LETTER XV.
I left
Christiania yesterday. The weather was not very fine, and having been a
little delayed on the road, I found that it was too late to go round, a couple
of miles, to see the cascade near Fredericstadt,
which I had determined to visit. Besides, as Fredericstadt
is a fortress, it was necessary to arrive there before they shut the gate.
The road
along the river is very romantic, though the views are not grand; and the
riches of Norway, its timber, floats silently down the stream, often impeded in
its course by islands and little cataracts, the offspring, as it were, of the
great one I had frequently heard described.
I found an
excellent inn at Fredericstadt, and was gratified by
the kind attention of the hostess, who, perceiving that my clothes were wet,
took great pains procure me, as a stranger, every comfort for the night.
It had
rained very hard, and we passed the ferry in the dark without getting out of
our carriage, which I think wrong, as the horses are sometimes unruly.
Fatigue and melancholy, however, had made me regardless whether I went down or
across the stream, and I did not know that I was wet before the hostess marked
it. My imagination has never yet severed me from my griefs,
and my mind has seldom been so free as to allow my body to be delicate.
How I am
altered by disappointment! When going to Lisbon, the elasticity of my
mind was sufficient to ward off weariness, and my imagination still could dip
her brush in the rainbow of fancy, and sketch futurity in glowing colours. Now—but let me talk of something else—will
you go with me to the cascade?
The cross
road to it was rugged and dreary; and though a considerable extent of land was
cultivated on all sides, yet the rocks were entirely bare, which surprised me,
as they were more on a level with the surface than any I had yet seen. On
inquiry, however, I learnt that some years since a forest had been burnt.
This appearance of desolation was beyond measure gloomy, inspiring emotions
that sterility had never produced. Fires of this kind are occasioned by
the wind suddenly rising when the farmers are burning roots of trees, stalks of
beans, &c, with which they manure the ground. The devastation must,
indeed, be terrible, when this, literally speaking, wildfire, runs along the forest,
flying from top to top, and crackling amongst the branches. The soil, as
well as the trees, is swept away by the destructive torrent; and the country,
despoiled of beauty and riches, is left to mourn for ages.
Admiring, as
I do, these noble forests, which seem to bid defiance to time, I looked with
pain on the ridge of rocks that stretched far beyond my eye, formerly crowned
with the most beautiful verdure.
I have often
mentioned the grandeur, but I feel myself unequal to the task of conveying an idea
of the beauty and elegance of the scene when the spiry
tops of the pines are loaded with ripening seed, and the sun gives a glow to
their light-green tinge, which is changing into purple, one tree more or less
advanced contrasted with another. The profusion
with which Nature has decked them with pendant honours,
prevents all surprise at seeing in every crevice some sapling struggling for
existence. Vast masses of stone are thus encircled, and roots torn up by
the storms become a shelter for a young generation. The pine and fir
woods, left entirely to Nature, display an endless variety; and the paths in
the woods are not entangled with fallen leaves, which are only interesting
whilst they are fluttering between life and death. The grey cobweb-like
appearance of the aged pines is a much finer image of decay; the fibres whitening as they lose their moisture, imprisoned
life seems to be stealing away. I cannot tell why, but death, under every
form, appears to me like something getting free to expand in I know not what
element—nay, I feel that this conscious being must be as unfettered, have the
wings of thought, before it can be happy.
Reaching the
cascade, or rather cataract, the roaring of which had a long time announced its
vicinity, my soul was hurried by the falls into a new train of
reflections. The impetuous dashing of the rebounding torrent from the
dark cavities which mocked the exploring eye produced an equal activity in my
mind. My thoughts darted from earth to heaven, and I asked myself why I
was chained to life and its misery. Still the tumultuous emotions this
sublime object excited were pleasurable; and, viewing it, my soul rose with
renewed dignity above its cares. Grasping at immortality—it seemed as
impossible to stop the current of my thoughts, as of the always varying, still
the same, torrent before me; I stretched out my hand to eternity, bounding over
the dark speck of life to come.
We turned
with regret from the cascade. On a little hill, which commands the best
view of it, several obelisks are erected to commemorate the visits of different
kings. The appearance of the river above and below the falls is very
picturesque, the ruggedness of the scenery disappearing as the torrent subsides
into a peaceful stream. But I did not like to see a number of saw-mills
crowded together close to the cataracts; they destroyed the harmony of the
prospect.
The sight of
a bridge erected across a deep valley, at a little distance, inspired very
dissimilar sensations. It was most ingeniously supported by mast-like
trunks, just stripped of their branches; and logs, placed one across the other,
produced an appearance equally light and firm, seeming almost to be built in
the air when we were below it, the height taking from the magnitude of the
supporting trees give them a slender graceful look.
There are
two noble estates in this neighbourhood, the
proprietors of which seem to have caught more than their portion of the
enterprising spirit that is gone abroad. Many agricultural experiments
have been made, and the country appears better enclosed and cultivated, yet the
cottages had not the comfortable aspect of those I had observed near Moss and
to the westward. Man is always debased by servitude of any description,
and here the peasantry are not entirely free.
Adieu!
I almost
forgot to tell you that I did not leave Norway without making some inquiries
after the monsters said to have been seen in the northern sea; but though I
conversed with several captains, I could not meet with one who had ever heard
any traditional description of them, much less had any ocular demonstration of
their existence. Till the fact is better ascertained, I should think the
account of them ought to be torn out of our geographical grammars.