VOYAGE TO CHRISTIANIA.
I shall not stop to describe the Falls of Trolhaetta. 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.
[Illustration: IN NORSELAND.]
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.
[Illustration: THE STEAMER ENTERING THE FJORD.]
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.
[Illustration: COAST OF NORWAY.]
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?
[Illustration: THE ISLANDS.]
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'hote_, 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.