through Norway to find so few men with any of the external qualities
of the Viking. I had imagined that the type was strongly implanted
in the Norsemen. Even in build the majority are unsatisfactory. A
careful study of statistics on the subject informed me that the
Norwegians are the tallest European race; but I can only suppose that
the average is brought up by a certain number of excessively tall men.
Also, the Norseman is inclined to become fat early in middle life. On
the whole, the middle class is not to be distinguished from the usual
type of Dutchmen and Germans with which we are familiar. The women
have been treated in a much kindlier fashion by Nature. Even those
whose features do not actually admit of their being called handsome
have such smiling frank faces that they are most pleasant to look
upon. In using womenkind so extensively in the place of man-servants
the Norwegians show wisdom and good taste.
[Illustration: COUNTRY-WOMEN SELLING BERRIES ON THE ROAD TO STOREN]
From Aune we had a terrible drive over a road in the making. The old
path was too bad to use at all; and the new road jerked us here up a
foot, there down a foot, as the various processes gone through in
levelling had been completed or not. At last we left the roadmakers
behind us, and drove for some kilometres along the old road to a
small station called Sliper, a terrible drive which by this time will,
fortunately, have ceased to be possible.
We were delighted with Sliper. At the station were two houses, the
station's and another. We stayed at the other. We had actually ordered
the horse, meaning to go on, when a beautiful Norwegian woman beckoned
to us from her doorway in the other house. She invited us to warm
ourselves while we were waiting, and gladly we climbed up the
twenty-five steps leading to her large room. The flap table was
painted bright red, as were the benches, and the few pieces of
furniture were carved and painted wood. The brilliant colours were
mellowed by time and perhaps by smoke from the wood fire, which burnt
in a round open grate in a corner. An immense cauldron was suspended
from a chain in the chimney. In it was stewing a savoury mess of
mutton and potatoes. In front sat a pale little girl, the only living
child of the beautiful hostess. The latter had the most perfect teeth
I have ever seen, and waving masses of golden hair. At either end of
the big room was a small bedchamber. One the family used, and the
other was kept for the possible guest. I believe that, as the
station house had room for us, we were quite wrong in staying with
the neighbour; but I think the station people were not very
energetic--they did not object so much as they had the right to do. In
any case, there we stayed for three days, living and eating in the big
room with mother and child. With the exception of our supper on the
first night, we had no meat. We lived contentedly on potatoes and
eggs, fruit and cream, and abominable butter. It is strange how far
the atmosphere of a place can defeat prejudices.
[Illustration: NORWEGIAN CAPTAIN]
However, soon Nico became hungry, and I finished my small stock of
literature. We took our horse and stolkjaerre, and without a boy we
followed the post on the road to Gjora. When we had driven a few
kilometres, keeping the post carriole with its bag and its horn well
in sight, we discovered that we had left the purse containing most of
our wealth behind us at Sliper. Nico drove back at the pony's best
pace. This best pace could not have been very wonderful. An eternity
seemed to be passing as I sat on a big rock, waiting for the return of
the companion and the purse. A few cows walked by me in inquisitive
procession. I effaced myself as much as possible. I am ridiculously
afraid of cows. Even the Norwegian cow, which I know theoretically to
be the gentlest of creatures, can subdue me with a look and drive me
to seek for any available hiding-place. At last I heard wheels; but
they were coming the wrong way. The two men in the cart looked at me
curiously, and drew up in front of me. One addressed me in very good
English. It appeared that the post-driver had warned the people at
Gjora station of our near arrival, and had presumably mentioned that
we had no boy. After they had allowed an hour and a half to elapse,
they were good enough to become anxious, and had come to look for us.
I explained our delay, and we all waited for Nico's appearance. At the
end of another half-hour he turned up. The horse had lain down quite
calmly and refused to go on. He had tried kindness, which was of
little use; he had waited for a passer-by who could speak the horse's
language; in course of time the beast, having enjoyed a siesta, got up
and continued his journey. Hence the delay.
[Illustration: FARM-HOUSE AND MILL AT GJORA]
All's well that ends well. When we arrived at Gjora we met with a warm
reception from our host and his family. The stove was lit in an
immense bedroom which was _en plus_ furnished with two box-like beds
of questionable shape, a small chair which was masquerading as a
wash-hand stand bearing a small jug and basin and two minute towels, a
writing-table, and many photographs of the Royal Family. Also, there
was a tame bluebottle which worried me very much. All our
blandishments were of no avail with the heartless insect. The open
windows could not persuade him to leave us, and, in the flickering
light of one candle in the large room, it was impossible to get rid of
him by foul means. Every night as we went to bed he started his low
buzzing and spoilt my temper and my sleep. Nico didn't mind it a bit.
The dining-room at Gjora was palatial. I sat in a carved armchair
upholstered in crimson velvet, and we ate from beautiful silver,
serving ourselves with sugar from the very choicest old bowl I have
ever seen. The cupboard, the sideboard, and the clock were beautifully
carved and coloured. We lived on a princely tin of corned beef. For
three days it provided us with two meals a day, and very good they
were.
Next door to the station--indeed, I believe, the house in other times
is the station--an English family were spending the summer, fishing
and walking. The English-speaking man we met on the road was the
gentleman's gillie. They regaled us physically with various edibles
from the Stores and spiritually with salmon stories, and when we left
they sped us on our way with a new stock of reading matter. The
country all round is exceedingly beautiful. The river which provided
the fishing for our compatriots winds along by the road; or rather I
should say that the road follows the course of the river for many
miles through narrow passes in the mountains which press round--many
of them snow-capped, as one may see when the veil of cloud which
envelops them lifts to allow a sight of their summits. The station is
in a cosy little hollow among these white-headed giants; and the
weather is noticeably finer, the atmosphere softer, than at the
preceding and succeeding stations.
Between Gjora and our next resting-place, Sundalsoren, we drove
through magnificent scenery. I think it will be admitted that the
Sundal is at least as beautiful as that famous valley which lies
almost parallel to it--the Romsdal. From the road one may see glaciers
and snow mountains. Here and there are notices warning the traveller
to drive fast. This is more especially for winter, when huge snow
avalanches are frequent. The road crosses from left to right of the
river. We drove over bridge after bridge, backwards and forwards,
as the river pursued its erratic course without regarding the
convenience of roadmaking mankind. We arrived at Sundalsoren at
sunset, and were enraptured with the beauty of the snow mountains.
Whether it was thus arriving in such glory, or that the place has
really a most individual charm, I cannot say; but for me Sundalsoren
is a memory entirely _couleur de rose_.
[Illustration: MOUNTAINS AND RIVER AT GJORA]
It is a small fishing village at the head of a fjord. The fishermen's
little low houses are built round the concave land, which is washed by
the waters of the fjord. On the stony beach before the cottages are
spread fishing-nets and tackle, including the bright silvered balls
which, I suppose, attract the fish. Two wooden quays stretch their
long arms into the water, and from the farthest point of them one may
get a delightful view of the village. The character of the place is
Dutch. It is almost as if a little street from Volendam had been
dumped down amid the mountains and the snows.
We were sorry to part from this charming spot when the little fjord
steamer called for us and another passenger. Slowly we steamed through
the fjord, now calling at a tiny hamlet on the left bank, now dropping
a passenger in his waiting boat on the right side; here picking up
three English fishermen, boat and all; there leaving them near their
destination rested and refreshed. The steamers that ply the
innumerable fjords are accommodating craft--none of your haughty
vessels making hard-and-fast rules as to times and places. Although
they are often punctual in their departures and arrivals, they will
slow down and pick you up in whatever part of the fjord you choose to
meet them, and put you down too if you have your boat along with you.
Also it is to be noted that the food on the smaller boats is quite as
good as one gets on the large steamers that make the journeys on what
may be called the outer coast of Norway. Indeed, the bigger vessels
are so often loaded with various strongly-smelling dried fish that the
whole atmosphere is impregnated; which must rob some passengers of any
appetite the occasional few miles of rough open sea has left or given
them.
After quitting Sundalsoren we drove through two or three good
stations, and arrived late on Saturday night at a small place which,
as it is on no map and many consultations with Bennett's have resulted
in the conclusion that we were quite off the beaten track, must be
nameless. At the time I knew the name--we had it on the bill;--but
no one seemed to be able to place it, and now I have forgotten. I have
a theory which may account for our presence there. At one of the
previous stations we had telephoned in advance for a horse and cart to
be ready, as it was very rainy and very wet and getting late. The
horse we had was very fast; the driver was a cheerful person with a
slight knowledge of English. Within a kilometre of the station, where,
I presume, an equipage was in waiting, he offered to drive us straight
on to our destination, because we had expressed great satisfaction
with the trotting of his pony. We agreed, and tore through the tiny
village built round the station in great haste, egged on, perhaps, by
a guilty conscience. Then we drove for miles and miles until at last,
at half-past ten at night, we reached the unknown little spot which I
must perforce call X.
[Illustration: A LITTLE FARM ON THE RIVERSIDE AT GJORA]
It is possible that, knowing that the expectant farmer at the avoided
station would telephone to the station on either side of him, the
driver preferred not to face them until their anger should have calmed
and he should have had time to invent some excuse. I do not know to
what extent he expected to be blamed; but I am afraid the man we
telephoned to must have been rather mad, and so I imagine that we were
driven to this quaint spot because there our sin would not find us
out. Inadvertently I left a large silver scent-bottle there, and
acknowledged the loss to be a judgment on me when I found it
impossible to find the place again.
When we arrived we went to bed. In the morning we had coffee and bread
and jam; and Nico painted. At three o'clock we were hungry, and when
at length preparations for a meal were made our appetites were
ravenous. A dear little girl waited on us--a very pretty child, with
beautiful hair. She brought on the table a few slices of thick and
very fat raw bacon and some caraway-seed bread. Hungry as we were, we
could not eat that. We tried to ask her what more there was. She left
the room, and soon came back carrying the _piece de resistance_ of our
meal--two soup plates filled with a paste made of flour and water,
such as we used to employ in the days of scrap-books. On the top of
this floated a little melted butter. With this she brought a basin of
powdered cinnamon. That was our Sunday dinner. They were such sweet
people that we feared to hurt their feelings, and Nico ate all his
plateful and half of mine. The half that was left we divided between
our plates, which then looked quite empty enough. We ate caraway-seed
bread for supper and caraway-seed bread for breakfast. With the help
of our phrase book, we gathered that they never ate meat and very
rarely had fresh fish.
[Illustration: OSTRE KANALHAVN, TRONDHJEM]
The place is situated on water which, I suppose, is a fjord, and there
are three or four houses besides the one at which we stayed. They made
us understand that they were not in any way prepared for guests, and
had some difficulty in providing us with a horse and cart. I should be
very much interested to know the name of this little place. It is
within two hours' drive of Molde, and as far as I could make out it
had scarcely ever been visited by the foreign traveller. We were
astonished to find ourselves so near to this big town, for we had
calculated that we had at least another half-day's journey to make;
which proves again that somewhere we had overstepped our mark.
Molde is the most beautifully situated town in Norway. It has a
population of 1800 souls. It is a very important port of call for all
the steamers which coast between Bergen, Trondhjem, and the North. The
town is built along the mouth of the Romsdal Fjord, and from almost
any point a view of the grand Romsdal Mountains is to be obtained. The
panorama on a clear day is gorgeous. To see the sun setting over the
fjord and its background of snow-tipped peaks is to have a vision of
fairy-like colour and beauty that takes one's breath away. All over
Norway as one passes through the valleys and the winding fjords
picture after picture are witnessed in rich succession, each seeming
more beautiful than the last; but now, as at a certain distance of
time I endeavour to recall their individual charms, I think that these
glorious evenings in Molde occupy the most pleasant place in the
memory of one of Norway's ardent admirers.
How rash thus to limit one's enthusiasm! From Molde we went by steamer
to Naes, and, after resting awhile at an hotel and eating an excellent
supper, took a miraculously comfortable stolkjaerre and had a long
drive to Horgheim in the brilliant moonlight. I wonder how many
visitors to the Romsdal have done the same? Imagine the charm of it.
The delicate jagged edges of the mountains on the right of the road
stand sharp and clear against the blueness of the sky; as the road
winds in and out the Romsdal Horn reveals or conceals herself
bathed in moonlight; innumerable waterfalls foam down from the heights
with plashing music, looking like silver streamers hung out to
decorate the beautiful way of some mystic procession. Our driver was
for the time an affinity: no longer a guide in our pay, or in that of
the hotel, taking tourists through a world-renowned stretch of
scenery, but a romantic Norseman slowly opening out to us a valley of
delight, his possession by inheritance and love.
[Illustration: THE TOWN OF MOLDE]
He told us with a smile that was not quite incredulous of the little
goblins with blue beards that, according to the peasants, haunt the
fields and fjords of these parts. There are good and bad pixies, and
much blame is laid at the door of the bad ones for any mischances that
come about. What wonder that the people are superstitious folk?
Perhaps it would be better to call them mystics. What sounds and
sights may be heard and seen in such a land! Our Norseman pointed out
a certain group among the jagged pinnacles of the rock, and told us a
legend describing how a bridal party, instead of being the happiest of
the happy, quarrelled and fought and were by magic turned in an
instant into stone. Here they stand as a warning to future bridals.
The groom and bride turn away from each other; the best man stands
for ever with a foaming tankard in his hand; near by is the well-fed
priest; apart and solitary is the figure of a disconsolate lover. Look
at them in the moonlight: you will see them all quite distinctly: soon
they will step down from their heights and mix with mortal men again.
The air is full of movement and strange sounds.
During the long way back, the wonderful person who had been appointed
to drive us entertained us with legends of the gods and Vikings. These
brave admirals of old times met with burial befitting their state and
courage. The ship which they had sailed so well through wild storms
and wilder battles was dragged ashore, and this and nothing less was
the coffin for their richly-dressed mortal remains. The souls of the
Vikings killed by the sword went straightway to Walhalla, where their
ideal of bliss was meted out to them in guerdon for their bravery. At
cockcrow all the heroes marched out and fought furiously one with
another; but at midday all the wounds were healed, and the rest of the
day was spent in banqueting with the great god Odin. Walhalla was said
to be a hall of such size that the roof could not be seen. In it was a
forest of golden trees. The walls were decorated with shields and
warlike weapons, and through each of its five hundred and forty doors
eight hundred warriors could walk abreast.
[Illustration: WOMAN SPINNING, SUNDALSOREN]
I was sleepy, and I was awed with the majesty of all we had seen; but
I wondered what sort of heaven was arranged for the wives and
daughters of the Vikings!
Some days after this moonlight drive I came across a book containing
details relating to Norwegian mythology, which may be of some
interest. Everyone knows that most of the week-days derived their
names from these Northern gods. From Ostara, the goddess of spring, we
get the name of our spring feast, Easter. Decoration with flowers and
the custom of Easter eggs are as old as Paganism; and our Christian
forefathers, to facilitate the change to the new religion, adopted
many Pagan rites and dedicated them to the service of the true God.
Odin was the father of the gods and the greatest among them. Thor was
the red-bearded god of storm. Armed with his mighty hammer Mjolnir, he
slew the powerful giants of winter--not without much difficulty,
however; for at first, overcome by sleep, Thor relaxed his vigilance,
and the wintry giants stole his hammer and buried it in the hard
earth. Awakened and conscious of his loss, Thor appealed to Freya, the
beautiful and benevolent goddess of love and spring. Her gentle
influence subdued the giants of snow and ice, and Thor, seizing his
opportunity, regained his mighty weapon, which he wielded to such
effect that the giants were killed and their fortifications broken
down.
Though the gods are usually triumphant in these old Northern sagas,
the demons on occasion gained their bad ends. It was thus in the story
of Baldur, the god of light and most beloved of all the gods. In the
full beauty of his youth he was killed by the power of Loki, the
embodiment of envy, hatred, and revenge, and incidentally the god of
fire. In the beginning Loki lived happily with the other gods; but
Odin cursed him for ever for his wickedness. It was foretold that the
loved Baldur was to be the victim of some treachery, and the gods made
efforts to prevent such a catastrophe. Frigga, who was the wife of
Odin, placed a spell upon everything, so that there might be nothing
in Nature that could hurt Baldur. On account of its insignificance,
the mistletoe was forgotten by the goddess, and of this Loki made an
instrument of destruction. Having fashioned a dart out of a branch of
the innocent shrub, Loki persuaded Hodur, the blind brother of
Baldur, to hurl the weapon at his brother in sport, the innocent child
believing that this wood, as all other, was charmed. The arrow pierced
Baldur to the heart, killing him, and causing universal mourning among
the gods. Among the demons were Skretti, who has left his name to many
a haunted rock in Norway, and Niki, who is a terrible water demon,
still dreaded by the ignorant folk in the mountains. Each year he
demands victims and carries off the children who stray within his
power. Our familiar nursery friends Jack and Jill are descendants of
Hjuki and Bil, the ebbing and flowing tides, the tumbling crests of
which, breaking one over another as the waves wash the shore, are
rather aptly described in the nursery rhyme.
[Illustration: SNOW-CAPPED MOUNTAIN AT SUNDALSOREN]
ON THE FJORDS