CHRISTIANIA.
_Sunday, July 11._--We reached Christiansand about six, and set sail
again at eight. There was what the mariners called a nice breeze with
us. Esau declared it to be a storm, and was prostrate at lunch, owing as
he said to attending church service, which was conducted under
considerable difficulties, members of the congregation occasionally
shooting out of the saloon like Zazel out of her cannon, or assuming
recumbent postures when the rubric said, 'Here all standing up.'
However, we came along at a great pace, and arrived at Christiania about
nine at night, after a first-rate passage.
The Fjord was not looking as beautiful as usual, as there had been a
great deal of rain, and the storm clouds and mist were still hovering
about the low hills, so that no glories of the northern sunset were
visible.
We arranged that the Skipper should go straight to the Victoria Hotel
for rooms, as we heard that the town was very full, and Esau was to
follow with the luggage. Now there was a young Englishman on board, very
talkative, extremely sociable, remarkably kind-hearted, and overflowing
with the best advice. He had gone round the whole ship entreating every
one to go to the 'Grand,' as he intended to do, because it was by far
the best hotel.
Just as the Skipper had engaged our rooms at the 'Victoria,' in rushed
this guileless child of nature, panting from the speed at which he had
come from the quay, and the Skipper had the gratification of witnessing
his discomfiture and listening to his apologies for having lied unto us,
which of course he had done in order to get rooms for his own party at
the 'Victoria.'
We say nothing against the 'Grand' because we know it not, but any one
who has once tried the 'Victoria' will go there again: the man who is
not at home and happy there must be a very young traveller.
This hotel possesses a spacious courtyard, surrounded by galleries from
which bedrooms and passages open, very much like that historical
hostelry in the Borough at which Mr. Pickwick first encountered Sam
Weller.
These galleries, and indeed most portions of the hotel, are made of
wood, and the building is not of recent date, for now no houses in
Christiania are allowed to be constructed of timber only.
In the centre of the court is a fountain which keeps up a gentle
plashing, very pleasant to listen to on a day when the thermometer is at
90 in the shade, as it generally is about this time of year in
Christiania. All round the fountain are small tables and chairs, ready
for the little groups who will assemble at them after dinner for the cup
of coffee and glass of cognac which form an indispensable part of a
Norwegian dinner. The dinner itself is, during the summer months, always
served in a large oblong tent in the same courtyard at 2.30, and a very
pleasant meal it is, if you are not too much wedded to English habits to
be able to secure an appetite at that hour. At short intervals down the
table large blocks of ice are placed, which perform excellent service in
helping to keep the tent cool.
Then there is another delightful resort, the smoking-room, which is
upstairs on an extension of the gallery overlooking the courtyard. It
also is covered by a sort of tent, in the roof of which divers strange
and gruesome birds and beasts disport themselves, or seem to do so: we
have reason to believe that they are stuffed, as we notice that the
flying capercailzie never seems to 'get any forrader;' the fox stealing
with cautious tread upon the timid hare, unaccountably delays his final
spring, but perhaps he is right not to hurry, for the hare does not
appear to be taking any measures for her safety, but sits calmly
nibbling the deeply dyed moss which it were vain to inform her is not
good to eat. But there are other birds which we _know_ are stuffed, for
we helped to stuff them, and these are the sparrows, which come gaily
flying in at the open side of the smoking balcony; hopping on the chairs
and tables, pecking at the crumbs on your plate, and behaving generally
in that peculiarly insolent manner which can only be acquired, even by a
sparrow, after years of study, and the most complete familiarity with
the subject. These birds are a source of endless delight to Esau, who
certainly gives them more than can be good for them; they eat twice as
much as the capercailzies, though the latter are considerably larger.
And if the sparrows are not enough entertainment, there are tanks of
gold-fish and trees of unknown species in pots; but neither of these
perform very interesting feats.
In this room it is the custom of the ordinary traveller to have his
breakfast and supper. Breakfast is very much like a good English one,
except the coffee, which is not at all like English coffee, being
perfectly delicious; but the supper is a meal peculiar to Norway, and is
generally constructed more or less on the following principles:
Caviare, with a fresh lemon cut up on it.
Norwegian sardines, garnished with parsley and bay leaves.
Cray-fish boiled in salt water.
Prawns of appalling magnitude.
Bologna sausage in slices.
Chickens.
Slices of beef, tongue, and corned beef.
Reindeer tongue.
Brod Lax (spelling not guaranteed), meaning raw salmon smoked and cut in
thin slices.
Baked potatoes.
Good butter, and rolls which no man can resist, so fresh are they, and
light, and crisp.
Drink: 'salon öl,' which is the best Norwegian beer.
[Illustration: Norwegian Arrangement of Dishes at Table]
This supper does not come in in courses, but the whole of it is placed
on the table at once; not spread out all over the surface of the board
as at home, but arranged in small oval dishes all round the consumer,
and radiating within easy reach from his plate, making his watch-chain
the centre of a semicircle, and thus entirely dispensing with that
creaking-booted fidget, the waiter. Such an arrangement cannot fail to
coax the most delicate appetite. There is no coarse _pièce de
résistance_; no vast joint to disgust you; but like the bee, you flit
from dish to dish, toying, now with a prawn, now with a merry-thought,
till you suddenly discover that you are unconsciously replete, and you
rise from the table feeling that it was a good supper, and that
existence is not such a struggle after all.
Altogether the 'Victoria' is a most charming inn, either to the
wave-worn mariner wearied by the cruel buffetings of the North Sea,
or to the weather-beaten sportsman returning straight from the bleak
snow-fields of the interior of Norway. We never stayed there for more
than two days, but for that time it is an uninterrupted dream of
delight.
_July 12._--We had a very hard day, buying all sorts of things to make
our stores complete: jam, butter, whisky, soap, and matches, Tauchnitz
books, and several other necessaries. The butter is most important, as
the best variety that can be got up country is extremely nasty; the
worst is unutterably vile, though it is quite possible to acquire almost
a liking for the peculiarities of the better kind after starvation has
stared you in the face. We were much put out at not being able to get a
small keg of whisky, as we fear that the bottles will fare badly in the
rough travelling we shall have.
Accounts of Christiania may be found in many excellent guide-books, with
which this simple story cannot hope to compete, so we will not attempt
to describe the town, since, though our knowledge of all the grocers'
shops is voluminous and exhaustive, we are totally ignorant of the
interior arrangements of either the churches or police stations.
The Skipper was very anxious to get some violet ink, because he is
firmly convinced that it is the only sort fit for a gentleman to use.
'A man,' he said, 'is known by his ink;' so we went into many shops and
asked for that concoction, always in the English tongue. Then we arrived
at a shop where they did not speak our language; and here suddenly,
to the intense surprise of Esau, the Skipper broke forth into a long
harangue in Norse, concluding with an extremely neat peroration. The
shopkeeper listened with respectful admiration, and then said, 'No,
this is a stationer's shop, we do not keep it.' Then Esau gave way
to irreverent laughter, and the shopkeeper concluded that we were
attempting a practical joke, and we had to fly. The Skipper was not
angry, but very much hurt. It afterwards transpired that he had got
up the whole of that magnificent burst of eloquence out of 'Bennett's
Phrase Book,' and then it had failed for want of two or three right
words; truly very hard.
We took our canoes to the railway station, and despatched them to
Lillehammer this afternoon; they had been a source of great interest to
all beholders since our arrival, especially to the Norwegians, who have
all a sort of natural affinity with any kind of boat, and seem very much
pleased with the combined lightness and strength of their build. As far
as we can learn they are the first of the kind that have yet been
brought to this country.
At the station they were surrounded by a crowd of inquiring Norsemen,
all of them wondering much what the name of 'Nettie' on the bows of the
Skipper's craft could mean, and spelling it over very slowly and
carefully aloud. When we came away, one of them, evidently a linguist,
had just translated it into his own language, and was proceeding to
conjugate it as an irregular verb.