HOW THEY LIVE.
Every where on the route through the interior I found the peasants
kind, hospitable, and simple-hearted. Sometimes I made a detour of
several miles from the main road for the purpose of catching a glimpse
of the home-life of the farmers; and, imperfect as my means of
communication were, I never had any difficulty in making acquaintance
with them after announcing myself as a traveler from California. They
had all heard, more or less, of that wonderful land of gold, and
entertained the most vague and exaggerated notions of its mineral
resources. It was not uncommon to find men who believed that the whole
country was yellow with gold; that such quantities of that ore
abounded in it as to be of little or no value. When I told them that
the country was very rich in the precious metals, but that every hill
was not a mass of gold, nor the bed of every river lined with rocks
and pebbles of the same material, they looked a little incredulous,
not to say disappointed. Many of them seemed surprised that a
Californian should be traveling through a distant land like Norway
merely for amusement, and few seemed to be entirely satisfied when I
assured them, in answer to their questions, that I was not very rich;
that I was neither a merchant, nor a speculator, nor the owner of gold
mines, but simply an indifferent artist making sketches of their
country for pastime. French, German, and English artists they could
believe in, for they saw plenty of them in the wilds of Norway every
summer; but what use would such a poor business be in California, they
said, where every man could make a thousand dollars a day digging for
gold? I even fancied they looked at my rough and dusty costume as if
they thought it concealed a glittering uniform, such as the rich men
of my country must naturally wear when they go abroad to visit foreign
lands. It was impossible to convince them that I was not extravagantly
wealthy. On any other point there might be room for doubt, but the
pertinacity with which they insisted upon that afforded me much
amusement; and since I could not dispel the illusion, it generally
cost me a few extra shillings when I had any thing to pay to avoid the
stigma of meanness. Not that my extraordinary wealth ever gave them a
plea for imposition or extortion. Such an idea never entered their
heads. On the contrary, their main purpose seemed to be to show every
possible kindness to the distinguished stranger; and more than once,
at some of the post-stations, I had to remind them of things which
they had omitted in the charge. For this very reason I was in a
measure compelled to be rather more profuse than travelers usually
are, so that the state from which I have the honor to hail owes me a
considerable amount of money by this time for the handsome manner in
which I have sustained its reputation. At some of the stopping-places
on the road, where I obtained lodgings for the night, it was not
uncommon to find intelligent and educated families of cultivated
manners. Education of late years has made considerable progress in
Norway; and the rising generation, owing to the facilities afforded by
the excellent school system established throughout the country, but
especially in the principal towns, will not be in any respect behind
the times, so far as regards intellectual progress. It is the
simplicity and honesty of these good people, however, that form their
principal and most charming characteristic. To one long accustomed to
sharp dealing and unscrupulous trickery, it is really refreshing their
confidence in the integrity of a stranger. Usually they left the
settlement of accounts to myself, merely stating that I must determine
what I owed by adding up the items according to the tariff; and,
although my knowledge of the language was so limited, I nowhere had
the slightest approach to a dispute about the payment of expenses. On
one occasion, not wishing to forfeit this confidence, I was obliged to
ride back half a mile to pay for two cigars which I had forgotten in
making up the reckoning, and of which the inn-keeper had not thought
proper to remind me, or had forgotten to keep any account himself. No
surprise was manifested at this conscientious act--the inn-keeper
merely nodding good-naturedly when I handed him the money, with the
remark that it was "all right."
In the districts remote from the sea-ports, the peasants, as may well
be supposed, are extremely ignorant of the great outside world. Sweden
and Denmark are the only countries known to them besides their own
"Gamle Norge," save such vague notions of other lands as they pick up
from occasional travelers. To them "Amerika" is a terra incognita. A
letter once or twice a year from some emigrant to the members of his
family goes the rounds of the district, and gives them all the
knowledge they have of that distant land of promise; and when they
listen, with gaping eyes and open mouths, to the wonderful stories of
adventure, life, enterprise, and wealth detailed by the enthusiastic
rover, it is no wonder they shake their heads and say that Christian,
or Hans, or Ole (as the case may be), "always was a capital fellow at
drawing a long bow." They firmly believe in ghosts and supernatural
visitations of all sorts, but are very incredulous about any country
in the world being equal to "Gamle Norge." Naturally enough, they
consider their climate the most genial, their barren rocks the most
fertile, their government the best and most liberal on the face of the
earth, and themselves the most highly favored of the human race.
Goldsmith must have had special reference to the Norwegians when he
sang of "that happiest spot below:"
"The shuddering tenant of the frigid zone
Boldly proclaims the happiest spot his own."
And why should they be otherwise than contented--if such a thing as
contentment can exist upon earth? They have few wants and many
children; a country free from internal commotion, and too far removed
from the great scenes of European strife to excite the jealousy of
external powers; sufficient food and raiment to satisfy the ordinary
necessities of life, and no great extremes of wealth or poverty to
militate against their independence, either in a political or social
point of view. With good laws, an excellent Constitution, and a fair
representation in the Storthing, they are justly proud of their
freedom, and deeply imbued with the spirit of patriotism.
Very little of poverty or beggary is to be seen by the wayside during
a tour through Norway. Only at one point between Kringelen and
Laurgaard--a wild and barren district exceedingly savage in its
aspect, situated in a narrow gorge of the mountains near the head of
the Logen--was I solicited for alms. A portion of this route, after
passing Sinclair's Monument, is rudely fenced in, so as to render
available every foot of the narrow valley. The road passes directly
through the little farms, which at this stage of the journey are poor
and unproductive. The climate is said to be very severe in this
district, in consequence of its altitude, and the sharp winds which
sweep down from the mountain gorges. At every gateway a gang of ragged
little children always stood ready to open the gate, for which, of
course, they expected a few shillings; and as these gates occur at
intervals of every few hundred yards for some distance, it produces a
sensible effect upon one's purse to get through. Passing through some
wretched hamlets in this vicinity, crowds of old women hobbled out to
beg alms, and I did not get clear of the regiments of children who ran
along behind the cariole to receive the remainder of my small change
for several miles. Strange to say, this was the only place during my
rambles through the interior in which I saw any thing like beggary.
Generally speaking, the farming lands are sufficiently productive to
supply all the wants of the peasants, and many of the farmers are
even comfortably situated.
The houses in which these country people reside are not altogether
unlike the small log cabins of the early settlers on our Western
frontier. I have seen many such on the borders of Missouri and Kansas.
Built in the most primitive style of pine logs, they stand upon stumps
or columns of stone, elevated some two or three feet from the ground,
in order to allow a draft of air underneath, which in this humid
climate is considered necessary for health. They seldom consist of
more than two or three rooms, but make up in number what they lack in
size. Thus a single farming establishment often comprises some ten or
a dozen little cabins, besides the large barn, which is the nucleus
around which they all centre; with smaller cribs for pigs, chickens,
etc., and here and there a shed for the cows and sheep, all huddled
together among the rocks or on some open hill-side, without the least
apparent regard to direction or architectural effect. The roofs are
covered with sod, upon which it is not uncommon to see patches of
oats, weeds, moss, flowers, or whatever comes most convenient to form
roots and give consistency and strength to this singular overtopping.
The object, I suppose, is to prevent the transmission of heat during
the severe season of winter. Approaching some of these hamlets or
farming establishments during the summer months, the traveler is
frequently at a loss to distinguish their green-sodded roofs from the
natural sod of the hill-sides, so that one is liable at any time to
plunge into the midst of a settlement before he is aware of its
existence. Something of a damp, earthy look about them, the weedy or
grass-covered tops, the logs green and moss-grown, the dripping eaves,
the veins of water oozing out of the rocks, give them a peculiarly
Northern and chilling effect, and fill the mind with visions of long
and dreary winters, rheumatisms, colds, coughs, and consumptions, to
which it is said these people are subject. Nothing so wild and
primitive is to be seen in any other part of Europe. A silence almost
death-like hangs over these little hamlets during a great part of the
day, when the inhabitants are out in the hills attending their flocks
or cultivating their small patches of ground. I passed many groups of
cabins without seeing the first sign of life, save now and then a few
chickens or pigs rooting about the barn-yard. The constant impression
was that it was Sunday, or at least a holiday, and that the people
were either at church or asleep. For one who seeks retirement from the
busy haunts of life, where he can indulge in uninterrupted reflection,
I know of no country that can equal Norway. There are places in the
interior where I am sure he would be astonished at the sound of his
own voice. The deserts of Africa can scarcely present a scene of such
utter isolation. With a rod in his hand, he can, if given to the
gentle art, sit and dream upon some mossy bank,
"In close covert by some brook,
Where no profaner eye may look,
And hide him from day's garish noon."
Thus you often come upon an English sportsman waiting for a nibble.
[Illustration: WAITING FOR A NIBBLE.]
The food of the peasants consists principally of black bread, milk,
butter, and cheese. Meat is too expensive for very general use, though
at certain seasons of the year they indulge in it once or twice a
week. Coffee is a luxury to which they are much addicted. Even the
poorest classes strain a point to indulge in this favorite narcotic,
and in no part of Norway did I fail to get a good cup of coffee. It is
a very curious fact that the best coffee to be had at the most
fashionable hotels on the Continent of Europe--always excepting
Paris--is inferior to that furnished to the traveler at the commonest
station-house in Norway. This is indeed one of the luxuries of a tour
through this part of Scandinavia. The cream is rich and pure, and it
is a rare treat to get a large bowlful of it for breakfast, with as
much milk as you please, and no limit to bread and butter. Your
appetite is not measured by infinitesimal bits and scraps as in
Germany. A good wholesome meal is spread before you in the genuine
backwoods style, and you may eat as much as you please, which is a
rare luxury to one who has been stinted and starved at the hotels on
the Continent. I remember, at one station beyond the Dovre Fjeld,
Bennett's Hand-book says, "Few rooms, but food supplied in first-rate
style when Miss Marit is at home. She will be much offended if you do
not prove that you have a good appetite." On my arrival at this place,
not wishing to offend Miss Marit--for whom I entertained the highest
respect in consequence of her hospitable reputation--I called for
every thing I could think of, and when it was placed upon the table
by that accomplished young lady (a very pleasant, pretty young woman,
by-the-way), fell to work and made it vanish at a most astonishing
rate. Miss Marit stood by approvingly. During a pause in my heavy
labors I called the attention of this estimable person to her own name
in the printed pamphlet, at which she blushed and looked somewhat
confused. Possibly there might be a mistake about it.
"Your name is Miss Marit?" I asked, very politely.
"Ja."
"And this is Miss Marit in print?"
"Ja."
She took the book and tried to read it.
"Nikka Forstoe!"--she didn't understand.
"What does it say?" she asked, rather gravely.
Here was a job--to translate the paragraph into Norwegian! Besides, it
would not do to translate it literally, so I made a sort of impromptu
paraphrase upon it.
"Oh! it says Miss Marit is a very pretty young lady."
"Ja!"--blushing and looking somewhat astonished.
"And Miss Marit is a very nice housekeeper."
"Ja."
"And Miss Marit makes splendid coffee, and thoroughly understands how
to cook a beefsteak."
"Ja!"
"And Miss Marit would make a most excellent wife for any young
gentleman who could succeed in winning her affections!"
"Nei!" said the young lady, blushing again, and looking more
astonished than ever.
"Ja," said I, "it is all in print"--adding, with an internal
reservation, "or ought to be."
Who can blame me for paying tribute to Miss Marit's kindness and
hospitality? She is certainly deserving of much higher praise than
that bestowed upon her, and I hope Mr. Bennett will pardon me for the
liberal style of my translation. If he didn't mean all I said, let the
responsibility rest upon me, for I certainly meant every word of it.
The farming districts are limited chiefly to the valleys along the
river-courses, and such portions of arable lands as lie along the
shores of the Fjords. A large proportion of the country is extremely
wild and rugged, and covered, for the most part, with dense pine
forests. The peasants generally own their own farms, which are small,
and cut up into patches of pasture, grain-lands, and tracts of forest.
Even the most unpromising nooks among the rocks, in many parts of the
Gudbransdalen Valley, where plows are wholly unavailable, are rooted
up by means of hoes, and planted with oats and other grain. I
sometimes saw as many as forty or fifty of these little arable patches
perched up among the rocks, hundreds of feet above the roofs of the
houses, where it would seem dangerous for goats to browse. The log
cabins peep out from among the rocks and pine-clad cliffs all along
the course of the Logen, giving the country a singular speckled
appearance. This, it must be remembered, is one of the best districts
in the interior. The richest agricultural region is said to be that
bordering on the shores of the Miosen. One of the comforts enjoyed by
the peasants, and without which it would scarcely be possible for them
to exist in such a rigorous climate, consists in the unlimited
quantity of fuel to which they have such easy access. This is an
inconceivable luxury during the long winter months; and their large
open fireplaces and blazing fires, even in the cool summer evenings,
constantly remind one of the homes of the settlers in the Far West.
When the roads are covered with snow the true season of internal
communication commences. Then the means of transportation and travel
are greatly facilitated, and the clumsy wagons used in summer are put
aside for the lighter and more convenient sledges with which every
farmer is abundantly provided. All along the route the snow-plows may
be seen turned up against the rocks, ready to be used during the
winter to clear and level the roads. In summer the means of
transportation are little better than those existing between
Placerville and Carson Valley.
[Illustration: SNOW-PLOW.]
It was during the height of the harvesting season that I passed
through the Gudbransdalen. One of the most characteristic sights at
this time of the year is the extraordinary amount of labor imposed
upon the women, who seem really to do most of the heavy work. I
thought I had seen the last of that in the Thuringenwald, Odenwald,
and Schwartzwald, while on a foot-tour through Germany; but even the
Germans are not so far advanced in civilization in this respect as the
Norwegians, who do not hesitate to make their women cut wood, haul
logs, pull carts, row boats, fish, and perform various other kinds of
labor usually allotted to the stronger sex, which even a German would
consider rather heavy for his "frow." The men, in addition to this
ungallant trait, are much addicted to the use of tobacco and native
corn-brandy--which, however, I can not but regard as a sign of
civilization, since the same habits exist, to some extent, in our own
country. Chewing and drinking are just as common as in California, the
most enlightened country in the world. Wherever I saw a set of
drunken fellows roaring and rollicking at some wayside inn, their
faces smeared with tobacco, and their eyes rolling in their heads, I
naturally felt drawn toward them by the great free-masonry of familiar
customs.
[Illustration: A DRINKING BOUT.]
The system of farming followed by the peasants is exceedingly
primitive, though doubtless well adapted to the climate and soil.
Nothing can be more striking to a stranger than the odd shapes of the
wagons and carts, and the rudeness of the agricultural implements,
which must be patterned upon those in vogue during the time of Odin,
the founder of the Norwegian race. Owing to the humidity of the
climate, it is necessary in harvest time to dry the hay and grain by
staking it out in the fields on long poles, so that the sun and air
may penetrate every part of it. The appearance of a farm is thus
rendered unique as well as picturesque. In the long twilight nights of
summer these ghostly stokes present the appearance of a gang of
heathenish spirits standing about in the fields, with their long
beards waving in the air, and their dusky robes trailing over the
stubbles. The figures thus seen at every turn of the road often assume
the most striking spectral forms, well calculated to augment those
wild superstitions which prevail throughout the country. It was
impossible for me ever to get quite rid of the idea that they were
descendants of the old Scandinavian gods, holding counsel over the
affairs of the nation, especially when some passing breeze caused
their arms and robes to flutter in the twilight, and their heads to
swing to and fro, as if in the enthusiasm of their ghostly
deliberations.
[Illustration: A NORWEGIAN FARM.]
[Illustration: NORWEGIAN CHURCH.]
Mingled with the wild superstitions of the people their piety is a
prominent trait. Their prevailing religion is Episcopal Lutheran,
though Catholicism and other religions are tolerated by an act of the
Storthing, with the exception of Mormonism, which is prohibited by
law. A considerable number of proselytes to that sect have emigrated
to Salt Lake. This prevailing spirit of piety is observable even in
the wildest parts of the country, where every little hamlet has its
church, and neither old nor young neglect their religious services.
Most of these churches are built of wood, with a steeple of the same
material, shingled over and painted black, so as to present the most
striking contrast to the snows which cover the face of the country
during the greater part of the year.
[Illustration: PARISH SCHOOLMASTER.]
The parish schoolmaster is a most important personage in these rural
districts. He it is who trains up the rising generation, teaches the
young idea how to shoot, and
"Out of great things and small draweth the secrets of
the universe."
He is greatly revered by the simple-minded old farmers, is cherished
and respected by the mothers of families, enthusiastically admired and
generally aspired to by the village belles, and held in profound awe
by all the little urchins of the neighborhood. He speaketh unknown
tongues; he diveth into the depths of abstruse sciences; he talketh
with the air of one burdened with much learning; he "argueth the
cycles of the stars from a pebble flung by a child;" he likewise
teacheth reading, writing, and arithmetic, and applieth the rod to the
juvenile seat of understanding, as shown on the preceding page.
Soon after leaving Storkterstad, a station about two days' journey
from Lillehammer, on the main road to Trondhjem, I passed through a
very steep and rugged defile in the mountains, with jagged rocks on
the right and the foaming waters of the Logen on the left, where my
attention was called by the skydskaarl to a small monument by the
roadside hearing an inscription commemorative of the death of Colonel
Sinclair. If I remember correctly, a fine description is given of this
celebrated passage by Mogge, whose graphic sketches of Norwegian
scenery I had frequent occasion to admire, during my tour, for their
beauty and accuracy. I fully agree with my friend Bayard Taylor, that
the traveler can find no better guide to the Fjelds and Fjords of this
wild country than "Afraja" and "Life and Love in Norway." Laing has
also given an interesting account of the massacre of Colonel
Sinclair's party. From his version of this famous incident in
Norwegian history it appears that, during the war between Christian
the Fourth of Denmark and Gustavus Adolphus of Sweden, while the Danes
held the western coast of Norway, Colonel Sinclair, a Scotchman,
desiring to render assistance to the Swedes, landed at Romsdalen, on
the coast, with a party of nine hundred followers. Another detachment
of his forces landed at Trondhjem. It was their intention to fight
their way across the mountains and join the Swedish forces on the
frontier. Sinclair's party met with no resistance till they arrived at
the pass of Kringelen, where three hundred peasants, hearing of their
approach, had prepared an ambush. Every thing was arranged with the
utmost secrecy. An abrupt mountain on the right, abounding in immense
masses of loose rock, furnished the means of a terrible revenge for
the ravages committed by the Scotch on their march from Romsdalen. The
road winds around the foot of this mountain, making a narrow pass,
hemmed in by the roaring torrents of the Logen on the one side and
abrupt cliffs on the other. Across the river, which here dashes with
frightful rapidity through the narrow gorge of the mountains, the
country wears an exceedingly weird and desolate aspect; the ravines
and summits of the mountains are darkened by gloomy forests of pine,
relieved only by hoary and moss-covered cliffs overhanging the rushing
waters of the Logen. On the precipitous slopes of the pass, hundreds
of feet above the road, the peasants gathered enormous masses of rock,
logs of wood, and even trunks of trees, which they fixed in such a way
that, at a moment's notice, they could precipitate the whole terrible
avalanche upon the heads of the enemy.
Such was the secrecy with which the peasants managed the whole affair,
that the Scotch, ignorant even of the existence of a foe, marched
along in imaginary security till they reached the middle of the narrow
pass, when they were suddenly overwhelmed and crushed beneath the
masses of rocks and loose timbers launched upon them by the
Norwegians. Rushing from their ambush, the infuriated peasants soon
slaughtered the maimed and wounded, leaving, according to some
authorities, only two of the enemy to tell the tale. Others, however,
say that as many as sixty escaped, but were afterward caught and
massacred. Attached to this fearful story of retribution, Laing
mentions a romantic incident, which is still currently told in the
neighborhood. A young peasant was prevented from joining in the attack
by his sweet-heart, to whom he was to be married the next day. She,
learning that the wife of Colonel Sinclair was among the party, sent
her lover to offer his assistance; but the Scotch lady, mistaking his
purpose, shot him dead. Such is the tragic history that casts over
this wild region a mingled interest of horror and romance.
The road from Laurgaard beyond the pass of the Kringelen ascends a
high mountain. On the right is a series of foaming cataracts, and
nothing can surpass the rugged grandeur of the view as you reach the
highest eminence before descending toward Braendhagen. Here the
country is one vast wilderness of pine-clad mountains, green winding
valleys, and raging torrents of water dashing down over the jagged
rocks thousands of feet below. It was nearly night when I reached
Dombaas, the last station before ascending the Dovre Fjeld.
A telegraphic station at Dombaas gives something of a civilized aspect
to this stopping-place, otherwise rather a primitive-looking
establishment. The people, however, are very kind and hospitable, and
somewhat noted for their skill in carving bone and wooden
knife-handles. I should have mentioned that, wild as this part of the
country is, the traveler is constantly reminded by the telegraphic
poles all along the route that he is never quite beyond the limits of
civilization. Such is the force of habit that I was strongly tempted
to send a message to somebody from Dombaas; but, upon turning the
matter over in my mind, could think of nobody within the limits of
Norway who felt sufficient interest in my explorations to be likely to
derive much satisfaction from the announcement that I had reached the
edge of the Dovre Fjeld in safety. The name of a waiter who was good
enough to black my boots at the Victoria Hotel occurred to me, but it
was hardly possible he would appreciate a telegraphic dispatch from
one who had no more pressing claims to his attention. I thought of
sending a few lines of remembrance to the Wild Girl who had come so
near breaking my neck. This notion, however, I gave over upon
reflecting that she might attach undue weight to my expressions of
friendship, and possibly take it into her head that I was making love
to her--than which nothing could be farther from my intention. I had a
social chat with the telegraph-man, however--a very respectable and
intelligent person--who gave me the latest news; and with this, and
good supper and bed, I was obliged to rest content.
[Illustration: DOVRE FJELD.]