The safest day in the year for travelling--A
collision--Lighthouses on the Norwegian coast--Olaf the Holy
and the necromancers--The cathedral at Stavanger--A Norwegian
M.P.--Broad sheets--The great man unbends--Jaederen’s Rev--Old
friends at Christiansand--Too fast--The Lammer’s schism--Its
beneficial effects--Roman Catholic Propagandism--A thievish
archbishop--Historical memoranda at Frederickshal--The Falls
of the Glommen--A department of woods and forests established
in Norway--Conflagrations--A problem, and how it was
solved--Author sees a mirage--Homewards.
In the old coaching days it used to be said the safest day in the year
to travel by the Tantivy was the day after an upset. The same will
hold good, thought I, of steamers, as I heard an animated conversation
on board, how that last voyage it was all but a case of _Norge_ v.
_Bergen_ (alluding to a collision between those two steamers, when the
former went down), and how the _Viken_, Government steamer, would have
been utterly cut down, and sunk, had it not been for the presence of
mind of the _Jupiter_ captain; how, moreover, a fierce newspaper war
was going on in consequence, and the Government had ordered an inquiry.
Sooth to say, the navigation of this coast by night is very dangerous.
Lord Dufferin, I think, says there are no lighthouses. He is wrong;
there are more than twenty. But what are these among so many shoals,
islands, narrow channels, ins and outs, as this coast exhibits?
“Yonder,” said a Norwegian gentleman on board, “is the Skratteskjaer
(skerry of shrieks).” This spot takes its name from a tragic event of
which it was the scene many hundred years ago. Olaf the Holy, being
resolved to get rid of the Seidemaend (magicians and necromancers), who
then abounded in Norway, made a quantity of them drunk, and, in that
condition, set fire to the house where they were assembled, and made a
holocaust of them. Eywind, however, a noted warlock, escaped through
the chimney-hole; but afterwards he, with three hundred others, were
caught, and chained down on that skerry, which is covered at high
water. As the tide rose, the shrieks of the victims pierced the air;
but the royal executioner was inexorable.
Crossing the mouth of the Buknfjord, we stopped for half-an-hour at
Stavanger, where I had an opportunity of examining the cathedral, which
really exhibits some fine pieces of early Gothic. The nave was built
in 1115. The verger was profoundly ignorant of all architecture, and
so were some Norwegian gentlemen who accompanied me. What they chiefly
attended to was a plaster model of Christ, after Thorwaldsen, and some
tasteless modern woodwork. The pulpit is two hundred years old.
We here shipped a deputy, on his way to the Storthing now sitting at
Christiania. He was a very staid person, who evidently considered
that he was called upon to set the passengers an edifying example of
superior intelligence and unmoved gravity. I heard that he had formerly
been a simple bonder, but was now a thriving merchant. Perhaps I shall
best describe him by saying that his parchment visage reminded me of a
Palimpsest, whence a secular composition had been erased to make room
for a sanctimonious homily; but, at the corners of the parchment, some
of the old secular characters still peeped out unerased. Next me, after
dinner, sat a sharp young Bergenser. To while away the time, I asked
him if he could recite me any popular songs or rhymes. He responded
to the call at once, and produced a couple of broad sheets from his
pocket-book, containing two favourite old Norsk ballads; one of which
was the famed “Bonde i Brylups Garen;” the other was, “The Courtship of
Ole and Father Mikkel’s Daughter.”
The deputy’s attention I observed to be caught by our conversation, and
he smiled gravely. Only think of a Storthingsman, clad in a sober suit
of brown, whose mind was supposed to be full of the important business
of the country, listening to such trifles. Gude preserve ye! Mr. ----,
what childish stuff. Nevertheless, he had once been a child, and a
peasant-child, too; and there was a time when he sat on the maternal
knee, and heard the lullabies of his country. Nay, he went so far as
to recite a country jingle himself. It was what we call in England a
Game rhyme. Seven children are dancing round in a ring; suddenly the
ring is broken, and each one endeavours to seize a partner.
Shear shearing oats,
The sheaves who shall bind?
My true love he shall do it,
Where is he to find?
I saw him yestere’en
In the clear light of the moon,
You take yours, I take mine,
One is left standing alone.
He uttered this in a low tone of voice, as if he was heartily ashamed
of the infantine reminiscence. Human nature shrunk again into itself;
the deputy remembered that his countrymen’s eyes were upon him, and
he must be careful of betraying any further weakness of the sort. One
or two Norwegians who had overheard the conversation, looked with
no little astonishment at their representative, and with a somewhat
indignant expression of countenance at me, doubtful, apparently,
whether I had not of _malice prepense_ been taking a rise out of a
Norwegian Storthingsman.
As we passed Jaederen’s Rev (reef), a long, low flat shore of some
miles in extent, we had the usual storm, which stirred up the
bilgewater to an offensive degree, and in consequence thereof, the
wrath of a doctor on board, who wore yellow kids and much jewellery,
but who was not half a bad fellow in spite of his foppery.
As I sat by the open window of the hotel, at Christiansand, two burly
fellows in the singular Sætersdal costume, greeted me. In them I at
once recognised two peasants with whom I had had speech at Valle. They
had come down to meet the new parson and his family, whom they would
drive up on the morrow on the way to his expectant parishioners. The
good fellows were mightily pleased when I handed them some Bayersk
Öl out of the window. A Norwegian student who was with me heard them
deliberating whether they should not treat the strange Carl to a glass
of something; but they apparently thought it would be taking too
great a liberty, and presently made their bow, carrying all sorts of
greetings to my friends in their distant home.
Next day I started to Moss, in the Christiania Fjord, by the steamer
of that name. She was built in Scotland, and goes sixteen miles an
hour, more than double the pace of the Government steamers, which are
proverbially slow. Many of the Norwegians are frightened of her, and
say she will break her back.
There was an intelligent young Norwegian on board who is resident
in America. He tells me that the Lammers’ schism has done no little
good, in a religious point of view, by awaking the State clergy from
the torpor into which they had sunk; and there is every symptom of
a new spiritual life being infused into the community. Things, he
says, have hitherto been at a low ebb in this respect throughout the
country. Among the better classes there is no such thing as family
prayers, they seldom look at their Bibles. At Arendal and Christiania
private meetings have been set on foot for prayer and reading of the
Scriptures. A Moravian clergyman, who was the first to establish
gatherings of this kind, and who has laboured diligently in this line
for some years, has lately received a subvention from the Government
without his solicitation.
In Sweden, the proposal to abolish the law by which Dissenters may not
reside in that country, has lately been thrown out in the Chambers,
Count P---- having described in pathetic language the danger likely to
ensue upon such a change, and being backed in his opposition by 280
clergy.
In Norway, on the contrary, as in England, all religions, provided they
do not trangress the laws of morality and social order, are tolerated.
The Roman Catholics take advantage of this, and are busy in a quiet way
making proselytes. The widow of the late King Bernadotte is understood
to give her countenance to their exertions. Contributions are also
received from Belgium and France, and two French ladies conduct a
school on Romish principles at Christiania. One of the two Romish
priests there is a born Norwegian.
My travelling companion also informs me of a curious discovery made
lately by Lange, the author of a _History of Norwegian Monasteries_.
It has always been supposed that the precious treasures which adorned
the tomb of St. Olaf, in the Cathedral of Trondjem, were stolen by King
Christian the Second, and that the ship conveying the ill-gotten booty
sank near Christiansand.
At Amsterdam, however, from whence Lange has just returned, he found
incontestable documentary evidence that the Archbishop of Trondjem was
himself the thief. He fled to Amsterdam, got into debt, and the jewels
were sold and dispersed.
Landing at Moss, I passed through a wretchedly ugly country to
Frederickshal. There is nothing in the place worth seeing, except the
fortress and the statue to the patriotic burgher, Peder Colbjörnsen.
Some of the houses are far beyond the average of many of the Norwegian
towns; to which detracting people might be inclined to apply the old
description of Granville:--
Granville, grand vilain,
Une église, et un moulin,
On voit Granville tout à plein.
A small enclosure outside the fortress marks the spot where the Swedish
madman was sacrificed by one of his own soldiers while occupied in the
siege. The monument, however, has utterly disappeared. A new one is
talked of.
Thence I posted to Sarpsborg, to see the mighty falls of the Glommen,
with the beautiful suspension-bridge swung over them. Above it the huge
river winds away its vast coils into the distant mountains, bringing
down the timbers which once grew upon their sides. But the wastefulness
of the people in timber is now beginning to tell. Norway is at length
about to start a Forstwesen similar to that of Germany, and Asbjörnsen
is now employed by the Government in travelling through Bavaria, for
the purpose of investigating the admirable regulations there in force
in the Department of Woods and Forests.
As usual, there has been a fire in Sarpsborg. Half the town is
destroyed, and presents a terrible scene of desolation.[34] A new
church, just completed, was saved by a miracle. At Drammen, on the
other side of the Fjord, one or two fires have also been sweeping
away a vast quantity of buildings. The conflagration was visible at
Uddevalla, near Gottenburg, about one hundred and fifty miles off.
My slumbers that night, at the waterside inn, whence the steamer was
to start next morning, were interrupted by an odd sort of visitation.
Two bulky Norwegian gentlemen were ushered into the bed-room, puffing
away at cigars, and forthwith prepared to occupy the other bed. By
what Procrustean process it could possibly be made to contain two such
ponderosities was a problem now to be solved. However, one of them
got in first, and retreated as far as he could into its recesses. The
other followed, and managed to squeeze himself into the space left by
the side of his companion. Many jocular remarks were let fall between
them, and one remark especially seemed to tickle the risibilities of
the larger and fatter man to such an extent that he shook again, and
the bed also. Suddenly I heard a loud smash, and looking up, found that
the bottom of the bed, though equal to their dead weight in a quiescent
state, was unable to bear the momentum of their laughter-shaken frames,
and had given way, both gentlemen falling through on to the floor.
For some time they had great difficulty in escaping from their awkward
predicament. This, however, was at length effected, and for the rest of
the night the floor was their couch--the floor which they had used as
a spittoon; but this did not seem in the least to interfere with their
comfort.
Having nothing to call me to the capital, I determined to catch the
Kiel steamer that afternoon in the Christiania Fjord, where I saw for
the first time one of those remarkable mirages so common in the seas
of Scandinavia, which are supposed to have given rise to the legends
of phantom-ships, which prevail along the coast. The next day we were
steaming over a smooth sea, along the low coast of our forefathers, the
Jutes, and the day after shot by train through the heathy flats whence
issued England’s sponsors, the Angles.
THE END.
[Illustration: SKETCH MAP OF NORWAY.
_J. Netherclift lith._
_London. Pubd. by Hurst & Blackett Gt. Marlboro’ St. 1858_]
FOOTNOTES
[1] According to Worsaae, the “stone” period in Denmark preceded the
Celts, who possessed settled abodes in Europe 2000 years ago, by about
a thousand years. The “bronze” period must have prevailed in the early
part of the Christian era, when the Goths were inhabitants of the
country. The “iron” period can first be traced in Norway and Sweden
with any certainty in the fourth and fifth centuries. In Denmark the
use of iron superseded the use of bronze altogether about 700 A.D. But
it is hardly necessary to observe, that there is still much controversy
among antiquarians on this difficult subject.
[2] There must have been an air of barbaric grandeur about these
heathen temples. On the door of that at Lade, near Trondjem, was a
massive gold ring. Olaf Trygveson, when wooing Sigrid the Haughty, made
her a present of it. Having an eye to the main chance, she put it in
the hands of the Swedish goldsmiths to be tested (Becky Sharp would
not have done worse). They grinned knowingly. The weight was due in a
great measure to a copper lining. No wonder after this that she flatly
refused to be baptized, the condition Olaf had laid down for wedding
her. Upon this he called her a heathen ----, and struck her on the
cheek with his glove. “One day this shall be thy death,” she exclaimed.
She kept her word. Through her influence Sweyne was induced to war with
Olaf, who lost his life in the memorable battle of the Baltic.
[3] These tolls, as is well known, have since been redeemed.
[4] Foster-children are as common in Norway at the present day as they
used to be in Ireland, where it was proverbially a stronger alliance
than that of blood. The old sign of adoption mentioned in the Sagas was
knaesetning, placing the child on the knee.
[5] In this part of Norway the wolf is known by no other name. Like
graa-been (grey-legs) elsewhere in Norway, so here skrüb is a euphemism
for wolf. The word is evidently derived from skrübba, to scrub, and
alludes to the rough dressing or scrubbing to be expected at the claws
of that beast. This disinclination to use the real name “ulv,” is no
doubt due to the ancient superstition of the “varulf” (wer-wolf).
Oh! was it wer-wolf in the wood,
Or was it mermaid in the sea,
Or was it man or vile woman,
My own true love, that misshaped thee?
A heavier weird shall light on her
Than ever fell on vile woman,
Her hair shall grow rough and her teeth grow lang,
And on her fore feet shall she gang.
See Grimm. _Deutsche Mythologie_, 1047. In the war of 1808 it was
commonly believed in Sweden that those of their countrymen who were
made prisoners by the Russians were changed by them into wer or
were-wolves, and sent home to plague their country. The classical
reader will remember the Scythian people mentioned by Herodotus, who
all and several used to turn wolves for a few days in every year. The
Swedes go still further in their reluctance to call certain animals
by their real names. Not only do they call the bear _the old one_, or
_grandfather_, and the wolf _grey-foot_, but the fox is _blue-foot_, or
_he that goes in the forest_; the seal is _brother Lars_, while such
small deer as rats and mice are known respectively as the _long-bodied_
and the _small-grey_.
[6] Still the mountain châlet is now no longer known here by the name
of “sæter,” but by that of “stöl.” “Sæter” is most probably derived
from the word “sitte,” to sit = to dwell; the technical phrase for a
person being at the mountain dairy being “sitte paa stölen.”
[7] I asked this same question of the intelligent and obliging curator
of the Bergen Museum. He replied that it was generally believed to be
the case, though bear-stories, unless well authenticated, must be taken
_cum grano_.
The following statistics of the amount of wild animals destroyed in
Norway in three years may be interesting--
+----+------+-------+-------+---------+-------+-----+------+
| |Bears.|Wolves.|Lynxes.|Gluttons.|Eagles.|Owls.|Hawks.|
+----+------+-------+-------+---------+-------+-----+------+
|1848| 264 | 247 | 144 | 57 | 2498 | 369 | 527 |
| | | | | | | | |
|1849| 325 | 197 | 110 | 76 | 2142 | 343 | 485 |
| | | | | | | | |
|1850| 246 | 191 | 118 | 39 | 2426 | 268 | 407 |
+----+------+-------+-------+---------+-------+-----+------+
[8] Dusk, in Norsk, “Tus-mörk:” that being the hour when the Tus, or
Thus (sprite), loves to be abroad.
[9] Like the Daoineshi of the Scotch Highlands, the Neck of Scandinavia
shines in a talent for music. Poor creatures! the peasantry may well
fancy they are fallen angels, who hope some day for forgiveness; for
was not one heard, near Hornbogabro, in West Gotland, singing, to a
sweet melody, “I know, and I know, and I know that my Redeemer liveth?”
And did not a Neck, when some boys once said to him “What good is
it for you to be sitting here and playing, for you will never enjoy
eternal happiness,” begin to weep bitterly?
[10] In Border-ballad language, “maik.”
[11] So, in old English, “Church-ale” was the festival on the
anniversary of the consecration of a church: while “grave-ale” was the
“wake” at an interment.
[12] I must not quit the subject without mentioning the Danish remedy.
In Holberg’s facetious poem, _Peder Paars_, we read:--
For the nightmare a charm I had,
From the parson of our town--
Set your shoes with the heels to the bed,
Each night when you lie down.
[13] Landstad is a Norwegian clergyman, who has lately edited a
collection of Norsk minstrelsy, gathered from the mouths of the people.
Bugge is a student, who is travelling about the remote valleys, at
the expense of the Government, to collect all the metrical tales and
traditions that still linger there. It is very unfortunate that this
was not done earlier. The last few years have made great inroads on
these reminiscences of days gone by.
[14] A Manx gentleman assured Waldren that he had lost three or four
hunters by these nocturnal excursions, as the fairies would not
condescend to ride Manx ponies. In Norway, however, they have no choice.
[15] “Upon a time, when he (Lord Duffus) was walking abroad in the
fields, near his own house, he was suddenly carried away, and found
next day at Paris, in the French king’s cellar, with a silver cup in
his hand. Being brought into the king’s presence, and questioned who he
was, and how he came thither, he told his name, country, and place of
residence; and that, on such a day of the month (which proved to be the
day immediately preceding), being in the fields, he heard a noise of a
whirlwind, and of voices crying, ‘Horse and Hattock!’ (this is the word
the fairies are said to use when they remove from any place); whereupon
he cried, ‘Horse and Hattock’ also, and was immediately caught up,
and transported through the air by the fairies to that place; where,
after he had drank heartily, he fell asleep; and, before he awakened,
the rest of the company were gone.”--_Letter from Scotland to Aubrey,
quoted by W. Scott._ I could not learn what the _mot_ of the fairy
pack is in Sætersdal, or that there was any at all. Still the Norsk
superstition is clearly the parent of the Scotch one.
[16] The word is written with or without h.
[17] “Some of the Highland seers, even in our day, have boasted
of their intimacy with elves as an innocent and advantageous
connexion.”--Walter Scott, _Border Minstrelsy_.
[18] Mr. Bellenden Kerr’s theory of a political and much less ancient
origin for these rhymes is surely more ingenious than correct.
[19] This alludes to the custom of sprinkling the girdle-cake with a
brush during the baking.
[20] Like our “Rompty idity, row, row, row.”
[21] The day on which Thor is on his rounds; and when, therefore, the
little people are forced to sing small.
[22]
“If this glass do break or fall,
Farewell the luck of Edenhall.”
That goblet was said to have been seized by a Musgrave at an
elf-banquet.--See Longfellow.
[23] So the old French proverb:--
“Quatorze Janvier,
L’ours sort de tanière,
Fait trois tours,
Et rentre pour quarante jours.”
[24] Sunniva was an Irish king’s daughter. In order to escape
compulsory marriage with a heathen, she took ship, and was driven by
tempests on the Isle of Selia, near Stad, in Norway, and, with her
attendants, found shelter in a cave. The heathens on the mainland, on
the look-out for windfalls, observed that there were people on the
desert island, and immediately put off to it. At this juncture, through
the prayers of Sunniva and her friends, the rocks split, the cave
became blocked up, and the savages drew the island blank. In 1014, when
Olaf Trygveson landed here from Northumberland, breathing slaughter
against the pagans, he discovered the bones of Sunniva, and she was at
once canonized.
[25] The similarity between vetr, the old word for winter, and vöttr,
the old word for vante (glove), most likely suggested the use of this
symbol.
[26] Much of the above explanations of the Runes has been thrown
together by Professor T. A. Munck, in the _Norsk Folke Kalender_ for
1848.
[27] Hence evidently comes our “dapple,” _i.e._, mottled like an apple.
[28] Names of goats.
[29] In the district of Lom, where the climate is said to be the
driest in Norway, there are the remains of a house in which Saint Olaf
is said to have lodged. There was, not long ago, a house at Naes, in
Hallingdal, where the timbers were so huge that two sufficed to reach
to the top of the doorway from the ground. This old wood often gets so
hard that it will turn the edge of the axe.
[30] It is singular that two peasants in different parts of the country
should have made this statement, which seems after all to be based on
error: for the plant was nothing but our Rock-brake, or parsley fern
(Allosurus crispus), which is not generally supposed to possess any
noxious qualities.
[31] The Chinese have a somewhat similar device. “A strip of white
canvas is stretched slanting in the water, which allures or alarms
the fish, and has the strange effect (but they were Chinese fish)
of inducing them to leap over the boat. But a net placed over the
boat from stem to stern intersects their progress, and they are
caught.”--Fortune’s _Travels in China_.
[32] Ström, in his description of Söndmör, relates that in the hard
winter of 1755, of thirty children born in the parish of Volden not one
lived, solely because they were brought to church directly they were
born. But even in the present day in the register books (kirke-bog)
notices may be found, such as “Died from being brought too early to
church.”
[33] What a curious custom that was of the heathen Norwegian
gentle-folk to select a friend to sprinkle their child with water, and
give it a name. Thus Sigurd Jarl baptized the infant of Thora, the wife
of Harald Harfager, and called it Hacon, although this had nothing
to do with Christianity, for this child was afterwards baptized by
Athelstan, king of England. The heathen Vikings often pretended to take
up Christianity, to renounce it again on the first opportunity. Some of
them allowed themselves to be baptized over and over again, merely for
the sake of the white garments. Others, who visited Christian lands for
the sake of traffic or as mercenary soldiers, used to let themselves be
primsegnet (marked with the sign of the cross) without being baptized.
Thus they were on a good footing with the foreign Christians, and also
with their heathen brethren at home. Many of those who were baptized
in all sincerity quite misunderstood the meaning of the rite, thinking
that it would release them from evil spirits and gramary.
[34] According to the newspapers, a great part of the capital itself
has just met with a like fate.