RETURN TO THE NORTH. ­CHRISTIANIA.

I was obliged to visit both Germany and England, before returning to spend the summer in Norway.  As neither of those countries comes within the scope of the present work, I shall spare the reader a recapitulation of my travels for six weeks after leaving Copenhagen.  Midsummer’s Day was ten days past before I was ready to resume the journey, and there was no time to be lost, if I wished to see the midnight sun from the cliffs of the North Cape.  I therefore took the most direct route, from London, by the way of Hull, whence a steamer was to sail on the 3rd of July for Christiania.

We chose one of the steamers of the English line, to our subsequent regret, as the Norwegian vessels are preferable, in most respects.  I went on board on Friday evening, and on asking for my berth, was taken into a small state-room, containing ten.  “Oh, there’s only seven gentleman goin’ in here, this time,” said the steward, noticing my look of dismay, “and then you can sleep on a sofa in the saloon, if you like it better.”  On referring to the steamer’s framed certificate, I found that she was 250 tons’ burden, and constructed to carry 171 cabin and 230 deck passengers!  The state-room for ten passengers had a single wash-basin, but I believe we had as many as four small towels, which was a source of congratulation.  “What a jolly nice boat it is!” I heard one of the English passengers exclaim.  The steward, who stood up for the dignity of the vessel, said:  “Oh, you’ll find it very pleasant; we ’ave only twenty passengers, and we once ’ad heighty-four.”

In the morning we were upon the North Sea, rolling with a short, nauseating motion, under a dismal, rainy sky.  “It always rains when you leave Hull,” said the mate, “and it always rains when you come back to it.”  I divided my time between sea sickness and Charles Reade’s novel of “Never too Late to Mend,” a cheery companion under such circumstances.  The purposed rowdyism of the man’s style shows a little too plainly, but his language is so racy and muscular, his characters so fairly and sharply drawn, that one must not be censorious.  Towards evening I remembered that it was the Fourth, and so procured a specific for sea-sickness, with which Braisted and I, sitting alone on the main hatch, in the rain, privately remembered our Fatherland.  There was on board an American sea-captain, of Norwegian birth, as I afterwards found, who would gladly have joined us.  The other passengers were three Norwegians, three fossil Englishmen, two snobbish do., and some jolly, good-natured, free-and-easy youths, bound to Norway, with dogs, guns, rods, fishing tackle, and oil-cloth overalls.

We had a fair wind and smooth sea, but the most favourable circumstances could not get more than eight knots an hour out of our steamer.  After forty-eight hours, however, the coast of Norway came in sight ­a fringe of scattered rocks, behind which rose bleak hills, enveloped in mist and rain.  Our captain, who had been running on this route some years, did not know where we were, and was for putting to sea again, but one of the Norwegian passengers offered his services as pilot and soon brought us to the fjord of Christiansand.  We first passed through a Skargaard ­archipelago, or “garden of rocks,” as it is picturesquely termed in Norsk ­and then between hills of dark-red rock, covered by a sprinkling of fir-trees, to a sheltered and tranquil harbour, upon which lay the little town.  By this time the rain came down, not in drops, but in separate threads or streams, as if the nozzle of an immense watering-pot had been held over us.  After three months of drouth, which had burned up the soil and entirely ruined the hay-crops, it was now raining for the first time in Southern Norway.  The young Englishmen bravely put on their waterproofs and set out to visit the town in the midst of the deluge; but as it contains no sight of special interest, I made up my mind that, like Constantinople, it was more attractive from without than within, and remained on board.  An amphitheatre of rugged hills surrounds the place, broken only by a charming little valley, which stretches off to the westward.

The fishermen brought us some fresh mackerel for our breakfast.  They are not more than half the size of ours, and of a brighter green along the back; their flavour, however, is delicious.  With these mackerels, four salmons, a custom-house officer, and a Norwegian parson, we set off at noon for Christiania.  The coast was visible, but at a considerable distance, all day.  Fleeting gleams of sunshine sometimes showed the broken inland ranges of mountains with jagged saw-tooth peaks shooting up here and there.  When night came there was no darkness, but a strong golden gleam, whereby one could read until after ten o’clock.  We reached the mouth of Christiania Fjord a little after midnight, and most of the passengers arose to view the scenery.  After passing the branch which leads to Drammen, the fjord contracts so as to resemble a river or one of our island-studded New England lakes.  The alternation of bare rocky islets, red-ribbed cliffs, fir-woods, grey-green birchen groves, tracts of farm land, and red-frame cottages, rendered this part of the voyage delightful, although, as the morning advanced, we saw everything through a gauzy veil of rain.  Finally, the watering-pot was turned on again, obliging even oil cloths to beat a retreat to the cabin, and so continued until we reached Christiania.

After a mild custom-house visitation, not a word being said about passports, we stepped ashore in republican Norway, and were piloted by a fellow-passenger to the Victoria Hotel, where an old friend awaited me.  He who had walked with me in the colonnades of Karnak, among the sands of Kom-Ombos, and under the palms of Philae, was there to resume our old companionship on the bleak fjelds of Norway and on the shores of the Arctic Sea.  We at once set about preparing for the journey.  First, to the banker’s who supplied me with a sufficient quantity of small money for the post-stations on the road to Drontheim; then to a seller of carrioles, of whom we procured three, at $36 apiece, to be resold to him for $24, at the expiration of two months; and then to supply ourselves with maps, posting-book, hammer, nails rope, gimlets, and other necessary helps in case of a breakdown.  The carriole (carry-all, lucus a non lucendo, because it only carries one) is the national Norwegian vehicle, and deserves special mention.  It resembles a reindeer-pulk, mounted on a pair of wheels, with long, flat, flexible ash shafts, and no springs.  The seat, much like the stern of a canoe, and rather narrow for a traveller of large basis, slopes down into a trough for the feet, with a dashboard in front.  Your single valise is strapped on a flat board behind, upon which your postillion sits.  The whole machine resembles an American sulky in appearance, except that it is springless, and nearly the whole weight is forward of the axle.  We also purchased simple and strong harness, which easily accommodates itself to any horse.

Christiania furnishes a remarkable example of the progress which Norway has made since its union with Sweden and the adoption of a free Constitution.  In its signs of growth and improvement, the city reminds one of an American town.  Its population has risen to 40,000, and though inferior to Gottenburg in its commerce, it is only surpassed by Stockholm in size.  The old log houses of which it once was built have almost entirely disappeared; the streets are broad, tolerably paved, and have ­what Stockholm cannot yet boast of ­decent side-walks.  From the little nucleus of the old town, near the water, branch off handsome new streets, where you often come suddenly from stately three-story blocks upon the rough rock and meadow land.  The broad Carl-Johansgade, leading directly to the imposing white front of the Royal Palace, upon an eminence in the rear of the city, is worthy of any European capital.  On the old market square a very handsome market hall of brick, in semi-Byzantine style, has recently been erected, and the only apparent point in which Christiania has not kept up with the times, is the want of piers for her shipping.  A railroad, about forty miles in length, is already in operation as far as Eidsvold, at the foot of the long Miosen Lake, on which steamers ply to Lillehammer, at its head, affording an outlet for the produce of the fertile Guldbrandsdal and the adjacent country.  The Norwegian Constitution is in almost all respects as free as that of any American state, and it is cheering to see what material well-being and solid progress have followed its adoption.

The environs of Christiania are remarkably beautiful.  From the quiet basin of the fjord, which vanishes between blue, interlocking islands to the southward, the land rises gradually on all sides, speckled with smiling country-seats and farm-houses, which trench less and less on the dark evergreen forests as they recede, until the latter keep their old dominion and sweep in unbroken lines to the summits of the mountains on either hand.  The ancient citadel of Aggershus, perched upon a rock, commands the approach to the city, fine old linden trees rising above its white walls and tiled roofs; beyond, over the trees of the palace park, in which stand the new Museum and University, towers the long palace-front, behind which commences a range of villas and gardens, stretching westward around a deep bight of the fjord, until they reach the new palace of Oscar-hall, on a peninsula facing the city.  As we floated over the glassy water, in a skiff, on the afternoon following our arrival, watching the scattered sun-gleams move across the lovely panorama, we found it difficult to believe that we were in the latitude of Greenland.  The dark, rich green of the foliage, the balmy odours which filled the air, the deep blue of the distant hills and islands, and the soft, warm colors of the houses, all belonged to the south.  Only the air, fresh without being cold, elastic, and exciting, not a delicious opiate, was wholly northern, and when I took a swim under the castle walls, I found that the water was northern too.  It was the height of summer, and the showers of roses in the gardens, the strawberries and cherries in the market, show that the summer’s best gifts are still enjoyed here.

The English were off the next day with their dogs, guns, fishing tackle, waterproofs, clay pipes, and native language, except one, who became home-sick and went back in the next steamer.  We also prepared to set out for Ringerike, the ancient dominion of King Ring, on our way to the Dovre-fjeld and Drontheim.