Another trip which Marok affords is up the valley to Grotlid, past the frozen Lake Djupvand; but still another valley, the Romsdal, which extends from Næs on the Molde Fjord to Domaas on the Dovre fjeld, and there connects with the Gudbrandsdal, leading down toward Christiania, affords such a wonderful trip that I think I must wait and tell you of that and not dull your appetite by describing inferior valleys.
But Marok needs no valleys to add to its attraction. The superb Geiranger is surely enough to bring it fame. At the opening of the long fjord, which changes its name every few miles and at its inmost extremity assumes the name Geiranger, is situated the town of Aalesund. It is a beautiful port, but its chief claim to distinction lies in the fact that it was once the home of Rolf the Walker, who, you remember, conquered Normandy and caused his proxy to kiss Charles the Simple’s foot so violently that he fell from his horse. In token of this conquest the town of Rouen has given to Aalesund a statue of Rolf.
A few miles north of Aalesund the steamers going to Molde pass a cliff called Hornelen, which towers three thousand feet in air. There is no cliff in Norway which can compare with it, and that is equivalent to saying that there is none in Europe. Formerly every tourist steamer which sailed by Hornelen fired a gun in order that the passengers might hear the echo, but this was done once too often, for on one occasion the concussion made by the firing of the gun loosened an immense amount of rock on the side of the cliff, and this came hurtling down, leaving a hole which can plainly be seen now.
Farther up the coast and not so very far from Trondhjem lies Molde, the “City of Roses.” You see, Portland, Oregon, does not have a monopoly of the name. Molde might equally well call itself the “City of Honeysuckles” or the “City of the Wild Cherry.” The town is at the head of the fjord which bears its name, and far in the distance we can just distinguish the Romsdalshorn, which we shall later see at closer range. Those skilled in mathematics say that forty-six peaks are visible from Molde, and even the mathematically untrained can count nearly that number. Prominent among the forty-six stand out King, Queen, and Bishop—you see, church and state are side by side.
The citizens of Molde are proud to relate that once the great Björnstjerne Björnson was a school teacher in their town. They may well be proud, for Björnson stands out as one of the most daring figures in Norway’s recent history. All Norwegians, and most other Europeans who take any interest in literature, are familiar with the fine, commanding face of Björnson, surrounded with its halo of white hair. No wonder he held his audiences in the hollow of his hand whenever he made public addresses. His oratory was not of the highest order, but his powerful personality compelled attention. Those who could not hear him speak can feel the thrill of his personality in his poems and stories. Some of his peasant tales, such as A Happy Boy and The Fisher Maiden, are considered the finest of their type in all literature. He wrote his first verses when he was ten years old and his genius in this line culminated in his ode called Bergliot. He was always emotional, often fiery, and generally radical in his views, so much so that his figure and his writings became the center of a whirlwind of controversy. He wrote several national dramas, such as Between the Battles and Lame Hulda, but later his genius took such a radical turn that he had the greatest difficulty in getting any manager to stage his plays. His symbolical play, Beyond Our Powers, dealing with religious themes, was either violently criticised or as violently praised, according to the personal feelings of the critic, and another, called In God’s Way, caused even more heated discussion.
Copyright by Underwood & Underwood, N. Y.
German Battleships in Norwegian Waters.
Björnson seems not to have cared how much discussion or opposition he aroused, though he never tried to arouse it simply for the sake of publicity. He was daring and defiant, and cared not a snap of his finger what this or that critic said of him. Toward the end of his life he turned more to short stories, and in all of these the violent, startling, emotional element was never lacking. In the end he won the highest literary honor by receiving in 1903 the Nobel Literary Prize. Strangely enough this apostle of radicalism preached conciliation with Sweden during the crisis of 1905, and later he went so far as to advocate Pan-Germanism, the uniting of all the peoples of Germanic origin into a single nation.
There is no more interesting character in all the north than Björnson, unless it be his compatriot, Ole Bull. He could never be called “safe.” But in spite of his occasional wildness, he is recognized by all his people as a great reformer, and Molde is justly proud of its former school teacher.