Without bringing the living into a notoriety which they certainly do not seek, and which might be unpleasant for them, we cannot give an extended account of that summer trip of Mr. Taylor and his friends in the countries of Europe, already so familiar to him. He devoted2 himself to the welfare of his companions, and appeared to enjoy himself exceedingly. England appeared brighter and more attractive than he supposed it possible; and his pleasure in visiting historical places was doubled by the fact that he had others to appreciate and enjoy it with him. His sisters inherited enough of that same instinctive3 comprehension of vegetable nature, and enough of that fellowship with kindred human nature, to regard the landscapes and the people as he had regarded them, and made, as he wrote to his friends in Philadelphia, wonderfully[253] observing travellers. Other friends there were, who, with his brother, made up a pleasant party, over which Mr. Taylor was for the time the guide and protector. He visited many places where he had never been before, but he had studied his theme so closely during his previous visits to Europe that even in strange places he felt the gratification of one who had been there before, and to whom each scene and relic7 was familiar. His little party was often interrupted by the calls made upon him to attend dinner-parties and select gatherings8 of literary people; but he was not a neglectful escort. His acquaintance with the men and women of London whose names are known to all readers of English literature, was promoted very much by the kindness of Mr. Thackeray, who spared no pains to introduce Mr. Taylor into that “charmed circle.” No one can appreciate the pleasure there was in being introduced to the authors of whom the world has said so much, unless he has followed them like a friend through their various volumes and learned to love them there. Historians, essayists, biographers, poets, musical composers, and scientific authors clasped his hand in London and welcomed him to their homes and their love. At last he felt that he had reached the heights for which he had been striving, and was regarded as an equal by those whose plane of thought he had so long striven to reach. But that feeling had its reaction, for he often examined himself and repeated to himself his published poetry, and, as he described it[254] himself, wondered what there could be in it worthy9 of reproduction in Old England. His association with the master-minds of England opened to him a wider field of literature, and impressed him with the importance of writing something loftier and more artistic10 than anything he yet had undertaken. To that task he turned all the forces of his nature; so that on leaving England his friends noticed through all his vivacity11 and unceasing attention a tendency to abstraction; as though some important theme unspoken was uppermost in his mind. He was searching for an ideal which should not copy Tennyson, nor Wordsworth, nor Browning, but should equal theirs in conception and execution. He felt that irresistible12 yearning13 for the highest poetical14 work, which is the surest indication of genius. He was not egotistic, he was not foolishly ambitious, but all his life he had been seeking his place in the realms of poetry, feeling morally sure, notwithstanding his own temporary misgivings15, that there was a great work for him to do.
However, the needs of the present crowded out the dreams of the future, as they so often do in the lives of others, and after a delightful17 summer in the lands he loved, and a visit to those who were now dearer than the most gorgeous landscapes, he determined18 upon a trip to the frozen regions of Lapland. He undertook that journey with evident reluctance19. His communion with the best minds of America and Europe had taught him that of the works which he had published his[255] poetry would live much longer than his travels. He found that the place of a poet in the scale of human merit was loftier than that of a journalistic traveller. He had left home with a feeling of uncertainty20 about his future course; but there was no longer hesitation21 or doubt. He would follow out the routes laid out and keep his promises to the newspapers and publishers, and was determined to acquire an insight into the Scandinavian language in view of an enterprise in the way of translation, which, however, was never fully6 matured nor undertaken. But his interest in travel had lost its chiefest charms. It would not, could not, satisfy his ambition. Some critics have accounted for this lack of zeal22 by the nearness of his marriage, which would take him from his wanderings. But the best reason is the one he gave himself; viz., that he desired to undertake some more permanent task—one that should live when his travels were forgotten.
Hence, that indescribable lack which his readers have so universally found in his books of travels published after that date. He could not rid himself of the burden, nor cease to ponder upon the subjects which seemed worthy of a great poem.
Starting from Germany Dec. 1, 1856, and embarking23 on a steamer which ran between Lubec and Stockholm, he entered upon an undertaking24 more hazardous25 and uncomfortable than anything he had ventured upon before. But his experience taught him to fear nothing and to move on so long as any other living[256] being had lived on the same route. He had determined to see a day without a sunrise and a night without a sunset. To be able to state that fact in a book, would, in itself, ensure its ready sale. Of this he had been assured in New York by his friend Dr. E. K. Kane, whose opinion was entitled to much consideration, as the Doctor had been far more extensively engaged in explorations, and had travelled many thousand miles further than Mr. Taylor. Having once decided26 to see that wonderful sight, nothing in the way of privation could prevent the accomplishment27 of his purpose.
The steamer from Lubec was a rough, uncouth28, inconvenient29 craft, and the sea-sick voyage which Mr. Taylor and his friend made to Stockholm was not an auspicious30 beginning for a tour so long and so dangerous. But he relapsed into his old habit, acquired in Asia, of regarding no delay with surprise or impatience31, and refusing to feel certain of anything until he possessed32 it; and as neither carelessness, neglect, lack of sleep or food was allowed to disturb him, he made the company cheerful under the most distressing33 circumstances.
LAZARETTO CHRISTIANSAND.
On his arrival in Stockholm he could not speak a word of the language, and had to depend mostly upon his own common-sense in the selection of an outfit34. But his quick ear and tractile tongue soon caught up words and phrases, the meaning of which he learned by their effect when spoken, and when he started northward35[257] he was able to ask for nearly everything he needed in the native language. Of his ride from town to town, by diligence and by lumbering36 sleighs, along the shores of the Bothnian Gulf37, we cannot give any extended account, and it can easily be found by any reader who did not peruse38 it at the time of its publication. But it answers our purpose to note how he appeared and what he suffered. It was a terrible ride. Day after day and night after night he pushed on, losing many meals, and often without sleep, in a temperature creeping downward far below zero, and the sun sinking lower and lower on the southern horizon. Frequently overturned in the snow, his beard and hair a mass of solid ice, his eyelids39 frozen together, his nose frost-bitten, his hands and feet momentarily in danger of freezing, he kept heroically on his course, allowing no rumors40 of unendurable cold or impassable mountains, of snow ahead to drive him from his purpose. With a wisdom that saved his life, he fell with perfect abandon into the habits of Swedes, Finns, and Lapps, as he in turn found himself in their country and society, eating what they ate, and wearing such skins as they wore, and following their habits, excepting their dirt and their promiscuous41 arrangements for sleeping. Around the gulf to Tornea, and thence to Muoniovara, he sped northward with a haste which astonished the natives, and a shortness of time which has surprised many travellers who have followed him on that difficult route. He made such acquaintances[258] and such friends on his way northward that they wished him God-speed as he passed on, and welcomed him in a royal manner on his return. On the borders of Lapland he took his first lessons in reindeer-driving, and a most amusing experience he had of it. He could not at first balance himself in the narrow boat which was built for snow navigation, and he was frequently overturned in fathomless42 piles of snow; and as he did not fully understand how to check the speed of the animal, he flew like the wind over drifts, hollows, and around corners with a most dangerous speed. Many men would have given up the task, after being frozen, kicked, bruised43, and pulled half out of joint44 by the first trial. But such experiences were regarded by him as a joke, and laughing over past mishaps45, he tried again and again, until he could guide a deer and balance himself in the narrow pulk as skilfully46 as the Lapps themselves. He was not a traveller who sought luxury and ease. He wished to sound all the shoals and depths of local experiences. Some of the trials were very hazardous, and make one’s hair rise as he reads of them. Yet Mr. Taylor appears to have put a blind trust in fate and went boldly on. In all these visits and undertakings47 he forgot not his Muse48, and repeated “Afraja” and the “Arctic Lover” when the snow blew too furiously or the cold was too far below zero to engage in original composition.
With the thermometer varying from zero to forty degrees below he traversed the wildest part of Lapland,[259] which lies between the Bothnian Gulf and the Northern Ocean.
At Kautockeino, far beyond the Arctic Circle, he found friends, through the letter of a mutual49 acquaintance, and recorded with his usual kindness of heart, how good and how generous they were to him. There, too, he saw the day without a sunrise, which he had promised himself to see, and his description of the white earth, the blue sky, the saffron and orange flushes of the morning, and the crimson50 glow of the evening, all combined in a few moments of time as the sun approached the line of the horizon and sank again without peeping over it, is one of the most charming and graphic51 paragraphs to be found in literature. There, too, he saw the moon wheel through her entire circuit, without a rising and without a setting. There he made sketches52 of the dwellings53 and the people which, after so much practice, he was able to take in a very accurate and artistic manner, and which served afterwards for illustrations in the pages of a magazine. There he met a Lapp by the name of “Lars,” and meeting the name often afterwards, suggested the name for that poem of “Lars,” now as popular in Norway as in the United States. There, in that extreme north, in the house of a native missionary54, he found a piano, and was half beside himself with joy when the kind-hearted ministers wife played “Yankee Doodle.” She had heard Ole Bull play it at Christiania, and caught the tune55 in that way.
[260]
His return to Stockholm was more tedious and dangerous than his northward journey, for the weather was colder and the storms more severe. But his reception at the miserable56 huts along the route, where he had stopped on his journey northward, was always so hearty57 and friendly that he felt no longer in a strange land. It was a repetition of his experience elsewhere. He was loved at sight, and has not been forgotten to this day by the humble58 friends he made. Nothing shows the whole-souled manner in which he threw himself into the feelings and habits of the people, better than the expressions which he used in his letters concerning the scenery. He felt so much like a Swede, that he loved the landscapes with the devotion, of a native. Notwithstanding he had used all the superlative terms which our language furnished, in which to describe the scenery of the tropics, yet there he went further and declares with great enthusiasm, that the South had no such beautiful scenery as the ice-bound forests and mountains of Sweden. To him, when he saw them, there were no landscapes to compare with those before him. The transparent59 crystals, the purity of the snow, the shape of the half-buried trees, the boundless60 plains of white, and the gleams of acres of diamonds when the frosty spirals greet the morning sun, all possessed a charm beyond the attractions of any other land, so long as he was their associate. He became a Swede, and knew, when his experience was over, just how a Swede lived and how he felt, what he[261] loved and what he enjoyed. Thus he came to a more thorough understanding of the people, and had a better appreciation61 of their literature, than any other traveller known to the public prints.
On his return to Stockholm, February 14, he set about the work of learning the language and literature of the Swedes. For nearly three months he kept close to his books and his practice in the gymnasium, and although it seems almost impossible, it is said by his associates that he could then read fluently any work to be found in the Norse language.
He left Stockholm on the 6th of May, taking a steamer for Copenhagen, from which place he purposed to take a steamer for Germany. At Copenhagen he met Hans Christian1 Andersen, the great Danish poet, by whom Mr. Taylor was received most cordially. Thus, one after another, the great men of the world were added to the list of friends found by this son of an humble American farmer. Andersen afterwards sent Mr. Taylor copies of his poems and essays before they were printed, and in many ways showed his regard for the American poet. There Mr. Taylor met Prof. Rafn, the arch?ologist, and Goldschmidt, the author of the “The Jew,” and editor of a magazine.
Prof. Rafn, gave Mr. Taylor his initiation62 into the beauties of Icelandic poetry, for the professor was an earnest admirer of northern lore63, and loved to converse64 with any one who took an interest in it. Ho read some of the verses which he especially admired, for Mr. Taylor’s[262] criticism, and Mr. Taylor was so delighted with them that he resolved to study the literature of Iceland and at some time to visit the Island.
From Copenhagen Mr. Taylor hurried over to Germany to look after his friends, and after a stay of a few days hastened to London on business connected with his books. He left London about the first of July, after seeing his relatives depart for America, and taking a steamer at Hull65, sailed for Christiania in Norway. The steamer stopped at Christiansand, where the rugged66, broken promontories67 loom68 up so grandly over sea and bay. No harbor is more picturesque69 than that of Christiansand, and no coast more uneven70. Perhaps the best description of the coast from Christiansand to Apendal, given by Mr. Taylor, is to be found in his poem of “Lars,” wherein Lars and his Quaker wife sailed from Hull for Apendal.
“Calm autumn skies were o’er them and the sea
How sped the voyage until Lindesnaes,
At first a cloud, stood fast and spread away
The firs of Norway climbing thick and high
In front, the sprinkled skerries pierced the wave;
‘This is thy Norway, Lars; it looks like thee,’
Said Ruth: ‘it has a forehead firm and bold:
[263]
It sets its foot below the reach of storms,
Yet hides, methinks, in each retiring vale,
As I described it; here, upon our lee
Is mainland all, and there the Nid comes down,
The timber-shouldering Nid, from endless woods
Now bend your glances as my finger points,—
Arrangements had been made with his intimate German friend, whom he first met in Egypt, and in whom Mr. Taylor then took such a deep interest, to meet him at the hotel in Christiania, from which place they purposed to start on a trip overland through Norway to Drontheim, and from that city by steamer to the northern capes of Norway, where the summer sun did not rise or set. Another “sacred triad” was formed—one German and two Americans—equally fortunate and equally pleasant with the former triad in Egypt.
Their course lay through the rugged and drear landscape of Southern Norway, and at the time they made their journey the sky was overcast81 and the air loaded with moisture, giving every bleak82 cliff a bleaker83 appearance, and every barren waste a gloomier aspect. With all his poetical nature, Mr. Taylor did not find much to admire on his way to Drontheim. His sympathy was aroused for the poor farmers who dwell in such a solitude84 as seemed to envelop85 the land, and he was glad[264] when the gleams of the river announced their approach to Drontheim.
From Drontheim they sailed by the Hammerfest line on the 18th of July, following the coast so noted86 for its fantastic crags and startling cliffs. The coast scenery from Drontheim to Hammerfest is unquestionably the most broken and grand in the world. Its black towers, enormous arches, gigantic peaks, and resounding87 caverns88 excel anything in the way of sombre grandeur89 that travellers elsewhere have described.
As they approached the Arctic Circle the mountains became capped with snow, and chilly90 winds blew off the land, and the days became so long that the evening and the morning succeeded each other with but an intervening twilight91. Gradually the midnights grew brighter until, as they proceeded round the North Cape4, the sun shone in all its splendor92 throughout the twenty-four hours.
After several days spent in visiting the small fishing villages along the northern coast, they again turned southward and disembarked at Drontheim, from which place they took passage to Bergen.
From Bergen they travelled on horseback and by boats, over the interior lakes to Christiania, and from that city through the interior of Wermeland and Delecarlia to Stockholm, where they arrived about the middle of September. There Mr. Taylor remained long enough to call on many of the friends whom he had made during the previous winter, and then the “triad” departed for Berlin and Gotha.
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1
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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cape
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| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
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capes
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| 碎谷； 斗篷( cape的名词复数 )； 披肩； 海角； 岬 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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relic
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| n.神圣的遗物，遗迹，纪念物 | |
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gatherings
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| 聚集( gathering的名词复数 )； 收集； 采集； 搜集 | |
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9
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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10
artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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vivacity
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| n.快活，活泼，精神充沛 | |
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irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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poetical
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| adj.似诗人的；诗一般的；韵文的；富有诗意的 | |
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misgivings
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕；疑虑，担心，恐惧( misgiving的名词复数 )；疑惧 | |
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sledges
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| n.雪橇，雪车( sledge的名词复数 )v.乘雪橇( sledge的第三人称单数 )；用雪橇运载 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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reluctance
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| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
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uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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zeal
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| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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embarking
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| 乘船( embark的现在分词 )； 装载； 从事 | |
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undertaking
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| n.保证，许诺，事业 | |
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hazardous
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| adj.(有)危险的，冒险的；碰运气的 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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accomplishment
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| n.完成，成就，（pl.）造诣，技能 | |
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uncouth
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| adj.无教养的，粗鲁的 | |
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inconvenient
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| adj.不方便的，令人感到麻烦的 | |
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auspicious
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| adj.吉利的；幸运的，吉兆的 | |
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impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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distressing
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| a.使人痛苦的 | |
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outfit
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| n.（为特殊用途的）全套装备，全套服装 | |
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northward
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| adv.向北；n.北方的地区 | |
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lumbering
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| n.采伐林木 | |
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gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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peruse
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| v.细读，精读 | |
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eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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rumors
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| n.传闻( rumor的名词复数 )；[古]名誉；咕哝；[古]喧嚷v.传闻( rumor的第三人称单数 )；[古]名誉；咕哝；[古]喧嚷 | |
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promiscuous
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| adj.杂乱的，随便的 | |
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fathomless
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| a.深不可测的 | |
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bruised
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| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
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joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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mishaps
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| n.轻微的事故，小的意外( mishap的名词复数 ) | |
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skilfully
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| adv. (美skillfully)熟练地 | |
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undertakings
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| 企业( undertaking的名词复数 )； 保证； 殡仪业； 任务 | |
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48
muse
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| n.缪斯（希腊神话中的女神），创作灵感 | |
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49
mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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51
graphic
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| adj.生动的，形象的，绘画的，文字的，图表的 | |
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52
sketches
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| n.草图( sketch的名词复数 )；素描；速写；梗概 | |
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53
dwellings
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| n.住处，处所( dwelling的名词复数 ) | |
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missionary
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| adj.教会的，传教(士)的；n.传教士 | |
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tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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boundless
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| adj.无限的；无边无际的；巨大的 | |
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appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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initiation
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| n.开始 | |
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lore
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| n.传说；学问，经验，知识 | |
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converse
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| vi.谈话，谈天，闲聊；adv.相反的，相反 | |
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hull
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| n.船身；(果、实等的)外壳；vt.去(谷物等)壳 | |
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rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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promontories
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| n.岬，隆起，海角( promontory的名词复数 ) | |
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68
loom
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| n.织布机，织机；v.隐现，(危险、忧虑等)迫近 | |
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picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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uneven
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| adj.不平坦的，不规则的，不均匀的 | |
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swelled
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| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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precipice
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| n.悬崖，危急的处境 | |
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73
crests
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| v.到达山顶（或浪峰）( crest的第三人称单数 )；到达洪峰，达到顶点 | |
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74
glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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75
tawny
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| adj.茶色的，黄褐色的；n.黄褐色 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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isle
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| n.小岛，岛 | |
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scant
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| adj.不充分的，不足的；v.减缩，限制，忽略 | |
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spire
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| n.(教堂)尖顶，尖塔，高点 | |
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81
overcast
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| adj.阴天的，阴暗的，愁闷的；v.遮盖，（使）变暗，包边缝；n.覆盖，阴天 | |
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82
bleak
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| adj.(天气)阴冷的；凄凉的；暗淡的 | |
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bleaker
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| 阴冷的( bleak的比较级 )； （状况）无望的； 没有希望的； 光秃的 | |
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84
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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envelop
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| vt.包，封，遮盖；包围 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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resounding
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| adj. 响亮的 | |
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caverns
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| 大山洞，大洞穴( cavern的名词复数 ) | |
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grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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chilly
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| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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splendor
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| n.光彩；壮丽，华丽；显赫，辉煌 | |
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