Chapter V: Front Matter (5)

And we went on and on along the waterfall towards Top Island, always on smooth paths covered with saw-dust to Polhelm’s-Sluice; a cleft has been made in the rock for the first intended sluice-work, which was not finished, but on account of which has been shaped the most imposing of all the Trollhätta Falls; the hurrying water falls perpendicularly into the dark depth. The side of the rock here is connected with Top Island by means of a light iron bridge, which seems to be thrown over the abyss; we venture on this swaying bridge above the rushing, whirling water, and soon stand on the little rocky island between firs and pines that dart out of the crevices; before us rushes a sea of waves, broken as they rebound against the rock on which we stand, spraying us with their fine eternal mist; on each side the torrent flows as if shot from a gigantic cannon, waterfall upon waterfall; we look above them all and are lulled by the harmonic tone that has existed for thousands of years.

“No one can ever get to that island over there,” said one of our party, pointing to the large island above the highest fall.

“I know one who got there!” exclaimed the old man, and nodded with a peculiar smile.

“Yes, my grandfather got there!” said one of the boys, “but for a hundred years scarcely any one else has reached it. The cross that stands there was set up by my grandfather. It had been a severe winter, the whole of Lake Venern was frozen, the ice dammed up the outlet, and for many hours the bottom was dry. Grandfather has told us about it: he and two others went over, set up the cross, and returned. Just then there was a thundering and cracking noise just like cannon, the ice broke up and the stream overflowed meadows and forest. It is true, every word I say!”

One of the travellers cited Tegner:

“Vildt Göta stortade fran Fjallen,
Hemsk Trollet fran sat Toppfall röt!
Men Snillet kom och sprängt stod Hallen,
Med Skeppen i sitt sköt!”

“Poor mountain sprite,” he added, “thy power and glory are failing! Man flies beyond thee--Thou must learn of him!”

The garrulous old man made a grimace, and muttered something to himself--but we were now by the bridge before the inn, the steamboat glided through the open way, every one hurried on board and immediately it shot above the Fall just as if no Fall existed.

It was evening; I stood on the heights of Trollhätta’s old sluices, and saw the ships with outspread sails glide away over the meadows like large white spectres. The sluice-gates opened with a heavy, crashing sound like that related of the copper gates of the _Vehmgericht_; the evening was so still; in the deep silence the tone of the Trollhätta Fall was like a chorus of a hundred water-mills, ever one and the same tone and sometimes the ringing of a deep and mighty note that seemed to pass through the very earth--and yet through all this the eternal silence of Nature was felt;--suddenly a great bird with heavily flapping wings flew out of the trees in the deep woods towards the waterfall. Was it the mountain sprite? We must believe so.

_Pictures of Sweden_ (Leipzig, 1851).

THE GRAND CANYON OF THE COLORADO

(_UNITED STATES_)