Molde, from above the Town.
This vessel, which leaves Hull on Friday night, with her course north-east, ploughs, or rather bruises, the North Sea until Monday morning, when the first land is made, which is generally Statland—bluff, wild, precipitous, and if not almost uninhabited, at all events very sparsely populated. Having made this point, the Tasso, altering her course, runs up the coast for Aalesund, before reaching which the number of passengers on deck increases. Passengers are always divided into two classes—the well and the unwell, or “marines.” It is surprising how strongly the marines muster at this point, and discover that they would have come up before if they had known there was anything really worth getting up for. Not a syllable do they utter about how they envied those humble people who were always asking for more roast beef, and who relished bottled stout. Neptune’s habit of rocking stops many a hearty meal, and keeps many a visitor from Norway, levelling even the great and mighty; for even the president of a learned society has been seen lying on the deck, rolled up in a blanket, with the large red letters “Scandinavia” across his vertebræ, helpless and mute, though his object in coming was to talk Norske; but the sea god denied him the luxury until he arrived at the land of Thor and Odin. Aalesund will be described afterwards.
Sea Warehouse: Molde.
The Tasso arrives at Molde on Monday afternoon or evening, according to the run. If it is a fine evening, what a lovely sight after the permanent unbroken horizon of the last three days! On the left lies Molde; on the right, mountains, snow ranges, islands, and fjord entrances running up to Veblungsnæs, Alfernæs, and Eikesdal. Some have described Molde as a Naples; but the two places are as different as is Stockholm—sometimes called the Venice of the North—from Venice itself. Let each have praise for its individual beauty and grandeur, but no comparison can well be made.
The Flower Market: Molde.
The Tasso does not come alongside; the small coasting steamers do. Boats, therefore, come out, when one soon sees what seamen these Norsemen are; and the women are as good as the men. The principal figure as well as the voice most distinctly heard is that of Jacob, the polyglot and ubiquitous porter from the hotel. Molde was once famous for an hotel kept by Herr Buck and family, whose kindly reception and unceasing attention were a pleasure to the visitor. In front of the house were honeysuckles, clustering roses, geraniums—not yet called pelargoniums at Molde—wallflowers, fuchsias, and almost every kind of flower. With such good quarters, such attention, and such natural beauty, how could any one be disappointed in Molde? Yet so it was; one’s fancy was blighted by the footmark of civilisation—modern dress had supplanted costume. The taille de Paris was attempted, although it has not, up to this time, much reduced the general solidity of the Scandinavian waist. The heads of the people are much more transformed, and soon become smiling victims to the first phases of the vile taste for artificial flowers, feathers, and tawdry finery. If they only knew the dignity of simplicity and the charm of good silver ornaments handed down for generations, they would never so debase themselves.
