Troldhaugen

Listen first. Wind moves through birch and pine, and below the path, water laps against smooth grey rock. The air smells of wet moss and old wood. You are on a small headland above a quiet lake, a short ride south of Bergen's harbour. It does not feel like a famous place. It feels like somebody's garden, and that is exactly what it was. This is Troldhaugen, the home of Edvard Grieg, Norway's best-loved composer, and of his wife Nina.

The name means something close to Troll Hill. In Norwegian folklore, trolls live in hills, forests and mountains, and they belong to the old landscape that existed before people. That fits this place well. Grieg spent much of his life turning that landscape into music. He gathered folk tunes, dance rhythms and peasant songs, and he shaped them into concert works. So when he named his home after trolls, he was not being cute. He was naming his raw material.

Look at the villa itself. It is a white wooden house with a tower, verandas and carved trim, built in the 1880s. It is often described as Victorian in style, but the timber and the setting are pure western Norway. Grieg and Nina moved in during 1885. They lived here, on and off, for about twenty-two years, until Edvard died in 1907. The house was designed by a relative, Schak Bull, so this was a family project from the very start.

Here is the first surprise for many visitors. Grieg was a small man, and not a strong one. A lung illness in his youth left him with poor health for the rest of his life. Yet he toured Europe constantly, conducting and playing in cities like Leipzig, Paris and London. Troldhaugen was his refuge between those journeys. He came back here to rest, to breathe the sea air, and above all, to work in peace.

Nina deserves her own moment. She was a soprano, and she was also Edvard's cousin. Many people say that nobody sang his songs better than she did. A large part of his music is written for voice and piano, and much of it was written with her voice in mind. When you picture this house in its busy years, picture her singing in the living room, with Edvard at the keyboard and guests crowded around them.

Inside the villa, much of the furniture, art and personal belongings remain. The centrepiece is a Steinway grand piano. According to the museum, it was a gift from friends in Bergen to mark the couple's silver wedding anniversary. There is a lovely link here. One of Grieg's best-known piano pieces is called Wedding Day at Troldhaugen. It is bright, festive and a little bit proud. When you see the room, you can almost hear the guests arriving.

Now walk down the slope toward the water. Tucked among the trees, you will find a small wooden hut, painted red. This was Grieg's composing cabin. It holds a piano, a desk, and a window that looks straight out over the lake. He worked here because the main house was simply too busy. There were visitors, letters and admirers. There was even, so the story goes, the occasional curious fan peeking through the windows.

That brings us to one of the most human details about him. Grieg reportedly left a note on his desk in this hut. It asked anyone who broke in to steal nothing but his music, because it would be of no value to them. Treat this as a well-loved anecdote rather than a documented fact. Still, it says something true. His sketches and manuscripts were the only thing he really guarded here.

Another popular tale is about luck. Locals say Grieg always carried a small frog figure in his pocket, and that he rubbed it before he walked on stage. Whether he truly needed the charm, nobody can say. But it is a touching image... a famous performer, nervous in the wings, holding a little frog in his fist. It reminds us that the man who wrote In the Hall of the Mountain King also had stage fright.

That piece, of course, comes from his music for Henrik Ibsen's play Peer Gynt. It is one of the most recognised melodies on earth, used in films, cartoons and advertisements. Grieg himself was not always fond of it. He found some of the Peer Gynt music too noisy and too easy to love. Many of his own favourite works were smaller and quieter. You can feel that quieter side here, in the hut, the lake and the trees.

Follow the path a little further along the shore. Set into a steep rock face above the water is the grave of Edvard and Nina Grieg. There is no grand monument, no marble angel. There is only the cliff, a simple stone slab and his name. Grieg chose this spot himself. Their ashes rest together inside the rock. It faces the lake and the light of the west, the direction of the evening sun.

The last building on the site is modern. Troldsalen is a concert hall built in the 1980s, partly sunk into the hillside, with a roof covered in grass. It was designed to stay low and quiet in the landscape. Behind the stage, a large window looks down toward the lake and the composer's hut. So when musicians play Grieg here, the audience can see the place where some of that music was written.

Before you leave, stand still for a minute by the water. Notice how the sounds of the city have faded. You can hear birds, the wind and perhaps a boat engine somewhere far across the lake. This is the same view Grieg had from his small window. As you walk back up the path, listen to the trees moving. It is easy to understand why a tired man chose to stay here, and to rest here for good.