“For the dance, no music can be better than that of a gipsy band; there is a life and animation in it which carries you away. If you have danced to it yourself, especially in a czardas, then to hear the stirring tones without involuntarily springing up, is, I assert, an absolute impossibility.”64

Boner’s Transylvania.

THE INVALID—RESTIVE DONKEYS—FIVA—AAK—VEBLUNGSNŒS—THE NORWEGIAN FARMER—THE GRASSY KNOLL—A NORWEGIAN TOWN—THE FJORD’S SHORE—THE VEBLUNGSNŒS’ BATHS—HERR SOLBERG—HOMME GALANT—MUSICAL CONVERSAZIONE—GIPSY MUSIC.

Supremely happy in our wandering existence, we contrasted, in our semi-consciousness of mind, our absence from a thousand anxious cares, which crowd upon the social position, of those who take active part, in an overwrought state of extreme civilization. How long we should have continued our half-dormant reflections, which might have added a few more notes upon the philosophy of life, we know not, but we were roused by the rumble of a stolkjÆrre along the road; it was quite time we moved on towards Veblungsnoes, and the gipsies began to get our things together. The stolkjÆrre stopped. A tall pale invalid man descended; he struggled through the bushes to where we were, though the exertion evidently cost him much, but he conquered; he came, and he saw the donkeys. A faint smile lighted up a countenance, expressive in its deep-lined features, of a once firm and determined will, but now marked with the last stage of consumption. Enveloped and wrapped up in dark clothes, wearing gloves, long boots nearly to his knees, although in the height of summer, he surveyed with a quiet smile our donkeys, ourselves, our gipsies, and our baggage. He had a female with him whose countenance was the exact expression of anxious care, and a young man who seemed astonished at the weight of the baggage. What was to be done to show our hospitality. Lucky thought; out came the quinine, a small tumbler filled with water, and the white powder was mixed in it; we intimated that it might be of benefit. Poor fellow! he wanted a strength-giving potent draught; it could do him no harm, it might do him some good. Taking a sip ourselves, and handing it to him, he drank it every spot. How did he know that, like Rip Van Winkle, he might not have fallen in with another Hudson and his band, and would sleep for twenty years beneath the shadow of the Magician’s peaks. The tall, careworn-looking man handed me back the glass, and seemed much pleased. We gave him the tin cannister which had contained our potted tongue, with all the wonderful hieroglyphics generally scrolled outside: it was a parting souvenir of the nomads. Just as he had turned to go, the tarno-rye made a dash through the bushes, with Zachariah and Esmeralda dragging, fighting and struggling with him; crash, crash went the bushes close by us; the invalid was nearly frightened out of his boots. What did he know about these animals, and what habits of ferocity they might possess? The contention was fierce between the tarno-rye and our gipsies, until he was brought to the baggage for loading. The invalid struggled, with unsteady gait, through the bushes, and, with the aid of his female attendant, ascended with difficulty into his stolkjÆrre, which was immediately driven away. He escaped the fate of Rip Van Winkle; may the draught he took under the Magician’s peaks give him health for twenty years. Some young woodcutters, with axes in their hands, came up as we were starting; they accompanied us along the road. On our left across the Rauma, we noticed a large pleasant residence called “Fiva.” The woodcutters said it was the property and residence of Mr. Bromley Davenport and a Mr. Ingram. They must have a splendid view from the house toward the Romsdalshorn; we were informed that three farms had been purchased by the owner along the banks of the Rauma, which made the fishing very complete. The salmon in the Rauma do not ascend above Ormein. The situation of “Fiva” is admirable; the various bends and windings of the river round the estate are full of rapids and pools, that would have delighted the English father of all anglers, Isaac Walton.

The valley now became more fertile. We passed through pleasant grassy meads. Our woodcutters went to some houses on the roadside. We met several stolkjÆrrers, whose horses were rather shy in passing our donkeys. The peasants manifested the same curiosity about them. Now the valley assumed a more smiling aspect, and we came in sight of Aak “Lehnsmoend,” Andreas Landmark’s House. The Hotel Aak is seven miles from Horgheim, and three from Veblungsnoes. As we saw the comfortable wooden house standing on a rise of ground above the road, with a diversity of green slopes and shady woods about it, we knew it to be the spot mentioned by Lady Diana Beauclerk in such high terms of commendation. In contrast with the wild valleys we had left, it seemed a sort of oasis in the desert.

When we passed Aak, some ladies who saw our party ran down from the house to see us; but a turn of the road soon hid us from them. Crossing two bridges, and passing a large comfortable house, we ascended the steep hill to a rise of ground above Veblungsnoes. Then passing through a gate upon the road, we saw a quiet lane through some waste ground covered with bushes, where we told Esmeralda and Zachariah to stay with the donkeys. Taking Noah, we went to reconnoitre for a camping ground. Very soon we came to the edge of the descent to Veblungsnoes. Pausing a moment to look at the wooden church and town below, we went to the left, across a large space of open ground used as a drill-ground for the Militia; and, after looking at a large wooden building erected for military stores, we went down a lane to a gate, through which we saw several men and women raking up new-mown hay. This quiet spot formed a sort of knoll, above a small dingle, at the back of the bondegaard.

A green slope, and wooded mountain, rose abruptly from the other side of the stream. This seemed a haven of rest, as Veblungsnoes was to be our farthest point of travel north, our Ultima Thule. At once we entered, and going up to the farmer’s son, as we rightly took him to be, we proposed to come there and camp. Very much astonished he seemed. When he recovered his breath, he said something about his father, and went with us towards the bondegaard. The farmer’s house was of the better class, and substantially built of wood. We entered a kind of family room, where the master and his wife were seated at table, taking milk, and raw dried salmon cut in slices on their fladbrÖd. The bonde was dressed in dark clothes, being upwards of sixty; of respectable appearance, weather-worn countenance, with sharp angular features, at once expressive of shrewdness and cupidity. In social relations of life, he was a very respectable man. Of generosity he had none in his composition—one who would drive a hard bargain to the uttermost farthing.

The farmer came with us to the gate in a sort of bewildered state. It was a fine scene as he came along with his son and a retinue of peasants and peasant girls holding rakes in their hands. Then there was the consultation at the gate opening to the junction of two deserted lanes. Our imperfect Norsk was aided by signs; but we plunged through, with Noah standing as a sort of aide-de-camp waiting for orders.

A consideration was mentioned. “Ah! a consideration! money penge! ha, money penge! The silver key!” The donkeys must be seen. Noah soon had them down with his peculiar whistle. The old man’s eyes twinkled as he surveyed them. A consideration! we saw crossing his mind, as the hero in Hans Breitman’s ballad, “He stood all shpell-pound.” The donkeys were driven up to the knoll, and our things were unloaded down.

“Well,” thought we, “if we have to pay, we shall have strict privacy—private ground!”

The hay was cleared off the knoll, the tents pitched; the donkeys were put up in the wood above the mown slope, on to the other side the dingle. Esmeralda said an officer, whom she designated as the Commandant of Veblungsnoes, had passed them near the gate, and was a very pleasant gentleman, who lived in the large house we had passed near the bridges.

Eggs and bread could not be purchased at the farm. Some visitors came to our tents after tea; amongst others, Mr. L., of the telegraph office, who said he should be glad to give us any assistance. Our visitors did not stay late, and we retired to rest at an early hour.

It is Friday, the 22nd July. The morning being wet, we did not rise very early. Taking Noah and Zachariah, we left our camp for Veblungsnoes, at about three o’clock in the afternoon. Passing from the bondegaard, across some open arable fields, to an avenue of trees, we entered under its shade into a small wooden town. Passing up the main street, we soon found ourselves in a kind of conglomeration of houses, with short lanes having no continuance. One open space represented a kind of square. Alleys, at occasional angles, debouched to the waters of the Isfjord, which partly surrounds the town. Veblungsnoes is the port of Romsdal. Though we could not account for it, we were at once interested in the place. There was a charm about its silent quaintness which made us linger with pleasure.

The telegraph office was closed till four o’clock. Veblungsnoes evidently was buried in its siesta. The siesta, or kief, in mid-day is claimed by the inhabitants of many northern countries. The tradesmen would be quite offended if you went to their shops in their mid-day hours of refreshment and repose. How different from the American style of one, two, gulp, and gone! No busy scenes or people met our view. The extreme quietude of the town seemed to communicate itself, and exercise its influence on the spirit. At times we imagined we were in a large ship or timber-yard, when the workmen had all gone to dinner. Strolling down a short alley, we were at once on the strand of the Isfjord. Walking along the water’s edge, we could not help admiring the beauty of the evening scene. No one was visible. One small fishing-boat, partly drawn up on the beach, was just ready for a cruise. Nets, everything—even the dried fish, probably the store of provisions for the fishermen till their return—were placed in order. Some curious-looking fish, probably rejected as unsaleable, were lying on the shingle. One had green eyes, with its mouth in its throat; two or three mouse-coloured fish, equally singular and repulsive, were thrown near. It is strange what deformity occurs in the fish creation. It is said that in a lake in Wales the fish are all deformed. We have not yet verified the fact. Returning to the telegraph office, we saw Mr. L. All that he could do to render our stay agreeable he did. Our future route was discussed, and it seemed quite clear that it would be impossible to reach Christiansand before the end of the summer season. The idea that our party might take baths next occurred to us; not that we expected to find anything approaching the accommodation or luxury of ancient Rome. Baths, containing hundreds of seats of marble, adorned with splendid frescoes, and whose fittings were of alabaster, porphyry, and jasper, where every luxury was found that human thought could devise.65 What the baths of Veblungsnoes would have been we know not; but they had only one, the spreading waters of the Fjord, before us. The post-office was in the main street, and kept by polite and kindly people. The postage of each letter to England cost twelve skillings, and those to France fifteen skillings.

We sent a telegram to the Chevalier to announce our safe arrival; another to Kongsberg, for our letters to be sent to Lom. It was also mentioned to us that Herr Solberg, of Molde, wished very much to take photographs of our donkeys and camp, if we would kindly consent. We were even offered some copies without charge, as an inducement. The news of the day was also important; for the first time we learned that France and Prussia had declared war, and England would be neutral. Before we left we purchased a large quantity of bread, which Noah took into his possession. Leaving the quiet little town, we at length approached our tents, where we found two Norwegian officers seated in cheerful mood talking to Esmeralda at the tent entrance.

They were gayety itself as they reclined on the green turf. One officer, who seemed about sixty, had all the manners of the “homme galant,” and spoke some English. When they saw me they at once rose, saluted, and left. Esmeralda said the older officer, who spoke some English, was very polite, and said to her, “How do you manage with four men?” To which she answered, “I have only three men.” Then the officer said, “Who do you talk to most—I suppose your beloved Mr. Smith?” Esmeralda said she did not talk to anyone. The officer then wanted to purchase a lock of her hair; but she would not let him have any. We cannot venture to dwell on his feelings of cruel disappointment.

We were much pressed by the people of the farm to give them some music in a large room, probably used as a granary. We went to see it first. The room was large and lofty on the ground-floor. We consented to play for them at nine o’clock. The farmer himself we saw very seldom, and it is scarcely probable that he originated the idea.

An English gentleman staying at Aak, who had been to the telegraph office, came to our camp, and sat down in our tents. From his intimate knowledge of Norway, he was able to give us considerable information. It was very fortunate. We presented him with a copy of our gipsy song, before he left, as a souvenir of our camp.

At nine o’clock, chairs having been placed for us, we took our seats and commenced playing, ourself the guitar, Noah the tambourine, and Zachariah his violin. We had a large party—unexpectedly so, some of the officers and their wives, and many of the principal inhabitants of Veblungsnoes; and we had not anticipated more persons than the people of the bondegaard. Esmeralda was left in charge of the tents; but our visitors had so much delicacy that directly we left the tent no one went near it. What a scene! The room was suddenly filled with dancers and visitors. One tall young officer, a fine young fellow, was especially active. We had a favourite polka for them, which we afterwards christened “Veblungsnoes.” Zachariah put all his gipsy nerve and feeling into his music. Nay, our Romany Boshamengro, almost rivalled, if he did not surpass, Barna Mihali, the celebrated gipsy Violinist of Hungary.66 Even Orpheus might have bit his lips; but he was not there. All that wild gipsy inspiration could do, was done—tones that produced a whirl of sensation. Noah did his part stoutly on the tambourine. We made the acquaintance of several very pleasant officers and others—one or two we had met in our wanderings. They seemed like old friends.

Then Esmeralda came and played, in place of Noah, with her tambourine. Between the dances we conversed as well as we could with the officers and other visitors. Mr. L. was also there. The Norwegian officers have much military smartness about them. Many of them can speak French or English, and sometimes both. We always found them gentlemen. The Militia officers receive regular pay all the year; their men are only paid whilst on duty. The Militia men we saw, were fine strong young men, capable of any amount of endurance. Such was our introduction to the inhabitants of Veblungsnoes. We saw almost as much of them, as if we had made a series of visits to their houses. At the same time we had escaped the inconvenience of too much hospitality, and still more, of being obliged to sit in close warm rooms, which, to one accustomed to the natural saloons of the wild forest, is at any time a very severe penance. In the clear light of a Norwegian evening, the younger people danced to the strains of our wild music; others looked on, and conversed; all seemed to enjoy themselves. Ten o’clock came: our music ceased. Specially requested, as we left, we seated ourselves on a slope of turf near our tents, and sang, “The Gipsy Song,” with guitar accompaniment. They seemed pleased. With many adieux, they left. So ended what may be termed our gipsy conversazione at Veblungsnoes.