Part 3

On Sunday every variety is seen, and the additional interest of lake travelling is met with—namely, the raft boats, consisting of seven stems of trees, the longest in the middle, the six cut shorter, like organ pipes; midships a seat for one; while the oars are tied in with green birch twigs with the leaves on. How suggestive of early lake habitation, and yet how like a modern outrigger; for there is only room for one and a _fine_, or provision box, from which a Norwegian, male or female, is inseparable.

The shortness of the jackets is shown in an illustration which represents a custom peculiar to this part, namely, smoking the cows (see p. 36). Many travellers have complained of the flies in Norway, and now even Norwegian cows object to them, and the farm folk, in kindly sympathy, make fires of juniper, the smoke of which is unwelcome to the mosquitoes. Into this smoke the cows are only too glad to go, and being well flavoured with juniper, are ready to start forth for the day, regardless of their little winged enemies. We speak from practical experience when we add that the traveller likewise will be rather benefited by participating in the process.

Here, perhaps, it would be as well to refer to the hour-glass under the initial letter at the commencement of the chapter. It is composed of brass, and placed by the side of the pulpit, which is opposite to the King’s pew or box in the church at Kongsberg. There are four hour-glasses—quarter, half, three-quarters, and hour; so the domine, or minister, turns the glass before commencing his discourse, and the congregation knows how long he will continue. At Tönsberg there is a curious mural historical souvenir, consisting of the top of a stool let into the wall, on which may be read the following:—

“In the year 1589, being the 11th day of November, came the well-born gentleman, Mr. Jacobus Stuart, King of Scotland: and the 25th Sunday after Trinity, which was the 16th day of November, he sat on this stool and heard a preaching from the 23rd Psalm, ‘The Lord is my Shepherd.’ Mr. David Lentz preached, and he preached between 10 and 12.”

This “well-born gentleman” was evidently James the First of England and Sixth of Scotland, who married Anne of Denmark, sister of Christian IV.

Leaving Lysthus, we settled down for steady travelling in that most delightful style, namely, with our tents and luggage, sometimes in a _stolkjær_, or country cart, sometimes with ponies only. Such independence, such health-giving enjoyment, can hardly be obtained under different circumstances. The travellers in this case were three, happily organized in the following manner. They might for the nonce be called Brown, Jones, and Robinson, as a tribute of respect to the originals in the “Primer or Spelling Book,” published in 1790, where those now world-known names are first found associated. Let us rather go with the times, and number them—a treatment now general in hotels, both at home and abroad.

So, to commence, No. 1 was the youngest, and unanimously elected Paymaster-general. Polyglot in his knowledge of languages, he shone when asked to explain: then came such volleys of Norske, German, Danish, Swedish, French, Italian, all in one flowing Norskey catena, that, if people did not understand them, they felt they ought to, and acted accordingly. All this was carried out with the dash of a Zouave, and garnished with a profound knowledge of music and brilliant execution on the piano. How we longed sometimes for a pocket piano! No. 1’s great _forte_ was enthusiasm for fishing—trout, salmon, greyling, and split-cane fly-rods. Tradition says that he has often in his sleep talked of “blue doctors,” “large butchers,” and “black doses,” these sounds having been heard in the small hours of the morning zephyring from his tent with nasal accompaniments; but he was always equal to the occasion, even when some one had landed with the luggage by mistake. “Never mind, my dear boy; sure to find it; most honest, charming people, these Norwegians—never lose anything.” Such were the comforting words which emanated from No. 1 when he understood that No. 3 had lost his luggage; but when he found that it was his own a change came over the spirit of his dream. The polyglot vocabulary was soon launched, the fire of the Zouave flared up, a carriole was ordered, and the pursuit commenced, which happily ended in the recovery of the wandering impedimenta, when Richard became himself again.

No. 2 was Tentmaster-general, and a sportsman to the core. Reindeer, salmon, and Gamle Norge—these he had chronically on the brain, mixed up with a great love of old tankards and a yearning for silver belts and _gammelt sölv_. Once in his Norfolk jacket and knickers, _pua de höie fjelde_, how happy was he! rejoicing in the _friske luft_, mountain air, and snow peaks (_snebræer_), ready for any amount of fatigue, and always willing to cook first and eat afterwards. A rare good man was the Tentmaster.

No. 3 was generally known as “the Locust,” from his constant appetite for all kinds of food, and general thirst for knowledge about everything connected with Norway. Note-book in hand, he was ever jotting down everything, even to catching mosquitoes between the leaves of it, so as to bring home the real thing. Still No. 3 had an important duty to perform. As the travellers were three, he was allowed the casting vote—a most wholesome arrangement, as he was a married man, and consequently likely to be useful in some weighty matters. Happily, to the credit of No. 1 and No. 2, the exercise of No. 3’s prerogative was never called for, and by the end of the trip was looked on as a sinecure. Still he always travelled ready to apply “a touch of the oil feather”—one of the best companions a traveller can have ready to hand. May many such trios have a trip of such great yet simple enjoyment, such health, and such pleasing diversion of thought! It is a joy to fall back upon throughout life, and the longer the life the greater the relish of recollection.

Hitterdal Church is one of the two wooden churches of which Norway can boast, the other being that of Borgund. They are built of wood, Byzantine-Gothic, _on dit_, but grotesque and pagodaist in form. The old porches are grandly carved with serpents, dragons, and Runic interlacings. The church itself at Hitterdal is nothing like so quaint or picturesque as that at Borgund, neither is it so weird; still, its early carving forms a noble monument to come down to us, and at once draws forth the admiration, not only of the antiquarian, but of the casual passer-by. The lintels at the entrance are especially beautiful. The bell-tower is unusually detached, in this case being placed on the other side of the highway. Unfortunately, time prevented a more detailed sketch of the old chair or seat given on page 29: it stands in the church by the altar, and is considered episcopal, but the date is most likely _circa_ 900. What grand solidity of form! Vikingly to a degree, and fit for Thor or Odin. There is a great air of majesty about it.

The roof of the church is also of wood, carved in the same way as many of the churches in Sussex, and covered with small wooden tiles, if that term may be used to describe the process which in that county is generally known as “shingling.”

The churchyard is very interesting, and the grave-boards have a peculiar form worthy of notice; for this reason one is introduced here. The shape of the upper part is that of a cross, but below come up two horns, rising right and left. These horns have a kind of anchor form; and what could be a more appropriate emblem in a country so sea-bound as Norge? The blending of Faith and Hope is, I think, most poetically suggested. Can we do better here than pay a tribute of respect to the beautiful simplicity of the religious character of the Norwegian peasantry? Their love of God and their reverence for religion are refreshing, and offer a good lesson to many who rejoice in mere flourish of external worship. We shall have occasion to refer to the curious anomaly of Roman Catholic vestments continued in the present day in the Lutheran service, but allusion may now be made to the happy link which exists between the ministers and people. This is shown in the character of the sermons, the whole tone of which seems to aim at binding the parish together in Christian love and sympathy, bearing each other’s burdens, caring for one another, and curbing self—the most difficult of all tasks, as it comes nearest home, and is in itself so antagonistic to the inclinations of human nature. The whole climate rather tends to develop this frame of mind: there is a certain sedate expression throughout the provinces; the long darkness of winter, extending its influence even into the continuous light of the northern summer, brings every one into close and constant proximity, whilst the mountains isolate the valleys one from the other without any access. Still, when the summer comes and the whole energy of vegetation bursts out at once, how their gladdened hearts rejoice! They pluck these outbursts of beauty and revived nature, and joyously take them to the house of God—no mere form or ritual, but the wholesome outcome of heartfelt, unsophisticated joy and gratitude for brightness after lengthened gloom and months of pent-up feeling.

Leaving Hitterdal, we were off in earnest for the Hardanger, with a grand country before us. The first night we pulled up at Skeje. Before coming to our resting-place at the end of the lake, we noticed the saw-mills and corn-mills (seven, one above the other); not that torrents are scarce in Norway, but in this valley there was employment. Arrived at Skeje, our Tentmaster having selected his spot, tents were pitched, and everything put ship-shape for the night. The only milk we could get was goat’s milk, and _fladbröd_ in abundance. It is, perhaps, superfluous to mention here that _fladbröd_ can be made very toothsome by drying it before the fire: the peasants keep it in a state ready for travelling, with the means of folding it up so as not to be shaken into dust by the jolting of the _stolkjær_, which certainly would be the case had it been fit for eating. The smoke of our fire had gone up, and after our meal and a chat with our neighbours we turned in. A strange dog came into the Patriarch’s tent, and eventually curled himself up for the night, and, as a mark of gratitude for welcome, woke him in the morning by licking his face.

Next day brought us on to Flatdal. Looking over that grand, deep valley, we halted awhile at a picturesque wooden house: we asked for milk, which was brought forthwith, and it was goat’s milk. The daughter, as it was Saturday afternoon, was engaged plaiting her two long tails ready for the morrow. The good mother had a very fine antique silver brooch, and the proprietor one also on his shirt-front, and after we had drunk our milk they showed us their rooms, which were most interesting, and dated very far back; for traces of the fact presented themselves on all sides, especially in the harness and elaborately carved horse-collars, which bore the crest of a lion’s head on an escutcheon—evidently belonging to the days of aristocratic Norway.

We had bivouacked on a green lawn near the village, close to a house which was a carriole station. Our three tents were a novelty, and our cooking at last brought a crowd around us; but we must say that the people were most kindly and considerate towards us. They had never seen such a thing before, and hated _fanter_, tinkers, and gipsies, which nearly included all wanderers in tents: such latter were we.

Next we inspected the _loom_, where a daughter was hard at work. There were a fine old bed, with inscription, and many spinning-wheels, highly coloured (green, red, and blue and white, with black). It is a pity an illustration of this room cannot be given in colour. We descended into the _dal_: the heat was intense, no air below, and a pandemonium of flies. Bathing under the wheel of a mill was a temporary relief: our torment was renewed at lunch. But we were out to enjoy ourselves; so we did, in spite of mosquitoes. At lunch we cooked some of the trout our chief had killed _en route_, which that day numbered thirty. We were immensely amused here by noticing the very comic and inquiring expression in a magpie while listening, for the first time probably, to the English snore with which one of our party favoured us on this occasion, putting his head first on one side and then on the other, then taking a hop, and, when the music broke into a staccato bass passage, hopping back still more interested, until it finally flew off. Magpies are the sacred birds of the land, and are regarded as the private property of his Satanic Majesty.

After a long day and a mid-day meal, during which we were devoured by mosquitoes until nothing was left of us but our monograms, we arrived late in the evening in front of a farmhouse at Sillejord. It was Saturday night, and no room in the house, but an open space close by, most inviting for tents. In the twinkling of an eye the Tentmaster issued his order, each man had his tent laid out, and up they went simultaneously, to the astonishment of the natives. Was it a sort of fair, only read of in books? Was it the first germ of the great Russian fair of Nijni Novgorod? Was it one of the lost tribes of Israel come down from the clouds? Or were we Germans, who, having already annexed Denmark, had just run on with a message from Prince Bismarck to say that Norway also was annexed? No; the peasants rather looked on at a respectful distance, with a certain openness of mouth and absence of expression. By this time, the tents being up, beds laid, saddle-bags in places, and guns hung on tent-pole with telescope, food had to be thought of, and the canteen business looked after. The canteen was well organized and an old traveller—almost self-acting; so accustomed to the names of Fortnum and Mason’s tinned soups, &c., that the very words “mock-turtle” made it burn and bristle up to a really good fire. That night we had good lake trout; and how welcome, with our then appetites, the mock-turtle! Three cheers for Fortnum and Mason! And then the _mörbradsteg_! Some of our readers have never been introduced to those satisfying and necessary pleasures of life; if not, let us explain. _Mörbradsteg_ and other good things in tins come from Stavanger in Norway, which is great in potted meats, _ryper_, tins of all kinds of preserved things, soups, lobsters, &c., and these _mörbrader_. The inquiring mind may ask, “But _mörbrader_—what is it? how made?” All I can say is, that it was so good we thought we had no time to ask what it was: perfect in flavour, solid in substance, very satisfying to the most energetic of gastric juices, and wholesome. Three cheers, therefore, for Stavanger! Then came wild strawberries, brought by dear little children in costume, who had already begun to go through the process of purification ready for Sunday, biscuits and Dutch cheese, and a _skaal_ for Gamle Norge. After this we followed the suggestion of the good motto, “Rest and be thankful,” and then some hunters’ songs.

The following day (Sunday) was a curious scene; everybody came to look at us. All the characteristics of national costume, as worn in Thelemarken, were in full force. Let us first describe the _piger_, or girls. They wear very short petticoats, and most becoming and picturesque they are; dark blue stockings with lovely clocks, and buckles on their shoes; the apron is embroidered with what now would be called crewel patterns of flowers; while a little below the waist is a rich many-coloured girdle, ending in knobs of tassels of the brightest colours. The top of the petticoat is bound with a bright colour, and shown, as the scarlet jacket, which is frequent in this district, is as short as the men’s, coming only a little below the shoulder-blades. Tucked inside the girdle is generally seen a rich silk handkerchief, and in some cases two. The head-dress is another silk handkerchief, and into the tail of the back hair more colour is worked. On week days they wear large gaiters, like cloth trousers, which certainly attracted our attention when first seen.

Now for the lads of the village. They are not one tittle behind the girls in the pains they take as to their points, especially these—shortness of jacket, length of trouser, and brightness of colour. At Dabord they all adopted the shaven cheek, upper lip, and chin. The jacket is generally white, very short, as in Sætersdalen, just coming below the shoulder-blades: this curious garment is turned back at the cuffs and _revers_ with light blue, the effect being heightened by silver buttons. The trousers are very curious—a fact necessitated by the shortness of the superstructure. The expanse of back is prodigious from the shoulder-blades downwards, they are wide in the leg, and generally have a stripe down the side. The short coatee affords a grand display of tolle-knives, the handles of which, in this part, are generally made of _lom_ (maple), smooth, and uncarved, and deep in the sheath. In most cases they are suspended from a button, and not from a belt; in fact, belts are not of very frequent occurrence here. Skull-caps and hats are worn by the men, and the richest farmers maintain the national costume of the district. In some few instances for weddings the white jacket is daintily touched up with a little worked flower here and there on the edge and corner, which gives great finish. The clocks on the men’s stockings are very rich: these are worn on fête days with breeches, which are worked in red and white round the buttons and up the seams. The garters are always objects of great taste and careful arrangement. It is when the holiday costumes are worn that the beautiful and mysterious Huldre appears, generally frequenting the mountains and forests, but sometimes joining in the festive dances of the mountaineers. When she vouchsafes this favour every young _bonde_ is eager to dance with her—the handsome strange girl with the blue petticoat, and white handkerchief over her head. Tradition does not enlighten us much about this beauty, and the story of her sudden disappearance immediately her cow-tail is discovered is cruel. Why does she come to Thelemarken, where the skirts are so short, sometimes only reaching the knee? If she be so fond of dancing, why not frequent country balls? Or she would be safer with a train of the present fashion; even if that were trodden on, her tail would be safe. Having noticed the general costume, let us enjoy the day of rest.

The brightness of the morning favoured our _al fresco_ toilets, and one of our party (who carried a dressing-case full of wonderful things, and generally known in the list of impedimenta as “Somebody’s luggage”) became the centre of attraction. In front of his tent were laid out a waterproof sheet and a saddle-bag, partially opened and supported at the back; the latter sustained the looking-glass, in front of which knelt a figure shaving (No. 1). Now, although the Norwegians shave almost universally, there was something about our friend’s manipulations which took the fancy of all present. The girls giggled; the short ones tried to peep between the tall ones. Why? Did the performer pull his own nose to a greater length than usual in this country when he took the long sweep down his cheek? Hardly. The fact was, the good folk thought the whole thing was but an overture to some other performance, and that the dressing-case, with its numerous silver-topped glass bottles, contained all kinds of medicines, panaceas for everything—cures for gout, sciatica, tic douloureux, trichinæ spirales, hypochondria, dipsomania, and every other mania.