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Table of Contents

GAMLE NORGE—AN EARLY MURRAY—UNEXPLORED STATE OF THE COUNTRY—THE PIONEERS OF SPORT—CROSSING THE NORTH SEA—NOT THEN AS NOW—CONTENT OF THE PEASANTS—CHARM OF THE FJELD—CHRISTIANSAND—CHRISTIANIA—THE EMIGRANT’S VICISSITUDES—THE VICTORIA HOTEL AND OSCAR HALL.

Tyssestrængene Fos.OR comparatively few years has Norway received any attention from the travelling public. The beauty and grandeur of the country and the simple habits of the people were known to but few, and only heard of occasionally from some energetic salmon fisher who preferred outdoor life, good sport, plain food, and vigorous health to the constant whirl of advanced civilisation, busy cities, over-crowded soirées, high-pressure dinners, and the general hurry-skurry of modern life. The words “Gamle Norge,” or old Norway, while exciting the greatest enthusiasm in Norway itself, rejoice the heart not only of many an Englishman who has become practically acquainted with its charms, but of those who, having heard of them, long to go and judge for themselves. Nor is the expression of modern introduction; it was evidently well known in the sixteenth century, as our immortal bard alludes to it in Hamlet.

Forty-five years ago Norway and its salmon fisheries were unknown luxuries. Even as late as 1839 Murray published a post-octavo Handbook for Travellers in Denmark, Norway, and Sweden, in the preface to which occur the subjoined passages:—

“The principal object of the following pages is to afford such of my travelling countrymen as are disposed to quit the more beaten paths of Southern Europe, and explore the less known, but equally romantic, regions of the north, some useful information as to time and distance, which at present they can only obtain by time and experience. Beyond Hamburg all is unknown land; no guide-book contains any account of the Baltic steamboats, still less of the means of travelling, either by land or water, in the more distant lands of Norway and Sweden. At the steam-packet offices in London you may learn that an English steamer sails three times a month from Lubec to Stockholm, but no further information can be obtained.

•••••

“Unless the weather is unusually stormy, and the passage of the vessel has consequently been delayed, the steamer remains in the outer harbour, called Klippen, for four or five hours; enabling the passengers who are going straight to Norway to inspect the city, which is well worth seeing. A miniature steamboat, the smallest I have ever seen, conveys you from the quay, at which the larger vessel remains moored, up the long harbour to the town itself, the journey occupying about half-an-hour. In the afternoon the Constitution continues her voyage, stretching much further out to sea, in crossing the Skager Rack, until, at an early hour the next morning, you reach Frederiksværn, the principal arsenal of Norway, situated at the entrance of the winding fjord of Christiania. From this place a smaller coasting steamboat conveys the passengers to Christiania, touching, in its passage up the Christiania fjord, at the various small towns and villages on either shore.

•••••

“Steam vessels have for the last two or three years plied between Christiania and Frederiksværn and Bergen, but their times of leaving have hitherto been very irregular; beyond Bergen I am not aware that any regular communication has hitherto been projected.

•••••

“No traveller has any business to intrude among the mountain fastnesses of Norway, unless he can not only endure a fair proportion of bodily fatigue, but can likewise put up with accommodations of the coarsest description. As far as Christiania this, of course, does not apply: the transport thither is by a comfortable steamboat, and the Hôtel du Nord sufficiently good to satisfy any man; but when you attempt to penetrate into the bowels of the land the case is different.

•••••

“The Norsemen are strict Lutherans; scarcely an individual is to be met with professing any other creed, and no place of worship of any other kind exists in Norway. No Jew is allowed to set foot in Norway—a strange law in this free country. It has often struck me as a curious anomaly, that in the free cities of the Continent these unhappy outcasts were far worse treated than under many despotic governments. Commercial jealousy in a great measure accounts for this enmity in a city of merchants, but in a poor and thinly-populated country like Norway this motive could have no weight. I have been unable to learn from what cause the exclusion originated, though it is said to have originated from some idle fear that they would possess themselves of the produce of the silver mines at Kongsberg; but it is certainly a most startling fact that the freest people on earth should cling with such watchful jealousy to one of the most illiberal and inhuman laws that can be conceived.”

Soon after this our real sport-lovers began to discover the charms of Norway, Sir Hyde Parker, Sir Richard Sutton, and Lionel James leading the van; and within the space of forty years the transition has taken place from free fishing and shooting to the Scotch system of letting moors—a state of things that would astonish Forrester and Biddulph, whose work on Norway has now become historical and of the greatest interest. Forrester begins thus (a.d. 1834):—“Eight days in the North Sea, beating against foul winds, or, which was still worse, becalmed amongst fleets of Dutch fishing-boats, and ending in a regular gale of wind, which was worst of all, prepared us to hail the sight of land, and that of the coast of Norway.” This passage was made in a little Norwegian schooner, bound from Gravesend to the south of Norway.

How different is it now! Thanks to Messrs. Wilson, steamers take us thither almost to the hour, unless, indeed, the clerk of the weather should connive with old Neptune to teach us a lesson, by reminding us that the elements are not yet to be ordered about entirely as we like. English visitors commenced about 1824; Lord Lothian, Lord Clanwilliam, and Lord H. Kerr, 1827; Marquis of Hastings, 1829; and in 1830 we have Elliott’s account of Norway. Those were early days, when the bönder were astonished, and could hardly believe their own eyes, when Englishmen went down with a piece of thread and a kind of coach-whip to kill a salmon of thirty pounds; or, again, when the first flying shot opened a new world to them. Those were the times when members of the Storthing (or Parliament) appeared in the costume of their own district, with belts, tolle-knives, &c. They were not so eager to grasp at civilisation as the Japanese, who simultaneously took to elastic boots, tall black hats, and the English language within a year. No; they are a contented people, with no desire for change, or to have it thrust upon them, until they discover that they can make money of the delighted foreigner, who, elevated by the grandeur of the mountain scenery, grows more warm-hearted, kind, and generous than ever. Then the Norseman becomes rabid and exacting; but the provinces (thank Heaven!) still preserve their primitive simplicity.

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

Christiansand.

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

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

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

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

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

The Courtyard, Victoria Hotel, Christiania.

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

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

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

Christiania.

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

A Timber Shoot.

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

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

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

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

INGRIDS VISE.

RENDYR CHORUS.

Music by H. Kjerulf.

Words by Bjørnson.

Og Ræ-ven laa under Birke-rod bortved Lyn-get, bortved

Lyn-get, og Haren hoppede paa lette Fod o-ver Lyn-get, o-ver Lyn-get. “Det

er vel no-get til Sol-skins dag! det glitt-rer for og det

glitt-rer bag over Lyn-get, over Lyn-get!”

[Listen]