Authors: Jules Verne
"Very well, Joel. I see that you are familiar with the country, and
the route you propose is certainly a very pleasant one."
"It is also the shortest."
"But I am not at all particular about taking the shortest route,"
replied Sylvius Hogg, laughing. "I know another and even more
agreeable route that prolongs the journey only a few hours, and you,
too, are familiar with it, my boy, though you failed to mention it."
"What route do you refer to?"
"To the one that passes through Bamble."
"Through Bamble?"
"Yes, through Bamble. Don't feign ignorance. Yes, through Bamble,
where Farmer Helmboe and his daughter Siegfrid reside."
"Monsieur Sylvius!"
"Yes, and that is the route we are going to take, following the
northern shore of Lake Fol instead of the southern, but finally
reaching Kongsberg all the same."
"Yes, quite as well, and even better," answered Joel smiling.
"I must thank you in behalf of my brother, Monsieur Sylvius," said
Hulda, archly.
"And for yourself as well, for I am sure that you too will be glad to
see your friend Siegfrid."
The boat being ready, all three seated themselves upon a pile of
leaves in the stern, and the vigorous strokes of the boatsmen soon
carried the frail bark a long way from the shore.
After passing Hackenoes, a tiny hamlet of two or three houses, built
upon a rocky promontory laved by the narrow fiord into which the Maan
empties, the lake begins to widen rapidly. At first it is walled in by
tall cliffs whose real height one can estimate accurately only when a
boat passes their base, appearing no larger than some aquatic bird in
comparison; but gradually the mountains retire into the background.
The lake is dotted here and there with small islands, some absolutely
devoid of vegetation, others covered with verdure through which peep
a few fishermen's huts. Upon the lake, too, may be seen floating
countless logs not yet sold to the saw-mills in the neighborhood.
This sight led Sylvius Hogg to jestingly remark—and he certainly must
have been in a mood for jesting:
"If our lakes are the eyes of Norway, as our poets pretend, it must
be admitted that poor Norway has more than one beam in her eye, as the
Bible says."
About four o'clock the boat reached Tinoset, one of the most primitive
of hamlets. Still that mattered little, as Sylvius Hogg had no
intention of remaining there even for an hour. As he had prophesied
to Joel, a vehicle was awaiting them on the shore, for having decided
upon this journey several weeks before, he had written to Mr. Benett,
of Christiania, requesting him to provide the means of making it with
the least possible fatigue and delay, which explains the fact that a
comfortable carriage was in attendance, with its box well stocked with
eatables, thus enabling the party to dispense with the stale eggs and
sour milk with which travelers are usually regaled in the hamlets of
the Telemark.
Tinoset is situated near the end of Lake Tinn, and here the Maan
plunges majestically into the valley below, where it resumes its
former course.
The horses being already harnessed to the carriage, our friends
immediately started in the direction of Bamble. In those days this
was the only mode of travel in vogue throughout Central Norway, and
through the Telemark in particular, and perhaps modern railroads have
already caused the tourist to think with regret of the national kariol
and Mr. Benett's comfortable carriages.
It is needless to say that Joel was well acquainted with this region,
having traversed it repeatedly on his way from Dal to Bamble.
It was eight o'clock in the evening when Sylvius Hogg and his
protégées reached the latter village. They were not expected, but
Farmer Helmboe received them none the less cordially on that account.
Siegfrid tenderly embraced her friend, and the two young girls being
left alone together for a few moments, they had an opportunity to
discuss the subject that engrossed their every thought.
"Pray do not despair, my dearest Hulda," said Siegfrid; "I have not
ceased to hope, by any means. Why should you abandon all hope of
seeing your poor Ole again? We have learned, through the papers, that
search is being made for the 'Viking.' It will prove successful, I am
certain it will, and I am sure Monsieur Sylvius has not given up all
hope. Hulda, my darling, I entreat you not to despair."
Hulda's tears were her only reply, and Siegfrid pressed her friend
fondly to her heart.
Ah! what joy would have reigned in Farmer Helmboe's household if they
could but have heard of the safe return of the absent one, and have
felt that they really had a right to be happy.
"So you are going direct to Christiania?" inquired the farmer.
"Yes, Monsieur Helmboe."
"To be present at the drawing of the great lottery?"
"Certainly."
"But what good will it do now that Ole's ticket is in the hands of
that wretch, Sandgoist?"
"It was Ole's wish, and it must be respected," replied the professor.
"I hear that the usurer has found no purchaser for the ticket for
which he paid so dearly."
"I too have heard so, friend Helmboe."
"Well, I must say that it serves the rascal right. The man is a
scoundrel, professor, a scoundrel, and it serves him right."
"Yes, friend Helmboe, it does, indeed, serve him right."
Of course they had to take supper at the farm-house. Neither Siegfrid
nor her father would allow their friends to depart without accepting
the invitation, but it would not do for them to tarry too long if they
wished to make up for the time lost by coming around by the way of
Bamble, so at nine o'clock the horses were put to the carriage.
"At my next visit I will spend six hours at the table with you, if you
desire it," said Sylvius Hogg to the farmer; "but to-day I must ask
your permission to allow a cordial shake of the hand from you and the
loving kiss your charming Siegfrid will give Hulda to take the place
of the dessert."
This done they started.
In this high latitude twilight would still last several hours. The
horizon, too, is distinctly visible for a long while after sunset, the
atmosphere is so pure.
It is a beautiful and varied drive from Bamble to Kongsberg. The road
passes through Hitterdal and to the south of Lake Fol, traversing the
southern part of the Telemark, and serving as an outlet to all the
small towns and hamlets of that locality.
An hour after their departure they passed the church of Hitterdal, an
old and quaint edifice, surmounted with gables and turrets rising
one above the other, without the slightest regard to anything like
regularity of outline. The structure is of wood—walls, roofs and
turrets—and though it strongly resembles a motley collection of
pepper-boxes, it is really a venerable and venerated relic of the
Scandinavian architecture of the thirteenth century.
Night came on very gradually—one of those nights still impregnated
with a dim light which about one o'clock begins to blend with that of
early dawn.
Joel, enthroned upon the front seat, was absorbed in his reflections.
Hulda sat silent and thoughtful in the interior of the carriage. But
few words were exchanged between Sylvius Hogg and the postilion, and
these were almost invariably requests to drive faster. No other sound
was heard save the bells on the harness, the cracking of the whip,
and the rumble of wheels over the stony road. They drove on all night,
without once changing horses. It was not necessary to stop at
Listhus, a dreary station, situated in a sort of natural amphitheater,
surrounded by pine-clad mountains. They passed swiftly by Tiness,
too, a picturesque little hamlet, perched on a rocky eminence. Their
progress was rapid in spite of the rather dilapidated condition of
their vehicle, whose bolts and springs rattled and creaked dolorously,
and certainly there was no just cause of complaint against the driver,
though he was half asleep most of the time. But for all that, he urged
his horses briskly on, whipping his jaded steeds mechanically, but
usually aiming his blows at the off horse, for the near one belonged
to him, while the other was the property of a neighbor.
About five o'clock in the morning Sylvius Hogg opened his eyes,
stretched out his arms, and drank in huge draughts of the pungent odor
of the pines.
They had now reached Kongsberg. The carriage was crossing the bridge
over the Laagen, and soon it stopped in front of a house near the
church, and not far from the water-fall of the Larbrö.
"If agreeable to you, my friends," remarked Sylvius Hogg, "we will
stop here only to change horses, for it is still too early for
breakfast. I think it would be much better not to make a real halt
until we reach Drammen. There we can obtain a good meal, and so spare
Monsieur Benett's stock of provisions."
This being decided the professor and Joel treated themselves to a
tiny glass of brandy at the Hotel des Mines, and a quarter of an
hour afterward, fresh horses being in readiness, they resumed their
journey.
On leaving the city they were obliged to ascend a very steep hill.
The road was roughly hewn in the side of the mountain, and from it
the tall towers at the mouth of the silver mines of Kongsberg were
distinctly visible. Then a dense pine forest suddenly hid everything
else from sight—a pine forest through which the sun's rays never
penetrate.
The town of Hangsund furnished fresh horses for the carriage. There
our friends again found themselves on smooth level roads, frequently
obstructed by turnpike gates, where they were obliged to pay a toll of
five or six shillings. This was a fertile region, abounding in trees
that looked like weeping willows, so heavily did the branches droop
under their burden of fruit.
As they neared Drammen, which is situated upon an arm of Christiania
Bay, the country became more hilly. About noon they reached the city
with its two interminable streets, lined with gayly painted houses,
and its wharves where the countless rafts left but a meager space for
the vessels that come here to load with the products of the Northland.
The carriage paused in front of the Scandinavian Hotel. The
proprietor, a dignified-looking personage, with a long, white beard,
and a decidedly professional air, promptly appeared in the door-way of
his establishment.
With that keenness of perception that characterizes inn-keepers in
every country on the globe, he remarked:
"I should not wonder if these gentlemen and this young lady would like
breakfast."
"Yes," replied Sylvius Hogg, "but let us have it as soon as possible."
"It shall be served immediately."
The repast was soon ready, and proved a most tempting one. Mention
should especially be made of a certain fish, stuffed with a savory
herb, of which the professor partook with evident delight.
At half past one o'clock the carriage, to which fresh horses had been
harnessed, was brought to the hotel door, and our friends started down
the principal street of Drammen at a brisk trot.
As they passed a small and dingy dwelling that contrasted strongly
with the gayly painted houses around it, Joel could not repress a
sudden movement of loathing.
"There is Sandgoist?" he exclaimed.
"So that is Sandgoist," remarked Sylvius Hogg. "He certainly has a bad
face."
It was Sandgoist smoking on his door-step. Did he recognize Joel? It
is impossible to say, for the carriage passed swiftly on between the
huge piles of lumber and boards.
Next came a long stretch of level road, bordered with mountain
ash-trees, laden with coral berries, and then they entered the dense
pine forest that skirts a lovely tract of land known as Paradise
Valley.
Afterward they found themselves confronted and surrounded by a host of
small hills, each of which was crowned with a villa or farm-house.
As twilight came on, and the carriage began to descend toward the
sea through a series of verdant meadows, the bright red roofs of neat
farm-houses peeped out here and there through the trees, and soon our
travelers reached Christiania Bay, surrounded by picturesque hills,
and with its innumerable creeks, its tiny ports and wooden piers,
where the steamers and ferry-boats land.
At nine o'clock in the evening, and while it was still light, the
old carriage drove noisily into the city through the already deserted
streets.
In obedience to orders previously given by Sylvius Hogg, the vehicle
drew up in front of the Hotel du Nord. It was there that Hulda and
Joel were to stay, rooms having been engaged for them in advance.
After bidding them an affectionate good-night the professor hastened
to his own home, where his faithful servants, Kate and Fink, were
impatiently awaiting him.
Christiania, though it is the largest city in Norway, would be
considered a small town in either England or France; and were it
not for frequent fires, the place would present very much the same
appearance that it did in the eleventh century. It was really rebuilt
in 1624, by King Christian, however; and its name was then changed
from Opsolo, as it had been previously called, to Christiania, in
honor of its royal architect.
It is symmetrically laid out with broad, straight streets: and the
houses are generally of gray stone or red brick. In the center of a
fine garden stands the royal palace, known as the Oscarlot, a large
quadrangular building, devoid of beauty, though built in the Ionic
style of architecture. There are a few churches, in which the
attention of worshipers is not distracted by any marvels of art;
several municipal and government buildings, and one immense bazaar,
constructed in the form of a rotunda, and stocked with both native and
foreign goods.
There is nothing very remarkable about all this, but one thing the
traveler can certainly admire without stint, and that is the site
of the city, which is encircled by mountains so varied in shape and
aspect as to form a most superb frame for Christiania.