The guitar is part and parcel of the Spaniard and his ballads;
he slings it across his shoulder with a ribbon, as was depicted
on the tombs of Egypt four thousand years ago. The performers
seldom are very scientific musicians; they content themselves
with striking the chords, sweeping the whole hand over the
strings, or flourishing, and tapping the board with the thumb,
at which they are very expert.
FORD’S _Spain_.
LAKE TYEN--THE TOURIST CLUB CHÂLET--LORTWICK SŒTER--LAKE
DRIFTWOOD--A COLD MORNING--A CHEAP MEAL--THUNDER IN THE
AIR--SUNSHINE AGAIN--THE SEPARATION--THE GALLANT OLE
FAREWELL--TO CHRISTIANA--ENERGY ALWAYS--PUSH ON--THE BERGEN
ROAD--THE VIOLINIST--ONE DOLLAR MORE--PICTURESQUE SCENE.
Eisbod, on Lake Bygdin, had been left at one o’clock. The Lake Tyen was
soon reached. The Lake Bygdin is said to be 17½ English miles long, Lake
Tyen about 12 miles. The evening was beautiful when we reached Lake
Tyen. Our route lay along its left shore nearly the whole length of the
lake.
After we had journeyed some short distance, following the narrow
footpath or rough track, we reached Tvindehougen.
This is also a wooden châlet, on a rise of ground above the lake,
erected, we were told, at the cost of the “Norwegian Tourist Club” for
their accommodation in summer. The cost, we were told, was 100 dollars,
equivalent to about 20_l._ The sketch of the châlet we then made is
given below, with a view of the lake, and the Koldedalstinderne (peaks
of the cold valley).[110]
[Illustration: NORWEGIAN TOURIST CLUB CHÂLET.]
Ole shouted to some fishermen at “Fiskebod,” on the other side of the
lake. It was expected they would bring some fish. One man came in his
boat after we had waited quite a quarter of an hour. Ole was
disappointed to find he had brought no fish. It occurred to us we should
have to pay him after calling him over: a glass of aquavitæ settled
matters to his satisfaction. There were two men at the “Tourists’
Châlet.” One was a tall thin fellow, draped in leather, and nothing
else--coat, breeches, stockings, and a sort of skin shoe. The châlet
consists of two rooms, with superior kind of “bunks,” or bedsteads, but
no fittings of any kind. The windows are too low to obtain a pleasant
view of the lake when standing up, and are not adapted for ventilation.
Travellers staying at the châlet must take everything with them,
including bedding, &c. There is a stove in one room. We must, of course,
consider that this châlet of the Norwegian club, is only intended for
summer residence. Travellers who avail themselves of its accommodation,
must be mountaineers. It is a shelter from the storm, wind, and
night-air, and is not intended for anything more. The evening was warm
and sultry; at the same time we enjoyed the summer’s sun, as we made our
way, as best we could, along the narrow broken track.
Except ourself, all the party were very thirsty; even Ole, seldom
troubled with thirst, made frequent visits to the clear rippling
mountain streams, which often crossed our path.
At evening close, we reached a green, pleasant slope, below a rising
bank, covered with juniper bushes, and very near a shingly beach on the
lake.
We were within five or ten minutes of the time, Ole predicted we should
reach the sœter of Lortwick. The name, Ole said, meant dirty. Not from
the state of the sœter, but from the prevailing bad weather of that part
of the lake. If we could judge from the outside of the sœter, it might
also have suited the name.
At first the gipsies did not see any dry fire-wood. “Go to the shingly
beach,” said we, “you will find plenty.” There is always some rough
wood, drifted up by high winds on every beach. They found plenty, and we
had a good fire.
What is that we hear, as Noah is putting up the tents? Esmeralda’s voice
to her brother Zachariah, in severe reproof--“Push it on,
Highflyer.--What, pushing the prop the wrong way. Oh, Lucas! Lucas! you
were always a mumper!”
We had tea, fladbröd, and butter, for our aftens-mad, Ole afterwards
went to the sœter, and had their iron pot cleaned out for gröd in the
morning.
Noah produced a meerschaum pipe, and began to smoke. What camp
rules--smoking! Noah was, upon explanation, found to have picked it up
at a spring, and said he was only drawing out the contents of the
tobacco in it, to empty it. He very soon put it up. After
reflection--Why are thoughtless tourists so careless, as to leave their
pipes about, to the serious injury, and temptation of our gipsies?
Just as we were retiring to bed, Esmeralda thought she heard a toad
creaking--didn’t like it. As far as we could ascertain, it was her
brother Zachariah, who was fast asleep in bed snoring.
Up at half-past three O’clock; a very cold morning; there is a wintry
feeling about the air. To-day is Wednesday, the 10th August, yet, after
all, we can stand without inconvenience, the chilliness of an early
sunrise in the mountains. The view was beautiful, as the sun rose beyond
the lake, over the sharp peaks of Koldedalstinderne. We went to the
Lortwick sœter. Ole was of course up. Does he sit up all night? was a
question, we again asked. He had got the iron pot full of water ready to
boil. When we returned Noah was sent for the gröd. How we enjoyed,
notwithstanding the extreme freshness of the morning, a summer’s day
iced, as we had our matutinal splash in the lake. Noah soon brought the
gröd to the tents; Ole joined us, and we had our breakfast. Gröd and
milk is certainly a cheap meal, sufficient for five people scarcely
exceeds the cost of ten skillings. We found the gröd very good for hard
work; our cost at the Lortwick sœter was--
_m._ _s._
2lbs. butter 2 0
Fladbröd 0 12
Milk 0 8
Sœter 0 4
------
Total cost 3 0
At six o’clock in the morning, we passed the Lortwick sœter on the Tyen
Vand. Esmeralda and Noah had evidently got up on the wrong side the
turf.
The Lake Tyen is picturesque, but not so wild as the Lake Bygdin. Time
did not permit us to test the fishing. The view, especially from the
“Tourist’s Châlet,” Tvindehougen, is very picturesque. On the opposite
shore there are generally some Norwegian fishermen, at a place called
Fiskebod.
As we left the shores of the lake, the gipsy storm rose higher; the
hurricane of human intellect was even too great for Zachariah to swim
in--Mephistopheles kept aloof with his donkey, as a mariner shuns a
maëlstrom. Even Ole pushed ahead some yards farther than usual, not
altogether out of reach of the wordy projectiles, which fell around.
We were used to it--ours was a kind of charmed life; it is marvellous
how we sometimes escaped. Fancy the melancholy termination of our
career, as a wandering gipsy, on the shores of the Tyen Vand.
The Birmingham bagman would have lost two copies of this work. The fate
of the English gipsies in Norway, would have remained an impenetrable
mystery.
Esmeralda, as we passed the Lortwick sœter, would now and then advance
rapidly from the rear, and fire a heavy broadside into Noah. The Romany
chaff was very severe on both sides. “Isn’t Ambrose a balloshero? Oh,
yes, Ambrose is like varnon, when he rockers like a galdering gorgio.
Ambrose can talk, can’t he? The mumply dinlo! What a state he puts
himself in, over everybody else.”
Noah was by no means wanting in ammunition. When Esmeralda fell back to
the rear, we did our best to keep her there. Noah kept a running fire
all the time. The tall gipsy kept his temper very well, except when
severely hit, by some more than usually sarcastic allusion.
Leaving the lake, we passed down a narrow gorge. At the head of this
gorge, Esmeralda again brought up all her reserve of the Romany
artillery. Uncle Elijah was brought up, knocked down, and killed ten
times over.
How well we remember the tall active form of the gipsy girl, rapidly
bringing up her merle and baggage from the rear, her eyes flashing with
indignant fire--poor Noah--what will be his fate? The battle of Dorking
was nothing to it. Noah stands firm. He takes advantage of the intricacy
of the narrow pathway; the broken nature of the ground separates their
forces. Ole, we see, is still alive; a stray shot is only heard now and
then.
Again we had calm, and quiet, on the horizon. Shortly after coming forth
from the defile, we halt. Our donkeys are unloaded on the summit of a
lofty slope. At a short distance from us there is a sœter. Below, at the
bottom of the valley across a small river, we see the Bergen road. The
gipsies had had their say. No one had any conception, or they
themselves, what it was all about. An exhaustion of superabundant animal
energy, and intense physical force. All was forgotten. A fire was
quickly lighted in the now warm sunshine. Ole and ourselves were now to
part. The middags-mad consisted of fried English ham, vinegar, fladbröd,
butter, ovensbröd, and tea. Ole was delighted with our tea. He carefully
measured the tin pannikin we had given him to use. Ole always had the
same. Noah said he knew it by a dinge on the side. Our guide said he
should have one made like it. All our camp arrangements had, apparently,
much interested Ole. Mountaineers are naturally interested in the most
portable, and convenient methods, of affording food and shelter, in
those regions where accommodation is scanty and uncertain. There was
very little that we had not provided; scarcely any addition necessary,
beyond those things we had already brought. Such was the practical
result of our camp experience.
After our middags-mad, slightly tinged perhaps with a shade of
melancholy, we strolled aside with Ole. The cost of Ole’s services
amounted to eight specie dollars, calculated at the rate of four marks a
day, and including his return allowance. Our coat, lost on the
Galdhöpiggen, was to be sent by parcel post if found. The postage would
be twelve skillings per pound, and we gave him one mark twelve
shillings.
Ole said he hoped to see us again; we hoped so too. With unfeigned
regret we parted with our gallant Ole Halvorsen, of Rödsheim. Always
punctual, even-tempered, and ever anxious to save us any unnecessary
expense; possessed of much practical experience of a large region of
wild country; ready to camp out on the mountain side without a tent;
undaunted in the hour of difficulty; never at fault, quick in
expedients, cool and calm; of few words, but full of information; we pay
this parting tribute to our excellent Ole Halvorsen.
Ole said he had never fared so well in the mountains. It was a
compliment to our cook and commissariat.
“Good-by, Mr. Ambrose, good-by, Miss daughter, and master Zâkēē,” said
Ole.
“Good-by, Mr. Rödsheim,” said our gipsies as we shook hands, and with
our parting farewell, and good wishes, Ole was soon far up the mountain
side.
Our donkeys were already loaded. In a very short time we had crossed the
river, and had reached the Bergen road. Our party came forth from the
deep recesses of the Horungerne mountains with new energy; issuing
forth, as it were, from the vast wilderness of peak, glacier, lake, and
river, to the civilized world. The distance to Christiania was yet
considerable; the time we could allow ourselves was short; the summer
fast waning, yet we had gathered renewed energy. Our donkeys pricked
their ears when they found themselves on the hard road. Nothing could
exceed the health and spirits of our party. A few forced marches would
accomplish all we required. Mephistopheles said it could not be done in
the time, and was quickly snuffed out.
It is necessary to push on in this world. Splangy when he goes out to
hunt, will always be in somewhere. It is true his weight may be a stone
or two more than his hunter can well carry. It is equally certain that
Splangy’s mare is disinclined to jump if it can bore through a fence. If
she stumbles into the first ditch, Splangy tumbles into the second.
Still Splangy never looses the reins; he pulls through, and is always in
somewhere.
Then there are Johnson and Toboys, men of business. Johnson is said to
sleep with one eye open, and Toboys never sleeps at all. They have
business all over the world. For instance, when an order is given, it is
sent in to the day. It is pushed through. The set of chairs are in the
drawing-room, never mind if the owner, a few days afterwards, sits on
one with a defective leg, and is flat on the floor, with the chair upon
him. He is painfully reminded of Johnson and Toboys’ address. Well,
after all, says he, they were delivered in time for me to receive the
Prussian Ambassador. With many other firms, says the owner, I should
have had to wait two years, when the chintz would be faded, and the
fashion gone. Johnson and Toboys, of course, get the order for his
dining-room. The furniture van dashes up; all is delivered on the day.
What matter if one chair is afterwards discovered legless. Ah! says the
owner, holding it up, it is well cushioned, and comfortable. What matter
if, forgetting the legs, he sits down, turning an acrobatic
back-somersault in the air? Carpets are thick now-a-days; no bones are
broken. The owner is only painfully reminded of Johnson and Toboys’
address. Never mind, says the owner, after all, they were in time for me
to receive my friend Fitful and his wife from India. It soon turns out
the workman who had the legs, had no head; they were only forgotten.
Johnson and Toboys have made their fortune, whilst some firms are
thinking about it. Let us push on.
The Bergen road was reached by our party, at a point between Nystuen and
Skogstad. The trout of Nystuen are said to be exceedingly good. We were
at the foot of the Fille Fjeld. The scenery was charming as we followed
the road down to Skogstad; all down hill, and an excellent road. Groves
of birch, mountain willow, and alder trees, alternating with rock
scenes, and fir wood. The Findal’s Horn rises to our right. Allons donc!
How gaily the Puru Rawnee, with her jingling bells stepped out; ever
leading; head well up, as if in her pride, she knew she was always
admired. We shall never see another donkey like her; such fine long
legs, clean, and admirably shaped, stepping under her heavy load, as if
it was nothing. _Allons donc!_ as we rapidly followed the winding road,
and our party soon reached Skogstad Station. We had parted from Ole at
the sœter, at twenty minutes past twelve o’clock, and reached Skogstad
at half-past one. In we went to get some fladbröd. Whilst the pige was
getting the fladbröd, we went into a very small comfortable side room.
Seeing a curiously inlaid violin hanging up, we asked the pige the
price. She brought the master of the station; he called the ostler. It
now appeared the ostler was a fabricator of violins; a musical genius.
The short old man, who wore breeches on very bow legs, reached out
another violin from a cupboard. This was of more recent manufacture, and
far better tone. The station-master, who was a very pleasant obliging
man, prevailed on the ostler to play a tune. “An ancient Norwegian air,”
said the station-master. We can only say the composer must have been
far from lively at the time of composition. The old man sawed away in a
slow methodical manner. As contrasted with our camp music, it was
lugubrious. How delighted Ole Bull, the celebrated Norwegian violinist,
would have been with his countryman’s performance. Mephistopheles was
nearly in a fit. We ordered a bottle of excellent ale, and gave the
ostler a glass to drink gamle norge. The ostler had exhausted his
inspiration, and the ale had no reviving effect. The gipsies and myself,
therefore, finished the rest. Ah! what about strict camp rules? We are
not in camp, we are in the Skogstad Station. Then Mephistopheles played
some rather stirring airs on the new violin and the old one. We
understood it was one of the Hardanger violins, and asked the price. The
station-master and the two pige stood by, whilst Mephistopheles played.
Then the station-master said, “English,” and smiled. The ostler wanted
three dollars. We were considering, trying, discussing, when up drove
some carrioles to the station; English travellers in knickerbockers. Out
went the old ostler; out went the station-master. We paid the pige for
the fladbröd and öl. Noah took the Hardanger violin, if it was one,
under his arm. The ostler was outside, standing by the pony of the first
carriole just put in. We handed three paper dollars to the old man.
“Fire,” said the old fellow, showing four fingers. “Nei! Nei!” said
Noah. “No,” said we, finding the old man had suddenly raised his price.
“Tre,” and we put out our hand with our three dollars. The two young
girls were close by him with anxious countenances, evidently expecting
we should give up the purchase.
[Illustration: THE NORWEGIAN VIOLIN.]
The scene was famous, Skogstad Station, and its picturesque scenery.
Carrioles before the entrance with ponies just put in, and ponies just
taken out. Jolly station-master; English travellers in knickerbockers
just getting into carrioles. Two rather pretty Norwegian girls standing
beside the old ostler; old ostler, the picture of irresolution. His
melancholy countenance, expressing anxiety to get one dollar more.
Esmeralda at our elbow, telling us not to let the gorgio do Mandy. Her
tall gipsy brother waiting for the ancient violin, Mephistopheles
saying: “Maw kin the Bosh, sir, if he don’t lel the three dollars.”[111]
We were just going off; the old man suddenly clutched the three dollar
notes. Noah quickly placed the ancient violin and bow under his arm.
Away we went from the road side scene, and soon joined our animals and
baggage.
The violin as represented still remains a souvenir of Skogstad.
Scarcely had we left, when a tall powerful man, in breeches, came
running after us in breathless haste; taking off his hat, we found he
wished to see the donkeys; staying a few moments to gratify his
curiosity, he exclaimed many times Peen giœre!!! peen giœre!! “Ya, ya,”
said Noah, and we again continued our journey, wishing him god morgen.