Music by H. KJERULF. Words by BJØRNSON.
Og Ræ-ven laa under Birke-rod bortved Lyn-get, bortved
Lyn-get, og Haren hoppede paa lette Fod o-ver Lyn-get, o-ver
Lyn-get. “Det
er vel no-get til Sol-skins dag! det glitt-rer for og det
glitt-rer bag over Lyn-get, over Lyn-get!”]
II.
THELEMARKEN.
LYSTHUS—COMPONENT PARTS OF TRAVEL—HITTERDAL CHURCH—THE
CHAIR—THE CAMP AT SKEJE—FLATDAL—RELICS OF THE PAST—THE
ASTONISHED MAGPIE AND UNKNOWN MUSIC—THE COSTUMES OF
THELEMARKEN—THE “HULDRE”—THE BEAUTIFUL TROLD—BERGE AND
THE MANGLETRÆ—MOGEN—THE PLOUGH, REIN HORNS, AND SNOW
SHOES—BOCKLEY AND PUKKINGS—BLACK-BROWN BEER—JAMSGAARD—A
NIGHT IN THE LAAVE—CAMP BEDS AND HAMMOCK—BOTTEN—NEW
ROAD-MAKING—WEIRD SCOTCH FIRS—A BLASTED FOREST.
Thelemarken is a large district, lying in the south-east of Norway,
north of Sætersdalen, which is the most southern part of the kingdom.
It is characterized by forest, costume, and wood-carving, the latter
being applied on a large scale to the external decoration of houses,
and especially to the storehouse, which is always a separate building
of one story, and locally called the _stabur_. On the exterior of
this structure is lavished all the carving talent and energy of the
proprietor and his friends; while inside will be found good old
coffers, containing the silver and the tankards, the brooches and
the bridal crown, which is handed down from generation to generation
amongst the _bönder_, or farmers. A public parochial crown is sometimes
to be heard of, and may be seen at the lawyer’s, for that profession is
known in Norway; and, when litigation commences, it is impossible to
guess the time over which it may extend. But to return to wood-carving,
so important a feature in the dwellings of the inhabitants of this
part. A fine specimen of carved lintel, or side-post, is in existence
near Lysthus, displaying wonderful solidity, and a flowing Runic design
extremely difficult to copy. How was it originated? What was the
_motif_ of the design? After making a careful study of it, it appears
to be the result of “eyes”—generally associated without hooks—being
kept to themselves, and interlaced, one following the other. On trying
this, it was found to be practicable and most successful. Talking
over this glorious old work with the good housewife, she called her
husband, who went off to the _stabur_, and, quickly returning, told me
there was a very old and handsome pair of these lintels lying under
the “provision house,” and begged me to accept them in recollection of
my visit, and take them back to my own home, that they might give me
pleasure there. Great was my wish to accept them, but the difficulty of
transit soon flashed across my mind. Our route lay over the Haukelid,
with hours of snow—ponies sinking in, and perhaps through. So the
transit being impossible, I tendered my thanks for the kindly offer. It
was with much regret that I did so, but what could be done hundreds of
miles from home, and just starting over the roughest mountain tracts
to the north-west of Norway? Nothing but a grateful negative, and a
suggestion that they should be given to the next nice young couple who
were starting housekeeping. The principal carving, as we have already
observed, is lavished on the storehouses; and as soon as a loving
couple are engaged, the man begins to build his nest, with nothing much
but his axe for strong work and a knife for ornamentation. The latter
instrument is most adroitly used by the peasants, cutting all sweeping
curves, with the left-hand thumb used as a lever. The house-building
is characterized by large timbers squared, afterwards calked with
moss, and the ends crossing. As will be hereafter shown, the timbers
are generally numbered externally up to twelve, so that they may be
easily rebuilt should occasion arise to remove the house elsewhere.
Looking at these immense solid timbers, what a contrast they present to
modern work; how like their sturdy forefathers, who worked so solidly;
how unlike the feather-edged boarding of the new half-civilised houses
which are now being introduced near towns, and are flimsiness itself,
and only carpenter’s shoddy!
[Illustration: _Norwegian Carved Lintels._]
[Illustration: _Carved House in Thelemarken._]
Kongsberg is a city of rushing waters, or rather a small town; and
approaching it is suggestive of proximity to a seltzer-water bottle
with the cork partially out. The river rushes, splutters, fumes,
foams, and steams; huge sticks, fir poles, and stems battling their
way down the broken waters to Drammen, preparatory to their being
shipped for the warmer and drier sphere of civilisation and circular
saws. Some three English miles below Kongsberg is the Labro Fos, which
is very interesting, and well worth visiting, inasmuch as it affords
an admirable opportunity of seeing the timber shoot the Fos—large
fir-stems sometimes coming clean over the fall into the roar below.
[Illustration: _Carved Houses, Bru, Thelemarken._]
Kongsberg is a centre of interest, as close by are found the silver
mines which have for ages supplied the raw material for the _gamle
sölv_, such as silver crowns, belts, cups, tankards, and all the
endless variety of ornament for which Gamle Norge has been, and is,
so famous. However, we will not now enter into this subject, but will
merely mention that interesting specimens of this class of work are to
be found in England, souvenirs of travel which are highly prized by the
happy possessors and their friends also. The silver is not considered
very pure, but the old designs are very grand and admirable. The modern
specimens, and especially those in filigree, are far inferior, being
poor in design and unsubstantial.
[Illustration: _Kongsberg: Thelemarken._]
Forests are most typical of Thelemarken, and very suggestive of bears
in winter, a season much more severe here than in some other parts
of Norway, as the district is away east, beyond the influence of
the gulf-stream. It is a curious fact that directly an Englishman
arrives in Thelemarken everybody seems to have seen bears, or, to be
more precise, to have had visions of bears. That there are bears is
certain. A sport-loving Oxonian last year was disappointed of a bear
in the north, and, coming south on his return to shoot blackcock, had
lighted his pipe and was walking quietly back when he saw a bear! He
was seventy yards off, and had only one cartridge. He fired. Bruin,
falling back on his haunches, put out his “embracers,” and rushed
forward for the “hug,” when he gave a roll and fell backwards—dead.
He was a splendid beast, judging from the skin. What a trophy to bring
home! “What luck!” some said. On his return, the fortunate hunter—who,
by-the bye, was a week later than he should have been—heard the
momentous words from his dear parent, “Well, sir, where is the bear you
went out to shoot in Norway?” “Have you not seen it? It’s in the hall.”
“Oh, my dear boy, I am so delighted—so glad! Come, let us have the
skin up here. Send for mamma. This is capital!” How much nicer it is
to bring home a bear-skin than to have to say, “Didn’t shoot one!” Who
does not know what zest there always is in success?
The costume of the district is worn in every-day life, by the farmers
as well as the peasants; in fact, the farmers, or _bönder_, are very
proud of their dress. First and foremost is the typical white jacket,
with light blue facings and silver buttons; blue collars, blue pocket
flaps, with silver buttons also; the jacket turned well back, with a
light blue _revers_, as I think the ladies call it. But the great
characteristic of the jacket is not to be too long; the _ton_ only have
the back to come down just below the shoulder-blade; and, as the black
trousers rush up to meet the curtailed garment, one can imagine the
vast area of black trouser before arriving at the foot of the figure;
it really makes them all look out of drawing.
The women wear a chocolate-coloured handkerchief cleverly twisted round
the head and falling down the back, with the hair plaited; and well
they look with their fair hair and ribbons, their homespun or _vadmel_
petticoats closely kilt-plaited, old silver brooches and studs, and
sometimes silk handkerchiefs as aprons, with coloured cinctures, the
bodice with dark ground and flowers, crewel-worked, in relief. Near
Lysthus the costume is nearly all blue, a kind of short frock-coat,
with dark blue trouser-gaiters, embroidered up the side with yellow and
scarlet; but this is not a successful phase of costume.
On Sunday every variety is seen, and the additional interest of lake
travelling is met with—namely, the raft boats, consisting of seven
stems of trees, the longest in the middle, the six cut shorter, like
organ pipes; midships a seat for one; while the oars are tied in with
green birch twigs with the leaves on. How suggestive of early lake
habitation, and yet how like a modern outrigger; for there is only room
for one and a _fine_, or provision box, from which a Norwegian, male or
female, is inseparable.
The shortness of the jackets is shown in an illustration which
represents a custom peculiar to this part, namely, smoking the cows
(see p. 36). Many travellers have complained of the flies in Norway,
and now even Norwegian cows object to them, and the farm folk, in
kindly sympathy, make fires of juniper, the smoke of which is unwelcome
to the mosquitoes. Into this smoke the cows are only too glad to go,
and being well flavoured with juniper, are ready to start forth for the
day, regardless of their little winged enemies. We speak from practical
experience when we add that the traveller likewise will be rather
benefited by participating in the process.
Here, perhaps, it would be as well to refer to the hour-glass under
the initial letter at the commencement of the chapter. It is composed
of brass, and placed by the side of the pulpit, which is opposite
to the King’s pew or box in the church at Kongsberg. There are four
hour-glasses—quarter, half, three-quarters, and hour; so the domine,
or minister, turns the glass before commencing his discourse, and the
congregation knows how long he will continue. At Tönsberg there is a
curious mural historical souvenir, consisting of the top of a stool let
into the wall, on which may be read the following:—
“In the year 1589, being the 11th day of November, came the well-born
gentleman, Mr. Jacobus Stuart, King of Scotland: and the 25th Sunday
after Trinity, which was the 16th day of November, he sat on this stool
and heard a preaching from the 23rd Psalm, ‘The Lord is my Shepherd.’
Mr. David Lentz preached, and he preached between 10 and 12.”
[Illustration: _The Raft Boat: Thelemarken._]
This “well-born gentleman” was evidently James the First of England and
Sixth of Scotland, who married Anne of Denmark, sister of Christian IV.
Leaving Lysthus, we settled down for steady travelling in that most
delightful style, namely, with our tents and luggage, sometimes in
a _stolkjær_, or country cart, sometimes with ponies only. Such
independence, such health-giving enjoyment, can hardly be obtained
under different circumstances. The travellers in this case were three,
happily organized in the following manner. They might for the nonce
be called Brown, Jones, and Robinson, as a tribute of respect to the
originals in the “Primer or Spelling Book,” published in 1790, where
those now world-known names are first found associated. Let us rather
go with the times, and number them—a treatment now general in hotels,
both at home and abroad.
So, to commence, No. 1 was the youngest, and unanimously elected
Paymaster-general. Polyglot in his knowledge of languages, he shone
when asked to explain: then came such volleys of Norske, German,
Danish, Swedish, French, Italian, all in one flowing Norskey catena,
that, if people did not understand them, they felt they ought to,
and acted accordingly. All this was carried out with the dash of a
Zouave, and garnished with a profound knowledge of music and brilliant
execution on the piano. How we longed sometimes for a pocket piano! No.
1’s great _forte_ was enthusiasm for fishing—trout, salmon, greyling,
and split-cane fly-rods. Tradition says that he has often in his
sleep talked of “blue doctors,” “large butchers,” and “black doses,”
these sounds having been heard in the small hours of the morning
zephyring from his tent with nasal accompaniments; but he was always
equal to the occasion, even when some one had landed with the luggage
by mistake. “Never mind, my dear boy; sure to find it; most honest,
charming people, these Norwegians—never lose anything.” Such were the
comforting words which emanated from No. 1 when he understood that No.
3 had lost his luggage; but when he found that it was his own a change
came over the spirit of his dream. The polyglot vocabulary was soon
launched, the fire of the Zouave flared up, a carriole was ordered,
and the pursuit commenced, which happily ended in the recovery of the
wandering impedimenta, when Richard became himself again.
No. 2 was Tentmaster-general, and a sportsman to the core. Reindeer,
salmon, and Gamle Norge—these he had chronically on the brain,
mixed up with a great love of old tankards and a yearning for silver
belts and _gammelt sölv_. Once in his Norfolk jacket and knickers, _pua
de höie fjelde_, how happy was he! rejoicing in the _friske luft_,
mountain air, and snow peaks (_snebræer_), ready for any amount of
fatigue, and always willing to cook first and eat afterwards. A rare
good man was the Tentmaster.
[Illustration: _Hitterdal Church: Sunday Morning._]
No. 3 was generally known as “the Locust,” from his constant appetite
for all kinds of food, and general thirst for knowledge about
everything connected with Norway. Note-book in hand, he was ever
jotting down everything, even to catching mosquitoes between the leaves
of it, so as to bring home the real thing. Still No. 3 had an important
duty to perform. As the travellers were three, he was allowed the
casting vote—a most wholesome arrangement, as he was a married man,
and consequently likely to be useful in some weighty matters. Happily,
to the credit of No. 1 and No. 2, the exercise of No. 3’s prerogative
was never called for, and by the end of the trip was looked on as a
sinecure. Still he always travelled ready to apply “a touch of the
oil feather”—one of the best companions a traveller can have ready
to hand. May many such trios have a trip of such great yet simple
enjoyment, such health, and such pleasing diversion of thought! It is
a joy to fall back upon throughout life, and the longer the life the
greater the relish of recollection.
Hitterdal Church is one of the two wooden churches of which Norway
can boast, the other being that of Borgund. They are built of wood,
Byzantine-Gothic, _on dit_, but grotesque and pagodaist in form. The
old porches are grandly carved with serpents, dragons, and Runic
interlacings. The church itself at Hitterdal is nothing like so quaint
or picturesque as that at Borgund, neither is it so weird; still, its
early carving forms a noble monument to come down to us, and at once
draws forth the admiration, not only of the antiquarian, but of the
casual passer-by. The lintels at the entrance are especially beautiful.
The bell-tower is unusually detached, in this case being placed on
the other side of the highway. Unfortunately, time prevented a more
detailed sketch of the old chair or seat given on page 29: it stands in
the church by the altar, and is considered episcopal, but the date is
most likely _circa_ 900. What grand solidity of form! Vikingly to a
degree, and fit for Thor or Odin. There is a great air of majesty about
it.
The roof of the church is also of wood, carved in the same way as many
of the churches in Sussex, and covered with small wooden tiles, if
that term may be used to describe the process which in that county is
generally known as “shingling.”
[Illustration: _Porch at Hitterdal: Thelemarken._]
The churchyard is very interesting, and the grave-boards have a
peculiar form worthy of notice; for this reason one is introduced
here. The shape of the upper part is that of a cross, but below come
up two horns, rising right and left. These horns have a kind of anchor
form; and what could be a more appropriate emblem in a country so
sea-bound as Norge? The blending of Faith and Hope is, I think, most
poetically suggested. Can we do better here than pay a tribute of
respect to the beautiful simplicity of the religious character of the
Norwegian peasantry? Their love of God and their reverence for religion
are refreshing, and offer a good lesson to many who rejoice in mere
flourish of external worship. We shall have occasion to refer to the
curious anomaly of Roman Catholic vestments continued in the present
day in the Lutheran service, but allusion may now be made to the happy
link which exists between the ministers and people. This is shown in
the character of the sermons, the whole tone of which seems to aim at
binding the parish together in Christian love and sympathy, bearing
each other’s burdens, caring for one another, and curbing self—the
most difficult of all tasks, as it comes nearest home, and is in itself
so antagonistic to the inclinations of human nature. The whole climate
rather tends to develop this frame of mind: there is a certain sedate
expression throughout the provinces; the long darkness of winter,
extending its influence even into the continuous light of the northern
summer, brings every one into close and constant proximity, whilst the
mountains isolate the valleys one from the other without any access.
Still, when the summer comes and the whole energy of vegetation
bursts out at once, how their gladdened hearts rejoice! They pluck
these outbursts of beauty and revived nature, and joyously take them
to the house of God—no mere form or ritual, but the wholesome outcome
of heartfelt, unsophisticated joy and gratitude for brightness after
lengthened gloom and months of pent-up feeling.
[Illustration: _Chair in Hitterdal Church._]
Leaving Hitterdal, we were off in earnest for the Hardanger, with
a grand country before us. The first night we pulled up at Skeje.
Before coming to our resting-place at the end of the lake, we noticed
the saw-mills and corn-mills (seven, one above the other); not that
torrents are scarce in Norway, but in this valley there was employment.
Arrived at Skeje, our Tentmaster having selected his spot, tents were
pitched, and everything put ship-shape for the night. The only milk we
could get was goat’s milk, and _fladbröd_ in abundance. It is, perhaps,
superfluous to mention here that _fladbröd_ can be made very toothsome
by drying it before the fire: the peasants keep it in a state ready for
travelling, with the means of folding it up so as not to be shaken into
dust by the jolting of the _stolkjær_, which certainly would be the
case had it been fit for eating. The smoke of our fire had gone up, and
after our meal and a chat with our neighbours we turned in. A strange
dog came into the Patriarch’s tent, and eventually curled himself up
for the night, and, as a mark of gratitude for welcome, woke him in the
morning by licking his face.
Next day brought us on to Flatdal. Looking over that grand, deep
valley, we halted awhile at a picturesque wooden house: we asked
for milk, which was brought forthwith, and it was goat’s milk. The
daughter, as it was Saturday afternoon, was engaged plaiting her two
long tails ready for the morrow. The good mother had a very fine
antique silver brooch, and the proprietor one also on his shirt-front,
and after we had drunk our milk they showed us their rooms, which
were most interesting, and dated very far back; for traces of the
fact presented themselves on all sides, especially in the harness and
elaborately carved horse-collars, which bore the crest of a lion’s
head on an escutcheon—evidently belonging to the days of aristocratic
Norway.
[Illustration: _Flatdal: Thelemarken._]
We had bivouacked on a green lawn near the village, close to a house
which was a carriole station. Our three tents were a novelty, and our
cooking at last brought a crowd around us; but we must say that the
people were most kindly and considerate towards us. They had never seen
such a thing before, and hated _fanter_, tinkers, and gipsies, which
nearly included all wanderers in tents: such latter were we.
Next we inspected the _loom_, where a daughter was hard at work. There
were a fine old bed, with inscription, and many spinning-wheels, highly
coloured (green, red, and blue and white, with black). It is a pity an
illustration of this room cannot be given in colour. We descended into
the _dal_: the heat was intense, no air below, and a pandemonium of
flies. Bathing under the wheel of a mill was a temporary relief: our
torment was renewed at lunch. But we were out to enjoy ourselves; so
we did, in spite of mosquitoes. At lunch we cooked some of the trout
our chief had killed _en route_, which that day numbered thirty. We
were immensely amused here by noticing the very comic and inquiring
expression in a magpie while listening, for the first time probably,
to the English snore with which one of our party favoured us on this
occasion, putting his head first on one side and then on the other,
then taking a hop, and, when the music broke into a staccato bass
passage, hopping back still more interested, until it finally flew
off. Magpies are the sacred birds of the land, and are regarded as the
private property of his Satanic Majesty.
After a long day and a mid-day meal, during which we were devoured by
mosquitoes until nothing was left of us but our monograms, we arrived
late in the evening in front of a farmhouse at Sillejord. It was
Saturday night, and no room in the house, but an open space close by,
most inviting for tents. In the twinkling of an eye the Tentmaster
issued his order, each man had his tent laid out, and up they went
simultaneously, to the astonishment of the natives. Was it a sort of
fair, only read of in books? Was it the first germ of the great Russian
fair of Nijni Novgorod? Was it one of the lost tribes of Israel come
down from the clouds? Or were we Germans, who, having already annexed
Denmark, had just run on with a message from Prince Bismarck to say
that Norway also was annexed? No; the peasants rather looked on at a
respectful distance, with a certain openness of mouth and absence of
expression. By this time, the tents being up, beds laid, saddle-bags
in places, and guns hung on tent-pole with telescope, food had to be
thought of, and the canteen business looked after. The canteen was well
organized and an old traveller—almost self-acting; so accustomed to
the names of Fortnum and Mason’s tinned soups, &c., that the very words
“mock-turtle” made it burn and bristle up to a really good fire. That
night we had good lake trout; and how welcome, with our then appetites,
the mock-turtle! Three cheers for Fortnum and Mason! And then the
_mörbradsteg_! Some of our readers have never been introduced to those
satisfying and necessary pleasures of life; if not, let us explain.
_Mörbradsteg_ and other good things in tins come from Stavanger in
Norway, which is great in potted meats, _ryper_, tins of all kinds of
preserved things, soups, lobsters, &c., and these _mörbrader_. The
inquiring mind may ask, “But _mörbrader_—what is it? how made?” All
I can say is, that it was so good we thought we had no time to ask
what it was: perfect in flavour, solid in substance, very satisfying
to the most energetic of gastric juices, and wholesome. Three cheers,
therefore, for Stavanger! Then came wild strawberries, brought by dear
little children in costume, who had already begun to go through the
process of purification ready for Sunday, biscuits and Dutch cheese,
and a _skaal_ for Gamle Norge. After this we followed the suggestion of
the good motto, “Rest and be thankful,” and then some hunters’ songs.
The following day (Sunday) was a curious scene; everybody came to
look at us. All the characteristics of national costume, as worn in
Thelemarken, were in full force. Let us first describe the _piger_,
or girls. They wear very short petticoats, and most becoming and
picturesque they are; dark blue stockings with lovely clocks, and
buckles on their shoes; the apron is embroidered with what now would be
called crewel patterns of flowers; while a little below the waist is a
rich many-coloured girdle, ending in knobs of tassels of the brightest
colours. The top of the petticoat is bound with a bright colour, and
shown, as the scarlet jacket, which is frequent in this district, is as
short as the men’s, coming only a little below the shoulder-blades.
Tucked inside the girdle is generally seen a rich silk handkerchief,
and in some cases two. The head-dress is another silk handkerchief, and
into the tail of the back hair more colour is worked. On week days they
wear large gaiters, like cloth trousers, which certainly attracted our
attention when first seen.
Now for the lads of the village. They are not one tittle behind
the girls in the pains they take as to their points, especially
these—shortness of jacket, length of trouser, and brightness of
colour. At Dabord they all adopted the shaven cheek, upper lip, and
chin. The jacket is generally white, very short, as in Sætersdalen,
just coming below the shoulder-blades: this curious garment is turned
back at the cuffs and _revers_ with light blue, the effect being
heightened by silver buttons. The trousers are very curious—a fact
necessitated by the shortness of the superstructure. The expanse of
back is prodigious from the shoulder-blades downwards, they are wide in
the leg, and generally have a stripe down the side. The short coatee
affords a grand display of tolle-knives, the handles of which, in this
part, are generally made of _lom_ (maple), smooth, and uncarved, and
deep in the sheath. In most cases they are suspended from a button, and
not from a belt; in fact, belts are not of very frequent occurrence
here. Skull-caps and hats are worn by the men, and the richest farmers
maintain the national costume of the district. In some few instances
for weddings the white jacket is daintily touched up with a little
worked flower here and there on the edge and corner, which gives great
finish. The clocks on the men’s stockings are very rich: these are worn
on fête days with breeches, which are worked in red and white round
the buttons and up the seams. The garters are always objects of great
taste and careful arrangement. It is when the holiday costumes are worn
that the beautiful and mysterious Huldre appears, generally frequenting
the mountains and forests, but sometimes joining in the festive dances
of the mountaineers. When she vouchsafes this favour every young
_bonde_ is eager to dance with her—the handsome strange girl with the
blue petticoat, and white handkerchief over her head. Tradition does
not enlighten us much about this beauty, and the story of her sudden
disappearance immediately her cow-tail is discovered is cruel. Why
does she come to Thelemarken, where the skirts are so short, sometimes
only reaching the knee? If she be so fond of dancing, why not frequent
country balls? Or she would be safer with a train of the present
fashion; even if that were trodden on, her tail would be safe. Having
noticed the general costume, let us enjoy the day of rest.
The brightness of the morning favoured our _al fresco_ toilets, and
one of our party (who carried a dressing-case full of wonderful
things, and generally known in the list of impedimenta as “Somebody’s
luggage”) became the centre of attraction. In front of his tent were
laid out a waterproof sheet and a saddle-bag, partially opened and
supported at the back; the latter sustained the looking-glass, in
front of which knelt a figure shaving (No. 1). Now, although the
Norwegians shave almost universally, there was something about our
friend’s manipulations which took the fancy of all present. The girls
giggled; the short ones tried to peep between the tall ones. Why? Did
the performer pull his own nose to a greater length than usual in this
country when he took the long sweep down his cheek? Hardly. The fact
was, the good folk thought the whole thing was but an overture to
some other performance, and that the dressing-case, with its numerous
silver-topped glass bottles, contained all kinds of medicines, panaceas
for everything—cures for gout, sciatica, tic douloureux, trichinæ
spirales, hypochondria, dipsomania, and every other mania.
After the shaving came a pause. A fortunate inquiry for old silver
ornaments now changed the whole scene, and for the rest of the day, at
intervals, the _penates_ of the neighbourhood were being brought for
our edification. Some of the old brooches were remarkably beautiful;
the rings were very characteristic, some having small pendant rings,
some with the usual cup ornaments; and when it was discovered that much
interest was taken in old costumes, we had really a treat—embroideries
on _vanter_, or winter gloves without fingers, eider-down cloaks,
swaddling-bands, babies’ caps, worked aprons, the open-work at the
lower part being admirable in design. A wish was expressed to see a
baby ready swaddled for baptism. Unhappily, there was no such thing
to be had within miles upon miles; but rather than “the Locust”
should be disappointed, these good people dressed up a woollen one,
which answered every purpose, and was considered a great success.
The kindness of the people was very striking; a certain shy curiosity
characterized their movements at first, but they soon settled down
to taking every possible pains to oblige us and meet our wants. It
seemed very odd, however, to see a church so near, and yet no service.
How was it, when we saw almost enough people to form a congregation?
It happened thus. The _præstegaard_, or clergyman’s house, is at the
central church, which often has two or three _annexer_—small churches,
each eighteen or twenty miles from the principal one; the services,
therefore, are only held about every third Sunday in each church.
Well educated, well read, and, much like the old fathers, revered
and well beloved by their flocks, the clergy lead a hard life. The
vast extent of their parishes or districts is very trying to their
health, necessitating long drives, and in winter much severe sledge
work; while on the coast there is such boat work that the minister and
doctor of the locality seem more like “old salts” than members of those
professions. I remember particularly one clergyman, whose _annex_ was
on a group of islands off the coast. As the steamer passed she swung
round a point, when a boat came off to us, with a grand figure standing
up steering her. From beneath an old sou’-wester streamed his white
hair, grandly blown back, and he wore silver spectacles, large muffler
round his throat, oilskin coat and trousers, and long sea boots. As
the boat neared the steamer and was turned to the gangway, a sailor
on board said, “Now, sir, you’ll see one of the fine old sort; this,
sir, is the priest, and not a better seaman will you find all along
the coast—nor a better man.” No wonder religion takes so simple and
earnest a form when its exponents practically exemplify, in their
every-day life, its sublime teachings with a simplicity, energy, and
dignity far beyond the conception of those working in densely populated
districts; for the priest, although but an occasional visitor to some
parts, is a source of comfort and sympathy to all in their trouble, and
enters with the greatest interest into their rejoicings and pleasures,
whether they be public or domestic. In this way their relations with
their flocks are most “good shepherd-like,” and their constant care and
solicitude for their parishioners rivet the love and confidence of
all around them. No doubt these relations are materially assisted by
the tolerably equal distribution of this world’s goods in spots remote
from busy towns; or rather, to speak more correctly, by the absence
of wealth and the even-manneredness of all such Norwegian residents.
Any stranger visiting Norway will be struck with the large Elizabethan
frill worn by the priest, which, with the sombre black gown, and the
two candlesticks constantly kept on the altar ready to be lighted on
three occasions—generally Christmas, the end of the forty days, and
Easter—imparts a very mediæval character to the service. All that we
have here said of the relations of the clergy with their congregations
is abundantly confirmed by the homely way in which the former give
out the notices from the altar as to the working of the parish or
the schools, or any extra communion, when requested by any of the
parishioners.
[Illustration: _Smoking the Cows: Thelemarken._]
[Illustration: _Jamsgaard Laave._]
Going to Berge from Sillejord, we had torrents of rain—a deluge: we
now approached higher ground and a blacker country. Snow ploughs on the
side of the road told tales of wintry difficulty of transit, while
sledges were round most of the houses. Arrived at the station, we
found one small bedroom with strong store-closet atmosphere, game lost,
&c. In the _vand_ are perch; in the river, greyling. The hunter and
_bonde_ here was building a large room, which, though still unfinished,
we decided to sleep in. We soon had a roaring fire; the beds were made,
the Patriarch slinging his hammock under a huge carpenter’s bench;
then came the cooking, followed by a few songs; and finally stories of
bears, wolves, wild cats, and lynxes from the _bonde_. There was a very
fine old _mangletræ_ here, two feet long. So peculiar an instrument
of Norwegian household necessity is deserving of explanation: it is
two feet long and four inches wide: B represents the things
to be mangled; C the roller; the right hand of the mangler
takes hold of the lion at D, and the left hand on A
balances the _mangletræ_, which is worked backwards and forwards until
the things are done. _Mem._—Last night reindeer were seen above here;
and at the _vand_, high over this place, the _bonde_ had seen a glutton
after a wounded or sick reindeer. The chief brought in three trout for
breakfast. Now the real life was bursting on us. How we drank in the
stories of the hunter, rising in the morning to delight in the health
and beauties about us!
[Illustration]
At Mogen we found more signs of winter—sledges abundant, and one
pigsty kind of hut surmounted by a wonderful group: snow shoes, old
reindeer horns and heads, sledges, and a plough.[1] This is primitive;
but it is not all: there were the old querns, or _haandkværn_. In spite
of this we had not shaken the influence of travelling civilisation;
the _bonde_ asked us if we would like some “Bockley and Pukking’s
black-brown beer.” Certainly. “Men hvor meget?” Two and sixpence per
bottle: it had been left by an Englishman. Eheu, what an anomaly!
[1] The iron of this plough is exactly the same as the hand-plough, or
“casarhome,” used in the Western Highlands, and now fast disappearing.
JAMSGAARD.—This was such an evening: north wind strong, bad
for tents; large lawn discovered, camp inside; camp beds fitted up,
cooking outside. The hammock was slung. How the north wind whistled,
until we barricaded that side with hay! Then we all slept. In the
morning we were to start early, and the perfect dignity with which the
page entered the dormitory, with coffee for all, was truly a picture.
We got a very good pony here, a true _bakken_, with black-centred hog
mane, and zebra-marked legs, and started in lovely weather by the
crystally clear Totak Vand, where we saw a large white owl; then to the
larger Toftland, and on to Botten. We are now in snow-shoe land, with
spills of birch-wood for pipes, and more mills, one over the other,
for grinding. Grouge Kirk was interesting; and we saw a woman rowing
over with homespun, to be sent to some commercial centre. Starting
in a _stolkjær_, Botten is a good high-latitude station: bleak to a
degree. The snow was close to the house, but within all one could wish:
preserved meat, reindeer flesh, port wine, but no white bread; looms,
spinning-wheels, snow shoes; many old ale bowls, saddles, carved boxes;
and, at one end of the barn, boughs of trees brought up from the _dal_
for the magpies to build in; at the other end a bunch of wheat, also
brought up and placed on a pole for the birds. After leaving Botten we
started for Haukelid Sæter, and found the men working on a new road
to the Hardanger. As they progress, large monoliths are put up at
intervals with the date of construction, and sometimes the elevation
above the sea; here it is 2,800 feet, and at this point very large
Scotch firs are found in skeleton state, monuments of a past period of
giants.
III.
HARDANGER.
HAUKELID—SLAUGHTER OF REINDEER IN A BOTTEN—THE BROKEN
BRIDGE—THE FORD—USEFUL OLD PONY—THE ASCENT—ROLDAL VALLEY
AND BRIDGE—THE LENSMAND—FLORA AND LONG TRAMP—DOUBLE SOLAR
RAINBOW—SNOW SHOES—GRÖNDAL AND DISTANT FOLGEFOND—ZIGZAG
ROAD—SELJESTAD—NO FOOD, BUT A GOOD PONY—GRÖNDAL
WATERFALLS—SANDEN VAND—THE LATE ARRIVAL AT ODDE.
The Haukelid Sæter is 3,500 feet above the sea. Here we had the
pleasure of meeting the Norwegian engineer of the road, and in the
_vand_ below were floating masses of ice. In the morning the _vand_ was
frozen (July 15), so that we could not cross in a boat, but had to go
round. Near this was the scene of a reindeer slaughter by natives: they
had a Remington breech-loading rifle; drove a herd into a _botten_, or
_cul-de-sac_, and shot forty in six days—nine in one day; but we shall
refer to this later on. On our journey we found the bridge carried
away, and had to ford, which was great fun. We sent a knowing old pony
over first. How we enjoyed it—one might have taken us for schoolboys
out for a holiday—in and out of the water! One poor pony, however, did
not find it agree with him, the ice-water was so cold, and for a time
he was very bad indeed.
Once more in the flat of the valley, it seemed like old times, and we
thought a hearty meal at Seljestad would do us good. In the latter
respect, however, we were doomed to disappointment, meeting with
nothing but picturesqueness and some costume, in which red bodices
were conspicuous; so we had to fall back on potted meats and biscuits.
Whilst waiting we saw some peasants _en route_ for their _sæter_, with
all their milk apparatus. The only good thing we got was a pony—a
beauty—to go down this grand valley, and drive, one may say, through
the Laathe Fos. At this point there are three falls in view of each
other—Laathe Fos, Espeland Fos, and Hildal Fos. This we enjoyed, and
late at night, or rather early in the morning—for it was one o’clock
when we got into the boat to go down the Sanden Vand and row to
Odde—having had such a good day, we sang “God save the Queen” and many
songs about Rensdyr, Jagt, Norwegian love, “det kjære Hjem,” &c.
In the morning we arose, and before breakfast read the following
encouraging entry in the Dagbog:—“Wel Satisfed everything is good
order;” and so we found it.
[Illustration: _Seljestad._]
Roldal itself is very beautiful. Our guide (Knut) returned to Haukelid,
and next morning we left the lensmand’s house for a very long day,
hoping, if possible, to reach Odde. At Hore we could only obtain some
sour milk, and then started over the snow for Seljestad, when we
noticed an old _bonde_ preparing barley for brewing, assisted by his
wife, with a scarlet body to her jacket. About two P.M. we
saw a grand effect of double solar rainbow—blue sky, no cloud.
The sky between the inner and outer circles, which were complete, was
deep lavender. This was seen from the head of the pass, above 3,500
feet, with snow all round us. As we came down we cut our road, and
after lunch, on arriving at the outburst of snow-water, we were all
wild enough to bathe in it. However, we were none the worse, but, on
the contrary, much the better for it. Soon after we came on one of the
grandest bursts in Norway; a deep zigzag went down below us; and we
looked upon the Gröndal, which is immense, and at the end of which lies
the vast expanse of the Folgefond. We now began our descent, and worked
along the valley. The curious part of the fording was this—that the
old pony, having taken one man and baggage over, came back by himself,
so that the “aspirants” might swim over without any load. After this
we had a long ascent and heavy drag, beneath a scorching sun, over
the snow, so much of which had not been known for years, to a tiny
Ligaret _sæter_. The best thing to counteract the sun’s influence is a
sou’-wester hind side before.
[Illustration: _Wooden Bridge at Roldal._]
“Rein” were seen here. Later on, at an altitude of 4,000 feet on a
bare rock, we partook of dinner, icing our claret _au naturel_ in the
snow. Soon afterwards we began our descent, and, on leaving the snow,
found a young girl goatherd with a little bit of costume, showing that
she belonged to Roldal—viz. a dark blue cloth cap, with yellow-orange
border. Then we passed a hunters’ hole or hut, and again forded;
finally coming, late in the evening, to a spot particularly mentioned
by Forrester and greatly admired by us—the old bridge, with torrent
roaring beneath, and the distant lake at our feet. We all paused, lay
down, and murmured with delight over the beauties of the spot. Now that
we had arrived at vegetation, we put leaves inside our caps, and longed
for glycerine for our faces.
Norway is grand, picturesque, wild, and bold, its principal features
being the long arms of the sea running inland for many miles, sea-water
dashing against the most precipitous façades of rocks, and the
snow-water, in many instances, coming down from the high ranges, and
falling straight into the sea itself. These arms of the sea are called
_fjords_, and two are especially grand and of immense expanse—the
Sogne fjord (the larger) and the Hardanger: both of them are rich in
snow-scapes and waterfalls. The Hardanger is the richer of the two in
the matter of waterfalls, having two to boast of—the Vöring Fos and
the Skjæggedal Fos, sometimes called the Ringedal Fos, as falling into
the Ringedal Vand. The Vöring Fos, which is approached from Vik, is
better known than the latter, which is more grand in form and power:
to reach it one should stop at the end of the fjord. The difficulty
of access and roughness of road have prevented many from making the
attempt; still it is well worth any passing discomfort or fatigue to
have the privilege of communing with nature under such a combination of
circumstances.
[Illustration: _Odde: Hardanger._]
Arrived at Odde, arrangements must be made to remain at least three or
four days, so as to visit the following most interesting localities:—
1. Skjæggedal Fos.
2. Buerbræ Glacier.
3. Folgefond.
4. Gröndal Laathe Fos, and other fosses.
The immense extent of the snow-fields of the Folgefond should not
be missed, and for these a day not too bright should be specially
selected; for pleasant as fine cloudless weather undoubtedly is, still
nature is not always seen to the greatest advantage in it, and more
particularly in mountain scenery, where mist and broken cloud relieve
the various peaks, detach them one from the other by the most delicate
films, and impart grandeur, endless variety, and size, draping the
peaks with mystery and majesty. What a delightful sensation is that of
rising on a fine fresh morning, with the early mist waiting its bidding
to rise, and the anticipation of a glorious excursion in a mountainous
country before one! Now for the fos.
The village of Odde, our starting-place, with its simple church, a
station for carrioles and boats, its few wooden houses, kind simple
people, and one lazy-looking sailing craft, or _jægt_, is fortunate in
having a young guide, who, following in the steps of his father, has by
his many good qualities influenced numerous people to visit this most
excellent place; and all who have been there once seem to wish to go
again. Our arrival from the Haukelid route, coming down the Gröndal,
was late; in fact, about two A.M. Leaving the lake above Odde,
we first caught sight of the Hardanger fjord, with the village lying
below, the church in strong relief, and its few buildings against the
bright water. One felt greatly inclined to sit and muse over such a
scene, so calm, so peaceful, so solemn, so silent, for no singing
birds ever chirrup in this northern land, and their absence is most
noticeable.
Early in the morning we are up, and, with every promise of fine
weather and comfort from our “nosebags” (most necessary items for this
travelling), we start for the Skjæggedal, an excursion which should
take fourteen hours to do comfortably. What enjoyment can there be,
what satisfaction, what knowledge gained in a strange country, if one
flies through it as if in training for some event or actually engaged
in athletic sports? The start is made from Odde down the lake to
Tyssedal, about an hour’s row on the fjord. Soon is seen a white line
running out from the shore, the boat is caught by the stream and swung
round, and we near the land in the backwater. This is the exit of the
snow-water from the fos into the sea-water of the fjord.
[Illustration: _Odde: Hardanger._]
Now to begin three hours’ good steady walking up, up, up through
pine woods, with boot soles polished by slippery needles, now and
then ledges of rocks, and ofttimes a shelving sweep of smooth rocks,
dangerous for most people, ticklish for every one, especially should
they have any tendency to giddiness. In some parts logs have been laid
in the fissures, and in one place a kind of all-fours ladder; still
all enjoy it, and glory in the freshness of the trip. After this tough
walk the upper valley is reached, and the farm, “Skjæggedal Gaard,”
is in sight. Here we found milk and coffee; the homestead, so lonely
in winter, now bright in summer light, with peasant farm folk quite
out of the world, and a singing guide; but even Danjel, with his eagle
profile, is not always inclined to sing his best. Perhaps he is
aware of the report that the priest, having heard that Danjel had
fallen in love, had forbidden the banns, simply on the score of his too
strong resemblance to the feathery tribe just mentioned.
[Illustration: _Skjæggedal Fos._]
Leaving the farm, we go down to the boathouse, covered with huge
slabs of stone to prevent it being blown away by the wintry winds,
and enter the boat to cross the river at the foot of the fos from the
Ringedal Vand. Once over, we are soon at the Ringedal Lake, which is
all snow-water, most crystally clear, and containing no fish, no life,
on account of its extremely low temperature. On the left of the lake
is seen high up the Tyssestrængene Fos, as shown under the initial
letter of our opening chapter. Near the foot of this we stop to go
up and see the bear self-shooter, or trap, where Bruin, it is hoped,
may run against a wire which fires two barrels heavily charged—a bad
look-out in the future for tourists who eschew guides, as this is
the only accessible road. At the back is the immense snow expanse of
the Folgefond, and in front of us we hear a distant roaring thud of
continuous waters—our “fall.” Rounding a point, we look up and see
it. The best time is when the snow-water is in full spate; then it is
truly majestic. The whole air seems whirled round in eddies; the water
comes shooting and leaping over, falling in inverted rocket forms,
half breaking on a ledge of rocks; the foam, the roar, the vast spray,
everything is soaked and dripping—the energy of nature in a most
sublime form, the Skjæggedal Fos itself. We were loath to leave the
spot, but started off a little taciturn from the impression the scene
had made on us, and safely returned to receive the kind hospitality of
our friends at Odde, and next to visit the Buerbræ Glacier.
This glacier has especial interest for all lovers of nature, from the
fact of its being not only a new formation or creation, but being
still in process of development. It is caused by the immense pressure
of the large snow-fields above in the Folgefond, which bodily weigh
and force down the ice into the valley. Our good friend Tollefson,
father of the young guide previously mentioned, was born in the valley
where the glacier is now gradually carrying all before it. Fifty years
ago, he told me, there were no symptoms of ice; gradually it formed
and advanced—in 1870, ninety yards; in 1871, four yards in one week;
and in 1874 a still more rapid progress. When we were there the front
ice was just ploughing up a large rock and pushing it over; on either
side the rocks are steep; and throughout the colour of the ice is very
beautiful, rivalling the hues of the Rosenlain Grindelwald. Where will
this glacier end? Most likely it will drive steadily on to the lake
above Odde. Who can tell?
At the farm was seen a beautiful piece of carving, in the form of a
salt-box, very old, but well worth preserving. We shall give some
specimens of native work further on.
[Illustration: _Buerbræ Glacier._]
The costume of this district is very striking and characteristic, the
chief feature being the head-dress, or cap, called in Norske _skaut_.
It is formed of white muslin crimped, the hair hidden by the white band
over the forehead, the cap rising in a semicircle above the head, while
the corners fall down the back in a point nearly to the waist; white
linen sleeves, with scarlet body bound with black velvet; the stomacher
worked in different coloured beads and bugles; the chemisette fastened
with old silver brooches; and the collar joined either by a stud or
brooch. The apron is equally picturesque. Like the cap, it is of white
muslin, with three rows of open insertion-work on a pink ground, which
is generally well thrown up by a dark petticoat, so that the whole
costume produces a very striking effect.
[Illustration: _The Spring Dance: Hardanger._]
These costumes were pleasingly brought together one evening when we
were invited by Svend Tollefson to a little dance at his mother’s
house. The father and mother sat together, whilst the younger folk
were either standing or sitting round. The fiddler was grand both in
action and eccentricity, with tremendous catgut fire, a few involuntary
notes trespassing now and then, and producing a stirring effect on the
dancers. The young Svend, evidently a favourite with the youth and
beauty of Odde, was continuous in his dancing, principally the Spring
Dance—a waltz in which it is most desirable that the swain should be
taller than the maiden, for the former, holding her hand over her head,
has to run round the latter as she waltzes. The Halling Dance, in which
the performer jumps a great height into the air, was attempted out of
doors, but hardly with success. After each dance the guests partook
of wine, and on this occasion we had some _gammel fiin hvid portvün_
(fine old white port wine). The politeness of the Norwegians is most
noticeable. After taking wine there was a constant shaking of hands,
while the host was profusely thanked by, “Tak for vün,” or “Tak for
mad,” the charm of which is considerably enhanced by the fact that
these simple-hearted people mean what they say.
IV.
BERGEN AND ARCHÆOLOGY.
FROM ODDE DOWN SÖR FJORD—UTNE—HARDANGER FJORD—FAIRY
TROLDS—BJERG TROLDS—THE HULDRE—THE NÖKKEN—THE NISSER—HAUGE
FOLKET—TUFTI FOLKET—THE DRANGEN—CRACA, THE WITCH OF
NORWAY—OLAF KYRRE, THE NORSE KING—BERGEN—THE HANSEATIC
LEAGUE—THE GERMAN MERCHANTS—THE “PFEFFER JUNKERS”—THE FISH
FOLK OF BERGEN—THE MUSEUM—STRAX—THE SILDE KONGE—NORWEGIAN
WHALE SKELETONS—THE FLINT PERIOD—BRONZE PERIOD—INHUMATION
AND CINERATION—ROMAN INFLUENCE—THE IRON PERIOD—ARCHÆOLOGICAL
PERIODS IN NORWAY.
Odde is situated at the most southern point of the Sör fjord—the last
inland effort of the Hardanger; and we left it with regret, although we
knew there was a new world before us in sea-coast experiences: the most
bracing sea air, together with the excitement of putting into all kinds
of out-of-the-way villages nestling behind headlands and huge bastions
of gneiss, to protect them from the furious gales which lash this coast
from the south-west. We therefore laid ourselves out for thorough
enjoyment of steamboat travelling, aided all down the Hardanger by the
clearest and most lovely weather. We proceeded down the Sör fjord, _en
route_ to Eide, the boats coming off to the steamer at Utne. Some of
the costumes were most brilliant in colour. One bright green bodice,
the edging of which was blended with other colours, bore the palm, and
everything bespoke joy save the face of the poor girl who wore it.
She had come to see a brother start for America, and to wish him “God
speed.” Then away we went from Eide down the Hardanger to Rosendal,
under the Folgefond. We had looked forward to visiting Rosendal, as the
last château of Norway. Unfortunately there was not sufficient time
to land. Sometimes, late in the season, the steamers visit outlying
spots for cargo, and then much may be seen, as, for instance, when
the Bergen steamer calls at the sulphur mines of Varalsoe. On one of
these occasions we not only had the opportunity of going up to the
mines, but through them, as five hundred tons of ore were being shipped
for England. Some people find the steamer journey wearying: there is,
however, so much information to be gathered from those who come on
board, generally for short distances, that the local details are always
worth inquiring into.
[Illustration: _The Market: Bergen._]
The whole of the Hardanger is grand and impressive, the Folgefond, with
its immensity of snow-spread, being the chief attraction. The peace of
fine weather makes one almost incredulous of what it is when winter
storms tear up the fjord, and the now unrippled surface is lashed into
a fury which defies the stoutest hearts and boats.
We are nearing Bergen, and there is a flutter on board as the town
first opens to view—_mirabile dictu_, without rain. On the port side
is a fort, and apparently there are fortifications on the starboard bow
too. At last we enter the town.
[Illustration: _Rosendal._]