FISHERIES: THE LAPPS: RELIGION AND MORALS: MUSIC
Although most Englishmen with any knowledge of Norway have been
originally attracted to the country by the hope of sport, especially
of salmon fishing, and though the rents which they are willing and
eager to pay for rivers or sections of rivers are a substantial sum
brought into the country, the sea fisheries are, of course, of
immeasurably greater importance.
The old sagas tell that over a thousand years ago "splendid painted
ships, with sails of several colours," sailed laden with fish to
England, and the abundant and varied supply of fish which
distinguishes the coast of Norway has always been one of the chief
sources of the country's income. In 1897 it was estimated that the
total receipts of the trade amounted to about sixty million kroner.
The coastline of Norway is exceedingly long; in many places it slopes
down to great ocean depths. These various depths and the different
conditions of the submerged surface determine the nature of the
submarine fauna, and consequently of the fish. Perhaps the most
important of these are cod, herring, and salmon. Cod are principally
fished for in March and April, with lines and nets. The Lofoten cod
fishery is carried on from several stations, spread over various
islands. Here are the warehouses and the very primitive
dwelling-places of the fishermen. The cod are caught with lines and
with nets, which are baited with herrings or little metal fish whose
gleam serves equally well to deceive the cod in search of food. At the
favourable spots in the right season, the fish are so abundant that
the fisherman has only to throw the line and pull it out again to find
that a fish has bitten and thus closed its career. The spoil is taken
ashore, split open, attached two and two together by the tail, and
thus hung over long lines to dry. The liver is used for the
fabrication of cod-liver oil, a medicine whose unpleasantness is more
than equalled by its excellence as a remedy. The heads of this
profitable fish are used for manure. In these cold regions, where
grass is scarce, the cod heads and herrings are used as fodder for
cattle.
[Illustration: FISHING-BOATS AT LOFOTEN.]
During the season fishermen from all northern Norway flock to the
stations. Sometimes as many as five or six thousand fishing boats,
with a total crew of thirty-two thousand men, are gathered together.
The catch averages thirty-five millions; and the fish are usually sold
by the hundred, generally prepared either as "klip fish"--salted and
dried--or as the evil-smelling _torfisk_ (stock fish), which haunted
our wanderings through Holland, which imports large quantities. In old
fishing laws of the islands it is insisted that no torfisk should be
hung up after April 12, or taken down before June 12. I presume that
after this treatment they will last and be odorous for ever. In the
off-seasons small cargoes of this fish are carried by many of the
passenger steamers, to the profit, perhaps, of the captain, but to the
intense displeasure of the passengers. Indeed, all down the coast of
Norway we noticed that the air was impregnated with the smell of stock
fish; our towels and napkins, and indeed everything we had washed, had
the same repulsive odour.
Though the financial side of it is very satisfactory, this industry
costs the country much in lives of men. The great enemy of the
fisher-folk are the violent tempests which spring up suddenly in the
Vestfjord. Often the boat is overturned, and the occupants cling as
best they may to the various iron rings and chains. Often they drive
their knives deep into the wood of the boat and hang on thus as long
as they are able. Though there are lifeboats permanently attached to
the stations, the greater number of fishermen lose their lives in
pursuit of their calling; and after the tempest dies down, and the
wrecks are washed ashore, often the clues to the number and identity
of the poor drowned owners are the knives still planted in their
boats. Nowhere are widows and orphans so many as on these coasts of
Norway. During the fishing season the sale of intoxicating liquor is
prohibited by the Government.
The herring come next in importance to the cod. They are variable in
quantity, and in some years are almost altogether absent. The
fishermen insist that there are "herring periods," with years good and
bad. Such periods are said to last for about thirty years. During
recent times such a period seems to have set in. The herring season is
very short. Suddenly, as if by magic, the sea swarms with fish, which
after a time disappear as rapidly as they came. To a certain extent
they may be relied on twice a year--for the spring fishing off the
south coast between Stavanger and Bergen, and early in winter off
the northern coast between the Romsdal and Tromso. This is called the
"large herring fishery," from the greater size of the fish in these
parts. Besides this, fishing goes on in a measure at all times of the
year. The herring are caught either by going out to sea in search of
shoals; or by lying in wait for them in the small bays and fjords,
preventing their escape by arrangements of nets, and baling them out
at leisure. In the open sea they are also caught with nets, and are
more to be relied on as to quantity.
[Illustration: A LITTLE SAETERSDALEN PEASANT GIRL]
When a shoal of herring arrives, always announced by whales and
flights of birds who feed on the small fish, telephones and telegraphs
are set in motion to summon the fishermen to the spot, and to order
barrels and salt for the packing of the fish. These are sent as
speedily as possible by special steamers. When the shoal approaches
the coast, an immense net encloses it as completely as possible. The
fish are massed so compactly that a boat crossing the shoal is raised
by them. The brilliancy of their scales as they dash about, almost on
the surface of the water, is dazzling. Landed, they are immediately
split open, cleaned, salted, and packed for transportation.
Whale fishing is carried on to some extent off the north of Norway. On
the little island of Skaaro there is a building where whale oil is
prepared for use. From afar off the sickening smell announces the
industry of the island: repulsive morsels of greasy _debris_ float on
the surface of the water. At the landing place the rocky beach is so
covered with grease that it is difficult to walk without falling. A
friend arrived just as a whaler appeared on the horizon, dragging
after her the carcase of an enormous whale, weighing seventy-five
thousand kilogrammes. Such an animal will give about fifty thousand
pounds' weight of oil, and will bring the captors between L280 and
L300. Such a giant requires for his daily meal twenty or thirty tons
of fish. To take them he opens his jaws, and closes them on water and
fish alike; he swallows the fish, allows the water to filter through
the curious formation of his mouth, and then squirts it up like a
fountain through an opening in the skull. It is this jet of water
which often causes his ruin, by indicating his position to the
watchful whalers. On the boat which is chasing him is a cannon, loaded
with an enormous harpoon, which is attached to the ship by a long rope
wound round a pulley. The extremity of the harpoon is armed with an
explosive bomb. When the whale appears the harpoon is shot at it.
Following its instinct of self-preservation, it dives deep. The rope
gives out rapidly. When it is entirely unwound it naturally pulls
against the harpoon, the forked ends of which, in the resistance, tear
the flesh of the animal. As a final result the bomb bursts in the body
of the whale, and generally wounds it mortally. The corpse floats on
the surface; it is attached to the boat and towed to the station,
where it is cut up. The fat produces a large amount of oil; the
whalebone is a productive article of commerce; and most of the
remainder of the animal is converted into manure.
[Illustration: BUERBRAE, ODDE HARDANGER]
It is on account of the great importance and interest which we in
England attach to the salmon fishing that I do not dare to deal with
it, except to make an apology that any book on Norway should be
without at least a chapter on this splendid sport. Though the
accomplished angler is allowed to relate fish stories without
interruption from an absolutely incredulous audience, the remarks of
an inexperienced outsider would, I fear, not be received with equal
docility. I am sure that an angler is born, not made: for, though I am
ignorant on the subject, all my life I have listened to enthusiastic
fisherman's talk, and was brought up in a nursery in which were
"skied" various victims of my father's prowess as an angler.
[Illustration: A LAPP MOTHER AND CHILD]
Since the beginning of my book I have learnt so much about the Lapps
that I must enlarge on my borrowed history of them in Chapter VIII.
The Lapps are nomadic on account of their reindeer, and it is
following these animals where they choose to roam in search of food
that takes them wandering all over the northern half of Norway. There
are only two Lapp villages--Karasjok, in Finmarken, and Kontokeimo,
near the Russian frontier. The permanent residences consist of cabins
built of turf, stones, or small tree-trunks. These huts are round and
have one opening in the top, where the light penetrates and the smoke
comes out. In the middle of the hut a fire is kept continually
burning, with a big cauldron hanging over it, suspended by a chain.
The members of the family and their servants, if they have any, sleep
on either side of the fire. The Lapps are small, in great contrast to
the Norwegians of this region, who average over six feet in height.
The children are often exceedingly pretty; but they soon lose their
charm and become ugly, and are not rendered more attractive by
their dirty habits. All their garments are made of reindeer skin, and
the women add to these various silk shawls and handkerchiefs brightly
coloured; by the quantity and the quality of these one may judge of
their rank and richness. The Lapps are supposed to share a common
origin with the Magyars of Hungary, though these, if they recognise
the relationship, cannot feel flattered. It is certain that the Lapps
were the first inhabitants of Norway. In appearance they are
unprepossessing. They have small eyes, very low foreheads, flat noses,
and thick-lipped mouths. Like the Hungarians, they are incredibly
proud. They despise everything that is not Lapp, and refuse to allow
their daughters in marriage to Norwegians. (I should have thought that
the Norwegians would not have worried much about this restriction.)
They are all baptized in the Lutheran Church; but that is as far as
their religion goes in most cases. They are unmoral and superstitious.
One might gather from the books of some of Norway's great writers that
the nation is on the whole rather casual about morality. It would
appear that their religion, while condemning as worthy of hell quite
honest pleasures, looks with indulgence on a certain moral laxity,
which is indeed so habitual that it passes uncriticised. Among the
very strictly religious population in the south-west, a pastor would
be quickly got rid of if he forgot himself so far as to play the piano
or drink intoxicants; but this same people some ten years ago
venerated as a martyr one of their clergy who, forced to confess in
public crimes against the morality of his own parishioners, was
consequently deposed by the Government. His flock, of their own
initiative, built him a magnificent church, and, providing him with a
liberal sufficiency, retained him as the director of their spiritual
welfare.
Two Oratorians, visiting Norway some years ago in a yacht, decided to
spend a few days fishing at a hamlet somewhere in the Sogne Fjord.
They had all the preparations for Mass with them, and wished to take a
small unused chalet as a chapel. The farmer who owned the building was
willing, and negotiations were concluded on payment of a nominal rent,
when the farmer realised that my friends were of the Old Religion.
There was no question of proselytism, as the idea concerned only the
two priests and their Catholic English friends on the yacht; but
all the countryside was up in arms, and a few days later prominent
personages from Christiania had arrived on the scene to put a stop to
the possibility of such happenings. In the meantime, however, my
friends, little dreaming of the importance attached to their doings,
had pursued their way along the coast, and were innocently fishing
elsewhere. At present the ecclesiastical prejudice of the Norwegians
is less marked, though Jews are sedulously discouraged, and Jesuits
are forbidden the country.
[Illustration: SNOW-CAPPED MOUNTAINS AT AUNE]
Various hospitals are attended by Catholic nursing sisters, who are in
great favour with the medical profession and with the patients who are
lucky enough to fall under their care.
All this time I am trying hard, by roundabout means, to get back to
Bergen, because I wish to fit in, in proper context, a remark which I
heard about the town. It seems that I cannot get back there
legitimately, though I had hoped that the Sisters of Charity would
help me through with their hospitals.
I was listening to the woes of the American Consul in Bergen. He was
descanting on the want of entertainment and the absence of all things
which make an American's life possible in any country on the globe
outside his perfect native land. I sympathised with him, and threw in
a little grumble of my own, having relation to the weather. "O, the
weather!" said my red-headed friend, very hopelessly and crossly.
"Why, sure, if a Bergen horse sees a person without an umbrella, he
shies." This seems pretty feeble as I set it down; but at the time the
Consul was disconsolate and far from wishing to amuse me, bored and
discontented. Thus his remark just happened to tickle me: we both
laughed until we cried, and felt very much the better for the
diversion.
Frequently, at times of _ennui_, we found diversion in music, or in
information about that art. The lure, though perhaps it can hardly be
called a musical instrument, is a primitive means of conveying sound.
The herds on the mountains used it to call their cattle together. It
is said that no two lures have tones exactly alike, and that the
cattle are able to distinguish and place the particular sound of their
guardian's lure. It is a wooden trumpet, nearly five feet long, made
of two hollow pieces of birchwood, bound together throughout the whole
length with strips of willow. Besides being used to call the cattle
together, it is often carried by travelling parties to avert the risk
of anyone being lost in the wilds. Its notes may be heard at a great
distance, and are rather harsh and discordant, possessing none of the
musical qualities of the Alp horn used by the Swiss for the same
purpose. Grieg composed charming music for a song called "The
Princess." The words led me to suppose that the lure is rather a
fascinating instrument; and the above description rather disillusioned
me, until I decided to allow a good deal for poetic licence.
The Norwegians are exceedingly musical. Their national music gives
wonderful expression to their moods. Almost invariably in the gayest
pieces one catches here and there a pathetic little droop which gives
a very particular character to Norwegian music. In the country the
post of fiddler is handed down from generation to generation, together
with certain airs which are looked upon as family property; but
official fiddlers are by no means the only musicians in the district.
These are found in every family, dividing their favours between the
violin and the guitar. The organist L. Lindeman did great service to
his country by collecting and preserving hundreds of national ballads,
dances, and hymns, which had lived only in the ear and the soul of the
people, and thus were lost entirely to the outer world. The oldest of
these songs are the sagas, sung traditions that have been handed down
from immemorial ages. They recount the heroic exploits of the Vikings
and warriors of heathen times. Many ballads tell of the beautiful
_huldre_, of the fay who presages the destruction of fishermen, of the
water sprite, and of the brownies who, living underground, are
covetous of cattle. To gratify their taste, the brownies help
themselves to such as graze on the mountains, but only if their
guardian's eyes are turned off his charges; they make dwarfs of the
beasts to enable them to enter crevices in the ground, in order that
they may descend to subterranean passages. Many songs about these
malicious fairies do the maidens sing as they keep their eyes
carefully fixed on the herds, to prevent their being stolen in like
manner. Some of the songs consist of hundreds of four-line verses,
which must surely be a hard test to the memory of the singers.
Sometimes two singers will have a duet in such a song, singing verse
after verse alternately. He whose memory, or, in default of memory,
invention, fails him first is loser.
[Illustration: RIVER AT GJORA]
The Norwegian national dances have in their melodies and rhythms a
bold and natural character which gives them considerable worth. The
principal are the _halling_, a Hardanger solo dance consisting of wild
gyrations and vigorous kicks at rafters of the room. He who kicks
highest is the champion. The other dance is the _springar_, which is a
dance for two, with no less call for the display of muscular powers.
The two favourite instruments of the people, on which all this music
has been played for centuries, are the langelik, which somewhat
resembles a zither, and the Hardanger violin. The langelik has a long,
flat body, with round holes, and at least seven strings, which are
struck with a plectrum. The tone is rather weak, and the sound is
somewhat monotonous, as the possibility of producing modulated sounds
is almost entirely excluded.
The Hardanger fiddle is higher and more arched in its build than the
violin we know. The instrument is decorated as much as possible, the
scroll being a dragon's head, or something equally fantastic: and the
body of the fiddle is richly carved and ornamented with incrustations
of ivory and mother-of-pearl. Beneath the four upper strings, which
are tuned to suit the individual tastes of the musician, and under the
finger-board, there are four, sometimes more, sympathetic strings of
fine steel wire. By the aid of this instrument the people make
wonderful sketches in music descriptive of the beauty of dawn and the
close of a summer's day, with the birds' trills, or the huldre's song,
or the ringing of marriage bells. I have all this from a Norwegian
book, and from instruments I have both seen and heard.
The best known of the modern music-makers of the north is the great
Norwegian Edward Grieg, whose genius is familiar to all musicians the
world over. He was born in Bergen, and lives there still, though he
has travelled much in Germany, Holland, and Italy. Another name which
we know well in this country is that of Sinding, who is of the younger
generation.
Norway has no regular opera; but the concerts which are given in the
beautiful National Theatre are eagerly attended, and the programmes
are representative of the musical talent of Europe.
[Illustration: GRIEG]
LEGENDS AND LITERATURE