A boy sits on a ledge at the back of a cariole
STATION-BOY.
At Laurgaard I was favored with a small urchin who must have been modeled upon one of Hogarth’s pictures. He was a fixed laugh all over. His mouth, nose, ears, eyes, hair, and chin were all turned up in a broad grin. Even the elbows of his coat and the knees of his trowsers were wide open with ill-concealed laughter. He laughed when he saw me, and laughed more than ever when he heard me “tale Norsk.” There was something uncommonly amusing to this little shaver in the cut of a man’s jib who could not speak good Norwegian. All the wayup the hill he whistled, sang lively snatches of song, joked with the horse, and when the horse nickered laughed a young horse-laugh to keep him company. It did me good to see the rascal so cheery. I gave him an extra shilling at Braendhagen for his lively spirit, at which he grinned all over wider than ever, put the small change in his pocket, and with his red night-cap in one hand made a dodge of his head at me, as if snapping at a fly,and then held out his spare hand to give me a shake. Of course I shook hands with him.
A station-boy shakes hands with his customer
GOOD-BY—MANY THANKS!
Shaking hands with small boys, however, is nothing uncommon in Norway. Every boy on the entire route shook hands with me. Whenever I settled the fare the skydskaarl invariably pulled off his cap, or, if he had none, gave a pull at the most prominent bunch of hair,and holding forth a flipper, more or less like a lump of raw beef, required me, by all the laws of politeness, to give it a shake. The simplicity with which they did this, and the awkward kindliness of their manner, as they wished me a pleasant trip, always formed an agreeable episode in the day’s travel. I have shaken a greater variety of boys’ hands in Norway—of every size, kind, and quality, fat, lean, clean, and dirty, dry and wet—than ever I shook all over the world before. Notwithstanding the amount of water in the country, I must have carried away from Trondhjem about a quarter of a pound of the native soil. Between the contortions of body and limb acquired by a brief residence in Paris, the battering out of several hats against my knee in the process of bowing throughout the cities of Germany, and the shaking of various boys’ hands on my trip through Norway, I consider that my politeness now qualifies me for any society.
An elderly couple, seated, with a younger man and woman and a little girl
NORWEGIAN PEASANT FAMILY.
It must not be understood, however, that I was always favored with the society of little boys. At one of the stations, which, for obvious reasons, it would be indiscreet to name, there was no boy visible except the ragamuffin who had accompanied me. He, of course, was obliged to return with the horse and cariole. Three white-headed old men were sitting on a log near the stable basking in the sun, and gossiping pleasantly about by-gone times or the affairs of state, I could not understand which. Each of these venerable worthies wore a red night-cap, which in this country answers likewise for a day-cap, and smoked a massive wooden pipe. It was a very pleasant picture of rural content. As I approached they nodded a smiling “God Aften!” and rose to unharness the horse. An elderly lady, of very neat appearance and pleasing expression, came to the door and bade me a kindly welcome. Then the three old men all began to talk to me together, and when they said what they had to say about the fine weather, and the road, and the quality of the horse, and whatever else came intotheir antiquated heads, they led the horse off to the stable and proceeded to get me a fresh one. While they were doing that the elderly lady went back into the house and called aloud for some person within. Presently a fine buxom young girl, about seventeen years of age, made her appearance at the door. I flattered myself she wore rather a pleased expression when she saw me; but that might have been the customary cast of her features, or vanity on my part. At all events, there was a glowing bloom in her cheeks, and a penetrating brilliancy in her large blue eyes, wonderfully fascinating to one who had not recently looked upon any thing very attractive in the line of female loveliness. She was certainly a model of rustic beauty—I had rarely seen her equal in any country. Nothing could be more lithe and graceful than her form, which was advantageously set off by a tight bodice and a very scanty petticoat. A pair of red woolen stockings conspicuously displayed the fine contour of her—ankles I suppose is the conventional expression, though I mean a great deal more than that. As she sprang down the steps with a light and elastic bound, and took hold of the horse, which by this time the three old men were fumbling at to harness in the cariole, I unconsciously thought of Diana Vernon. She had all the daring grace and delicacy of the Scotch heroine—only in a rustic way. Seizing the horse by the bridle, she backed him up in a jiffy between the shafts of the cariole, and pushing the old gray-heads aside with a merry laugh, proceeded to arrange the harness. Having paid the boy who had come over from the last station, and put my name and destination in the day-book, according to law, I refreshed myself by a glass of ale, and then came out to see if all was ready. The girl nodded to me smilingly to get in and be off.
I looked around for the boy who was to accompany me. Nobody in the shape of a boy was to be seen. The three old men had returned to their log by the stable, and now sat smoking their pipes and gossiping as usual,and the good-natured old landlady stood smiling and nodding in the doorway. Who was to take charge of the cariole? that was the question. Was I to go alone? Suppose I should miss the road and get lost in some awful wilderness? However, these questions were too much for my limited vocabulary of Norsk on the spur of the moment. So I mounted the cariole, resolved to abide whatever fate Providence might have in store for me. The girl put the reins in my hand and off I started, wondering why these good people left me to travel alone. I thought that they would naturally feel some solicitude about their property. Scarcely was I under way, when, with a bound like a deer, the girl was up on the cariole behind, hanging on to the back of the seat with both hands. Perfectly aghast with astonishment, I pulled the reins and stopped. “What!” I exclaimed, in the best Norsk I could muster, “is theJomfrugoing with me?” “Ja!” answered the laughing damsel, in a merry, ringing voice—“Ja! Ja! Jeg vil vise de Veien!—I will show you the way!”
Here was a predicament! A handsome young girl going to take charge of me through a perfectly wild and unknown country! I turned to the old lady at the door with something of a remonstrating expression, no doubt, for I felt confused and alarmed. How the deuce was I, a solitary and inexperienced traveler from California, to defend myself against such eyes, such blooming cheeks, such honeyed lips and pearly teeth as these, to say nothing of a form all grace and ability, a voice that was the very essence of melody, and the fascinating smiles and blandishments of this wild young creature! It was enough to puzzle and confound any man of ordinary susceptibility, much less one who had a natural terror of the female sex. But I suppose it was all right. The old lady nodded approvingly; and the three old men smoked their pipes, and, touching their red night-caps, bid me—Farrel! meget god reise!—a pleasant trip! So, without more ado, I cracked the whip, and off we started.It was not my fault, that was certain. My conscience was clear of any bad intentions.
We were soon out of sight of the station, and then came a steep hill. While the pony was pulling and tugging with all his might, the girl bounced off, landing like a wood-nymph about six feet in the rear of the cariole; when, with strides that perfectly astonished me, she began to march up the hill, singing a lively Norwegian ditty as she sprang over the ruts and ridges of the road. I halted in amazement. This would never do. Respect for the gentler sex would not permit me to ride up the hill while so lovely a creature was taking it on foot. Governed by those high principles of gallantry, augmented and cultivated by long residence in California, I jumped out of the cariole, and with persuasive eloquence begged the fair damsel to get in and drive up the hill on my account; that I greatly preferred walking; the exercise was congenial—I liked it. At this she looked astonished, if not suspicious. I fancied she was not used to that species of homage. At all events, she stoutly declined getting in; and since it was impossible for me to ride under the circumstances, I walked by her side to the top of the hill. A coolness was evidently growing up between us, for she never spoke a word all the way; and I was too busy trying to keep the horse in the middle of the road and save my breath to make any farther attempts at conversation.
Having at length reached the summit, the girl directed me to take my place, which I did at once with great alacrity. With another active bound she was up behind, holding on as before with both hands to the back of the seat. Then she whistled to the horse in a style he seemed to understand perfectly well, for away he dashed down the hill at a rate of speed that I was certain would very soon result in utter destruction to the whole party. It was awful to think of being pitched out and rolling down the precipice, in the arms perhaps of this dashing young damsel, who, being accustomed to the road, would doubtless exert herself to save me.
“Nu! Reise! Reise!—travel!” cried this extraordinary girl; and away we went, over rocks, into ruts, against roots and bushes; bouncing, springing, splashing, and dashing through mud-holes; down hill and still down; whirling past terrific pits, jagged pinnacles of rock, and yawning gulfs of darkness; through gloomy patches of pine, out again into open spaces, and along the brinks of fearful precipices; over rickety wooden bridges, and through foaming torrents that dashed out over the road, the wild girl clinging fast behind, the little pony flying along madly in front, the cariole creaking and rattling as if going to pieces, myself hanging on to the reins in a perfect agony of doubt whether each moment would not be our last. I declare, on the faith of a traveler, it beat all the dangers I had hitherto encountered summed up together. Trees whirled by, waterfalls flashed upon my astonished eyes, streaks of sunshine fretted the gloom with a net-work of light that dazzled and confounded me. I could see nothing clearly. There was a horrible jumble in my mind of black rocks and blue eyes, pine forests and flaming red stockings, flying clouds and flying petticoats, the roar of torrents and the ringing voice of the maiden as she cried “Flue! Gaae! Reise!—Fly! Go it! Travel!” Only one thought was uppermost—the fear of being dashed to pieces. Great heavens, what a fate! If I could only stop this infernal little pony, we might yet be saved! But I dared not attempt it. The slightest pull at the reins would throw him upon his haunches, and cariole and all would go spinning over him into some horrible abyss. All this time the wild damsel behind was getting more and more excited. Now she whistled, now she shouted “Skynde pa!—Faster! faster!” till, fairly carried away by enthusiasm, she begged me to give her the whip, which I did, with a faint attempt at prayer. Again she whistled, and shouted “Skynde pa!—Faster! faster!” and then she cracked the most startling and incomprehensible Norwegian melodies with the whip, absolutely stunning my ears, whileshe shouted “Gaae! Flue! Reise!—Go it! Fly! Travel!” Faster and still faster we flew down the frightful hill. The pony caught the infection of enthusiasm, and now broke into a frantic run. “Faster! faster!” shrieked the wild girl in a paroxysm of delight.
By this time I was positively beside myself with terror. No longer able to distinguish the flying trees, waterfalls, and precipices, I closed my eyes and gasped for breath. Soon the fearful bouncing of the cariole aroused me to something like consciousness. We had struck a rock, and were now spinning along the edge of a mighty abyss on one wheel, the other performing a sort of balance in the air. I looked ahead, but there was neither shape nor meaning in the country. It was all a wild chaos of destructive elements—trees, precipices, red stockings, and whirling petticoats—toward which we were madly flying.
But there is an end to all troubles upon earth. With thanks to a kind Providence, I at length caught sight of a long stretch of level road. Although there were several short turns to be made before reaching it, there was still hope that it might be gained without any more serious disaster than the breaking of a leg or an arm. Upon such a casualty as that I should have compromised at once. If this extraordinary creature behind would only stop whistling and cracking the whip, and driving the little pony crazy by her inspiring cries, I might yet succeed in steering safely into the level road; but the nearer we approached the bottom of the hill the wilder she became—now actually dancing on the little board with delight, now leaning over to get a cut at the pony’s tail with the whip, while she whistled more fiercely than ever, and cried out, from time to time, “Flue! Gaae! Reise!” Already the poor animal was reeking with sweat, and it was a miracle he did not drop dead on the road.
The post-girl, standing on the back ledge of the cariole, brandishes her whip
THE POST-GIRL.
However, by great good fortune, aided by my skill in driving, we made the turns, and in a few minutes morewere safely jogging along the level road. Almost breathless, and quite bewildered, I instinctively turned round to see what manner of wild being this girl behind was. If you believe me, she was leaning over my shoulder, shaking her sides laughing at me, her sparkling blue eyes now all ablaze with excitement, her cheeks glowing like peonies, her lips wide apart, displaying the most exquisite set of teeth I ever beheld, while her long golden tresses, bursting from the red handkerchief which served as a sort of crowning glory to her head, floated in wavy ringlets over her shoulders. Hermosa! it was enough to thaw an anchorite! She was certainly very pretty—there was no doubt of that; full of life, overflowing with health and vitality, and delighted at the confusion and astonishment of the strange gentleman she had taken in charge.
Can any body tell me what it is that produces such a singular sensation when one looks over his shoulder and discovers the face of a pretty and innocent young girl within a few inches of his own, her beautiful eyes sparkling like a pair of stars, and shooting magic scintillations through and through him, body and soul, while her breath falls like a zephyr upon his cheek? Tell me, ye who deal in metaphysics, what is it? There is certainly a kind of charm in it, against which no mortal man is proof. Though naturally prejudiced against the female sex, and firmly convinced that we could get along in the world much better without them, I was not altogether insensible to beauty in an artistical point of view, otherwise I should never have been able to grace the pages ofHarperwith the above likeness of this Norwegian sylph. After all, it must be admitted that they have a way about them which makes us feel overpowered and irresponsible in their presence. Doubtless this fair damsel was unconscious of the damage she was inflicting upon a wayworn and defenseless traveler. Her very innocence was itself her chiefest charm. Either she was the most innocent or the most designing of her sex. Shethought nothing of holding on to my shoulder, and talked as glibly and pleasantly, with her beaming face close to my ear, as if I had been her brother or her cousin, or possibly her uncle, though I did not exactly like to regard it in that point of view. What she was saying I could not conjecture, save by her roguish expression and her merry peals of laughter.
“Jag kan ikke tale Norsk!—I can’t speak Norwegian”—was all I could say, at which she laughed more joyously than ever, and rattled off a number of excellent jokes, no doubt at my helpless condition. Indeed, I strongly suspected, from a familiar word here and there, that she was making love to me out of mere sport, though she was guarded enough not to make any intelligible demonstration to that effect. At last I got out my vocabulary, and as we jogged quietly along the road, by catching a word now and then, and making her repeat what she said very slowly, got so far as to construct something of a conversation.
“What is your name,skën Jumfru?” I asked.
“Maria,” was the answer.
“A pretty name; and Maria is a very pretty girl.”
She tossed her head a little scornfully, as much as to say Maria was not to be fooled by flattery.
“What isyourname?” said Maria, after a pause.
“Mine? Oh, I have forgotten mine.”
“Are you an Englishman?”
“No.”
“A Frenchman?”
“No.”
“A Dutchman?”
“No—I am an American.”
“I like Americans—I don’t like Englishmen,” said the girl.
“Have you a lover?”
“Yes.”
“Are you going to be married to him?”
“Yes, in about six months.”
“I wish you joy.”
“Thank you!”
At this moment a carriage drawn by two horses hove in sight. It was an English traveling party—an old gentleman and two ladies, evidently his wife and daughter. As they drew near they seemed to be a little perplexed at the singular equipage before them—a small horse, nearly dead and lathered all over with foam; a cariole bespattered with mud; a dashing fine girl behind, with flaunting hair, a short petticoat, and a flaming pair of red stockings; myself in the body of the cariole, covered from head to foot with mire, my beard flying out in every direction, and my hair still standing on end from the effects of recent fright—a very singular spectacle to meet in the middle of a public highway, even in Norway. The road was very narrow at the point of meeting. It became necessary for one of the vehicles to pull up the side of the hill a little in order to allow room for the other to pass. Being the lighter party as well as under obligations of gallantry, I at once gave way. While endeavoring to make a passage, the old gentleman gruffly observed to the public generally,
“What an excessively bad road!”
“Very!” said I.
“Beastly!” growled the Englishman.
“Abominable!” said I.
“Oh, you are an Englishman?” said the elderly lady.
“No, madam—an American,” I answered, with great suavity.
“Oh, an American!” said the young lady, taking out her note-book; “dear me, how very interesting!”
“From California,” I added, with a smile of pride.
“How very interesting!” exclaimed the young lady.
“A great country,” said I.
“Gray,” observed the elderly lady, in an under tone, looking very hard at the girl, who was still standing on the little board at the back of the cariole, and who coolly and saucily surveyed the traveling party, “Gray, is that a Norwegian girl?”
“Yes, madam; she is my postillion, only she rides behind, according to the Norwegian custom.”
“Dear me!” cried the young lady, “how very interesting!”
“And dangerous too,” I observed.
The lady looked puzzled. She was thinking of dangers to which I had no reference.
“Dangerous?” exclaimed the young lady.
“Yes; she came near breaking my neck down that hill;” and here I gave the party a brief synopsis of the adventure.
“Devilish odd!” growled the old Englishman, impatiently. “Good-day, sir. Come, get up!”
The elderly lady said nothing, but looked suspicious.
“Dear me!” exclaimed the young lady, as they drove off; “how very—” This was the last I heard, but I suppose she considered it interesting. The whole affair, no doubt, stands fully recorded in her note-book.
The way being now clear, we proceeded on our journey. In a little while the station-house was in sight, and after a few minutes’ drive I was obliged to part from my interesting companion. At first I hesitated about proffering the usual fee of four shillings; but, upon reflection, it occurred to me that I had no right to consider her any thing more than a post-boy. It was worth something extra to travel with one so lively and entertaining, so I handed her double the usual allowance, at which she made a very polite courtesy and greatly relieved my embarrassment by giving a hearty shake of the hand and wishing me a pleasant journey. This was the last I saw of my Norwegian Diana. She is a young damsel of great beauty and vivacity, not to say a little wild. I trust she is now happily married to the object of her affections.
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 dustycostume 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 languagewas 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 Olé (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 zoneBoldly proclaims the happiest spot his own.”
“The shuddering tenant of the frigid zoneBoldly proclaims the happiest spot his own.”
And why should they be otherwise than contented—ifsuch 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 supplyall 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 otherpart 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.”
“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.
A portly man, fishing rod in hand, dozes on the river bank
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 notmeasured 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 placedupon 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 Miösen. 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.
A man with a scythe looks at the propped up snow-plow
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 theworld. 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.
Five men around a tavern table
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.
A group of small log buildings on a hillside
A NORWEGIAN FARM.
A few people gather outside the wooden church with the tall narrow spire
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 pietyis 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 coverthe face of the country during the greater part of the year.
The schoolmaster usesd a cane to punish a boy
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