Part 2

Let us, then, hasten to these happy hunting-grounds. The fjeld life will blow all the smoke out of us, and if we love nature we can store up health and purity of thought, and bring back concentrated food for happy reflection, should we be spared to a good old age. How such reminiscences will then come out, brightened by the fact that all the petty _désagréments_ of travel have been forgotten as they receded in the past! We need not enlarge on the pleasures of anticipation, the punctual meeting at the railway station, the satisfaction of knowing that nothing has been omitted or left behind—a congratulation sometimes a little blighted by the discovery that some one, after ransacking everything, cannot find his breech-loader or cartridge cases, or that some one else has left his pet “butchers” or “blue doctors” on his dressing-table. Should such mischances occur, they are soon dissipated in the general atmosphere of enjoyment and anticipation, assisted by the thought that it is of no use losing one’s temper, as it is sure to be found again, and the temporary loss of it grieves one’s friends unnecessarily, to say nothing of personal discomfort. Happy thought—always leave your ill-temper at home; or, better still, do not have one: it is not a home comfort.

The first port touched _en route_ for the capital of Norway is Christiansand, which is snugly hidden in the extreme south of the district of Sætersdalen—that land of eccentricity in costume and quaintness of habitation, of short waists and long trousers reaching to the shoulders, above which come the shallow, baby-looking jackets. With what zest does one strain for the first peep at a seaport of a foreign land! What value is attached to the earliest indication of varying costume, or even a new form of chimney! The steamer from Hull generally arrives at Christiansand on Sunday, when it is looking its neatest, the white tower of the church shining over the wooden houses of the town, the Norwegian shipping all in repose, with the exception, perhaps, of the heavy, compressed, Noah’s ark kind of dumpy barges, or a customs’ gig containing some official. As we looked up at the church tower we could not but wonder if we should hear, during our short visit, the whistle of the “Vægter;” for tradition says that, for the protection of the place, a watchman is always on the look-out, ready to give the alarm should a fire break out in the town, which, being built almost entirely of wood, would soon be reduced to a heap of ashes. But no; we heard no whistle, not even a rehearsal. _On dit_ that for three hundred years has the Vægter looked out afar, and no alarum has issued from the tower. Christiansand has been mercifully preserved from fire, and long may it be so!

During the passage over a friend told me of a Norwegian he once met on board. He was a Christiansander. The Norseman was in high glee, and, having entered into conversation with my friend, soon proposed a _skaal_ (health). This achieved, the story of the Norseman began to run rapidly off the reel, and it is so characteristic of the people that we cannot do better than repeat it here. Born at Christiansand, at the age of sixteen Lars became restless, wanted to see America, and make his way in life, for which there was not much scope in the small seaport. Lars’s father and mother were then living, with one daughter, who would take care of them whilst he started for the battle-field of life. He therefore determined to go. On his arrival in America he had a terrible struggle for existence, there being so many emigrants of all nations and classes. After patient endurance he began to get on, and saved sufficient to go to Chicago and California. During this time of trial how he thought about the chimes from the old white tower, the Vægter, and the fair-haired sister he had left behind, and wondered if all were well with the old people! At San Francisco he did pretty well for some time; but hearing one day that at Yokohama, in Japan, there was a good opening for a supply of butter (_smör_), his Norske associations were aroused, and his thoughts ran back to _sæters_, _piger_, cows, cream, and green pastures. That was the thing for Lars. So off he started for Yokohama, and having established a lucrative butter business, he determined to write home and send some money to his father and mother. This was a great pleasure to the kind-hearted fellow, while their answer assured him of the joy of those whom he had left behind on hearing of his safety and success, and receiving such a token of filial love. But the associations of home and childhood are strong, and it was not long before he experienced a desire to return. At length, however, he decided on developing the butter trade still further, and then, having a good offer to go back to San Francisco, he sold the whole business and good-will for a good round sum, and started on a new career, which this time took the form of brewing. How Norwegian! what national items!—butter (_smör_) and ale (_öl_). Again Lars was successful, and derived much comfort from the fact that he was thereby enabled to enhance the home happiness at Christiansand. Happy the son who comforts a father! Happy the paternal old age cherished by a son’s love! Beer, or rather ale, became the basis of a lucrative business. Lars, however, speedily discovered that bottled ale was the leading article to make the concern pay largely. But bottles were the difficulty; they were expensive items, and not manufactured in San Francisco. Lars often thought over this problem, which his partner, likewise, was unable to solve. Luckily one evening the good Norseman—he must have been indulging in a quiet pipe—had a happy thought. While musing over his early days the bottle-makers of Christiansand passed before him. He at once decided on making arrangements for visiting the old seaport, and, having seen those most dear to him on earth, to bring a bottle manufacturer back with him, thus combining business with pleasure. This is the yarn he told my friend, and when they entered the harbour poor Lars’s anxiety was intense. He had telegraphed to say that he was coming, and expected some one to meet and welcome him. During his absence he had heard that his sister had married happily, and that the son-in-law was very kind to his father; so Lars’s mind was set at rest. A boat neared the steamer, in the stern-sheets of which sat an aged man, a fair-haired Norseman rowing him. The old man was Lars’s father, who was soon on deck looking round, but he could not see his boy. At last, however, he spied him, and, throwing his arms round his neck, was fairly overcome with joy. On recovering, the old gentleman began a good flow of Norske, when poor Lars for the first time realised how long he had been away; for, like the Claimant, he could not remember his native language, and it was some time before either of them thought of landing. Meanwhile, we heartily wish the good Lars increased success. May his bottles be manufactured on the spot, and his good _öl_ cheer the heart without muddling the brain!

When _we_ entered Christiansand _we_ also looked out for a boat; for Hans Luther Jordhoy had come down from Gudbransdalen to meet us, and was soon on board. A closely knit frame, fair beard, moderate stature, and kindly eye—there stood our future companion before us. Our first impressions were never disturbed; he had very good points, and has afforded us many pleasing associations in connection with our visit to Norge.

As we steamed out of the harbour of Christiansand we met a passenger coast steamer coming in—one of those innumerable small screw steamers which run in and out of every fjord from Cape Lindesnæs to the North Cape. Are their names not written in _Norges Communicationer_, the Norwegian _Bradshaw_? The kindly feeling of the Norwegians towards the English was at once manifest, for no sooner did the brass band on board the excursion boat recognise our nationality than it struck up “God save the Queen.” We quite regretted that we had no band to return the compliment, and the only thing left for us was to give them a hearty cheer.

This done, we started on our run to Christiania, with comparatively smooth water, a lovely evening, a prolonged _crepusculum_, and, late in the evening, a sweet little French song, sung with the most delightful simplicity by a lady. “Petites Fleurs des Bois” is indelibly impressed on the mind of the Patriarch. When it afterwards became known that we were indebted to an English bride for such a treat—which it really was—the bachelors whispered “A happy bond of union!” but considered, at the same time, that Norwegian travelling was scarcely made on purpose for honeymooning. Take carrioles, for instance, or the jolting _stolkjærre_, in which the bride might sometimes find herself unceremoniously thrown into the lap of the bridegroom, or _vice versâ_. No; unless the lady is familiar with the manners, customs, and petty inconveniences attendant on travelling in Norway, that country will not prove the happy hunting-ground for honeymoons.

The whole of the Christiania fjord is both grand and immense. A decided flutter takes place on board when the town is in sight, and preparations are made for disembarkation. Hans Luther had by this time made a personal acquaintance with our luggage, and went to the Custom House, whither we were soon sent for. Among our possessions were discovered certain condiments and preserved provisions unknown to the officials, one item especially—pea soup in powder. On our arrival we suggested that the unusual product should be tasted. To this the official at first demurred, but ultimately yielded. Unfortunately, at the very moment of putting the powder to his lips, he drew a long breath, which sent the dry powdered pea soup down the wrong way. However, after a time he recovered, when doubtlessly he registered a mental vow never, never again to taste any foreign importation.

We were soon at the Victoria Hotel, with its quaint courtyard, with galleries running round it, excessively tame pigeons hopping and perching on all sides, and a reindeer head nailed to the woodwork. During the tourist season a large marquee is erected in the centre of this courtyard for _tables d’hôte_ and extra meals. In the meantime we hurried to our rooms, longing to be out in a boat for a general view of the city. A few extras were, however, requisite before starting in real earnest, amongst which were two rifle slings. These had to be made, and are referred to here because they were the means of initiating us into one of the customs of the place. The leather slings were well made, but the price was most _tolky_ (exorbitant). This led to a mild remonstrance, upon which the saddler wrote us a remarkable letter, which it is a pity we cannot present _verbatim_. It was to the effect that the saddler was happy to serve us well, but thinking we were English gentlemen, he imagined we should prefer giving English prices. However, if we merely wished to pay in accordance with the Norwegian tariff, it would only be so much, which was precisely the amount we did pay.

Christiania has a population of about seventy thousand, and owes its modern appearance to the destruction of the old town by fire. Nowadays the suburbs extend widely all round it, while to the westward villas reach almost to Oscar’s Hall, an object of interest distinctly visible both from the town and the fortress, being only about four miles distant by land, and half that amount by water. The villa, with its high tower, is the property of the King, and is rich in the native talent of Tidemand, who was the national genre painter of his day. There are magnificent views of the fjord, bay, and surrounding mountains from all points, whether high or low, from the fortress or from the Egeberg, from the tower of the church in the market-place, or, farther off, from the Frogner Sæter and the Skougemsaas. For the latter, however, a long day should be taken.

To visit Oscar’s Hall the most pleasant way is to take a boat and row across. This was suggested by Hans, and we were glad to find that he took kindly to boat work, as he came from Gudbransdalen, which is inland. More pleased, however, were we to discover, when about half-way across, that Hans was gradually bursting out into song, singing in a clear voice one of Kjerulf’s sweetest compositions, which we give in part at the end of the chapter. There is a plaintive sweetness throughout it, and the beauty of the evening, coupled with the surprise, caused us to anticipate many future repetitions, as nothing, when travelling, is more humanising and soothing than vocal or instrumental music.

The University, the Storthing, museums, and Mr. Bennett have already been frequently described: still just one word. Every Englishman is received by Mr. Bennett, who carries out his slightest wish. We only called to see him, and get some _smaapenge_; for if we had not, no one would have believed that we had been to Norway. Before the country was well opened Mr. Bennett must have been of the greatest service to visitors.

During our very short stay we had an excellent opportunity of judging of the character of the people when collected in masses. There were to be a great procession of guilds and all kinds of things at the New Palace. These we attended, and very gratified we were to find how orderly the good folk were; how quiet, and yet with what a sense of comfortable enjoyment, if we may use the term; no excitement, but a cheerful interest in all that was going on; no crushing, no rush of roughs. If such were the case in large towns, we considered it augured well for the provinces.

Between Christiania and Kongsberg much timber is seen wending its way down to the fjord. An instance of a _timber jam_ after a shoot is given in the accompanying illustration. Sometimes trees are torn away at flood-time. The regular timber is duly marked and started, and at certain periods of the year persons follow the course of the river for the purpose of releasing the _jams_ and helping the timber on its way to Drammen, where it is shipped for all parts of the world.

Little is said here of the cities of Christiania, Bergen, and Trondhjem, as our path lies in the open, the fjeld life, _sæters_, peasants, and sport. Our delight is to live out of the present century in fresh air and simplicity, where trolds might cross our path, where we might see the lovely Huldre, the beauty who had the unfortunate appendage of a cow’s tail, which, when exposed to view, was the signal for her to vanish into thin air, or where Odin and Thor had had great _jagt_, and killed bears, elks, gluttons, and wolves. The scenes we longed for were those in which pagan rites had been carried out with all the grandeur of mighty warriors and priests worthy of Valhalla; wherein Vikings, after deeds of valour, were laid low, and buried with great solemnity and becoming pomp in their own war vessels, with their treasure, their arms, and their hunting-gear about them, waiting for the call to glory.

[Music: INGRIDS VISE.

RENDYR CHORUS.

Music by H. KJERULF. Words by BJØRNSON.

Og Ræ-ven laa under Birke-rod bortved Lyn-get, bortved Lyn-get, og Haren hoppede paa lette Fod o-ver Lyn-get, o-ver Lyn-get. “Det er vel no-get til Sol-skins dag! det glitt-rer for og det glitt-rer bag over Lyn-get, over Lyn-get!”]

II. THELEMARKEN.

LYSTHUS—COMPONENT PARTS OF TRAVEL—HITTERDAL CHURCH—THE CHAIR—THE CAMP AT SKEJE—FLATDAL—RELICS OF THE PAST—THE ASTONISHED MAGPIE AND UNKNOWN MUSIC—THE COSTUMES OF THELEMARKEN—THE “HULDRE”—THE BEAUTIFUL TROLD—BERGE AND THE MANGLETRÆ—MOGEN—THE PLOUGH, REIN HORNS, AND SNOW SHOES—BOCKLEY AND PUKKINGS—BLACK-BROWN BEER—JAMSGAARD—A NIGHT IN THE LAAVE—CAMP BEDS AND HAMMOCK—BOTTEN—NEW ROAD-MAKING—WEIRD SCOTCH FIRS—A BLASTED FOREST.

Thelemarken is a large district, lying in the south-east of Norway, north of Sætersdalen, which is the most southern part of the kingdom. It is characterized by forest, costume, and wood-carving, the latter being applied on a large scale to the external decoration of houses, and especially to the storehouse, which is always a separate building of one story, and locally called the _stabur_. On the exterior of this structure is lavished all the carving talent and energy of the proprietor and his friends; while inside will be found good old coffers, containing the silver and the tankards, the brooches and the bridal crown, which is handed down from generation to generation amongst the _bönder_, or farmers. A public parochial crown is sometimes to be heard of, and may be seen at the lawyer’s, for that profession is known in Norway; and, when litigation commences, it is impossible to guess the time over which it may extend. But to return to wood-carving, so important a feature in the dwellings of the inhabitants of this part. A fine specimen of carved lintel, or side-post, is in existence near Lysthus, displaying wonderful solidity, and a flowing Runic design extremely difficult to copy. How was it originated? What was the _motif_ of the design? After making a careful study of it, it appears to be the result of “eyes”—generally associated without hooks—being kept to themselves, and interlaced, one following the other. On trying this, it was found to be practicable and most successful. Talking over this glorious old work with the good housewife, she called her husband, who went off to the _stabur_, and, quickly returning, told me there was a very old and handsome pair of these lintels lying under the “provision house,” and begged me to accept them in recollection of my visit, and take them back to my own home, that they might give me pleasure there. Great was my wish to accept them, but the difficulty of transit soon flashed across my mind. Our route lay over the Haukelid, with hours of snow—ponies sinking in, and perhaps through. So the transit being impossible, I tendered my thanks for the kindly offer. It was with much regret that I did so, but what could be done hundreds of miles from home, and just starting over the roughest mountain tracts to the north-west of Norway? Nothing but a grateful negative, and a suggestion that they should be given to the next nice young couple who were starting housekeeping. The principal carving, as we have already observed, is lavished on the storehouses; and as soon as a loving couple are engaged, the man begins to build his nest, with nothing much but his axe for strong work and a knife for ornamentation. The latter instrument is most adroitly used by the peasants, cutting all sweeping curves, with the left-hand thumb used as a lever. The house-building is characterized by large timbers squared, afterwards calked with moss, and the ends crossing. As will be hereafter shown, the timbers are generally numbered externally up to twelve, so that they may be easily rebuilt should occasion arise to remove the house elsewhere. Looking at these immense solid timbers, what a contrast they present to modern work; how like their sturdy forefathers, who worked so solidly; how unlike the feather-edged boarding of the new half-civilised houses which are now being introduced near towns, and are flimsiness itself, and only carpenter’s shoddy!

Kongsberg is a city of rushing waters, or rather a small town; and approaching it is suggestive of proximity to a seltzer-water bottle with the cork partially out. The river rushes, splutters, fumes, foams, and steams; huge sticks, fir poles, and stems battling their way down the broken waters to Drammen, preparatory to their being shipped for the warmer and drier sphere of civilisation and circular saws. Some three English miles below Kongsberg is the Labro Fos, which is very interesting, and well worth visiting, inasmuch as it affords an admirable opportunity of seeing the timber shoot the Fos—large fir-stems sometimes coming clean over the fall into the roar below.

Kongsberg is a centre of interest, as close by are found the silver mines which have for ages supplied the raw material for the _gamle sölv_, such as silver crowns, belts, cups, tankards, and all the endless variety of ornament for which Gamle Norge has been, and is, so famous. However, we will not now enter into this subject, but will merely mention that interesting specimens of this class of work are to be found in England, souvenirs of travel which are highly prized by the happy possessors and their friends also. The silver is not considered very pure, but the old designs are very grand and admirable. The modern specimens, and especially those in filigree, are far inferior, being poor in design and unsubstantial.

Forests are most typical of Thelemarken, and very suggestive of bears in winter, a season much more severe here than in some other parts of Norway, as the district is away east, beyond the influence of the gulf-stream. It is a curious fact that directly an Englishman arrives in Thelemarken everybody seems to have seen bears, or, to be more precise, to have had visions of bears. That there are bears is certain. A sport-loving Oxonian last year was disappointed of a bear in the north, and, coming south on his return to shoot blackcock, had lighted his pipe and was walking quietly back when he saw a bear! He was seventy yards off, and had only one cartridge. He fired. Bruin, falling back on his haunches, put out his “embracers,” and rushed forward for the “hug,” when he gave a roll and fell backwards—dead. He was a splendid beast, judging from the skin. What a trophy to bring home! “What luck!” some said. On his return, the fortunate hunter—who, by-the bye, was a week later than he should have been—heard the momentous words from his dear parent, “Well, sir, where is the bear you went out to shoot in Norway?” “Have you not seen it? It’s in the hall.” “Oh, my dear boy, I am so delighted—so glad! Come, let us have the skin up here. Send for mamma. This is capital!” How much nicer it is to bring home a bear-skin than to have to say, “Didn’t shoot one!” Who does not know what zest there always is in success?

The costume of the district is worn in every-day life, by the farmers as well as the peasants; in fact, the farmers, or _bönder_, are very proud of their dress. First and foremost is the typical white jacket, with light blue facings and silver buttons; blue collars, blue pocket flaps, with silver buttons also; the jacket turned well back, with a light blue _revers_, as I think the ladies call it. But the great characteristic of the jacket is not to be too long; the _ton_ only have the back to come down just below the shoulder-blade; and, as the black trousers rush up to meet the curtailed garment, one can imagine the vast area of black trouser before arriving at the foot of the figure; it really makes them all look out of drawing.

The women wear a chocolate-coloured handkerchief cleverly twisted round the head and falling down the back, with the hair plaited; and well they look with their fair hair and ribbons, their homespun or _vadmel_ petticoats closely kilt-plaited, old silver brooches and studs, and sometimes silk handkerchiefs as aprons, with coloured cinctures, the bodice with dark ground and flowers, crewel-worked, in relief. Near Lysthus the costume is nearly all blue, a kind of short frock-coat, with dark blue trouser-gaiters, embroidered up the side with yellow and scarlet; but this is not a successful phase of costume.