MAINLY ABOUT SAINTS
Nico did a great deal of work in Dalen, finishing half-completed
sketches, and making many figure-drawings. One of the servants was
from Saetersdalen; and, to pose for Nico, she dressed herself in her
extraordinary costume. In the course of our wanderings we met with
travelling natives of Saetersdalen--once, under a lucky star, with a
woman taking her little child, a girl of three or four years old, to a
hospital in Christiania. Between us we persuaded the child to act as
model for an hour or two, so as to give Nico occasion to transfer her
decorative charm to his paper. The dress for women and girl children
alike is a straight garment of very thick cloth, sustained by
embroidered shoulder-straps. It reaches only a little below the knee,
and is edged by two or three bands of very thick coloured cloth, which
hold out stiffly the rather solid material of which the garment is
made. Under this they wear a petticoat made on the same model. A white
shirt covers the arms and neck, and a brightly coloured knitted belt
girdles the middle--I can scarcely call it the waist--of the wearer.
On their hands are black mittens, embroidered in a traditional pattern
with brightly coloured wools. The head is covered by a folded
handkerchief, and the hair hangs loose or plaited down the back. The
legs are encased in thick knitted stockings and sensible low shoes.
The men and boys wear trousers that come up to their shoulders, and
odd little round hats. The district in which they live we were not
able to visit, to my regret. We had left it to the last, intending to
take it on our way home, as the country can only be approached from
Christianssand, a port touched by the steamers bound from Christiania
to Hull; and at the last moment unforeseen circumstances compelled us
to make our passage home as speedy as possible. There is a railway
which will take the traveller up the valley as far as Byglandsfjord;
but to appreciate its many charms it is advisable, and well worth
while, to make the journey by road and water. Beyond this station the
valley has no connection with other routes, except by rough and
sometimes dangerous mountain paths. Accommodation for the tourist
is exceedingly rough, and food narrowly limited in quality and
variety. On account of these drawbacks, the Saetersdalen district must
certainly be, from many points of view, the most interesting part of
Norway. There the traveller will find the dresses, the customs, and
the dwelling-places in much the same stage as they have been for the
last three hundred years, and--what is always a great attraction to me
and surely not less so to others--there is the joy of travelling in
parts which are as yet almost unknown, and consequently unspoilt by
the tourist, who must perforce bring in his wake so many doubtful
blessings. For me the people of a country is that country's greatest
charm--not the townsfolk or the owners and staffs of the big hotels
with their far-spreading influence, but the unspoilt people of the
untravelled parts. In the summer months parties of people migrate from
the valley and take up their abode in the mountains. Thus the
courageous but too confident traveller may find himself unable to
obtain even such simple food as bread and milk. It is highly advisable
for the explorer to take with him biscuits, canned food, and brandy,
and to travel with as small a quantity of baggage as is convenient.
[Illustration: SAETERSDALEN PEASANT GIRL]
At the head of the valley it is possible to cross the mountains which
separate Saetersdalen from Telemarken and to arrive at Dalen, on Lake
Bandak. The peasant inhabitants of Saetersdalen are of rather a
charming primitiveness, and some of their houses can show wonderful
specimens of quaint and grotesque carving. Included in this
simplicity, however, is an unpleasant and complete disregard for
cleanliness.
The moment came when, much against our inclinations, and especially
against Nico's wishes, we were obliged to leave our comfortable
quarters at Dalen. For the last time I basked in the warm sunshine
which had favoured us during our entire stay; for the last time I
retired from the too warm welcome to the shadowy balcony studio
belonging to my room, which complaisantly looked north as Nico
required. Only this once more should I drop sticks of chocolate on to
the golden curls of the little Andrea as she came within range during
her eternal roamings over the big farmyard in search of mischief. No
fewer than ten cats of variegated colours prowled over this area; they
delicately fished and fought for the more toothsome morsels from the
barrel outside the kitchen window containing all the refuse of food
stuffs, the eventual emptying of which was to the advantage of the
pigstye. In the middle of this interesting land was a well. Over it
hung, high in the air, an empty bucket suspended by a chain from the
lighter end of an immense pole. The pretty cowherd would fill the pail
with water to plenish the tubs from which her charges drank. Most
evenings, in a spirit of wickedness, the worthy brother of the
golden-haired baby would fill the bucket and leave it standing by the
well, the weight of the water in it keeping it on the ground. Up would
come an unsuspecting cow, which thirstily would drink the contents.
Slowly she would lift her head from the now empty pail, which, flying
as by magic into the air, would almost invariably give the bewildered
creature a smart blow on the head. Of course, it did not hurt the
animal; but her expression of startled and grieved surprise was most
amusing. It was one of the excitements of my days at Dalen to have
mild bets with Nico whether the day's intended victim would be free of
the bucket in time.
[Illustration: MOLDOeEN]
The sun went in; the air grew cold; soon darkness was upon us. This
was the proudest moment of the day. I lit my fire, invariably with
success, with peelings of birch bark that I had sedulously collected
during my walks. This last time all my savings went together--how they
blazed! Then in came the farmer, our host, with his exceedingly easy
bill, including entries for various delightful painted butter-boxes
and three immense wooden drinking bowls which I had bought from him.
Then followed his worthy wife and his pretty daughter, bearing a tray
on which was a bottle of arac punch and four glasses--he wished to
drink to us before we went, and so we clinked the small glasses, and
in various words of various languages expressed that we were pleased
with one another, and almost arranged that the pretty daughter should
come with us to learn English and to help my nurse to look after my
babies. I have not got little Andrea with me yet; but I expect that by
the time this book is published she will be in my house, wearing her
pretty national costume, and rejoicing us with her charming little
face, which is reproduced on the frontispiece of the book.
Next morning we were obliged to be up by six. An hour beforehand one
of the delightful serving-maids lit my fire, and our breakfast,
including more arac punch, was brought upstairs. By and by, in the
cold grey morning, we boarded the little steamer which was to take
us through the series of lakes and canals to Skien, whence it is
possible to go by train to Christiania.
[Illustration: A COTTAGE INTERIOR, TELEMARKEN]
It was a wonderful day, albeit very long. These days that one begins
at six o'clock seem always of unnatural length--what should be
luncheon time in the ordinary way is only breakfast time on these
occasions; and, when all the hours are unoccupied, how delightedly one
would welcome bedtime in the afternoon! However, before we had time to
become very discontented, the sun came out to cheer us up, and then
breakfast was announced, and after that we began to shake off our
drowsy ill-humours and look about. Our captain was a good-looking man,
quite young, and an excellent English scholar. He was a great
traveller, and from his talk we gathered that he was not too well
pleased to be passing his days on this little lake steamer, going
backwards and forwards alternately with another boat; he was rather
discontented at this time, quite the close of the season, when the
English passengers that his soul loved were few and far between, and
his most usual freight a few peasants, changing at every station, and
an occasional herd of cattle. He pointed out to us on our right a
group of rocks known as "The Monk and Lady." I could fancy I did see
a resemblance to two human beings, one kneeling before the other's
uplifted hand, apparently asking for a blessing. Had I not known the
name given to the group, I might have thought I saw the image of a
guilty being receiving corporal chastisement.
At the first station we stopped at, the little boat rolled a good
deal, and it was only by clinging to steadfast objects that the
passengers preserved their balance. Several young men boarded the
boat. Also there joined us two very beautiful women wearing long coats
to cover their best costumes, their charming head-dress concealing
hair hanging loose down their backs. They were both married women. Two
of the young men had pockets full of beautiful yellow apples; they ate
them steadily, by the dozen I should say, until the pockets were
empty. I coveted the fruit. When I am an early riser, it is
astonishing how my most extreme longing is for unattainable apples. At
the next station several children came on board with baskets of the
fruit for sale. Already my appetite had become fainter; but Nico
bought the stock-in-trade of a person of some three or four years, and
so much occupied was I in watching the exhibition of the boy's triumph
over his less fortunate fellows, that I did not notice the piling
up of interest which was going on around me.
[Illustration: A NORWEGIAN GIRL]
Really it was too much for one stoppage! First, the apple-sellers, who
left us, however, before we started; next, a man with a foal two or
three weeks old; also a herd of about thirty cattle, tied up variously
on deck, in close proximity to the passengers; last, but not least, a
Saetersdalen woman, in the full glory of her elaborate and brightly
coloured costume. Walking in the fields in their own district, the
women take off the dark cloth upper frock which this woman wore, and
work in a grey underfrock made in exactly the same way. Here was
material for heaps of excitement in our simple lives. When we had
sampled our apples in the little deck-house which was all the covered
accommodation, I left Nico half asleep and went out to look for
adventures. The foal, with terrified eyes fixed on the water, was
neighing piteously; every now and then a horse would trot to the edge
of the water, apparently to neigh comfort to the poor little fellow
making his first water journey. Frequently the boat would give an
alarming lurch, and the cattle would slip helplessly from one side to
the other, stamping and kicking in their efforts to regain a steady
footing on the slippery deck. Later, at Nico's suggestion, a board was
put up between the pony and the water, and this seemed to quiet the
poor beast. At the next station the boat gave a fearful roll, and
tipped over to such an extent that the perfectly smooth water of the
lake washed one side of the deck. We were all rather frightened for a
few seconds. The cattle were in a sprawling, kicking, terrified mass
on the side which leaned to the water. The passengers struggled to the
opposite side, and held on as best they could. By some means the
steamer righted herself, and off we started.
The captain was attentive to us on this trip. I think he was glad to
air his English. He pointed out, on our right, another curious
formation in the mountains, which he called "St. Olaf's Ship." I
daresay in the time of St. Olaf ships were like that: so I will not
emphasise my ignorance by criticism.
St. Olaf's name is found all over the country. It is well known that
he is Norway's greatest saint: but I daresay his history is not such
common property. Therefore I tell it as our captain on the steamer
told it to me. Here I may say that there is surely no country in the
world where the average inhabitant has such an exceedingly great
knowledge of histories, national or general.
[Illustration: KJENDALSBRAE]
Olaf Haraldssen was a descendant of Harald Haarfajer, or "The Fair,"
who was the first king to rule the whole of Norway. Harald Haarfajer
flourished in the ninth century, and was one of the first of the
heroic Vikings sung of in sagas. After Harald the Fair, the most
splendid king was Olaf Trygvasen, who with his many followers harried
us to such an extent that the English sovereign was obliged to sue for
peace. He endeavoured to implant Christianity among his subjects by
sword and fire, and, after making a heroic defence and losing nearly
all his men, fell mortally wounded during a battle against the Swedish
and Danish kings. Norway was now in the hands of the two conquering
kings; but they gave up their shares to a powerful Norwegian earl, who
had given them his aid against King Olaf Trygvasen. The earl agreed to
hold these lands as their vassal. In this capacity he was obliged to
leave his country when the Danish king called upon him to join in an
invasion of England. He never returned from this expedition. In 1015
Olaf Haraldssen, another worthy descendant of Harald the Fair,
returning from a pirating raid, seized the opportunity of assuming
the leadership of the country, determined to carry out the intention
of his noble ancestor, Olaf Trygvasen. With the help of various petty
kings from the north, he overthrew the dominion of the earls and their
overlords, the Danish and Swedish kings. He made Trondhjem his
capital, and there he received homage from the lesser chieftains as
king of Norway. In his turn he enforced Christianity; but on account
of the extreme severity of his policy he alienated many of his people,
who sought the aid of the Danish king against him. Defeated, Olaf fled
to Russia. After gathering his forces together he endeavoured to win
back his kingdom, but was again beaten. He was killed at the battle of
Stiklestad in 1030. His body was taken to a place called Nidaros, and
buried on the banks of a river. A year later his corpse was exhumed,
and it was found that there was no trace of corruption--the face was
just as in life, and the hair and nails had grown. This, and certain
miracles wrought through his intercession, caused him to be proclaimed
a saint. His body was encased in silver and placed in Trondhjem
Cathedral, where it received great veneration until the time of the
Reformation.
[Illustration: A TYPICAL NORWEGIAN MAIDEN]
The history of Norway, with its continual relations and dissensions
with Sweden and Denmark, is intensely interesting; but there are such
splendid books on the subject that it would be ridiculous for me to
attempt to introduce more than these few words into a book which
professes to give merely the superficial impressions of a
traveller--exceedingly interested, it is true, but--having almost
everything to learn about her subject.
Rather regretfully, we came back from the eleventh century, for the
captain was obliged to superintend the disembarkation of the cows. We
were rather glad to get rid of them; and they, poor things, were, I am
sure, heartily pleased that their startling journey was over, and that
they found themselves safely on dry land, with plenty of space to roam
in. The pony we kept with us for a while, attempting to persuade it to
drink milk, which, however, it refused to consider.
The luncheon was pork and stewed rhubarb, served in a very small and
stuffy dining cabin. Nico and I refused it, and regaled ourselves on a
tin of Brand. Soon we entered the wonderful canal that joins the
Bandak Lake to the Nordsjo Lake, which is connected by another canal
with the head of the Skien Fjord, thus opening up an inland waterway
from the sea at Skien right into the heart of the mountains at Dalen,
the extreme end of Lake Bandak. Lake Bandak is a hundred and
eighty-seven feet higher than Lake Nordsjo, with which it is
connected: this immense difference is overcome by no fewer than
fourteen locks, the average rise in each lock being something over
thirteen feet. All the locks are blasted out of solid rock and faced
with grey granite. When we reached the end of this stupendous triumph
of engineering, the effect as we looked back was overwhelming. The
chief difficulty in construction was a fall of eighty feet, called the
Vrangfos. No bottom could be found to the gorge, and a massive bridge
of granite was constructed between the two rocky sides, on which
foundation a dam was built. Five of the fourteen locks are at the
Vrangfos, which rages alongside in impotent fury. This immense work
cost the country three million kroner.
[Illustration: A BABY OF TELEMARKEN]
At the end of this canal is a rather pleasant little station, Ulefos,
on the Nordsjo Lake; but we were in a hurry to get to Christiania and
civilisation. We did not get off the boat, but continued on our way to
Skien. We were still chatting with the captain. On our left in the
rocks, he pointed out to us a yawning gap, ten or twelve feet high.
That cavern, he told us, was used as a chapel, and dedicated to Saint
Michael. He also told us that it was the tomb of the last Catholic
priest in Norway just after the Reformation. The King of Denmark, who
at that time was also King of Norway, had decreed that the Catholic
religion should cease to be in both Norway and Denmark. In Norway the
people were all the more against the fulfilment of this decree as they
recognised that the Danish king wished to enrich himself at the
expense of the Catholic Church. Cunning as well as force, therefore,
was necessary to establish the Lutheran religion in the country of St.
Olaf. The Catholic priests were banished, and their places were taken
by foreign preachers, who, to deceive the people, kept up for a long
time the external appearances of Catholicism. Several years after
these primary steps had been taken, a Danish soldier named Porl, cruel
and fanatical, was appointed preacher to the church of Solum; the
little rock chapel of St. Michael having been destroyed, the parish of
which it was the centre had been united to that of Solum. Soon Porl
discovered that his parishioners still went in great numbers to pray
in the grotto, and sometimes at night a mysterious light was seen
among the rocks. One autumn evening, returning from Holden in a boat
rowed by three young watermen, Porl beheld them suddenly cease their
rowing, and, throwing themselves on their knees in the boat, cross
themselves. This act of devotion was performed exactly opposite St.
Michael's Chapel, from which the mysterious light reflected itself in
the lake.
[Illustration: ROMSDALS HORN]
Furious, Porl ordered them to row him to the foot of the hilly path
which led to the chapel; but here he met with determined opposition.
They would rather die than obey his wish. He was therefore obliged to
return to Solum, promising himself a speedy solution of the mystery.
In such a matter he could not trust his parishioners, devoted as they
were to the old religion: so he took into his service two men from
Skien, and ordered them to keep watch from afar on the grotto of St.
Michael. One night, the eve of St. Michael's feast, they rushed to
him, breathlessly, to announce that they had seen the mysterious light
issuing from the cave. There was no doubt about it. He could see it
with his own eyes. He took a sword from the wall to arm himself
against the unknown enemy, and his two spies rowed him to the grotto.
As they got nearer the light became of more importance. His men took
him to the foot of the steep narrow path; but neither threats nor
hope of reward could persuade them, fearing the supernatural, to
accompany him. Filled with anger, he made his way alone; but at the
moment when he had all but reached the opening to the chapel the light
went out, and there he was between heaven and earth in the pitch
darkness, afraid to take either one step back or one step forward.
Gathering all his courage, he went forward, and managed to feel his
way into the cave. God alone knew what awaited him there, and on His
name he called. At the sound, at the far end of the cave a big stone
was moved, and the darkness was flooded with light. Porl could
scarcely believe his eyes when he saw before him an altar, and on the
altar a crucifix surrounded by innumerable candles. From this
sanctuary a venerable old man, wearing sacerdotal vestments, as if
about to say Mass, advanced towards him.
"You come in the name of God?" said he. "Come, then, in peace."
But the preacher, brandishing his sword, fell on the old priest,
crying in anger, "I was right, then! I guessed that there was still an
accursed Papist in my parish!"
"You were indeed right," said the old man. "It is he you are now
assaulting."
"It is not you that I quarrel with," said the Lutheran, "but the error
of your ways, and the black artifices you employ to turn the heads of
my parishioners."
"Your parishioners?" repeated the old priest with dignity. "Do you
know who I am? I am Sylvester, the legitimate pastor of those poor
souls whom you call your parishioners, and the last Catholic priest
left in this unhappy country. With cunning and force you have made war
on the religion which has made Norway what it is. You have robbed her
people of their faith; you have sacked our churches and banished our
priests. Far from my flock, I have eaten my bread in tears and exile
for long years; I have wept and prayed; almost have I died of grief at
leaving my poor children deserted. But I could not die away from them.
In spite of a thousand dangers, I returned and buried myself here in
the ruins of my dear church. Only the inhabitants of one farm know of
my return, and from them I receive the bread on which I live and the
straw which is my couch. As for my 'artifices'--alas! I am old and
incapable of doing anything for my children, who still love and
reverence the Church of their fathers. All I can do for them is to
pray and to celebrate Mass for them on the great feasts under cover of
the charitable darkness. These are my ruses, these my terrible
mysteries. Now that I have told you them, raise your sword against the
last of God's anointed priests living in my unhappy land. Strike--for
I wish to die here."
[Illustration: OLD AGE, TELEMARKEN]
The _ci-devant_ Danish soldier was touched.
"No," he said. "God forbid that I should raise my hand against an old
man. Live, and die when God shall call you, in this spot. Adieu, and
may God enlighten you at your last hour."
"Amen," said the old man. "Both you and I have great need of the
light."
Porl left. From that day he ceased to persecute his flock, who held
still to their Catholic practices. A few more times the mysterious
light shone from St. Michael's grotto, and the belated wayfarer who
saw it piously crossed himself. But when Christmas came the cave
remained in darkness. The last Catholic priest had died. The initiated
farm people had made a tomb for their beloved pastor in the depths of
his chapel; and there his body lies to this day, waiting for the
resurrection.
The simple facts of the above narrative were given me by our captain;
but for the complete and detailed history I am indebted to no less a
person than the present Catholic Bishop of Norway--Monseigneur
Fallize.
ARTS AND CRAFTS