But my last observations were quite lost on my fair informant. For at this moment a letter was put into her hands, and she escaped from the room, her colour rising, and her thoughtful eye assuming a softer and more conscious expression.
“It’s Katinka’s weekly letter from her betrothed,” explained her father, when she had gone; “they always correspond once a week, and this is the day when the post arrives.”
As I was walking about the house, in company with my clerical friend, I had a fresh proof of the facilities afforded in this country to clever artisans to improve themselves. Thus, one Ole, who is driving the hay-cart up the steep inclined plane to the hay-loft, over the cow-house, has shown a strong turn for mechanics, and on the clergyman’s recommendationhas obtained from the government three hundred dollars to defray the expense of a journey to England, that he may be further initiated and perfected in the mysteries of his trade. Another man about the farm, who has exhibited much natural talent as an engraver, is going to be sent to Christiania, to a craftsman in that line.
Among other things, I hear from my host of a regulation, in respect to ecclesiastical matters, which is well worth mentioning. In England, as we all know, no provision is made by the law for pensioning off a superannuated clergyman, or for the support of a clergyman’s widow; nay, the very sensible proposal to pension a bishop, the other day, was decried as simony. Not so in Norway. The widow of a beneficed clergyman here has a proportion of the income of the benefice (from twenty to sixty dollars) during her life. Besides this, there is attached to most parishes what is called an Enkesæde (widow farm). Formerly she cultivated this herself; but, by a late regulation, these places have been sold, and she has the profits, which vary, in different cases, in amount.
Besides the beneficed clergy, there are in Norwayanother class of clergy called Residerende Capellan. He holds a chapel of ease in some large parish, with land and house attached, but is quite independent of the rector. His appointment, like that of the beneficed clergy generally, is vested in the king. On a vacancy, the applications are received by the government, and sent to the king, marked 1, 2, 3, in order of merit. He generally chooses the first, but not always. The number of these chaplains is small—not above ten in all Norway. In some respects, the Residerende Capellan has less work than the Sogne Prest, or rector. Thus the Fattig-wesen, or arrangement for the relief of the poor, is chiefly managed by the Sogne Prest.
The Personal Capellan corresponds to an English curate. Whenever a rector requires a curate, he is bound to take one who is out of employment; and he cannot get rid of him, but must retain his services as long as he is rector. His successor in the living, however, is not similarly bound. It is conceivable that the rector and curate may have differences, and that this perpetuity of connexion may in some instances become irksome to both.Generally, however, it is found to work well—they make the best of it, like a sensible man and wife. And the curate is not exposed, as he sometimes is in England, to the caprices of a rector, or a gynæcocratical rectoress. Nor, again, is the public eye offended in this country with those unpleasant advertisements of curates holding the views of Venn, with strong lungs, or of Anglicans skilful in intoning and church decoration.
“What examinations have you at the University of Christiania?” I asked.
“There are three. First, the Philosophisk,i.e., a mixed classical examination; second, one in mathematics, physics, theology, and other subjects; and, three years later, there is what is called an Embeds examen (faculty examination), which, for the future clergyman, is in divinity; for the lawyer, in law; and so on. After this examination, however, a clergyman is not compelled to be ordained directly—indeed, he can put this off for some years.”
“And are the Norwegian students such ardent spirits as their brethren in Germany?”
“Ardent enough, but blessed, I hope, with morecommon sense. They are intense lovers of liberty, and their minds are full of the idea of Scandinavian unity—i.e., a junction not only moral, but political, of the three kingdoms, Denmark, Sweden, and Norway. It was only the other day that a thousand Norwegian students paid a visit to Upsala and Stockholm, and then went over to Copenhagen. They were received with open arms by the Danes. The shopkeepers would have no money for the articles they disposed of to them, begging them to take what they had asked for as asouvenirof Denmark. They lived in private houses, and partook of the best during their stay, entirely gratuitously; the King himself bore his share of the Leitourgia, lodging and boarding them in the palace. This Scandinavian party is gaining ground. It would be a great thing for Norway if the Bernadotte dynasty could succeed to the throne of the three kingdoms. They are of a much better stock than the descendants of Christian the First. Look at Oscar and his eldest son, the free-hearted, outspoken soldier; and then look at the throne of Denmark—a king who first marries a respectable princess and divorces herfor another, and does the same by her for no reason but because he has set eyes on a sempstress at a fire one night in the capital, and is determined to be possessed of her—and there she is, the Countess Danner. But he is blessed with no offspring, and when he dies the Danes get a Russian for their king, or what’s next to it. No wonder, then, that the Scandinavian idea finds favour in Denmark. Even the king favours the idea; his toast, ‘Denmark, Sweden, and Norway—three lands in peace, one in war,’ shows that, selfish as he is, and careless of trampling on the feelings of those he has sworn to love and cherish, he has some little regard for the future of his people, and has not so far forgotten Waldemar and Knut, as to wish Denmark to be a mere appanage of Russia—in short, he has always aimed at being a popular monarch.”
“A grand idea,” said I, “no doubt, this of Scandinavian unity. I hear that Worsaae, and many of the Danish professors, have taken it up. But I don’t think professors, generally, are practical men—at least, not in Germany, judging from what they did in Frankfort in 1848. They were withchild for many months, big with an ineffable conception, but they only brought forth wind after all.”
“Ay! but we Norwegians don’t manage in that way. Look at Eideswold, in 1814, and say whether we are not practical men.”
“Don’t you think Norway has anything to fear from the jealousy of Sweden?” I went on, changing the subject.
“No. There have been two or three times when we have been in a klem (hitch); but the good, sturdy common sense, and quiet resolution of us Norwegians has won the day. And now I think of it, this appointment of the Crown Prince to be viceroy at Christiania will be of inestimable benefit to the country. Our future ruler will get to understand the people, and know their worth. He will see what our freedom is doing for us. He makes himself quite at home with all, gentle and simple: dances with the parsons’ wives and daughters, and smokes cigars with the merchants, but he is observing all the while very narrowly; and he sees we are all united in our attachment to our liberal institutions, and thriving under them wonderfully; while, at the same time, all are most loyal to the kingly house.”
“But don’t you think these religious schisms, Lammers on the one hand and the Roman Catholics on the other, will be causing a split in your national unity?”
“Oh! no. It is true the Roman Catholics have a great cathedral at Christiania; but they don’t number more than a couple of hundred in all.”
“Ah! but there are some more in the North. It was only the other day I heard that some Papists are engaged in an active propaganda about Tromsö.”
“No doubt; the people up there have always been peculiarly inclined to be carried about by every wind of doctrine. It is there that the Haugianer made way; and it is there that these Papists have pitched their tents. They are going to work very systematically. They have purchased an estate at Alten. Every Sunday they preach to whoever will come. One of their addresses begins with the following attractive exordium:—‘Beloved brethren, we have left father and mother, brothers and sisters, fatherland and friends, from affectionto you.’ Again, they boldly talk of bringing into the country light for semi-darkness. The poor Laps much want some little book to be distributed gratis to explain to them the subtilty of these people. I wish you could make the case known to the excellent English Bible Society. And whereas the Haugians were always reputed to be cold and indifferent to the poor, these missionaries are very kind to them, visiting the sick, and offering food, clothing, and instruction gratis. The whole plan is most subtly contrived, especially when the fanatic character of the Laps, and their poverty is considered. If the Government does not take care, and see after their spiritual and temporal wants, they may fall, I grant, into the hands of those people. But I don’t think the Norwegians will ever listen to them. There is an independence in our character that rebels against all priestly domination.”
“So there is in England. But even there it is astonishing to see how far matters are going. Why! it is only the other day that a petition to our Queen, to restore the‘Greater Excommunication,’ was put into my hands to sign.”
But our conversation now turned from the vanities and vagaries of man to another topic.
The woods around are not deficient, I find, in capercailzie and black cock. Woodcocks, also, from the priest’s description, must be here at times. It was a brown bird, he said, larger than a snipe, which at dusk flies backwards and forwards through an alley in the wood.
“That is the Linnæa borealis,” said my host to me, pointing to a beautiful little white flower. “A strange thing happened to me,” he said, “when I was at my mountain parsonage in the West. One Baron von Dübner, a Swedish botanist, drove up one day to my house. I found that he had journeyed all the way thither to make inquiries about a peculiar plant which grows, he said, just under the Iisbrae, on a particular spot of the Dovre Fjeld, and produces berries something like a strawberry, which ripen at the time when the snow melts in spring. I made particularinquiries, and at last found a lad who said he knew what the stranger meant. He had seen and eaten these berries while tending cattle on that particular part of the Fjeld. I gave him a bottle, and he promised next spring to get me some; the baron promising to give a handsome reward. But alas! poor Eric did not survive to fulfil his promise. He was drowned that winter by falling through the ice. Now, do ask your botanists at Oxford about it.”[23]
Papa’s birthday—A Fellow’s sigh—To Kongsberg—A word for waterproofs—Dram Elv—A relic of the shooting season—How precipitous roads are formed in Norway—The author does something eccentric—The river Lauven—Pathetic cruelty—The silver mine at Kongsberg—A short life and not a merry one—The silver mine on fire—A leaf out of Hannibal’s book—A vein of pure silver—Commercial history of the Kongsberg silver mines—Kongsberg—The silver refining works—Silver showers—That horrid English.
Papa’s birthday—A Fellow’s sigh—To Kongsberg—A word for waterproofs—Dram Elv—A relic of the shooting season—How precipitous roads are formed in Norway—The author does something eccentric—The river Lauven—Pathetic cruelty—The silver mine at Kongsberg—A short life and not a merry one—The silver mine on fire—A leaf out of Hannibal’s book—A vein of pure silver—Commercial history of the Kongsberg silver mines—Kongsberg—The silver refining works—Silver showers—That horrid English.
On the morning of my departure, I find the Norsk flag hoisted on a tall flagstaff, on the eminence in front of the house.
“What is the meaning of this, Miss Lisa?”
“Oh! that’s for papa’s birthday,” said she, in high glee.
“I wish you many happy returns of the day,” was my greeting to the pastor, who was evidently not a little pleased at receiving the compliment in English.
Each of the ladies had something pretty to say to him on the occasion, and the Fruë produced a veryhandsome new meerschaum pipe mounted with silver, which, by some magic process, she had obtained from the distant By against this auspicious morning.
As we are off the high road, there is no change-house near; but, by my host’s assistance, I have procured the services of an excellent fellow, who agrees to take me with his own horse in my friend’s carriole all the way to Kongsberg, twenty miles off, where I am to visit the silver mines, and return by the same conveyance to Hougesund, on my way to Drammen. How very kind these people are.
Seeing I took an interest in legends, the two elder sisters had routed out some tracts on the subject, and the little Arilda presented me with some Norwegian views, and a piece of ore from the neighbouring mine. Miss Lisa blushed and smiled, and did not know what to make of it, when I wickedly proposed that she should come with me to Oxford.
“No,” said mamma, “if you were twenty years older, perhaps.”
“And I hope, when next you visit us,” said the priest, “you’ll be married, and bring Mrs. M.”
“Married! you know what I’ve told you about Fellowships. We are Protestant monks.”
“Well,” retorted his reverence, “I always say England is a great and enlightened country; but if you wish to see aneffetecustom clung to with desperate tenacity, go to England.”
What torrents of rain poured down that day, as we journeyed along towards Kongsberg.
Poor Sigur was speedily soaked through, his wadmel coat mopping up the deluge like a sponge. But he took the thing quite as a matter of course. As for the horse, he went on quite swimmingly. Being encased in lengthy Cording’s fishing boots, a sou’-wester on my head, and a long mackintosh on my shoulders, I was quite jubilant, and could not help defying the storm with certain exclamations, such as,
Blow winds, and crack your cheeks, &c.
Blow winds, and crack your cheeks, &c.
Blow winds, and crack your cheeks, &c.
Sigur, astonished at my spouting, asked for an explanation, and on getting it, looked anything but an assent to my proposition.
Truth be told, I was sorry for Sigur. But, at the same time, waterproofed as I was, I had a sortof self-reliant and independent feeling, as the rain pattered off my caoutchouc habiliments, pretty much the same, I should think, as the water-fowl tribe must have, when they are having a jolly sousing, but keep perfectly dry withal.
“Well,” said I, “Sigur,” remembering it was September 1, “it will be fine weather for the millers, at all events. No Quernknurre to be feared this autumn.” Sigur smiled curiously through the fringe of rain-drops that bugled his hat-rim. He was evidently astonished that the Englishman had found out that.
“That elv is called Dram Elv,” said he, pointing to the river tearing along with its fleet of logs. “Once, that farm-house which you see yonder, a couple of hundred feet above the river, was close to the water’s edge, but the water burst through some rocks below, and now it’s a river instead of a lake. There is some old story about it,” continued he, scratching his grizzled locks, “but I forget it now. They say that the river takes its name from that Gaard.”
At Hougesund I remarked what I had never seen before out of the towns in Norway—an intimationover the merchant’s door that travellers would find accommodation there. This will give a very good notion of the amount of hotel competition in this country. I had a bag of shot, No. 5, and as all shooting was now over, Sigur received directions to sell the same to the merchant for what he could get. The merchant took it, loudly protesting the while that he should never be able to sell it again. “Our shooters,” said he, “use the largest hagel, not such dust as this.” I can imagine that people accustomed to shoot game sitting, would do so.
It was pitch dark long before we reached Kongsberg. There was nothing left for it but to let the horse take his own course; but as he was unacquainted with the road, this was pretty much that of a vessel without a compass.
As good luck would have it, we overtook a traveller in a carriole, or these lines would mayhap never have been written. “Ye gentlemen of England, who live at home at ease,” are perhaps not aware, that in Norway, excepting on two or three pieces of newly-constructed road, there is no such a thing as posts and rails to fence the highway from danger. Nowand then, as in Switzerland, the edge of a sheer precipice is supposed to be guarded by blocks of granite, placed two or three yards apart, but ordinarily fences are only used to keep in cattle. It was not till the next day on returning that I became aware what I had escaped. It is true that there was no great depth to fall, but quite enough to break all my bones. But I might console myself with the thought, that I should have had an opportunity of talking to the doctor at Kongsberg, and obtaining from him some more information about his brownie patient, mentioned at page 232 above.
The object of my detour to Kongsberg was to have a sight of the celebrated silver mine in its neighbourhood. I had brought an introduction to the Director, Lammers (brother of the Dissenting Lammers of Skien), whom I found, next morning, deeply engaged in studying a plan of the workings. Provided by him with a note to the Superintendent, I put myself on my carriole, and started with Sigur for the mine. The excellent Larsen, at whose comfortable caravansary I put up, had indoctrinated Sigur that it was usual for strangersto take a carriage from the inn; for which, of course, I should have had to pay pretty smartly. But I was determined to be eccentric for once, and did the most obvious thing—take my own vehicle and attendant. The Lauven, the best salmon river in the south of Norway, cuts the town in two with a stream of great width. The old wooden bridge, being worn out, is now being superseded by a new one, built exactly over it; so that we have the novel sight of two bridges one above the other. I could not learn that the good old Northern custom of burying a child under the new bridge, to make it durable, has been observed. At all events, the Kongsbergers, if they did so, kept their own counsel about it.
In Germany, too, this custom prevailed. Nay, within the last twenty years (see Grimm, “Deutsche Mythologie”), when a new bridge was built at Halle, the people said that a child ought to be built into it. Thiele, also, in his “Danmark’s Folkesagn,” relates as follows:—“A wall had to be built in Copenhagen, but as fast as they built it up, it sank into the swampy ground. In this dilemma, a small, innocentchild was set upon a stool with a table before it, on which were playthings and sweetmeats; and while it was amusing itself with these, twelve masons set to work and built a vault over it, and, at the same time, set up the wall again to the sound of music. Since that time the wall has never sunk the least.”
Nothing noticeable caught my eye on the road, except a Thelemarken peasant-girl, in her quaint costume, dragging a little cow to market; but as on our return we again encountered both of them, it was clear that, with the dogged obstinacy of these people, rather than bate the price, she was marching back with the cow to her distant home in the mountains. A roundabout ascent of nearly four miles English brought us to the principal mine, which, as the crow flies, can be reached by a footpath in half that distance. The device of a hammer and pick, set crosswise over a door, with the German motto, “Gluckauf,” reminded me that these mines were first worked by miners from that country.
Presenting my credentials, I was ushered into aroom in the superintendent’s house, and equipped with the toggery worn on those occasions—a dark green blouse, a leather apron fastened by a broad belt, and worn on the opposite side of the person to what aprons usually are; and lastly, an uncommonly stout black felt hat, with no brim—in shape, I should imagine, just like those worn by the Armenian priests. Such was the disguise which I assumed, and very suitable it was. The apron and blouse protected my clothes from dirt, and, if a piece of silver ore had attempted to fall upon my head, the hat would have acted as a helmet, and warded it off. My guide into “the bowels of the harmless earth” now approached, and we entered the level—commenced in 1716 by Frederick the Fifth—and progressed for nearly two miles along the tramway, lighted by a flaring torch, the ashes of which the conductor ever and anon knocked off into a vessel of water on the route. All was still, except that now and then a sound as of rushing waters jarred upon the ear. I found that it was the water pumped out of the mine by the engine, which usually glides quietly along in its woodenchannel; but in places where there was a slight ascent, got very angry, and shot along with increased velocity. At the end of this passage we came upon a group of miners, cooking their porridge for the mid-day meal. They are on duty, I understood, twenty-four hours at a stretch, so as to save the loss of time in getting to their work and back again, the distance in and out being so considerable. The men looked prematurely old, as far as I was able to judge from the very unfavourable light; and that, no doubt, has a great deal to do with looks at all times. The prettiest girl that ever joined in a Christmas revel, would be shocked if she could see a faithful representation of her face as it looked by the blue flickering light of the envious snapdragon.
But, to speak seriously, I find that though there is no explosive air in the mine, yet there is a closeness in the atmosphere which is prejudicial to health. At a comparatively early age the men become “ödelagt”—i.e., worn out. After a certain number of years of service they are pensioned. Their wages are, for one class of men, 24 skillings to 30 skillingsper diem; for another, 30 skillings to 36 skillings; so that the lowest is about 10d., and the highest rate about 1s.3d., English. In this mine, which is called the Kongengrube (King’s Mine), two hundred are employed. Where we now stood was about the centre of the mine; above us was a perpendicular ascent to the top of the mountain, which we had avoided by entering the level. But we now had to descend, perpendicularly, a series of ladders, lighted by the dim light of a candle, which the guide, for fear of fire, had taken instead of the torch. We now descended fifty-five perpendicular ladders, of unequal lengths, but averaging, I understood, five fathoms each; so that, according to Cocker, the “tottle” we descended was 1650 feet, though, when we stood at the bottom of the perpendicular shaft, we were in reality 3120 feet from the upper mouth. Each ladder rests on a wooden stage, and the top of it against a sort of trap-door let into a similar stage above. This perpendicularity of the shaft is its chief danger. Should a large piece of rock become loosened above, there is nothing but these wooden stages to prevent it smashing through tothe bottom of the shaft; and as no notice, such as “Heads below—look out,” is given, not a few dreadful accidents have taken place in consequence. Again, from the construction of the mine, it is peculiarly dangerous in case of fire.
It was only in May last that a fire broke out suddenly in the Gotteshülfe in der Not (God’s help in time of need) Mine, where there are eighty-eight ladders. The fire raged with such fury that four unfortunate men were choked before they could escape. A fifth got out alive. The burning continued eight days. The bodies have only just been found, August 18th.
Fire, I find, is used to make new horizontal shafts. We went into one of these side shafts to see the operation. Arrived at the end of the gallery, which was as symmetrical as a railway tunnel, and very hot, our further progress was barred by a great iron door; this being opened, I saw a huge fire of fir poles blazing away at the far end of a kind of oven. After the fire has thus burned for several hours, it is suffered to go out; and the miners, approaching with their picks, canwith very little effort chip off several inches of the hard rock, which has become as brittle as biscuit from the action of heat. The biscuit being cleared away, a fresh fire is lit, and another batch baked and removed; and so on, day by day, till the miners come to ore.
At the bottom of the mine I was rewarded by the sight of a vein of pure silver. At first it seemed to me very like the rest of the rock, except that it was rougher to the touch; but with a little beating, like a dull schoolboy, it brightened up wonderfully, and I saw before me a vein of native silver, two or three inches in width, and descending apparently perpendicularly. The native silver thus found, together with the argentiferous rock, is packed up in a covered cart, under lock and key, and driven into Kongsberg, where the smelting works are situate.
“How does the refined silver go to Christiania?” I inquired.
“In a country cart,” was the reply, “driven by a simple bonder.” Even Queen Victoria’s baby-plate might pass in this manner through the country without danger of spoliation.
No specimens are permitted to be sold in the mine; the men, I understand, are searched each time that they leave work.
The fortunes of these celebrated silver mines, which were discovered in 1623, have been like the mines themselves. There have been many ups and downs in them. At one time they have been worked by the State; at another, they have been in private hands; and sometimes the exploration stopped altogether. After thus lying idle for some years, the works were, in 1814, if I am rightly informed, offered for sale by the Danish Government to our present consul-general at Christiania, and the purchase was only not completed in consequence of that gentleman declining to keep up the full amount of workmen, a condition which the Government insisted on. Be this as it may, they were set a-going by the Government in 1816, and the Storthing voted 21,000 dollars for the purpose, and even greater sums in subsequent years. And yet, in 1830, the mine was not a paying concern. Just about this time, however, the miners hit upon a rich vein, and ever since 1832 it has paid. The greatest yieldwas in 1833, when about 47,000 marks of pure silver were obtained. At present, about 400 marks are obtained weekly, or about 21,000 per annum. There is an actual profit of nearly 200,000 dollars a year. Notwithstanding this brilliant state of affairs, there has, reckoning from first to last, been a loss of several millions of dollars on the venture.
At one time Kongsberg was a city of considerable importance. At present, there are less than 5000 inhabitants; but in 1769, when Christiania had only 7496 inhabitants, Trondjem 7478, and Bergen 13,735, Kongsberg had over 8000. But it must be always considered important, as being the great mining school of the country—a country which contains, no doubt, vast mineral treasures under its surface.
Tough work it was ascending the ladders, and very hot withal. But as I intended to be in Drammen that evening, distant five-and-twenty miles, no time was to be lost. My climbing on the fjeld had been capital practice; and such was the pace at which I ascended, that the superintendent, who joined us, broke down or bolted midway.
We were soon at Kongsberg, it being down hill all the way. People told me I must by no means omit going to see a monument on the hill, between the mines and the town, where the names of ten kings, who had come to see the mine, were recorded, including Bernadotte. But I preferred devoting the rest of my spare time to what I considered much more instructive, viz., a visit to the establishments for reducing and refining the silver ore. As good luck would have it, I had an opportunity of witnessing the process for refining silver. About 2000l. worth of the precious metal was in an oven, with a moveable bottom, undergoing the process of refinement by the intense heat of a pine-wood fire, blown upon it from above.
Schiller’s magnificent “Song of the Bell” rose to my mind—
Nehmet Holz von Fichtenstamme,Doch recht trocken lasst as seyn,Dass die eingepresste FlammeSchlage zu dem Schwalch hinein!
Nehmet Holz von Fichtenstamme,Doch recht trocken lasst as seyn,Dass die eingepresste FlammeSchlage zu dem Schwalch hinein!
Nehmet Holz von Fichtenstamme,
Doch recht trocken lasst as seyn,
Dass die eingepresste Flamme
Schlage zu dem Schwalch hinein!
The mynte-mester, a fat man, of grave aspect, illuminated by large spectacles, ordered one ofthe Cyclopses around to put what looked like a thin, long poker, with a small knob at the end, into the boiling mass. It came out coated with a smooth envelope of dead metal. This the director examined, and shook his head; so away went the blow-pipe as before. Presently the same process was repeated. On the poker-knob being inserted a third time, the director scrutinized it carefully, and then said, “færdig!” On examining it, I found projecting, like a crown of airy thorns, a coating of exceedingly fine spicula of frosted silver. That was the signal that it was sufficiently purified. Never till now had I known so exactly the force of the words of the Psalmist, “Even as silver which from the earth is tried and purified seven times in the fire.”
It was desired to have the silver in small nodules for silversmiths, as more easily workable than in a lump. For this purpose, a vessel of cold water was placed under the furnace-spout. Another Cyclops stationed himself in front of the said spout, holding in his hand the nozzle of some hose connected with a water-engine. With this he took aim at the orifice (reminding me much ofa Norskman shooting game sitting, but in this case it was flying, as will be seen). A signal is given, a cock turned, and out rushes the white-hot molten metal; but at the moment of its escape from the trap, the fireman discharges a jet of cold water at it; the consequence is, that, instead of descending in a continuous stream, the blazing jet is squandered, and falls into the vessel below in a shower of silver drops. Danaë could have explained the thing to a nicety, only her shower was one of gold; while the metal most predominant in her own composition would seem to have been brass.
The gentleman who had been conversing with me in German, and apparently considered me a Teuton, said he could talk French also; but as for that horrid English, those people began a sentence and rolled it in their mouths, spit it half out, and the rest they swallowed. I strongly recommend any Englishman, who wishes to hear what people on the Continent think of John Bull and his wife, not to betray his nation if he can help it, and then he has some chance of getting at the true state of opinion without flattery. This rule will apply togeneral society, such as one meets abroad. But there is a no less golden exception, which is this: never at a custom-house or police-office know the language of the officials; if you do, they are sure to badger you, especially if you are above suspicion. If, on the other hand, you shrug your shoulders, and keep replying to their remarks in English, you will completely foil their efforts at annoyance, and they will not be able to make anything of you, and look out for other prey.
Another remarkably polite and intelligent official now proceeded to show me some beautiful specimens of pure silver in another part of the building. Some of these “Handstene,” as they are called, I purchased. Here, too, were those splendid specimens that appeared at the Great Exhibition in London, and also in Paris; and gained a medal in both instances. The bronze medal, designed by Wyon, with the busts of Victoria and Albert, and likewise the silver one of Napoleon, were side by side; the latter pretty, doubtless, but, to my thinking, and also that of the inspector, vastly inferior to the former, which, he said, was a real work of art.
My companions at dinner were the engineer of the new road out of Kongsberg, and a Hungarian refugee, getting his living by portrait-painting. All things considered, I should think that the engineer’s trade was the better of the two. But the artist was a good-looking fellow, and twirled his moustache with great complacency; so that, perhaps, he got sitters. At all events, he could have no competition.
A grumble about roads—Mr. Dahl’s caravansary—“You’ve waked me too early”—St. Halvard—Professor Munck—Book-keeping by copper kettles—Norwegian society—Fresh milk—Talk about the great ship—Horten the chief naval station of Norway—The Russian Admiral G——Conchology—Tönsberg the most ancient town in Norway—Historical reminiscences—A search for local literature—An old Norsk patriot—Nobility at a discount—Passport passages—Salmonia—A tale for talkers—Agreeable meeting—The Roman Catholics in Finmark—A deep design—Ship wrecked against a lighthouse—The courtier check-mated.
A grumble about roads—Mr. Dahl’s caravansary—“You’ve waked me too early”—St. Halvard—Professor Munck—Book-keeping by copper kettles—Norwegian society—Fresh milk—Talk about the great ship—Horten the chief naval station of Norway—The Russian Admiral G——Conchology—Tönsberg the most ancient town in Norway—Historical reminiscences—A search for local literature—An old Norsk patriot—Nobility at a discount—Passport passages—Salmonia—A tale for talkers—Agreeable meeting—The Roman Catholics in Finmark—A deep design—Ship wrecked against a lighthouse—The courtier check-mated.
The new road, which avoids some fearful hills, will soon be finished; and that is the excuse for not repairing the old one, which was something like what Holborn Hill would be with all the paving-stones up.
Prince Napoleon, who has just returned from his voyage to Spitzbergen and the Arctic regions, is about to visit Kongsberg in company with oneof the Royal Princes of Sweden, to-morrow. It is lucky for the highway surveyors that it is not the King of Oude. They doubtless would have been put into the ruts to fill them up, or smelted in the smelting-houses, or have had to undergo some otherrefinedprocess.
Sigur and I parted company at Hougesund; he proceeding homewards, and I crawling along to Drammen, by the side of the elv, with the worst horse I ever drove in Norway. Fortunately, the road is a dead level, and good. The river abounds in salmon, which cannot get up higher than Hougesund.
On the other side of it, I saw several lights, which I learned were at saw-mills, which are working night and day. I suppose they are taking time by the forelock. Hitherto, saw-mills have been in the hands of a few privileged persons; but in 1860 the monopoly expires, and anybody may erect one.
I had been strongly recommended to one Mr. Dahl. His caravansary I found both comfortable and reasonable. The St. Halvard steam-boat,which was to convey me next morning to some station in the Christiania Fjord, started at seven o’clock, I found, so I requested to be called at a little before six. The damsel walked into my bedroom, without any preliminary knock, long before that hour.
“You’ve come too early,” said I; “the boat does not start till seven.”
“Oh, yes; but the passengers are accustomed to assemble on board half an hour before.”
So much for the Norwegian value of time.
At five minutes to seven I found myself on board the boat, much to the astonishment, no doubt, of the numerous passengers; who, with the patient tranquillity of Norwegians, had long ago settled in their places.
“St. Halvard—who was St. Halvard?” said I to a person near me, as we scudded along through the blue wares, glistening in the morning sun, and curled by a gentle breeze. He did not know, but he thought a friend of his on board knew. The friend, an intelligent young lieutenant in the army, from Fredrickshall, soon produced a book of ProfessorMunck’s, but the volume made no mention of the enigmatical personage. Seeing, however, that I looked over the pages with interest, nothing would content the youngmilitairebut that I should retain possession of it; which I accordingly did, with many thanks. It may be as well to mention, that there are two Muncks in Norway; A. Munck, the poet, and Professor A. P. Munck, the historian, a person of European reputation, who is now engaged on a comprehensive work, “Norske Folks Historie,” “History of the Norsk People.” He is also author of several other works of antiquarian research.
“You have been in Thelemarken?” inquired the lieutenant. “That’s the county for old Norsk customs and language. With all their dirt and rude appearance, some of the bonders are very rich, and proud of their wealth. I remember being at a farm some miles above Kongsberg, where I saw a number of copper kettles ranged on a shelf, as bright as bright could be; I found that these were the gauge of the bonder’s wealth. For every thousand dollars saved a new copper kettle was added. Youhave no idea how tenacious these people are of their social position. When the son and daughter of two bonders are about to be married, a wonderful deal of diplomacy is used, the one endeavouring to outwit the other. It is surprising with all the chaffering and bargaining between the elders that the marriages turn out so well as they do.
“And yet even the wealthiest of them live in the meanest manner. I don’t suppose you would get any fresh milk in your travels in Thelemarken, except at the sæters. You would not believe it, but they are in the habit of keeping their milk from spring to autumn. To prevent it becoming stale or maggoty, they stir it every day. In process of time it assumes a very strong scent, which the people inhale with great gusto. It is a filthy affair: but people accustomed to it like it, I am told, above all things. A curious case in point occurs to my mind: A Voged, who had been for some years stationed up in a wild part of Thelemarken, was translated to Drammen, which is an agreeable place, and by no meansdeficient in good society. But, with all this improvement in neighbourhood, and the appliances of life; in spite of his increased pay and higher position, the Voged sickened and pined; in short, became a regular invalid. What could it be? He missed the thick, stinking milk of the Thelemarken wilds. He petitioned to return to the old Fogderie, where he would have less pay, but more milk; and, from the last accounts, he is fully restored to health, and enjoying himself amazingly.”
As we approached Horten, the chief naval station of Norway, I saw a new church, apparently built in red stone, and in the Gothic style; which, as far as I could judge, reflected no little credit on the architect. At this moment, a Norskman tapped me on the shoulder, and asked—
“Are you an Englishman? Do you live in London? Have you seen the great ship that is building on the banks of the Thames? They say it is twice as long as the magazine at Horten yonder; but I can’t believe it.”
“You mean theGreat Eastern, as they call it?I don’t know how long the magazine is; but the ship is 680 feet long.”
“Vinkelig! det er accurat dobbelt.” (Really! then it is exactly double, just as I heard.)
The daily steamer from Christiania to Fredrickshall met us here,Halden, by name; and separated me from the intelligent lieutenant, with whom I exchanged cards.
As we steamed out of Horten, past the gun-boats and arsenals, a naval-looking man said—
“We have had a great man here lately, sir: the Russian Admiral G——. The newspapers were strongly against his being allowed to pry about our naval station; but he was permitted by the Government. After examining everything very accurately, he said, ‘It’s all very good, too good: for England will come and take it away from you.’”
“And what did the dockyard people think of that? Did they agree with him?”
“Heaven forefend! They knew whom they had to deal with. As he walked through the arsenal, he saw some shells lying about. ‘What is that?some new invention?’ ‘Oh! no,’ said the officer; ‘it is only shells, after the old fashion.’ The Russian admiral seemed contented with the reply; but he was not going to be put off the real scent by a feint of this kind. In fact, a Norwegian captain, not long ago, did invent a peculiar kind of shell, which, with unerring precision, can be so managed as to burst in a vessel’s side after effecting an entrance. The Russian knew this, but kept his counsel then. Subsequently, he found an opportunity of drawing a subaltern officer aside, to whom he offered two hundred dollars to reveal the secret. But the Norskman would not divulge the secret (shell out), only telling his superior, who took no notice, but merely chuckled at the Russian’s duplicity.”
“It is an old Russian trick, that,” replied I; “if I remember rightly, the Muscovites obtained the secret of the Congreve rocket by some such underhand manœuvre.”
The admiral’s curiosity will remind the reader of the facetiousPunch’s“Constantine Paul Pry,” who visited England and France for a similar object.
As we steered down the vast Fjord, which is here of great width, and ramifies into various arms, we see theNornen, a new Norsk frigate, in the offing, on her trial trip.
A little after noon, we were steaming down a shallow bay, surrounded by low wooded islets, to Tönsberg, the most ancient town in Norway. The harbour for shipping is in the Tönsberg Fjord, distant a bowshot from where we land; but to get there by water would require a detour of several miles. The isthmus is low and flat, and presents no engineering difficulties whatever. In any other country, a ship canal would long since have joined the two waters. At present, there is only a ditch between.
The ruins of the old fortified castle are still discernible on the elevation to the north of the town; and a sort of wooden building, something between a summer-house and an observatory, has lately been erected on the spot. The old castle (Tonsberg-hus) suffered a good deal from an attack of the Swedes in 1503; and was totally destroyed in 1532, in the disturbances that ensued on thereturn of King Christian II. to Norway. As early as the close of the ninth century, the city was a place of resort for merchants, and the residence of the kings in the middle ages. At one time there were half a score of churches in the place; but of these none remained fifty years ago, except one very ancient one, in the Pointed style; but this was pulled down by some Vandal authorities of the place. During the troubles of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries the town was taken and plundered more than once; but it received its finishing blow from the Union of Calmar.
An eminence to the east of the town is called the Mollehaug, where in the middle ages the renowned Hougathing, or Parliament, was held, and the kings received homage. There being nothing left in the town to indicate its former importance, I mounted up the Castle-hill, and took a look of the surrounding country and Fjords, with the blue mountains of Thelemarken far in the distance. The ancient seat of the Counts of Jarlsberg is near at hand; from which family the surrounding district bears the name of Grefskabet (county).
Afterwards I strolled into the cemetery. Some of the tombs were of polished red granite, which is obtained in the neighbourhood; most of them had long inscriptions. Under two relievo busts in white marble was the short motto, “Vi sees igien,” (we shall meet again,) and then a couple of joined hands, and the names of So-and-so and his Hustru (gudewife). On an obelisk of iron I read—“Underneath rests the dust of the upright and active burgher, the tender and true man and father, merchant Hans Falkenborg. His fellow-burghers’ esteem, his survivors’ tears, testify to his worth. But the Lord gave, the Lord took. Blessed be the name of the Lord.” On another stone was written—“Underneath reposes the dust of the in-life-and-death-united friends, Skipper F. and Merchant B. Both were called from the circle of their dear friends December 10, 1850, at the age of 28. Short was their pilgrimage here on earth; but who hath known the mind of the Lord, who hath been his councillor? Peace be with their dust.” Altogether there was much good taste exemplified in these memorials of the dead.
As I returned towards the inn, I called at the only bookseller’s in this town of nearly three thousand inhabitants, in hopes of obtaining some local literature in reference to a place of such historical celebrity; Madame Nielsen, however, only sold school-books of the paltriest description. After my walk, I was by no means sorry to sit down to a good dinner at the inn. Opposite me sat a fine old fellow, with grey streaming locks, while two bagmen and the host completed the company. Under the influence of some tolerable Bordeaux, the old gentleman became quite communicative; he had been in arms in ’14, when Norway was separated from Denmark, and the Norskmen recalcitrated against the cool handing them over from one Power to another.
“That was a perilous time for us; one false step, and we might have been undone; but each man had only one thought, and that was for his country. In this strait,” continued he, his eyes sparkling, “one hundred Norskmen met at Eidsvold on May 1, and on May 17 the constitution was drawn up which we now enjoy. Please God it may last. The Norwegians may well be proudof it, and no wonder that the Swedes are jealous of us with their four estates, and their miserable pretence of a constitution—the worst in Europe. Their shoals of nobility are the drag-chain; we got rid of them here in 1821. That was a great blessing; Carl Johann was against it, and three thousand Swedish soldiers were in the vicinity of Christiania. Count Jarlsberg, our chief noble, was for the abolition; its chief opponent was Falsing. He said in the Storthing, that if our nobility were abolished he would say farewell to Norway. Another member took him up short, and said, ‘And the Norsk hills would echo well.’”
Dinner over, I drove through the woods back to Vallö, where I was to meet the steamer. Two Swiss gentlemen possess a large establishment here for the manufacture of salt by the evaporation of salt water; a cotton mill is also adjoining, belonging to the same proprietors.
On applying for my ticket at the office—where it may be had a trifle cheaper than on board—my passport is demanded and examined, and the office-keeper informs me that it is against the rules to give a ticket for an outward-bound steamer to anyone whose passport has not been countersigned by the Norwegian authorities. Now, on leaving Norway by way of Christiania, as I was aware, it is required to be shown to the police, andviséd, but as I had never been near the capital this year, and, from the moment I had landed to this, the passport had never been demanded, it did not occur to me that aviséwould be required. For the moment I was disconcerted, as nobody was to be found at Vallö who could remedy the defect.
On inquiry, however, I found that the naval officer in command of the coming vessel was my old friend Captain H., and so I felt secure. There were plenty of faces that I knew on board, among the rest some Oxford Undergraduates returning from a delightful excursion up the country; there were also some “Old Norwegians,” who had been fishing in the north, and complained loudly of the unfavourableness of the season. There had been an unusual amount of rain and cold, and the rivers had been so full of snow-water, that the salmon had stuck at the mouths, a prey to nets, &c., in preference to braving the chills of the Elv.
Among other small talk, I began to recount as Isat in the Captain’s room, how I had seen the old gentleman with the star and diplomatic coat. (Seeantè). Just then somebody came and called out the first lieutenant by name, which was, I perceived, the very same as that of the last baron whom I was engaged in taking off.
“Is he any relation?” I inquired in alarm.
“Only his son,” was the reply.
Fortunately I had not said anything derogatory to the papa, or I might have placed myself in an awkward fix. This is only another proof how cautious you ought to be on board one of these steamers of talking about whom you have seen, and what you think, for the coast being the great high road, everybody of condition takes that route—you may have been, perhaps, for instance, abusing some merchant for overcharges—and after speaking your mind,proorcon, the gentleman with whom you are conversing may surprise you with a—
“Ja so! Indeed! That’s my own brother.”
“Were you ever up beyond the North Cape?” said a Frenchman to me, at dinner.
“Oh! yes; I once went to Vadsö.”
“And what sort of beings are they up there? Half civilized, I suppose?”
“Not only half, but altogether, I assure you,” said I. “I met with as much intelligence, and more real courtesy and kindness, than you will encounter half the world over.” At this moment my neighbour to the left, a punchy, good-humoured-looking little fellow, with a very large beard and moustache, which covered most of his face, and who had evidently overheard the conversation, said, in English:
“You not remember me? You blow out your eyes with gunpowder upon the banks of the Neiden. What a malheur it was! Lucky you did not be blind. I am Mr. ——, the doctor at Vadsö. We went, you know, on a pic-nic up the Varanger Fjord. Count R——, the bear-shooter, who was such a tippler, was one of the party.”
“Opvarter (waiter), bring me a bottle of port, first quality, strax (directly),” said I, remembering the little gentleman perfectly well, and how kindly he and his companions had on that occasion drunk skall to the Englishman, andmade me partake of the flowing bowl. We had a long chat, and presently he introduced me to his wife; who, I found, was, like himself, a Dane. They were journeying to their native country, after several years’ absence.
“What are those Roman Catholics doing up in Finmark?” said I.
“The people hardly know yet what to make of them,” he replied. “The supposition generally is, no doubt, that they wish to convert the Fins. But I don’t think so. They are aiming at higher game.”
“How so?”
“Russia!—That’s their object. They can’t get into that country itself. But a vast quantity of Russians are continually passing and repassing between the nearest part of Russia and Finmark. And they will try to indoctrinate them. Theirpoint d’appuiis most dexterously selected. There is no lack of funds, I assure you. They have settled on an estate at Alten, which they have bought.”
“And so clever and agreeable they are,” put inthe Dane’s lady. “Mr. Bernard especially. He has a wonderfully winning manner about him.”
“The chief of the mission,” continued the doctor, “is M. Etienne, a Russian by birth, whose real name is Djunkovsky, and who has become a convert from the Greek faith. He is styled M. le Préfet Apostolique des Missions Polàires du Nord, de l’Amerique, &c.; and proposes, he says, to operate hereafter on parts of North America. On St. Olaf’s day, he invited forty of the most respectable people in the neighbourhood to a banquet, and, in a speech which he made, said that the Norsk religion had much similarity with the Roman Catholic; and that Saint Olaf was the greatest of Norsk kings. Still, I think they have higher game in view than Norway.”
A master-stroke of policy, thought I. The Propaganda will have surpassed itself if it should succeed in setting these people thinking. The children of the autocrat will cast off their leading-strings yet; and the strife between the Latin and Greek Church rage, not between the monks at the Holy City, but in the heart of holy Russia.
At this pause in the conversation, the Frenchman, who did not seem a whit disconcerted at his formerfaux pas, recommenced his criticisms. The fare, and the doings on board generally, evidently did not jump with his humour. “What is this composition?” he inquired of the steward. “Miös-Ost?” (a sort of goat’s-milk cheese, the size and shape of a brick, and the colour of hare-soup). “It’s very sweet,” observed the Frenchman, sarcastically; “is there any sugar in it?”
“No!” thundered the captain, who did not seem to relish these strictures. “No. It’s made of good Norsk milk, and that is so sweet that no sugar is required.”
This remark had the effect of making the Gaul look small, and he gulped down any further satire that he might have had on his tongue.
I heard, by-the-bye, an amusing anecdote of these cheeses. They are considered a delicacy in Norway; and a merchant of Christiania sent one as a present to a friend in England. The British custom-house authorities took it for a lump of diachylon, and charged it accordingly, as drugs, a great deal more than it was worth.
As we sail through the Great Belt, the mast-tops of a wrecked vessel appear sticking out of the water near the lighthouse of Lessö. It has been a case of collision, that dreadful species of accident that threatens to be more fatal to modern navies than storms and tempests. In this case, the schooner seemed determined to run against something, so she actually ran against the lighthouse, in a still night, and when the light was plain to see. The concussion was so great, that the vessel sank a few yards off, with some of her crew. The lighthouse rock is instatu quo.