CHAPTER IX
BERGEN AND CHRISTIANIA
Christiania, Norway,
September 5, 191—
My dear Cynthia:
Last Tuesday I left Aalesund by steamer for Bergen, where I arrived early the following morning. Like practically all of the larger towns of Norway, Bergen is situated upon a fiord and has a very attractive approach from the water. It is the place which is said to have thirteen months of rain per year; and I believe that it deserves the reputation, for did the year contain thirteen months, the Bergen weather clerk would certainly deluge them all. Rain was pouring down when I arrived; it drizzled or poured throughout my stay; and was tapping drearily against the car windows when I departed.
As the Bergen market is particularly famous, I was anxious to see it, and lost no time after my arrival in going there. A great variety of things were being bought and sold:—fruit and flowers—potted and cut—vegetables, dishes, carved trinkets, brushes, brooms; but especially fish; Bergen specializes upon fish. There were dozens and dozens of different kinds of fish; some alive and swimming about in tanks, others dead and sliced. Most of the sellers were from the country and had their goods in hand carts or baskets. The women were kerchiefed and in many cases sat upon small camp stools knitting while waiting for customers. The purchasers were, obviously, mostly town dwellers. Many of them went off with a parcel of “smelly” fish in one hand and a fragrant posy in the other. One chin-whiskered old Norseman strolled off carrying a long fish by the jaws without any wrapping. It was very interesting to watch the bargaining there in the rain. For these people did not mind ordinary rain any more than ducks. When it poured down, the mere onlookers took shelter in neighboring doorways; but the people who had negotiations under way stubbornly stood their ground.
From the market place I went to Haakon’s Hall. This is a restoration and is the lineal descendant of a building erected for festive purposes by King Haakon Haakonson in the thirteenth century, in the days of Norway’s early period of independence. The original hall was soon destroyed by fire, and various new buildings subsequently came to an end in a similar manner; but restorations were always made. The original purpose of the structure was lost sight of, however, and at the close of the seventeenth century Haakon’s banqueting hall had been reduced to the function of a storehouse for grain. Later it became a military prison; and then was elevated to the dignity of a chapel for military prisoners. Finally it reached the nineteenth century—the century of restoration—with a fair fraction of the mediæval architecture still intact; and a little over forty years ago the latest restoration was made. The structure is in the English-Gothic style which characterized it during the Middle Ages. Architecturally it is the only building of its class in the North.
I am very fond of the old Norse sagas, many scenes of which are laid in the ancient banqueting halls, and, consequently, looked forward with pleasure to seeing Haakon’s Hall, though even the original building was constructed after saga days. The vestibule with its ribbed vaulting, at the base of which projected, at right angles to the walls, fish heads in dark carved oak, did much towards exciting my desire to see the main room. Imagine, then, my disappointment upon learning when I reached the hall that it was temporarily closed for repairs. But I did see it after all—or part of it. As I was going down the stairs I met two English women who had been disappointed like myself; and at the bottom of the stairs was a gentleman who formed the third in the party. The gentleman, as I soon found, had explored to great advantage after being turned away from the front door. And I profited by his explorations. “If you want to see the interior of the hall,” said he, “cross that large room on this floor, turn up the stairway to your right, and peek though the keyhole which you will find at the top.” I did as directed, and for the first time in my life realized the possibilities of keyholes as satisfiers of curiosity,—legitimate and otherwise. The keyhole was in a door of the banqueting hall and, like all ancient keyholes, was good and large. Through it I gained a view of the finely vaulted ceiling, the high, dim windows, the guest benches around the walls decorated with massive hand carvings, the dais upon which the seat of the king had stood.
When, in ancient times, the place was the scene of banquets the walls were hung with armor and weapons and with tapestries illustrating the old Norse hero tales; the seats of honor around the walls were occupied by the most distinguished guests; the king sat upon his high seat upon the dais. When the meal was to be served, tables were brought, the white cloth was spread, and upon it were placed in abundance the delicacies of the North—including “clotted milk.” Imagine those doughty old warrior candidates for Valhalla sitting down to partake of anything so meek and mild as clabber milk! But so the sagas tell us they did; and clabber milk, slightly sweetened and spiced, is a favorite dish among Scandinavians even unto the present day. Such feasts also included ample supplies of fish, flesh and fowl. And mead, and wine and ale, dispensed by the hands of the fair hostess and her ladies, flowed mightily.
In the saga period and before it the Scandinavian banquet hall was really very similar to the restoration from the time of Haakon Haakonson. The chief difference was that instead of the great fireplaces along the side walls, which appear in Haakon’s Hall, the fire was simply built on hearths down the middle of the room and the smoke escaped as best it could through a hole above in the roof. Sometimes, when overpowered by the charm of the old sagas, I foolishly look back with wistfulness to those “brave days of old”; but I soon remember the smoky rooms and the flowing drinking horn and then I thank my Stars and Stripes that I am a modern.
Rosenkrantz Tower (Right) and Haakon’s Hall (Left), Bergen
Norwegian Mountain Homes
The same King Haakon who built the hall also built the original tower to which at present the name of Rosenkrantz is given. From the square, battlemented top, I obtained a fine view of the city and its environs, and also of the broad wall with soldiers on guard, which connects the tower with Haakon’s Hall. In one of the most innocent-looking walls in the tower the guard showed me a secret door which opened into a secret staircase. Such a staircase in the “brave days of old” occasionally came in handy in enabling one to reach an underground passage and make good one’s escape from one’s warrior neighbors. Beneath the tower is a semi-circular dungeon where these neighbors were at times locked when they were caught. A light was burning in the place when I saw it but this seemed only to burn a small hole in the darkness and to make the intense quality of that darkness visible. There was no provision for light or air from the outside. Again I was grateful to have my turn at living thus late; for though we are not yet so humanitarian as to congratulate ourselves, we have surely progressed a little further toward the recognition of universal human brotherhood than the folk of the time of Haakon Haakonson.
Bergen, you perhaps remember, is the city of the great violinist, Ole Bull. In one of the public squares is a fine bronze statue of him by Stephen Sinding. He is represented as playing upon his instrument, while he stands upon a pile of rough boulders, about which splashes a real fountain. In the water at the base of the statue is a grotesque bronze water sprite which responds to the enchanting call of the violin by strains from a rustic harp. Bull spent many of his later years in the United States but he died in Bergen, where he was buried in the quaint old cemetery under the hill. The ivy-covered tomb is near the entrance. On top of the mound is a bronze urn about four feet high, bearing the simple inscription “Ole Bull 1810-1880.” When I saw it, the urn was wreathed with purple heather tied with the Norwegian national colors like our own, red, white and blue.
I left Bergen by the overland route via Finse. As I before said, it was raining—a discouraging persistent drizzle—when I took my departure. Upon entering my compartment I found a rather frail-looking man, a more frail-looking woman, and a big, fat, rosy-cheeked baby about a year old, whom the man was holding. From their conversation I soon gathered that the mother was on her way to Christiania to visit relatives, that the father was able to accompany her for but a short distance upon the way, and that he was worried lest the long journey and the care of the heavy, active baby would be too much for her. He glanced inquiringly at me several times as we neared the place at which he was to leave the train, and appeared about to speak; but he evidently weakened before my formidable appearance and his request remained unuttered. The minute I had set eyes upon the interesting-looking baby I had determined to borrow her as soon as opportunity offered, and thus pass time on the journey; but as I realized that the father could hardly read my inner thoughts, I proceeded to play with the little Augusta, in order to relieve his mind before he left the train. Greatly encouraged, the man proceeded to tell me what I already knew. I promptly said that I was going directly to Christiania and would take care of the mother and help with the baby all of the way; and that I would not leave them without seeing them safely deposited in the bosom of the Christiania relatives. The relief and gratitude of the man was tremendous. Shortly after that his station was called, so he said good-by, handed little Augusta over to me, and left the train. They had come from Stavanger, the lady told me—the part of Norway where the most interesting peasant costumes of ancient style are still worn. And Herr Larson, her husband, was a pastor there and a teacher in a Lutheran missionary training school.
For a time the road lay along an arm of a fiord, but soon we began a serious climb and presently were again among the rocky, woodsy mountains, with tumbling waterfalls. And in this setting here and there were huts with walls of unhewn stone and roofs of irregular sheets of flat rock laid on in crazy patchwork style, overlapping from the top. Farther on, we passed the timber line, when came the inevitable snow sheds and tunnels, alternating with snowy peaks and great, fantastic, jutting rocks, which in some places overhung the railroad tracks. Near the summit at Finse a peculiar vegetation caught my attention. There were great patches of bright cherry-colored grass, and other plants in bright scarlets and yellows, producing a very pleasing rainbow effect, which was especially welcome in the absence of forests. Beyond the summit, on the descent towards Christiania up among the sunny slopes of the highest mountains, we passed first the saeters, with stone roofs and stone fences, clinging like barnacles to the sheer mountain sides; next came a beautiful farming district suggesting Meraker Dal; and then we stopped at Aal, a small station about which were gathered a number of people in their Sunday clothes—for it was Sunday. The costumes were of the old national style, Fru Larson told me, and were peculiar to the region. The most characteristic garment of the women was a white fringed shawl with borders stamped in bright colors, such as I had also noticed in Dalecarlia, in Sweden. The boys’ and men’s costumes were more unique; they wore short black jackets of the “Eton” cut with a double row of silver buttons in front; a double-breasted waistcoat, also with the two rows of silver buttons; black trousers down to their very heels; and they were topped off with very large black felt hats.
Soon we followed the course of a river again, varied by many beautiful rapids and falls. On this part of the road were also numerous log houses, some weathered and gray, others spick and span in dark red paint which looked as if it had come across the boundary from Sweden. Presently sunset came, followed by twilight and darkness; but occasional lights indicated the vicinity of Norwegian country homes. A little after nine o’clock a great constellation of flickering lights ahead roused my tired traveling companion to remark that this was Christiania. Relatives were at the station to meet her, so after bidding her and little fat, sleepy Augusta good-by, I went directly to a hotel, which was just off Carl Johans Gade.
Carl Johans is decidedly the most important and beautiful street in Christiania. It is wide and clean, and is flanked by handsome buildings and shady parks. At one end, upon a slight eminence, the royal palace stands, surrounded by a fine park. I was told that the palace was open to visitors, so I decided the morning after my arrival to have a look at it; and I planned to go up to the palace on the left hand side of the street and to return on the right. On my way up I passed the building of the Norwegian Storthing, or Parliament, and the imposing National Theatre in Studenten Lund (Students’ Grove). In front of the theatre are bronze statues of Björnson and Ibsen, Norway’s two greatest dramatic writers, by Stephen Sinding. Upon a high pedestal on the hill near the palace is a monument to Niels Henrik Abel, the Norwegian mathematical prodigy, who, with flying hair and an expression of determination on his alert countenance, is represented as treading under foot two figures with ugly, distorted faces, evidently the personifications of Ignorance and Error. Abel was scarcely more than a boy when he died—only twenty-seven—but he left to his credit several mathematical discoveries of first importance.
In front of the royal palace stands a great bronze equestrian statue of Carl Johan, the first Bernadotte king of Sweden. On one side of the pedestal is the motto of the king, “The love of the people is my reward,” and on the other is the statement, “This monument was raised by the people of Norway.”
The palace is a large, plain building in classical style. The double doors were open, so I walked in and started for the stairs. I had not got very far, however, before a gilt-buttoned and barred individual ran down another staircase and stopped me with “Vaer saa god,” the versatile Scandinavian phrase which I told you about in my last letter. This time the expression was polite Norwegian for “Halt!” The palace was not open to visitors, I was informed. Suppose that the guards had been napping and that I had innocently got upstairs and interrupted King Haakon and Queen Maud at their royal breakfast! Would I have been arrested as a Russian or German spy? Or as an anarchist? I think not. Their majesties would have simply believed my explanation and would have had me escorted out in the most courteous manner possible.
Later, I learned that certain parts of the palace were open to visitors in the afternoon, when the royal family was not in residence.
After wandering for a time about the beautiful palace gardens, I returned down the right side of the Gade as I had planned. On this north side is the University of Christiania, exactly opposite the Royal Theatre, which, as I said, is in the Students’ Grove. The building is in classical style with a wing on either side, at right angles to it. The university is co-educational; women have equal opportunities with men; and both sexes wear identical students’ caps, as in the other Scandinavian universities, with a button in front, of their own national colors. In the garden back of the university are set up several large interesting rune stones. In a building at the rear of this yard I found an exhibit prepared by the Scandinavian Society for Fighting Tuberculosis. The exhibit as a whole was of the usual sort, and showed how progressive the Scandinavian lands are in their fight against the “white plague,” as well as in their struggle against unhygienic conditions in general. But there was one unusual display—that of lupus, or external tuberculosis, which generally attacks the face. Wax models represented the terrible ravages wrought by the disease, and also the remarkable healing effects of the Finsen light.
Above the Timber Line in Norway
Statue of Henrik Ibsen by Sinding
Niels Finsen, who discovered the wonderful curative effects of certain light rays, was a Danish physician born in the Faroe Islands. Though poverty-stricken and struggling against an incurable disease, he had none of his discoveries patented; he gave them all freely for the good of humanity. And when he was awarded the Nobel prize for his contribution to medical science, he donated the prize money to the Light Institute which he founded in Copenhagen. Not until his friends had made up an equivalent sum by gifts, for the benefit of the Institute, would he take back a half of the well-won prize. Dr. Finsen was one of the noblest souls of which I have any knowledge. When in Copenhagen, I noticed a peculiarly appropriate monument to him; three beautiful bronze figures were represented as extending their arms in adoration towards the sunlight. The Scandinavians do well to remember Dr. Finsen with pride and gratitude.
I told you about the fascinating handwork which I had seen in Trondhjem. On Carl Johans Gade I found an even more varied and beautiful display. It was in a shop which is subsidized by the government in order that the manual arts of the peasants shall not be lost to the world. Here were elaborately embroidered national costumes of homespun, and rugs, portières, and tapestries—beautiful in pattern and color—all woven on hand-looms. Among the tapestries were some woven after the designs of Gerhardt Munthe from the saga tales; and in the patterns were occasionally included lines from the sagas.
Christiania has a large art collection, and one which surprised me by the number of works by native artists which it contains. Munthe is well represented; his subjects are always interesting, and his colors are remarkably clear and fresh. Edvard Munch’s pictures, on the other hand, were too sensational to suit me; he is too much of an extreme impressionist, though I must acknowledge that some of his splashes are very effective. Many paintings by Christian Krogh are in the museum. They are mostly of Scandinavian sailors, and are well done, but I was disappointed in Krogh’s conception of Leif Ericsson discovering America. Leif and his men do not look sufficiently adventurous to sail uncharted seas; their faces are lacking in expression. Among the sculptures I cared most for were those of Stephen Sinding who is generally considered the leader in Norwegian plastic art. His bronzes of “A Slave Mother” and “Two People” are very fine.
You have heard of the Gokstad ship, I am sure—the Viking ship which was dug from a burial mound near Christiania in 1880. This ship is on exhibition in a shed back of the University buildings in Christiania. Naturally, I was very much interested in the thousand-year-old vessel and its contents. It is the typical sharp and narrow sea-going craft of the Viking Age, clinker-built, of oak, with seams caulked with yarn made from cow’s hair. The length is about seventy-eight feet, and the width, seventeen. When the wind was favorable, a single, large square sail was hoisted; at other times the vessel was propelled by sixteen pairs of oars. In preparation for its last service as the sepulcher of a Norse chieftain, the ship was festively adorned with a row of circular shields on either side.
It happened that the entombing took place in potter’s clay, which is plentiful near Christiania, and this acted as a perfect preservative for the whole of the vessel, except the ends, which projected above it. In the middle of the ship was the burial chamber with the bed on which the warrior was placed, clad in richly embroidered garments of silk and wool. Beside him were buried various weapons and utensils which might be of use on the voyage to Valhalla, or might prove handy after arrival. With the chieftain were also buried his pet peacock and about a half dozen dogs and a dozen horses, all of the animals undoubtedly being killed at the time of the burial, in order that their spirits might accompany that of their master to the Land of the Hereafter. This was the custom of the ancient Scandinavians.
This expensive equipment of the dead was, to be sure, a great economic waste, but it was not so regarded by the heathen Scandinavians. According to their view point, such provision as they made was merely humanitarian and decent. Only the most heartless or foolhardy would send forth their dead unequipped into the unknown; if pity or a sense of duty did not cause relatives or friends to follow the usual custom, fear of being haunted by the wronged ghost was pretty certain to force them into conformity.
In one of the cases along the walls of the exhibition shed are some of the feathers of the peacock, still showing an iridescent gleam. And in another one are the bones of the warrior, which indicate that he was a man of great size. Physicians who have studied the remains have even discovered that the man was afflicted with a disease of the bones, which may have been the cause of his death.
The Gokstad ship was of special interest to me because it was the model for the Viking which attracted attention at the Columbian exposition at Chicago. The history of the Viking is so interesting that I cannot resist the temptation to tell you about it for fear that you may have somehow missed the story. Before the exposition, when preparations for it were under way, as was quite proper, the whole world—except the land of Scandinavia—was putting tremendous emphasis upon the discovery of Columbus. Naturally, the Scandinavians were not so enthusiastic, for, as every Scandinavian school child will tell you, had not Leif Ericsson discovered America nearly five centuries before Columbus was seized with his bright idea of sailing west to reach the east? Was it the fault of these sea rovers that the world was not yet ready to appreciate their discovery? Or that they themselves did not appreciate it? Had not they discovered it just the same? Did Columbus or his age appreciate his discovery? Thus challenged the children of the Vikings; and a discussion followed.
Some of the members of the Columbian party, interested in the models of the caravels of Columbus which were to be sent to Chicago for the exposition, were so daring as to declare that the Northmen could not possibly have crossed the Atlantic in their little Viking boats; hence, they said, the saga story of Leif Ericsson’s discovery was pure humbug. This helped fix the determination of the Norwegians to “show” the anti-Viking party. For there was the Gokstad ship unearthed but a few years before. And from this vessel was modeled the Viking, exactly like this ship of the ninth century in size and pattern, except that the stern and bow were restored and finished off with a carved wooden dragon’s head and tail, splendidly gilded, after the style of the ancient Scandinavian ships. Manned with a picked crew of Norwegian sailors, the Viking was sailed and rowed over the wide Atlantic. Once the vessel was reported foundering; at times the skeptical captains of passing steamships offered to tow the Viking for the rest of the voyage; but the champions of Leif Ericsson scorned to have their vessel towed across the ocean, as were the “Columbus washtubs,” as the Viking’s crew called the models of the Columbus caravels. Their ancestors had rowed and sailed across the Atlantic in craft of the Viking build, and they proposed to sail and row there in the Viking. And after a long, weary, mediæval sort of voyage of six weeks, they arrived in triumph at New York Harbor. The Viking was propelled up the Hudson, but its captain submitted to be towed through the Erie Canal, after which it was again sailed and rowed the remainder of the distance to the Exposition City. It now stands in a shed behind the Field Columbian Museum in Jackson Park, where I saw it a couple of years ago. And its ancient prototype stands in a similar shed behind the University of Christiania. Thus ended the Norwegian lesson.
But, in itself, the Oseberg ship and its contents interested me much more than did the Gokstad vessel. The Oseberg ship was unearthed only in 1903. It, like the one from Gokstad, was discovered in a stratum of potter’s clay near Christiania. Like the Gokstad vessel, it also had been used as a sepulchral ship. The recently-discovered vessel, however, is of quite a different style; it is flat-bottomed and richly carved and was evidently intended not as a swift-sailing vessel of commerce or war, but as a pleasure barge for use on the fiords.
The Oseberg ship stands in a shed near that from Gokstad; but though the pamphlet which I bought at the door of the shed mentioned a rich treasure of contents as having been discovered in the vessel, I was disappointed not to find any of them near at hand, as were the contents of the other sepulchral vessel.
Later, I went to the Historical Museum, which has a collection from prehistoric days of the same general character as those of Denmark and Sweden, proving conclusively that Danes, Swedes and Norwegians all are brethren.
In the museum I met Professor G——, of the University of Christiania, who is the greatest living authority upon Scandinavian archæology, and had a most instructive talk with him upon various articles of special note in the prehistoric collection. When he found that I was as interested in dead heathen Scandinavians as I was in live Christian ones, Professor G—— told me that the contents of the Oseberg ship would not be ready for exhibition to the public for some time, but several men were working on them under his supervision on the top floor. Would I care to examine them? Would I? I jumped at the chance; and we climbed to the top floor.
The Oseberg find had indeed been a rich one. The wife or daughter of a Norse chieftain had been buried in the ship. With her were the remains of another woman, probably a serving maid, put to death in order that her mistress should not go forth upon the perilous way unattended. And about them were a variety of articles such as would be expected to gladden the heart of the noble lady in the Land of the Hereafter: spinning and weaving appliances, and balls of thread and wax; carved oaken chests; several beds, with down coverlets and pillows; tubs and pails and copper kettles; and even a millstone, the ghost of which was evidently intended to grind ghostly grist under the hands of the ghostly serving maid. But this distinguished Scandinavian lady had not been restricted to sea travel; in the boat had been placed a handsomely carved, four-wheeled carriage, and four sleds, also carved in elaborate pattern, two of them with grotesque heads at the four corners. The carcasses of a number of cattle as well as of horses and dogs were also buried with the vessel. The skeletons of two of the horses, all articulated and painted white and looking very spruce, were “hitched” to the ancient carved wagon. All of the horses, Professor G—— told me, were killed by being struck a blow at the base of the skull just back of the ears; and he called my attention to the broken vertebrae of the two renovated skeletons.
Many of the things found in the Oseberg ship were restored and ready for exhibition, but the process of preparation is a long one and requires much care and patience. The objects made of wood when removed from the burial mound, were in some cases badly bent, and frequently broken into bits. The ship itself, for instance, was taken out in about two thousand pieces, but each tiny piece was properly numbered; consequently perfect reconstruction was possible. The bent pieces were steamed back into shape, and then all of the woodwork had to be boiled in oil; and I do not know how many more processes they had to be put through before they were ready to be fitted together into their original shape. But upon looking at them in a casual manner one would never suspect that they were not as sound and whole as any other wooden objects that one would be likely to find in a museum.
While we are on the subjects of sepulchers, I must tell you that I went to Vor Frelser’s Cemetery this morning to see the graves of Henrik Ibsen and Björnstjerne Björnson. I am not in the habit of haunting cemeteries, but I felt moved thus to pay my respects to these two great Norwegians. There is an appropriateness in the tombs—if there ever can be an appropriateness in tombs—and they present as great a contrast as the temperaments of the two men. Björnson is buried on a sunny green slope near a tall, graceful poplar tree. No memorial stone of any kind marks the grave; it is simply a great mound completely covered with flowers brightly blooming. Ibsen rests close at hand, but in a shady corner. Within a thick hedge is a black iron fence with polished black stone pillars at the corners; and within the fence is the grave, covered by a black stone slab simply marked with the name “Henrik Ibsen.” A black iron wreath had been placed on the tomb. At the head of the grave is a tall pyramidal obelisk of polished black stone, on the front surface of which had been engraved in outline a strong, capable-looking hammer. It is a peculiarly appropriate resting place for the iron-willed poet who devoted his life to smashing false idols, to diagnosing the diseases of society.
Christiania is only about three hundred years old. But for centuries before King Christian IV of Denmark built this modern capital of Norway, its site was guarded by the fortress of Akershuus, which still stands on the southern edge of the city. Akershuus is no longer a fortress of importance, but its ancient, conglomerate stone walls, in contrast to the modern appearance of the buildings of Christiana, are sure to attract the attention. The stronghold is still used for military purposes; one part of it is a military prison, and another is an arsenal; cannon are mounted on the ramparts, which command a view of Christiania Fiord; and the soldiers of Norway are on guard at the gateways.
Visitors are shown through Akershuus every two hours, but I arrived too late for the twelve o’clock party, and shall not be able to wait for the next one as I am booked to sail at two on the King Haakon for Copenhagen. Consequently, I am sitting on the above-mentioned ramparts finishing this Christiania letter, preparatory to accounts of Danish green fields and pastures new. It is pleasant here, and the view of the fiord is lovely. I wish that the King Haakon would wait.