Fröken Nordstern and I secured rooms at the same hotel, and were up bright and early the next morning ready for a busy day. We first went to the cathedral, a fine granite building in Gothic style, which was badly damaged by the Swedes in 1814, but is now being gradually restored. The cathedral is noted for the great number of gargoyles decorating its exterior and interior—hideous, grinning, fascinating faces which peer out at one from roof, and wall, and lofty, vaulted ceiling. Far above the high altar is a colored image of Christ. It is very common to see such images in the Scandinavian Lutheran churches; they are simply one of the relics carried over from Roman Catholic days.
Both of us were much interested in the Industrial Museum, to which we went from the cathedral. Like museums in Sweden and Denmark, this one contained rooms furnished in the Norwegian styles of past centuries. There were quaint old utensils, too, hand-carved cheese tubs and painted antique smoothing boards—the remote ancestors of modern electric flatirons. The boards somewhat resemble carpenter’s planes. Round rollers, which were placed under them, evidently took some of the wrinkles out of the clothes. One room which was a real joy to my heart contained a rare display of the most exquisite Scandinavian porcelain. But I was especially attracted to the woven woolen tapestries which are copies of George Munthe’s paintings of the scenes from the sagas. The weaving stitch, as I remarked of the stitch used for hand weaving in Sweden, very much resembles that used by the Navajos in their blankets; but the work is much finer in texture and color.
My look at the artistic contents of the Industrial Museum was as near as my limited time permitted me to get to the fine arts of Trondhjem. I only recently learned that the three famous Sinding brothers, Christian, Otto, and Stephen—the musical composer, the painter, and the sculptor—were born in the ancient capital. I think, however, that most of the paintings and sculptures produced by Otto and Stephen are to be found farther south in Norway.
King Haakon and Queen Maud spend a month or two of every year at Trondhjem, living in the Residential Palace. This palace, which is said to be the largest wooden building in Europe, is painted white, with the coat-of-arms of Norway emblazoned over the doorway, and has numerous Norwegian national flags—red, with a cross of white and blue—flying from the roof. About sixty of the one hundred rooms are furnished, and we saw a large number of them. A nice old Norwegian, with a smooth-shaven face and a fringe of beard under his chin, which reminded me of the sailor in the “life buoy” soap advertisements, showed us around. He took a tremendous pride in every detail of the furnishings, and seemed to love the king and queen as much as if they were his own children.
The palace was really very plainly furnished. Some of the walls, it is true, were covered with silk brocade, which the guard lifted aside the protective hanging to display; but many were merely covered with ordinary paper. The furnishings of most of the rooms were no more elaborate or expensive than those of most middle-class houses in the United States. In the bathrooms, for instance, were plain white enameled tubs of the conventional American type. One unusually dainty and charming apartment was the Queen’s boudoir, which was furnished in pale blue. Here and there, upon the walls and about the room, were pictures of Olaf, the little crown prince, smiling and happy. The old guard called attention to these pictures of the little boy with a delightful grandfatherly air which was truly touching. Some of the pine floors were bare, and remained so, the guard said, even when the royal family was in residence. In fact, the guard appeared to take pride in the simplicity of the palace as well as in its elegance.
The ballroom was rather richly furnished. Gleaming crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling; the walls were covered with brocade; and against them were arranged chairs and sofas upholstered in crimson silk plush. At one end of the room were the seats of the king and the queen, of the same general style as the others, but larger, and embroidered with gold. When we reached the royal seats, the friendly old guard said, “Now you may be queen for a while.” So Miss North Star and I took turns at sitting in the Queen’s chair. Queen Maud would not have objected, I am sure.
In the evening, over a final cup of coffee, we discussed the sterling qualities and the widening future of the Norwegians. Then Fröken Nordstern went down to see me off on the Haakon Adelstein, which was to leave for Molde at eight o’clock. As she waved good-by from the pier, I knew that I was parting from one of the finest souls in the whole Scandinavian land. It is through the efforts of my Lady of the North Star, and others like her, that these lands of the far north are coming to be the greatest in Europe. And when true greatness—that of superiority of character and intellect—shall be made the test of national worth, instead of political power gained through commercial control and militarism, Scandinavia will come to her own. I say this, Cynthia, not as a descendant of the Scandinavians, but as an American of the Americans, born and bred—one who has had opportunity in her own land as well as in theirs to become acquainted with the Scandinavians.
The sun sank behind the mountains just as the Haakon Adelstein left its moorings. There followed a succession of glory and gray in the sky, and of wonderful blues and purples in the mountain shadows. Darkness seemed to advance slowly and reluctantly; the mystical, silvery twilight lingered long; I could read ordinary print, as I sat on deck, until past nine o’clock.
When darkness had finally closed around, I went down to the women’s salon, where I found four women and a man—all Norwegians. One of the women was a Roman Catholic nun, and one of the others was traveling with her. The two other women were mother and daughter; the young man was evidently aspiring to become the husband of the daughter. All were so frank and friendly that we were soon acquainted. Though the man was a true son of the Vikings—tall and straight and fair, with strong features—I noticed what I must call, for want of something more descriptive, an “American” expression on his face; so I was not at all surprised when he told me that he had spent several years in Washington State.
“Do you like the United States?” I asked in English.