PAGE
Tyssestrængene Fos 3
Christiansand 7
Christiania 12
Hour Glasses 19
Norwegian Carved Lintels 20
Carved House in Thelemarken 21
Carved Houses, Bru, Thelemarken 22
The Raft Boat: Thelemarken 25
Porch at Hitterdal: Thelemarken 28
Chair in Hitterdal Church 29
Smoking the Cows: Thelemarken 36
The Mangletræ 37
Seljestad 42
Odde: Hardanger 44
Odde: Hardanger 46
Buerbræ Glacier 48
The Spring Dance: Hardanger 49
The Market: Bergen 54
Rosendal 55
Church Candlestand: Bergen Museum 62
Knife-stone on Bronze Belt: Bergen Museum 63
Hard Schist Implements: North Cape 64
Sword and Bracelet: Bergen Museum 65
Rowlock Knot of Birch-stones and Viking Rowlock 65
Sword Handle: Bergen Museum 66
Arrow Heads and Sword Handle: Bergen Museum 67
Ousen 76
The Island of Alden 77
Nordfjord Peasants 78
Norwegian Plough 80
The Lych Gate, Nordfjord 82
The Pass: Moldestadt 86
Postman and his Carriole 87
The Saw-Mill: Udvig 88
Faleidet: Nordfjord 89
The Olden River 90
Lyth Fishing 91
Haugen, near Hellesylt 94
The Horningdalskrakken, near Haugen 95
Breen-stok, or Bucket for Sharpening Stone 97
The Landing-place: Molde 102
Molde, from above the Town 103
Sea Warehouse: Molde 104
The Flower Market: Molde 105
The Churchyard: Molde 106
The Coast Inspector 108
Carriole crossing a River 111
Næss 112
Ole Larsen, our Shoemaker 114
The Farm at Aak 116
Meal House: Fiva, Romsdal 120
The Laave at Fiva: Romsdal 121
Rauma River Boat 122
Sheep Boy’s Horn 123
Shipping a Carriole 127
Grave-board, Mølmen Churchyard 128
A Norwegian Salmon Stage 131
Hardanger 132
Powder Flask, &c. 137
Snow Plough 139
Snow Pass: Thorbvu 142
After Sport 144
An Anxious Moment 145
Thorbvu: Encamping 146
Easing down the Patriarch 147
The Gralloch 148
Maritz Sæter 149
A Friend in Need 152
The Eagle’s Nest 153
Reindeer Head 154
Red Deer Head 155
Worm Box 159
Fresh Fish al Fresco 160
Casting 162
A Good Beginning 163
Wool Holder 166
Reeb Holder 168
Eikesdal 170
Looking across Indfjord 176
The Halt at Griseth 177
Spinning in the Sæter: Isterdal 184
Melting Glacier over Valdal 186
Church Axe 187
Bridal Crown 192
The Wedding 193
Drinking Horn 194
Before the Wedding 196
The Arrival at Home 197
Hitterdal Church 198
The Funeral: Bergen 199
The Stolkjær and Boat 200
Sledging 203
The Gentle Reproof 204
Stabur and Wooden Tankards 208
Costume of Lutheran Priest of Norway 210
I.
CHRISTIANSAND AND CHRISTIANIA.
GAMLE NORGE—AN EARLY MURRAY—UNEXPLORED STATE OF THE
COUNTRY—THE PIONEERS OF SPORT—CROSSING THE NORTH
SEA—NOT THEN AS NOW—CONTENT OF THE PEASANTS—CHARM OF
THE FJELD—CHRISTIANSAND—CHRISTIANIA—THE EMIGRANT’S
VICISSITUDES—THE VICTORIA HOTEL AND OSCAR HALL.
[Dropcap caption: _Tyssestrængene Fos._]
For comparatively few years has Norway received any attention from
the travelling public. The beauty and grandeur of the country and the
simple habits of the people were known to but few, and only heard of
occasionally from some energetic salmon fisher who preferred outdoor
life, good sport, plain food, and vigorous health to the constant
whirl of advanced civilisation, busy cities, over-crowded _soirées_,
high-pressure dinners, and the general hurry-skurry of modern life.
The words “Gamle Norge,” or old Norway, while exciting the greatest
enthusiasm in Norway itself, rejoice the heart not only of many an
Englishman who has become practically acquainted with its charms,
but of those who, having heard of them, long to go and judge for
themselves. Nor is the expression of modern introduction; it was
evidently well known in the sixteenth century, as our immortal bard
alludes to it in _Hamlet_.
Forty-five years ago Norway and its salmon fisheries were unknown
luxuries. Even as late as 1839 Murray published a post-octavo Handbook
for Travellers in Denmark, Norway, and Sweden, in the preface to which
occur the subjoined passages:—
“The principal object of the following pages is to afford such of my
travelling countrymen as are disposed to quit the more beaten paths
of Southern Europe, and explore the less known, but equally romantic,
regions of the north, some useful information as to time and distance,
which at present they can only obtain by time and experience. Beyond
Hamburg all is unknown land; no guide-book contains any account of the
Baltic steamboats, still less of the means of travelling, either by
land or water, in the more distant lands of Norway and Sweden. At the
steam-packet offices in London you may learn that an English steamer
sails three times a month from Lubec to Stockholm, but no further
information can be obtained.
• • • • •
“Unless the weather is unusually stormy, and the passage of the
vessel has consequently been delayed, the steamer remains in the
outer harbour, called Klippen, for four or five hours; enabling the
passengers who are going straight to Norway to inspect the city,
which is well worth seeing. A miniature steamboat, the smallest I
have ever seen, conveys you from the quay, at which the larger vessel
remains moored, up the long harbour to the town itself, the journey
occupying about half-an-hour. In the afternoon the _Constitution_
continues her voyage, stretching much further out to sea, in crossing
the Skager Rack, until, at an early hour the next morning, you reach
Frederiksværn, the principal arsenal of Norway, situated at the
entrance of the winding fjord of Christiania. From this place a smaller
coasting steamboat conveys the passengers to Christiania, touching, in
its passage up the Christiania fjord, at the various small towns and
villages on either shore.
• • • • •
“Steam vessels have for the last two or three years plied between
Christiania and Frederiksværn and Bergen, but their times of leaving
have hitherto been very irregular; beyond Bergen I am not aware that
any regular communication has hitherto been projected.
• • • • •
“No traveller has any business to intrude among the mountain fastnesses
of Norway, unless he can not only endure a fair proportion of bodily
fatigue, but can likewise put up with accommodations of the coarsest
description. As far as Christiania this, of course, does not apply: the
transport thither is by a comfortable steamboat, and the Hôtel du Nord
sufficiently good to satisfy any man; but when you attempt to penetrate
into the bowels of the land the case is different.
• • • • •
“The Norsemen are strict Lutherans; scarcely an individual is to be
met with professing any other creed, and no place of worship of any
other kind exists in Norway. No Jew is allowed to set foot in Norway—a
strange law in this free country. It has often struck me as a curious
anomaly, that in the free cities of the Continent these unhappy
outcasts were far worse treated than under many despotic governments.
Commercial jealousy in a great measure accounts for this enmity in a
city of merchants, but in a poor and thinly-populated country like
Norway this motive could have no weight. I have been unable to learn
from what cause the exclusion originated, though it is said to have
originated from some idle fear that they would possess themselves of
the produce of the silver mines at Kongsberg; but it is certainly a
most startling fact that the freest people on earth should cling with
such watchful jealousy to one of the most illiberal and inhuman laws
that can be conceived.”
Soon after this our real sport-lovers began to discover the charms of
Norway, Sir Hyde Parker, Sir Richard Sutton, and Lionel James leading
the van; and within the space of forty years the transition has taken
place from free fishing and shooting to the Scotch system of letting
moors—a state of things that would astonish Forrester and Biddulph,
whose work on Norway has now become historical and of the greatest
interest. Forrester begins thus (A.D. 1834):—“Eight days in
the North Sea, beating against foul winds, or, which was still worse,
becalmed amongst fleets of Dutch fishing-boats, and ending in a regular
gale of wind, which was worst of all, prepared us to hail the sight
of land, and that of the coast of Norway.” This passage was made in a
little Norwegian schooner, bound from Gravesend to the south of Norway.
How different is it now! Thanks to Messrs. Wilson, steamers take us
thither almost to the hour, unless, indeed, the clerk of the weather
should connive with old Neptune to teach us a lesson, by reminding us
that the elements are not yet to be ordered about entirely as we like.
English visitors commenced about 1824; Lord Lothian, Lord Clanwilliam,
and Lord H. Kerr, 1827; Marquis of Hastings, 1829; and in 1830 we
have Elliott’s account of Norway. Those were early days, when the
_bönder_ were astonished, and could hardly believe their own eyes, when
Englishmen went down with a piece of thread and a kind of coach-whip
to kill a salmon of thirty pounds; or, again, when the first flying
shot opened a new world to them. Those were the times when members of
the Storthing (or Parliament) appeared in the costume of their own
district, with belts, tolle-knives, &c. They were not so eager to grasp
at civilisation as the Japanese, who simultaneously took to elastic
boots, tall black hats, and the English language within a year. No;
they are a contented people, with no desire for change, or to have it
thrust upon them, until they discover that they can make money of the
delighted foreigner, who, elevated by the grandeur of the mountain
scenery, grows more warm-hearted, kind, and generous than ever. Then
the Norseman becomes rabid and exacting; but the provinces (thank
Heaven!) still preserve their primitive simplicity.
Let us, then, hasten to these happy hunting-grounds. The fjeld life
will blow all the smoke out of us, and if we love nature we can store
up health and purity of thought, and bring back concentrated food for
happy reflection, should we be spared to a good old age. How such
reminiscences will then come out, brightened by the fact that all the
petty _désagréments_ of travel have been forgotten as they receded
in the past! We need not enlarge on the pleasures of anticipation,
the punctual meeting at the railway station, the satisfaction of
knowing that nothing has been omitted or left behind—a congratulation
sometimes a little blighted by the discovery that some one, after
ransacking everything, cannot find his breech-loader or cartridge
cases, or that some one else has left his pet “butchers” or “blue
doctors” on his dressing-table. Should such mischances occur, they
are soon dissipated in the general atmosphere of enjoyment and
anticipation, assisted by the thought that it is of no use losing
one’s temper, as it is sure to be found again, and the temporary loss
of it grieves one’s friends unnecessarily, to say nothing of personal
discomfort. Happy thought—always leave your ill-temper at home; or,
better still, do not have one: it is not a home comfort.
[Illustration: _Christiansand._]
The first port touched _en route_ for the capital of Norway is
Christiansand, which is snugly hidden in the extreme south of the
district of Sætersdalen—that land of eccentricity in costume and
quaintness of habitation, of short waists and long trousers reaching to
the shoulders, above which come the shallow, baby-looking jackets. With
what zest does one strain for the first peep at a seaport of a foreign
land! What value is attached to the earliest indication of varying
costume, or even a new form of chimney! The steamer from Hull generally
arrives at Christiansand on Sunday, when it is looking its neatest, the
white tower of the church shining over the wooden houses of the town,
the Norwegian shipping all in repose, with the exception, perhaps, of
the heavy, compressed, Noah’s ark kind of dumpy barges, or a customs’
gig containing some official. As we looked up at the church tower we
could not but wonder if we should hear, during our short visit, the
whistle of the “Vægter;” for tradition says that, for the protection
of the place, a watchman is always on the look-out, ready to give the
alarm should a fire break out in the town, which, being built almost
entirely of wood, would soon be reduced to a heap of ashes. But no; we
heard no whistle, not even a rehearsal. _On dit_ that for three hundred
years has the Vægter looked out afar, and no alarum has issued from the
tower. Christiansand has been mercifully preserved from fire, and long
may it be so!
During the passage over a friend told me of a Norwegian he once met
on board. He was a Christiansander. The Norseman was in high glee,
and, having entered into conversation with my friend, soon proposed a
_skaal_ (health). This achieved, the story of the Norseman began to
run rapidly off the reel, and it is so characteristic of the people
that we cannot do better than repeat it here. Born at Christiansand,
at the age of sixteen Lars became restless, wanted to see America, and
make his way in life, for which there was not much scope in the small
seaport. Lars’s father and mother were then living, with one daughter,
who would take care of them whilst he started for the battle-field
of life. He therefore determined to go. On his arrival in America he
had a terrible struggle for existence, there being so many emigrants
of all nations and classes. After patient endurance he began to get
on, and saved sufficient to go to Chicago and California. During this
time of trial how he thought about the chimes from the old white
tower, the Vægter, and the fair-haired sister he had left behind, and
wondered if all were well with the old people! At San Francisco he
did pretty well for some time; but hearing one day that at Yokohama,
in Japan, there was a good opening for a supply of butter (_smör_),
his Norske associations were aroused, and his thoughts ran back to
_sæters_, _piger_, cows, cream, and green pastures. That was the thing
for Lars. So off he started for Yokohama, and having established a
lucrative butter business, he determined to write home and send some
money to his father and mother. This was a great pleasure to the
kind-hearted fellow, while their answer assured him of the joy of those
whom he had left behind on hearing of his safety and success, and
receiving such a token of filial love. But the associations of home
and childhood are strong, and it was not long before he experienced
a desire to return. At length, however, he decided on developing the
butter trade still further, and then, having a good offer to go back
to San Francisco, he sold the whole business and good-will for a good
round sum, and started on a new career, which this time took the form
of brewing. How Norwegian! what national items!—butter (_smör_) and
ale (_öl_). Again Lars was successful, and derived much comfort from
the fact that he was thereby enabled to enhance the home happiness at
Christiansand. Happy the son who comforts a father! Happy the paternal
old age cherished by a son’s love! Beer, or rather ale, became the
basis of a lucrative business. Lars, however, speedily discovered that
bottled ale was the leading article to make the concern pay largely.
But bottles were the difficulty; they were expensive items, and not
manufactured in San Francisco. Lars often thought over this problem,
which his partner, likewise, was unable to solve. Luckily one evening
the good Norseman—he must have been indulging in a quiet pipe—had
a happy thought. While musing over his early days the bottle-makers
of Christiansand passed before him. He at once decided on making
arrangements for visiting the old seaport, and, having seen those
most dear to him on earth, to bring a bottle manufacturer back with
him, thus combining business with pleasure. This is the yarn he told
my friend, and when they entered the harbour poor Lars’s anxiety was
intense. He had telegraphed to say that he was coming, and expected
some one to meet and welcome him. During his absence he had heard
that his sister had married happily, and that the son-in-law was very
kind to his father; so Lars’s mind was set at rest. A boat neared the
steamer, in the stern-sheets of which sat an aged man, a fair-haired
Norseman rowing him. The old man was Lars’s father, who was soon on
deck looking round, but he could not see his boy. At last, however, he
spied him, and, throwing his arms round his neck, was fairly overcome
with joy. On recovering, the old gentleman began a good flow of Norske,
when poor Lars for the first time realised how long he had been away;
for, like the Claimant, he could not remember his native language, and
it was some time before either of them thought of landing. Meanwhile,
we heartily wish the good Lars increased success. May his bottles be
manufactured on the spot, and his good _öl_ cheer the heart without
muddling the brain!
When _we_ entered Christiansand _we_ also looked out for a boat; for
Hans Luther Jordhoy had come down from Gudbransdalen to meet us, and
was soon on board. A closely knit frame, fair beard, moderate stature,
and kindly eye—there stood our future companion before us. Our first
impressions were never disturbed; he had very good points, and has
afforded us many pleasing associations in connection with our visit to
Norge.
As we steamed out of the harbour of Christiansand we met a passenger
coast steamer coming in—one of those innumerable small screw steamers
which run in and out of every fjord from Cape Lindesnæs to the North
Cape. Are their names not written in _Norges Communicationer_, the
Norwegian _Bradshaw_? The kindly feeling of the Norwegians towards the
English was at once manifest, for no sooner did the brass band on board
the excursion boat recognise our nationality than it struck up “God
save the Queen.” We quite regretted that we had no band to return the
compliment, and the only thing left for us was to give them a hearty
cheer.
This done, we started on our run to Christiania, with comparatively
smooth water, a lovely evening, a prolonged _crepusculum_, and,
late in the evening, a sweet little French song, sung with the most
delightful simplicity by a lady. “Petites Fleurs des Bois” is indelibly
impressed on the mind of the Patriarch. When it afterwards became known
that we were indebted to an English bride for such a treat—which
it really was—the bachelors whispered “A happy bond of union!” but
considered, at the same time, that Norwegian travelling was scarcely
made on purpose for honeymooning. Take carrioles, for instance, or the
jolting _stolkjærre_, in which the bride might sometimes find herself
unceremoniously thrown into the lap of the bridegroom, or _vice versâ_.
No; unless the lady is familiar with the manners, customs, and petty
inconveniences attendant on travelling in Norway, that country will not
prove the happy hunting-ground for honeymoons.
[Illustration: _The Courtyard, Victoria Hotel, Christiania._]
The whole of the Christiania fjord is both grand and immense. A
decided flutter takes place on board when the town is in sight, and
preparations are made for disembarkation. Hans Luther had by this
time made a personal acquaintance with our luggage, and went to the
Custom House, whither we were soon sent for. Among our possessions
were discovered certain condiments and preserved provisions unknown to
the officials, one item especially—pea soup in powder. On our arrival
we suggested that the unusual product should be tasted. To this the
official at first demurred, but ultimately yielded. Unfortunately,
at the very moment of putting the powder to his lips, he drew a long
breath, which sent the dry powdered pea soup down the wrong way.
However, after a time he recovered, when doubtlessly he registered a
mental vow never, never again to taste any foreign importation.
We were soon at the Victoria Hotel, with its quaint courtyard, with
galleries running round it, excessively tame pigeons hopping and
perching on all sides, and a reindeer head nailed to the woodwork.
During the tourist season a large marquee is erected in the centre of
this courtyard for _tables d’hôte_ and extra meals. In the meantime we
hurried to our rooms, longing to be out in a boat for a general view of
the city. A few extras were, however, requisite before starting in real
earnest, amongst which were two rifle slings. These had to be made,
and are referred to here because they were the means of initiating us
into one of the customs of the place. The leather slings were well
made, but the price was most _tolky_ (exorbitant). This led to a mild
remonstrance, upon which the saddler wrote us a remarkable letter,
which it is a pity we cannot present _verbatim_. It was to the effect
that the saddler was happy to serve us well, but thinking we were
English gentlemen, he imagined we should prefer giving English prices.
However, if we merely wished to pay in accordance with the Norwegian
tariff, it would only be so much, which was precisely the amount we did
pay.
Christiania has a population of about seventy thousand, and owes
its modern appearance to the destruction of the old town by fire.
Nowadays the suburbs extend widely all round it, while to the westward
villas reach almost to Oscar’s Hall, an object of interest distinctly
visible both from the town and the fortress, being only about four
miles distant by land, and half that amount by water. The villa,
with its high tower, is the property of the King, and is rich in the
native talent of Tidemand, who was the national genre painter of his
day. There are magnificent views of the fjord, bay, and surrounding
mountains from all points, whether high or low, from the fortress or
from the Egeberg, from the tower of the church in the market-place,
or, farther off, from the Frogner Sæter and the Skougemsaas. For the
latter, however, a long day should be taken.
[Illustration: _Christiania._]
To visit Oscar’s Hall the most pleasant way is to take a boat and row
across. This was suggested by Hans, and we were glad to find that
he took kindly to boat work, as he came from Gudbransdalen, which
is inland. More pleased, however, were we to discover, when about
half-way across, that Hans was gradually bursting out into song,
singing in a clear voice one of Kjerulf’s sweetest compositions,
which we give in part at the end of the chapter. There is a plaintive
sweetness throughout it, and the beauty of the evening, coupled with
the surprise, caused us to anticipate many future repetitions, as
nothing, when travelling, is more humanising and soothing than vocal or
instrumental music.
[Illustration: _A Timber Shoot._]
The University, the Storthing, museums, and Mr. Bennett have already
been frequently described: still just one word. Every Englishman is
received by Mr. Bennett, who carries out his slightest wish. We only
called to see him, and get some _smaapenge_; for if we had not, no one
would have believed that we had been to Norway. Before the country
was well opened Mr. Bennett must have been of the greatest service to
visitors.
During our very short stay we had an excellent opportunity of judging
of the character of the people when collected in masses. There were
to be a great procession of guilds and all kinds of things at the New
Palace. These we attended, and very gratified we were to find how
orderly the good folk were; how quiet, and yet with what a sense of
comfortable enjoyment, if we may use the term; no excitement, but a
cheerful interest in all that was going on; no crushing, no rush of
roughs. If such were the case in large towns, we considered it augured
well for the provinces.
Between Christiania and Kongsberg much timber is seen wending its way
down to the fjord. An instance of a _timber jam_ after a shoot is
given in the accompanying illustration. Sometimes trees are torn away
at flood-time. The regular timber is duly marked and started, and at
certain periods of the year persons follow the course of the river for
the purpose of releasing the _jams_ and helping the timber on its way
to Drammen, where it is shipped for all parts of the world.
Little is said here of the cities of Christiania, Bergen, and
Trondhjem, as our path lies in the open, the fjeld life, _sæters_,
peasants, and sport. Our delight is to live out of the present century
in fresh air and simplicity, where trolds might cross our path, where
we might see the lovely Huldre, the beauty who had the unfortunate
appendage of a cow’s tail, which, when exposed to view, was the signal
for her to vanish into thin air, or where Odin and Thor had had great
_jagt_, and killed bears, elks, gluttons, and wolves. The scenes we
longed for were those in which pagan rites had been carried out with
all the grandeur of mighty warriors and priests worthy of Valhalla;
wherein Vikings, after deeds of valour, were laid low, and buried with
great solemnity and becoming pomp in their own war vessels, with their
treasure, their arms, and their hunting-gear about them, waiting for
the call to glory.
[Music: INGRIDS VISE.