+------+---------------------------------------+-----------+---------------------+
| |STONE.—Silex for stone implements.-- | | |
| | Arctic stone implements recently | | |
| | discovered near the North Cape | | |
| | are of hard schist, the stone found | | |
| | in that part. | | |
| A.D. | | | |
| 100 |BRONZE.—Period of Cineration and | | |
| 200 | Inhumation in wood, trees scooped | | |
| | out. | | |
| | | | |
| 300 {|IRON, 1ST PERIOD.—Sudden transition | | |
| {| from cast bronze swords to iron | | |
| 400 {| swords damascened.—Roman coins |Urns for | |
| {| found in tumuli of 63 A.D.—217 | ashes. | |
| 500 {| A.D.—Iron and glass come | | |
| | together.— Roman influence. | | |
| | | | |
| 560 {|IRON, 2ND PERIOD. Byzantine Coins. | | |
| 600 {| Byzantine Barbaric Roman Bracteates.| | |
| 700 {| influence. | | |
| | | | |
| | | | A.D. |
| 800 {|IRON, 3RD PERIOD. VIKING PERIOD. |Norsemen to| 863 Harold Harfager.|
| {| | Iceland. | 936 Haco the Good. |
| 900 {| Christianity. | | 994 OLAF. |
| {| RUNIC 1ST PERIOD.| |1000 Eric and Sweyn. |
|1030 {| | | |
+------+---------------------------------------+-----------+---------------------+
V.
WEST COAST AND NORDFJORD.
COAST TRAVELLING—BERGEN HARBOUR—THE SCHOONER YACHT—SKAALS
OVERDONE—WEST COAST—STEENSUND—ALDEN—OUSEN AND ITS
GARDEN ROOFS—EN ROUTE FOR SANDE—DELIGHTFUL STATION—GOOD
FISH—JOLSTER VAND AND NEDRE VASENDEN—THE ANXIOUS
BATHER—PICTURESQUE CHURCH-GOING—NORWEGIAN BLAKKEN—THE
ACCIDENT—THE FRIENDLY TOILETTE—COSTUMES AND BABY
SWADDLING—SCARCITY OF FOOD—THE TENTMASTER COOKING—NORDFJORD
ANTIQUITIES—PROFESSOR WORSAAE AND M. LORANGE—CONTENTS
OF TUMULUS—THE VIKINGS’ GAME OF “MYLLA”—UDVIG—THE BAD
PASS FROM MOLDESTADT—SNOW POLES—THE POSTMAN AND BIRCH
BOUGHS—BIRTHDAY FESTIVITIES—FALEIDET—LYTH FISHING—HAUGEN
AND HORNINGDALSKRAKKEN—HELLESYLT—BELTS—THE GEIRANGER
FJORD—CAPTAIN DAHL—THE SEVEN SISTERS—THE VIKING’S HEAD—THE
PULPIT—MARAAK—STORFJORD.
Travelling in Norway is principally carried on by carriole, row boat,
and steamer. From the immense extent of seaboard the latter mode has
naturally been much practised and developed, more especially as the
Government has not only countenanced it, but encouraged it in every
possible way. Our route in this excursion involves the adoption of
this mode of conveyance, and we leave Bergen, with all its interesting
monuments, associations, costumes, and commercial interests, to wend
our way up the coast to the north. Starting from the port, with its
varieties of shipping from all parts of Europe, its Nordlander _jægts_
always prominent, its churches standing well out from the moist haze
and smoke of the city, a scene at all times picturesque, we soon settle
down for steamboat travelling. On this occasion there was a very
unusual bustle at the mouth of the port, a fresh breeze was blowing,
and a small schooner yacht was being towed out for a trial trip. From
the amount of bunting and excitement, not only on board the yacht, but
on shore and on our steamer, this was evidently a great event. With
sails all ready to be hoisted as soon as the hawser was let go, one
would imagine that chase was about to be given to a smuggler, or that
a Viking had appeared in the offing. It was, however, only for a sail,
and our little coast steamer was soon away by herself, ploughing in
loneliness through the fjord. And now for the healthy pleasant delights
of sea-coast trips.
With our luggage quietly stowed awaiting our bidding, and a calm
satisfaction that the steamer was well found, our meals punctual and
plenteous, our captain well up to his work, the steward anxious to take
care of us, and our travelling companions likely to be agreeable—the
Norwegians being kindly to strangers who are courteous to them—there
is but one drawback to the steamer work. It occurs in the fore part
of the vessel, and is occasioned thus. A _skaal_ (health) for Gamle
Norge is a very good thing and a noble sentiment, but if too often
repeated, with the usual accompaniments, it becomes offensive. The
peasants come on board at the numerous stations, and can procure every
variety of spirit which is unobtainable on shore. They therefore
make the most of their opportunity, and soon the demon of our own
land—inebriation—appears, bringing discomfort to the recipient,
disgust and misery to his surroundings, and finally a besotted and
wrecked old age; for, although strong constitutions may resist its
inroads for a time, they must inevitably succumb at last, and pay the
penalty. Either the victim is quarrelsome or maudlingly stupid: the
demon makes his mark in so many ways. The natural expression of the
features is no more to be found; the eye loses its brightness, its
sweetness is changed for heavy moistness, its telegraphic and sensitive
expression has vanished; the lips, before so full of character, are no
longer the exponents of subtle feeling; the hand trembles, the feet
shuffle, the whole frame is limp, the muscles are flaccid, and the
brain muddled to futile dreaming. If this be a curse in public, what
must it be when it invades a home! Well may the wife long to see her
husband freed from this evil spirit and restored to his former noble
nature!
But let us turn to the feast to which nature invites us. At every
moment the sea-scape changes, new peaks open to us, the clouds are
massing ready to be gilded by the setting sun, and soon we have
the heavens in a blaze of fiery glory and impressive grandeur. As we
approach the outlying islands we find strong glacial markings, less
vegetation, and the characteristics of the line of route, all up
the west coast of Norway, can be carefully and comfortably studied
by the most moderate sailors, as the islands keep the steamer track
quite smooth, and it is only when the entrance of some large fjord is
passed that any motion is felt or any rolling occurs. The villages
generally nestle close to the waterside, the church in the centre,
and the _præstegaard_ close by; but a variation occurs in one village
particularly: the church answers the double purpose of God’s service
and the fisher’s beacon, and is placed well upon the top of the hill.
Many are the excuses made by professing Christians for not going to
church, but the difficulty of access to the one in question, while
frequently causing the pilgrim to utter the cry of “Excelsior,” at the
same time elicits the mental avowal that he would be very thankful if
it were lower.
[Illustration: _The Village and Church of Alva._]
In making this passage those who are in Norway for the first time must
be struck by seeing that both sides of the vessel are sometimes within
three feet of the bare rocks, which descend precipitously into the
sea. No wonder, then, that the old woodcuts of the sixteenth century
show large rings in the face of sea rocks for the vessels to moor
to.[2] One part of the coast near Steensund is most barren: the masses
of rock, entirely rounded by ice in past ages, seem to be too smooth
for vegetation to get a footing. The spot, however, finds favour with
lobsters, which seem to thrive here, ultimately finding themselves in
England, and ending their days with a garnishing of parsley. Even for
lobsters, however, travelling is very expensive, for the difference
between their price in England and Norway is simply astonishing.
[2] _Vide_ Olaus Magnus.
On some parts of the west coast red deer are found, and now that
these animals are scarce, it seems a pity they should be in danger of
extermination. Better far would it be if the _chasseur_ had sufficient
strength of mind and self-denial to induce him to give these last
of their race such a respite, or series of closed seasons, as would
enable them to increase in number. One fine head came on board—a very
healthy, powerful horn, and royal on both sides. The beam was much
thicker than it usually is in the horns of stags killed in Scotland,
and very grand in form. The haunch weighed thirty-eight pounds English,
so that it must have been a “gude beastie.”
[Illustration: _Ousen._]
After passing the entrance of the Sogne fjord and experiencing a
little rolling, we sighted the island of Alden, a very imposing mass
of rock, supposed to resemble a lion’s head; and, fortunately for us,
there was less mist rolling around it than usual. It would have been
a sad disappointment had we only had its whereabouts suggested to us,
which is the fate of many who are anxious to see it. Our wholesome
little craft soon leaves Alden far behind, running up Dalsfjord to
the eastward; we begin to worm our way through narrow passages, with
the rocks nearer than ever to her sides; and at last we leave her to
take a boat, in order that we may row up to Ousen, a lovely spot, with
such garden roofs and such a farmhouse and buildings! The spot where
we landed is shown in the woodcut. The river was of the most beautiful
soda-water-bottle colour, the wooden buildings topped with the mountain
ash in all its gala beauty of bright clusters of berries. The beams
used in the construction of the houses were very old and remarkably
massive, and the size of the Sea House suggests the importance of this
locality as a centre for general merchandise. We arrived here about
three in the morning, and the servant at the farmhouse showed us to our
rooms, which had a weird ghostly appearance from their bareness, size,
and height. The old staircase testified that it had once been well kept
up; and then, as we looked about for some indication of date, we at
last found a good specimen of a snaphance pistol of about 1625, which
tallied well with the period we had already assigned to the house.
We had now left the sea for a time, and after a few hours’ rest the
Tentmaster-general reported everything ready for a start; and soon we
were _en route_ for Sande.
[Illustration: _The Island of Alden._]
Sande is a place of sweet waters to the traveller. After rough roads,
bad beds, sparse food, and occasional parasites, what a change! The
probability is that a stranger would pass the comfortable-looking
house, with its creepers over the porch, its well-stocked garden,
English home life, and generally inviting appearance. The geniality and
kindly welcome offered by the master of the house are most delightful,
and every one who visits it has a strong wish to rest for awhile in
such agreeable quarters. The valley is very bold and grand, and good
expeditions can be made in all directions. The Paymaster-general,
with honest pride, pointed out to us where, on a former visit, he had
killed a fine fish, and seemed to realise the fact that, having once
experienced that gratification, you can go on killing the same fish,
with all its pleasant associations, for the rest of your life. But we
soon had to leave this inviting spot for rougher quarters, being bound
due north, to be up for August 1st and reindeer; and as time, tide,
and August 1st wait for no man, we started for our next station—Nedre
Vasenden, on the Jolster Vand.
[Illustration: _Nordfjord Peasants._]
On arriving there no luxuriant garden growth welcomed us. Instead of a
south aspect, it was a north one. The atmosphere was changed, and we
missed our beloved Sande. As it was Saturday night, we looked forward
to a quiet Sunday, with church, the meeting of the peasants, and a
good chance of seeing all the costumes of the district, which is wild,
barren, and uncultivated. The Sunday morning was inviting, and we took
the opportunity of going to the lake, at a retired spot where the
mountain path came down to the water’s edge, for a quiet bathe; but no
sooner were we in the water than a troop of peasant girls came slowly
down the path. Confusion and dismay! Norwegians do not understand our
amphibious tendencies. However, No. 1, with his characteristic retiring
disposition, dived, leaving a certain disturbance of the water after
his plunge, which attracted attention. Beyond this, only the smallest
possible part of two heads might be seen. Now came the anxiety of
wondering what the spectators would do. Would they throw stones at us,
to make us run, or examine the contents of the chief’s pockets, or try
on some of our garments? No; while wishing we had the epidermis of a
Captain Webb the whole group suddenly laughed, and moved slowly off,
evidently thinking how curious the English were in their habits. We
afterwards met at the church porch.
Every traveller taking to pony travelling in Norway implicitly
believes that there is no danger of the animal ever falling; and
it is a happy and comfortable faith. The _blakken_ are rare good
animals, cream-coloured, with dark points; hog manes like hat-brushes,
with white down the centre, the black being outside; and their hind
legs rather zebra marked. From the first they are petted, and their
intelligence and stolid kindliness requite the care of the owners. They
trot well; and how they can go down a hill! As they crouch and run
close to the ground they need never be handed: no “’ands” required, as
the British groom would describe it. Still, exception proves the rule,
and we met with an instance in this _stolkjær_ trip.
We were going over the crest of a grand mountain road, below us a
large lake, and beyond a glorious range of mountains. The deep tone of
the fir forest added solemnity to the scene, and our good health and
enjoyment of such company made it a happy moment. The Paymaster-general
was leading—driving fast, as was his wont; for his driving was like
the driving of Jehu. The Tentmaster-general was next, with a huge
Norwegian sitting by his side. In a second came the transformation
scene—nothing visible to the Patriarchal eye but the soles of the
boots of the two persons in the _stolkjær_, the expanse of the huge
Norwegian foot forming a contrast to the small neat extremity of the
Tentmaster, who was shot out with great velocity, and stunned by his
unavoidable concussion with the earth. We laid him in the heather by
the side of the road, anxious for his recovery. Happily he soon came
round, but was much shaken; it was, therefore, necessary to proceed
very gently to avoid further shaking, and we purposed halting for a day
or two, until we could get the advice of a doctor. It assumes the form
of real travel when doctors are two days distant or more, and you carry
your own lint and medicine. Thankful were we to see the return of the
old smile on the Tentmaster’s face, and to hear from his own lips the
welcome bulletin, “I am better.” The pony was not hurt, while the big
Norwegian had a _skaal_ of whiskey, and, we fancied, was ready to be
thrown out again to obtain a second remedy. Soon afterwards we arrived
at Jolster Vand by Nedre Vasenden.
[Illustration: _Norwegian Plough._]
The station here is a huge—may we say dreary—wooden house. The
next morning, however, brought its joys and happy combination of
circumstances: the invalid was much better, the bright July morning
perfect; there was service at the annex kirk along the _vand_, or
lake; and we purposed going by boat with some peasants, and a most
enjoyable row it was. As we neared the church we found many boats
already arrived, and, invited by the loveliness of the morning, the
beauties of Jolster had congregated and were looking their best. Many
_stolkjærs_ were standing round the walls of the churchyard, and the
ponies were enjoying themselves, nibbling the short grass as far round
as their tether would allow them. There were some quaint costumes.
These good church-going peasantry arrive early; and, as many dwell so
far apart, and seldom meet except on these occasions or on some special
business, we cannot be surprised to find that, instead of opening the
meeting with prayer, the practice on the part of the men is to indulge
in a little worldly talk before church, while the girls, according to
custom, complete their toilettes from the contents of their _tines_,
or travelling boxes, the said contents being a mixture of old silver
brooches, silk handkerchiefs, and _fladbrod_: in some cases the butter
is carried separately in a small _tine_. One incident struck us very
forcibly—the kindly interest the girls took in the neatness and finish
of each other’s dress. Only fancy three nice-looking _piger_, or girls,
sitting one behind the other, each plaiting the hair of the girl in
front of her. What absence of mystery as to capillary arrangements!
No “Lady Audley’s Secret” (which _Punch_ said was her back hair). No;
each girl wished her friend to look her best, and carefully adjusted a
string here or a brooch elsewhere, for there were no looking-glasses
about. Then there were several other objects of interest. The black
caps of the Jolster women are very curious, with a little white showing
all round the edge. The covering up or hiding of the hair has a very
mediæval appearance, but the nice little stand-up collars give a more
modern character to the neck. The plaiting of their homespun dresses is
very close indeed.
[Illustration: _The Friendly Toilette._]
On this occasion there were two or three knots of people, suggestive of
something of unusual interest; and we found the centre of each to be a
little baby brought to be christened, surrounded by admiring relatives.
Such babies! such funny little chrysalis-looking pets, swaddled
and rolled up! the swaddling-bands being of many colours, the more
brilliant the better—red, white, green, and crimson—with the cross
frequently introduced, and generally so worked as to come uppermost in
the band. The swaddling process seems much the same as in Brittany,
where a ring is sometimes fastened at the back by which to hang the
child up while the mother goes to work. No one could have seen this
peaceful Sunday morning without being struck with the beautifully clean
appearance of every one there—the homespun (_vadmel_) looked so sound,
and so likely to wear well; the old silver ornaments so respectable
and heirloomy. Of course on week-days, when the women are seen in the
roughest of their outdoor life, it would be unreasonable to expect to
find them as neat and prim as on Sunday. What a contrast, too, did this
glorious sunshine and joyous meeting present to the bleak dark days
of winter, when perhaps a hundred and fifty pairs of snow shoes, eight
feet long, are set up round the church, waiting their owners’ bidding
to start _home_!
[Illustration: _The Lych Gate, Nordfjord._]
[Illustration: _Sanoe, looking down the Valley._]
After this cheerful interlude we went on to the next station—if
such it could be called. We intended making a meal there, and rather
looked forward to it; but nothing, not a single thing, could be had.
We therefore made a fire, and into a black pot put some portable soup,
with slices of Brand’s gravy-looking biscuits. Whilst the Tentmaster
tried to do the soup the Patriarch in vain sought a wooden spoon;
not even that was to be got; so the soup was stirred and tasted with
a birch twig. But he made a discovery: whilst spoon-hunting in a
drawer, which would only partly open, he saw the end of a mutton bone;
perseverance was rewarded, the drawer was opened; but the result worse
than a blank, for the shoulder-blade bone of mutton was bare, save the
green fluffy mould in which it was mantled. Some people may say, “Not
so bad; soup and biscuit, biscuit and soup, is a change.” Still, in
long journeys with _stolkjærs_ over rough ground, you can form no idea
how shaky and restless it becomes. Moral: always carry a spoon, and,
above all things, never start anywhere without a nosebag with plenty in
it.
This Nordfjord district is one of special interest now, as recent
discoveries have corroborated the old traditions of its close
association with the Viking period—a period bearing so powerfully
on our own national character, that the subject should be fully
investigated, and the extant remains of the Sea Kings’ real life
placed carefully before us. For the nonce it will suffice to refer to
one particular tumulus, recently discovered and opened in Nordfjord.
As Denmark rejoices in, and is much indebted to, the archæological
enthusiasm, deep research, and sound knowledge of Professor Worsaae, so
Norway is fortunate in having the devotion of M. Lorange, who not only
tries to lay these precious earthbound relics before us, but actually
rescues them for our benefit and that of posterity; not only interests
the dry antiquarian and connoisseur, but in a far larger way draws more
closely together the bonds of union and interest between nations. It
is remarkable that a Roman emperor was the means of developing the
sea powers of the Scandinavians rather than they themselves; for only
recently some interesting coins of Marcus Aurelius have been found in a
tumulus in Denmark.
The contents of the Nordfjord tumulus were as follows:—Boat with
iron rivets twenty-five mètres long; a bit; fifty-four bosses of
shields, or umbos; stirrup; a drinking bowl of immense interest, and
well enamelled; sword, with silver work; key of treasure chest, spear
head, bone comb inlaid with colour, gold ring, dice, arrows, deck
marbles, beads and amulets, bones of horse and kid, belt of bronze, and
belt-knife.
Having heard what tradition says about the funeral rites of the
great ones, the contents of this tumulus, as well as the numismatic
discoveries in Denmark, are especially interesting, as corroborative
of history. We are much indebted to pagan customs and rites for the
valuable materials brought to light in connection with this period.
With Odin for their Mars, or god of war, and Thor for their god of
air and storm, they believed that their mighty men and heroes would
pass to Walhalla, and there enjoy the future in the same way, but
more perfectly, that they enjoyed themselves here upon earth—strong
symptoms of their belief in the resurrection of the body. For this
purpose they buried with the defunct all his implements of war and
chase; the horse was killed and placed in readiness, and, should he be
pleased to row, his boat was there too. In the Nordfjord case the bowl
is especially fine. Notice the delicate work in the base of it: in the
woodcut the upper subject is the bottom of the bowl. The enamel is very
minute; the “chequer” design, one might say, very Scotch. The enamel is
only on the base of the bowl; the body is of bronze, and the upper rim
is ornamented by three heads, one of which is shown in the centre of
the illustration. This is drawn full size, and the base of the bowl one
quarter size.
The two buttons are of single wire, very rudely but cleverly arranged,
with shanks not likely to be pulled away from the body. These are of
gold.
The key of the treasure chest would suggest that many good things had
been stored therein. Still the list is so complete that we could hardly
expect more items than those recorded.
[Illustration: _Bronze Bowl, with Enamel Case, Swords of Viking Period:
Bergen Museum._]
The ivory or bone comb is a fine specimen, and the coloured work well
preserved.
The dice also are rather curious, as being a little longer than quite
square.
One of the most remarkable features, however, in the contents of this
tumulus is a set of bone marbles about one inch in diameter. The sphere
or marble is flat at the bottom, and has a small hole in it. These
marbles were used by men who spent their lives in ships, and were
played with on deck, the flat base being intended to keep them steady,
while the holes at the bottom, fitting on to small pegs in the deck or
board, prevented them from sliding as the vessel lurched. There was a
most interesting discussion on this matter at the Society of Arts. Deck
marbles were a novelty. Professor Bryce suggested that deck draughts
would be a solution of the difficulty; and after referring to the
antiquity of the game of draughts and the modes of playing, Professor
Maguierson gave a dissertation on the ancient game of “merelles,” known
in Iceland and Scandinavia as “mylla;” and even in the present day
the shepherds and boys on our South Downs cut the same pattern in the
close turf, and play the same game. We therefore come to the conclusion
that these bone treasures had been used on board the vessels of the
mighty Sea Kings of old, the little pegs, as just observed, preventing
their slipping, and also the hero from losing his temper and using
“pure Saxon.” The same precaution is in these days applied to railway
chessmen, and also those intended for use on shipboard, each figure
having its peg for safety and security. “Nothing new under the sun,”
said the wise man, and true is it.
• • • • •
Eleven o’clock at night, four thousand feet above the sea, we find
ourselves at the top of the pass, just above Udvig, looking over
Nordfjord. After a long day, and a very hard one, pleasantly tired,
we enjoy the scene before us: peace and tranquillity, with snow poles
all along to suggest what winter made it. The happy moment has arrived
to commence the descent. “Half the pleasure is in the anticipation,”
has often been remarked: we all thought this about half-way down
this precipitous descent in the twilight. The torrent path seemed
filled with boulders, the ponies slid, the bipeds stumbled, and by the
time we were half-way down we had no knees left. This is one of the
roughest ascents and descents in Norway, and is hardly practicable for
any kind of carriage: still it is one of the things to be done, and
one of the charms of the country. Lazy people lose much of the grand
scenery with which it abounds. Steady going tells best, and those who
try to spurt early in the day are much the worse for it afterwards.
How steadily an old Swiss guide starts off, and keeps at his pace, on
and on! That is the only way to last. By this time we see a flickering
light down below: we long for it, and soon arrive, but very late—about
one o’clock A.M. We knock at the door of the station, which
is really a private house, like that at Aurjhem, but selected by the
Government to facilitate the wanderings of travellers. We are therefore
the more indebted for the kind welcome we receive. Down comes the young
son Jules, who immediately recognises our Tentmaster-general. Soon we
have some refreshment; and not long afterwards Master Jules says, “Jeg
schal go seng” (“I shall go to bed”). So said all of us—and we went.
[Illustration: _The Pass: Moldestadt._]
[Illustration: _The Post arriving at Udvig._]
[Illustration: _Postman and his Carriole._]
In the morning we were up early. A bathe in the fjord was our first
thought, although the big stones are much against it, and the seaweed
spoils it: the only way is to take a header out of the boat. After
breakfast we espied a novelty in water travel: a large birch bough
was seen approaching, which we soon discerned to be the postman
availing himself of a fair wind after the usual custom here, a sail
being too dangerous even with sheet in hand. The original and simple
practice of cutting a large birch bough, and putting it in the bow of
the boat, serves the purpose better, the fresh foliage holding the
light air, and helping very materially the rower, who is frequently,
as in the present case, of the gentler sex, but very strong. The
postman sits complacently in the stern of the boat, with his bugle
just announcing his arrival, and rousing up the inhabitants of the
quiet village of Udvig. The bag is not large, but most important in
appearance—a huge leathern mass, locked, barred, and bolted. The boat
speedily comes to land, and the well-known sound and scrape are heard.
The bag is soon out, and the postman also: the post has arrived at
Udvig.
We rowed out on the fjord to look up at the pass we had come down so
early in the morning; the view was very grand, backed by the higher
ranges of the Justedal snow. We had next to visit one spot which seemed
a great favourite with the host and hostess, and therefore started off,
and soon reached a position, having followed a strong stream or burn
which came above a saw-mill, looking over which the whole fjord lay at
our feet, the mountains on the other side looming stupendously.
Returning, we visited the church and lych gate (see p. 82), the latter
narrower and higher than usual. When we regained our station a new
phase of life awaited and burst upon us. An invitation to a dance!
It was somebody’s birthday—the nineteenth—a young visitor from
Stockholm. Would we join in the festivities? We were delighted to have
the opportunity of visiting a family on such an occasion; but the
dancing element alarmed us when we thought of our rough boots and our
walk down, we being rather particular, and knowing what boots should
be. What was to be done? We shall see.
[Illustration: _The Saw-Mill: Udvig._]
[Illustration: _Faleidet: Nordfjord._]
In the meantime two boats were watched with much interest: one
contained the domine and family, the other some well-to-do friends. The
hearty welcome they received was beautiful; their sweet simplicity and
genuine affection were charming, and certainly will never be forgotten
by us, their visitors. Soon after the arrival the repast or dinner
was announced, and the real Norwegian customs were well placed before
us. After one course the master and lady of the house waited on us,
every guest getting a knife and fork; and at the end of each we went
and shook hands with the host and hostess, the children kissing their
parents.[3] After the fish and various solids we adjourned to another
room for fruit, _patisserie_, coffee, and, not an unwise thing in
Norway, a cigar. The next event was to adjourn to the garden to see a
glorious sunset over the fjord, and to finish the cigar. During this
agreeable part of the evening the youthful Jules, with his nice fair
face, came and asked if the “English gentlemen would come and play
with the girls in the garden.” The Patriarch of our party sent his two
young bachelor companions, who readily accepted the invitation with
a spontaneous “Oh jag!” Report says the amusements in the garden were
a combination of hide-and-seek, Tom Tiddler’s ground, and prisoner’s
base. Anyhow they all seemed to have enjoyed them; in fact, the
Patriarch often regretted afterwards he did not join the youthful
throng instead of remaining with the seniors. Still there was much
festivity in store, and the Patriarch took kindly to the dance, which
included schottisches, mazourkas, and valses. This brings us to the
boot question. The dance commenced. The evening began merrily. The
piano (for there was a piano, and a good one, from Christiania) was in
tune, and all were thoroughly enjoying themselves, when attention was
drawn to one dancer in particular. Sage as an owl, how silently this
youthful Achilles glided! How softly yet firmly he trod the polished
boards, for no juniper tips were scattered that evening on the floor!
Why was it? The Paymaster-general, equal to the occasion, was dancing
in goloshes! O shades of Scandinavian gods! O Thor and Odin! that this
should be the result of civilisation in Kjære Gamle Norge!
[3] This has been referred to in former books, we are well aware, but
could we omit a custom so expressive of gratitude? _Le bon Dieu donne
tout_; but do we always give thanks?
[Illustration: _The Olden River._]
Another great feature in the evening was the singing and the national
music—and how we did enjoy it! Need we say how they sang, and we tried
to sing, “The Hardanger,” by H. Kjerulf, and the chorus song of “Norsk
Sjømandssang,” by Grieg, which goes with such grand emphasis; and the
light tripping sweetness of “Ingrids Vise,” also by Kjerulf, with its
chorus of “Over Lynget, over Lynget?”[4] Another, specially bright and
cheery, touched the Patriarch very deeply; he is often heard still
humming this air “without words,” which the merry dancer described as
being all about some beautiful creature with large blue eyes and golden
hair. If she had but been with us to have danced with the goloshes,
what would she have thought?
[4] See page 14.
It was a delightful opportunity for us to see the _vie intime_ of a
nice family in Norway. The welcome was most cordial; and thankful were
we to find ourselves unexpectedly in a spot which every one tried to
make us feel to be our home. Long may Herr Hammer, Madame Hammer, and
their kindly family enjoy health and prosperity! and, might we say,
continue their kindness and attention to those who go to Udvig?—for it
seems a perfect pleasure to them to do so.
[Illustration: _Lyth Fishing._]
There was a disinclination to hurry from Udvig in spite of the
fine trip before us, for it is a lovely row up the Nordfjord. The
Tentmaster-general seemed loath to leave, he was so pleased with Jules;
he thought he had grown—had so improved; and he determined on several
good openings for him in London. The Paymaster-general had evidently
made a great impression, and no wonder, with the happy combination
of youth, a petite, petted dark moustache, and enthusiastic forehead
and goloshes, to say nothing of really good firework execution on the
Christiania piano. We were horrified afterwards to find that all this
had induced the young ladies to ask him to write all our names on a
pane of glass. In a weak moment he yielded; but why did he? How often
have complaints been made by ourselves of the creatures who carved and
wrote names! There were, perhaps, extenuating circumstances in this
case. So farewell to Udvig and its pleasant associations.
And now for a start up the Nordfjord to Faleidet. Such a good boat was
supplied by Herr Hammer! How we enjoyed it, looking forward to our
drive from Faleidet! We soon came upon a number of boats fishing for
_lyth_, a fish caught in large numbers, easily taken, readily consumed:
there were a great many boats, and they fish with a deep-sea single
line, feeling the bite over the forefinger, as in Scotland. We wanted
much to have seen some of the red sea-fish taken, which are much larger
than the mullet, but redder in tone and of splendid colour: a noble
fish to look at when caught, but poor on table.
Faleidet is a good station, beautifully clean, and well situated over
the water. Here we were much interested in specimens of copper ore, on
the richness of which our native held forth most fluently. The ore was
decidedly good, and I think in his own mind the Tentmaster had promoted
a company, and probably thought of the youthful Jules as assistant
secretary and foreign correspondent. No time was to be lost, so we
hastened to our _stolkjærs_, but hardly had we reached the top of the
hill when the Patriarch’s gimlet eye saw a long birch horn near a shed
by the roadside. This could not be resisted. “Halt!” was the word,
whilst the others went on. They soon pulled up, for the too-tooing was
noisy, if deficient in harmony; still there was a certain satisfaction
in the fact that one had elicited sound from a long birch horn, as used
by the good people of Faleidet, inferior as these horns are in force to
steam fog-horns, as now used at the Foreland, or the steamboat whistle
which skewers the tympanum of every traveller at every stopping place,
be it where it may. There is a great charm in all these old-fashioned
ways of doing things. Again the girls call to their cows, singing
to them in very sweet strains, and the cows follow them. It is no
question of a subtle tin-tack looking them up, which, like the county
of Buckingham, runs into Oxon and Herts. The whole treatment of animals
in Norway is a good example: the kindness is consistent and the care
unceasing. The early training of the children has much to do with this;
at all events the youthful impressions and the influence of the parents
have never lost one iota of good.
The Nordfjord is a great inlet of the sea which runs up an immense
distance, and greatly favoured the Viking tendencies. Many fine remains
have been discovered, and the contents of one tumulus in particular,
now carefully preserved in the museum at Bergen, have been already laid
before the reader.
Leaving the Nordfjord and passing through much that is grand, we start
from Faleidet, and when we arrive at Haugen have a glorious view of the
Horningdals Vand. Our hopes are buoyant, for it is a “fast” station;
and our appetites are good. What natural beauty around us! To be happy,
however, requires a combination that is seldom realised. In this case
one thing was wanting, and to travellers such as ourselves it was a
most important item—namely, food. The station was fair to view. On
the stone steps young children were playing; and the numerous family
were nursing each other—rollicking, chubby-faced, and unwashed: for
Norwegian children they were merry. In the road in front of the house
was standing a gaunt figure in knee-breeches and stockings; and,
with his braces hauling on to the short waist, his long hair, and
his straggling beard, he made a good type of what he really was—a
slayer of bears. Above the entrance, over the merry group of children,
were two bears’ skulls—the triumph, joy, and pride of the slayer.
Being short of provisions, we soon went on a voyage of discovery, and
investigated the interior; but what a blank it proved! The fast station
folk knew nothing, or pretended to know nothing. “A cradle” of good
carved wood, a bed in the corner of the room, and a fireplace seemed to
be all in this homestead. The only _fladbrod_ we could procure was of
that unwelcome class prepared for travelling, which means that it is
flabby and tough enough to be rolled up and folded without breaking.
When the practical reader thinks of the shaking, jolting, convulsive
jerking action of _stolkjærs_, and even carrioles, no wonder this food
is left rather doughy for its journey. Happy the man who, when he
meets with this material, can set it up on end! Dry it to the oat-cake
condition, then it is good indeed—very good. Still we made the best of
it, and came to the conclusion that one of the charms of travel is the
variety of situation; and then, after all, with pleasant companions,
anything short of bad accidents is only the kind of thing which the
true traveller must expect, and almost seeks. So we looked forward to
the next good meal we could get, but which must be very late in the day.
[Illustration: _Haugen, near Hellesylt._]
Some one suggested the advisability of smoking down our appetites. That
was declined as injudicious, and we longed to reach Hellesylt. The
second stage on, near Haugen, we saw a wonderful peak. Some idea of its
towering grandeur may be formed by setting its printed name on end. It
has no end of a name: here it is—Horningdalskrakken. What a pity one
cannot have time to “do” all these peaks, this one especially, isolated
as it is, and commanding a most interesting range, with so many fjords
at its feet, and the Hjørrendfjord and its shriven peaks bristling
below! In these days of express trains, fish torpedoes going twenty
knots an hour, telegrams, and instantaneous photographs, people will
not give sufficient time to do anything with steady enjoyment. Skurry
and scuttle are too prominent by far.
[Illustration: _The Horningdalskrakken, near Haugen._]
As we approach Hellesylt the mountains become higher, more bluff,
their formation more tortuous, and we anxiously begin to look out
for our descent to the station—town one cannot call it; in fact,
hardly a village. Arrived at the top of the pass, with the river
dashing and splashing, the zigzag of the road is like patent cucumber
scissors—twenty zigzags or more. At one’s feet lie the Storfjord, the
Geiranger district, and Søndmur. Of course there is the usual church,
most prominently posted, with a good station, to welcome those who
escape from Haugen’s natural grandeur to the stomachic comfort of
Hellesylt. What a good meal we all thought supper was that night! It
was not the mere pleasure of going in for a meal, but we had felt the
want of it, and now were thankful to enjoy thoroughly the good cheer
before us. There are very few parts of Norway which exceed the grandeur
of the neighbourhood of this place. The Storfjord is immensely grand,
but the Geiranger is a climax. The steamer from Hellesylt to Aalesund
goes down the Storfjord, affording a great variety of scenery, with
considerable comfort to passengers, as the vessels are well served; and
in this case the steamer has a captain known to all who have travelled
here, and always remembered with the most pleasing associations.
Captain Dahl has done much for this district, and has opened up the
unparalleled Geiranger fjord. Are not his good qualities recognised and
noticed throughout Norway by ladies? Having said so much, we hope to
visit Geiranger again under the captain’s kind care.
At Hellesylt we all noticed a prevalence of brass-mounted belts among
the men. Norwegian belts have invaded England and taken it by storm,
from the luxurious productions of a Thornhill, regardless of price,
to the other extreme, the Birmingham wholesale harum-scarum article,
which loses its gloss in a few hours. The Norwegian belt is a national
characteristic, adopted by both sexes, being worn on all occasions and
for various purposes. An instance occurred when two were used during a
trip to keep on a linseed poultice; but this was a modern innovation.
We were up early indeed the morning after arrival at Hellesylt. What a
morning! Hardly a breath as the steamer lay at the little pier waiting
for us. We had arranged with Captain Dahl to go up the Geiranger as
far as Maraak, so as to pass the glorious fall of the “Seven Sisters,”
and see it in all its beauty. We were very fortunate in all the
circumstances connected with this visit—weather fine, scenery grand,
cicerone full of enthusiasm and information, companions reliable,
food, after Haugen, one may say “good, plentiful and good.” The
characteristic features of this Geiranger, which has only been known
to travellers during the last few years, are the extremely precipitous
façade of rocks that enclose it, the paucity of landing places, and its
beautiful fall, the Seven Sisters. We arrived at the foot of it about
six o’clock A.M., and, as the sun was well to the eastward,
the effect was fairylike—the prismatic rays seemed to pervade
the base of the fall. The Seven Sisters come over and take their first
flight some two thousand feet above the fjord, and the streams, seven
in number, according to the pressure of melted snow above, combine and
separate, lose themselves in spray and spoondrift, and then collect
again from the dripping face of the rock, and finally the whole base
is “gauzed,” so to speak, with the dash of mist and the prismatic rays
called by sailors “blossoms”—really portions of rainbows. We wanted
to linger over the beauty of this spot—such delicacy of form, as the
streams shot forth some of the rocket jets, losing themselves for a
time, and then collecting with renewed energy for the final dash into
the fjord; but at last even Captain Dahl goes ahead, and we steam on
for Maraak, at the end of the fjord. Opposite to the falls we see a
relic of old Scandinavian paganism. Jutting from steep rocks, of two
thousand or three thousand feet, above a solitary boathouse, is shown
a prominent rock, called the “Pulpit,” and above that the gigantic
profile of a Viking; while higher still are situated some farms,
well away from modern improvements. If any one dies there during the
winter the inhabitants keep the body until the snow is sufficiently
melted to allow of its being brought down for conveyance to Hellesylt.
It is their custom also to tether their children, for the “go-cart”
conveyance of the seventeenth century, as shown in Quarles’s “Emblems,”
would soon be over the edge, urging its wild career to the depths
below. The very thought of such a position would be enough to frighten
some people; but how happy in themselves are these poor folks in their
simple belief and faith, their home love and trust! How difficult is
it to consider this kind of happiness, when the same family goes on in
the same position in life for three or four hundred years, in the same
costume, and with the same old silver ornaments! “How bad for trade!”
some would say. “What stagnation! how slow!” Yet how enviable when we
have tasted the bitters of overstrained brain-work, and the furious
competition of millions of people, all massed and arrayed for the daily
struggle of modern times! It is from this latter that men retire for
awhile to take a refresher, a change of air and circumstance becoming a
matter of necessity; and so London, after a season of gaiety and rush,
is left in favour of outlandish places, simple fare, and, in fact, to
get away from the daily jostle of life, to be ready for the next bout.
[Illustration: _Hellesylt._]
[Illustration: _The Geiranger Fjord: Seven Sisters Fall._]
[Illustration: _A Breen-stok, or Bucket for Sharpening Stone._]
After our return from Maraak, Captain Dahl continued his passage
towards Aalesund. The Geiranger features were less marked until we
arrived at an immense perpendicular surface of rock, evidently but
recently exposed to view; and its appearance is explained by the fact
that some years ago the whole facing of this mountain came bodily down
into the fjord, raising an immense wave which swept across the expanse
of water, and almost entirely destroyed the village on the opposite
side. A more recent case occurred in the Nordfjord. The Hornelen
Mountain rises majestically from the fjord, going down from Bryggen.
Out of compliment to this monarch and giant a new steamer was named
after it; and, on the first occasion of passing, the captain honoured
Hornelen with a salvo, which was promptly answered by a great mass of
rock being launched from the mountain side, throwing up a wave which
nearly annihilated the saluters, and frightened some of them so much
that they will never venture to repeat their _feu de joie_. It is
equally dangerous to disturb or cause any considerable vibration in the
atmosphere under glacial ice or snowdrift: many lives have been lost in
this way, and the fact cannot be too strenuously impressed on the minds
of all travellers.