Your pulses are quickened to gipsy pitch; you are ready to make love and war, to heal and slay, to wander to the world’s end, to be outlawed and hunted down, to dare and do any thing for the sake of the sweet, untramelled life of the tent, the bright blue sky, the mountain air, the free savagedom, the joyous dance, the passionate friendship, the fiery love.

Matilda Betham Edwards’s Through Spain.

THE WASPS’ NEST—LOM—KIND FRIENDS—SONGS OF BJÖRNSEN—THE PRŒSTEN’S MINISTRATION—THE REPULSED STUDENT—BEAUTIFUL VALLEY—THE TWO ARTISTS—THE BŒVER ELVEN—RÖDSHEIM—THE RAVINE—THE LOST STARDY—ASCENT OF GALDHÖPIGGEN—THE HIGHEST MOUNTAIN IN NORWAY—THE NIGHT ASCENT—THE DOME OF SNOW—THE SUNRISE.

Zachariah, the Mephistopheles of our party, desiring probably to afford more varied incident for our “impressions de voyage” declared war upon a wasps’ nest.

Although warned, but too late, he took a hasty shot with a stone at the nest, artistically constructed, on a bough, hanging on the road side.

What business had we to quarrel with these paper makers, who knew their art long before man had emerged from his pre-historic condition? why needlessly destroy their curious homestead? but the stone had gone upon its mission.

Zachariah soon became acquainted with the “lex talionis” of the invaded colony; strange to say, the wasps directed their attack only on himself. He was singled out as the aggressor, and a sharp sudden sting, under one eye, entirely ruined his personal appearance for the morning.

We arrived at Lom about mid-day. Ole went in advance to see the Proesten Halling. As we approached a large open expanse of meadow land, open to the junction of roads, from Skeaker, Vaage and RÖdsheim we saw the church, which picturesquely stands near the lake.87 Near it, the charming manse of the Proesten Halling. A large wooden structure near the road, we were told, had been used formerly as a granary to store the grain, paid as tithe, to the clergyman of the parish. This payment is now, we believe, made in money. As we looked upon the church and parsonage, surrounded as they were, by the meadow park, with the broad silver lake near, the rising mountains on all sides, and the clear blue sky above, our senses seemed entranced with the passing beauty of the scene; it was one of those chance glimpses of perfect nature, which cast their anchor deep in memory, and leave a lasting impression of bygone days.

That the Proesten was in harmony with so much that was pleasing, we did not doubt, and when he came to meet us accompanied by our guide, he warmly welcomed our gipsy party; he would have us enter beneath his roof, and accept his kindly hospitality; we did not value the proffered hospitality the less, though we did not accept it. Ours was a life of travel in the fresh air of heaven; air that myriads are dying for every day. It is as essential to man as water is to fish. The delightful shade of some trees near the road, a short distance from the parsonage, tempted us; there we halted, and there, reluctantly, the Proesten allowed us to remain. After strolling with him for a short time along the pleasant walks of his grounds, he left us to take our mid-day meal; we enjoyed it in our own gipsy fashion; our meal consisted of fried bacon, fladbrÖd and tea. Ole obtained our letters and newspapers from the Loms Postaabneri. We had telegraphed our correspondence from Kongsberg; the packet was large, and cost us three dollars and forty-four skillings. Our newspapers which had been sent to Bergen, we left to their fate; the “Illustrated London News” seemed to please the Proesten Halling, and his family. When our mid-day meal was concluded, Proesten Halling, Mrs. Halling, three young ladies, her sisters, a brother, and two gentlemen staying with Mr. Halling, came to see us; They were much interested with our gipsies; Zachariah’s swollen face had unfortunately marred his beauty, Noah had unfortunately taken some offence at his sister Esmeralda. Noah’s temper was to blame; occasionally an interchange of Romany and English terms flashed between them.

We had wished our gipsies to appear to the best advantage. One with a swollen eye and two at cross purposes had a jarring effect on our nervous system, nevertheless, our visitors seemed interested with them. We trust they made allowance for the wildness of their nature. We can assure them, Zachariah had not always a swollen eye, and Noah was rarely out of temper; even our hobbenengree had her moments of sudden sunshine, delightful after previous storms, and the fitful passions of her gipsy soul. All was harmony after we had commenced our music—guitar, violin, and tambourine. We sang for our visitors the gipsy song, and gave the Proesten Halling a copy of it, as a parting souvenir; the ladies, and some of the gentlemen, sang several Norwegian melodies for us. They had good voices; “over the high fjeld” was a beautiful song, and seemed appropriate to our parting. Some charming Norwegian songs are written by BjÖrnsen. Very pleasantly passed our mid-day halt, with the Proesten Halling and his family. Wide spread, we afterwards found, was the fame of the Proesten Halling88 for his kindly heart, his true christian feeling, and invariable hospitality to travellers. Speaking English perfectly, we were told he had officially, much and active ministration, among the English navvies employed, during the construction of the Railway from Christiania.

Our donkeys were again loaded. The Puru Rawnee had a chafed back, but by careful folding of our tent-cover, we prevented pressure upon it; sore backs are always difficult to prevent in crossing a mountainous country. We had reached Lom about twelve o’clock, and left about four. Our gipsies were ready; we bade all farewell, perhaps never to meet again, but not the less to be held in our pleasing remembrance.

The evening was very warm; indeed, as we slowly followed the road up the “Boeverdal Elv,” we found it exceedingly hot. It is about nine miles distance from Lom to RÖdsheim; comfortable homesteads met our view as we passed along. The usual excitement to see our donkeys was here and there met with. It is said there are four hundred farms in the parish of Lom, and every tenth man had lately emigrated, but no inconvenience had been felt by the diminution of population.

Not far along the road, we met a young Norwegian student en route towards Lom. Ole conversed with him. He was dressed in light tourist costume, and high lace-up boots, and had attempted alone the ascent of the GaldhÖpiggen. The student had failed, and was returning with all the weight of disappointed ambition upon his mind. Ole had predicted the failure. Well we remembered our similar fate in former years, when we ourselves, and several fellow-tourists, headed by the celebrated mountaineer, poor Hudson, returned from an attempted ascent of Mont Blanc. Tired, wayworn, torn, and jaded, and, worse, disappointed, we reached the picturesque Hotel Mont Joli at Saint Gervais only to try again with better success.

Ole, anxious to reach RÖdsheim as soon as possible, went on in advance. We saw him again, when he had reached his father’s farm near the road side. Ole and his father were just going to start for RÖdsheim in a stolkjoerre. His services were unnecessary as guide to RÖdsheim. It was useless for Ole to remain with us. They wished us much to go with them in the stolkjoerre, and leave our gipsies and donkeys to follow after.

Ole’s father was a fine, hale, strong old man, and his wife a comely stout woman. We preferred to remain with our gipsies and baggage, feeling a sort of independence of all kinds of lifts. Possessing good health and spirits, we felt no fatigue from our daily exertion. Exposure to the fresh air seemed to give us an enduring strength quite beyond the requirement of stimulant or the necessity for artificial locomotion.

It was now determined to push on after Ole RÖdsheim as rapidly as we could. Zachariah was mounted on the top of the baggage on the Pure Rye. Noah took the lead on foot in care of the Puru Rawnee and Puro Rye. Esmeralda, who, was tired, we mounted on the baggage of her Merle, the Tarno Rye, and brought up the rear. The road was tolerably level and we proceeded along at a sharp pace. Every turn of the valley brought us in view of fresh scenes to admire.

Passing a wicket on the road side, we caught sight of two young artists in the garden of a small cottage. Their canvas was upon an easel. One was then painting a scene from nature. They were apparently taking a bend of the valley down which the glacier-coloured waters of Boever Elv89 dashed its wild course. The maisonette was so homely, the point of View so picturesque, we could not help pausing. Quickly calling a halt we exchanged salutations with them. They were both very good looking young fellows. The one, we were informed afterwards, was considered the handsomest man in Norway. He was certainly exceedingly handsome, though a trifle too effeminate for a man; yet there was much to admire in the form and expression of the countenance. They accepted an offer of some aquavit to drink “gamle norge.” Our flask was brought into requisition. Somehow the brandy seemed rather muddy, both in flask and bottle newly opened. Noah accounted for it by saying that when the old man at Veblungsnoes sold it to him, the brandy was nearly out of the cask, which had to be lifted up, before he could fill the bottles. A passing suspicion crossed our mind that it may have been caused by the addition of water, but still we did not like to suspect any one of our party. Be that as it may, the artists both quaffed off a small tumbler each without even winking their eyes. With a hasty farewell, we continued our road, pushing on at a rapid pace.

As evening fell, and we gradually lost the heat of the sun, there was a refreshing coolness in Boeverdalen. On our right the lofty heights of the Lomseggen Fjeld, extending from Lom, rose above us; on our left the Boever Elv was ever near the road,—at times wide, broad, and broken into many rough and shallow rapids. Our party was not out of place in such picturesque scenes. The two leading merles, loaded with various baggage, tent raniers, and camp appliances, including Zachariah, the Mephistopheles of our party, mounted on one, were followed by the tall, lank, muscular form of Noah. He combined the appearance of the smuggler, brigand, the chamois hunter, and gipsy. Noah was the beau ideal of the “genus homo,” as we see them depicted according to the conventional rules of art. At a short distance behind, as a sort of rear guard, Esmeralda was mounted on the miscellaneous baggage of the Tarno Rye, with ourselves near. How lively and happy the hobbenengree seemed! Bronzed by exposure to the hot Norwegian suns, hardened by rough spare diet and continued travel through all weathers, ours was indeed a life of health, freedom, and pleasure.

About eight o’clock we came in sight of RÖdsheim. It is a substantial wooden house, with capacious out-buildings, near an excellent mountain road. The house stands at the foot of a rocky hill at the head of an ascent where the valley becomes narrow. On the other side the road, close to the house, the Boever Elv dashes through a deep cleft of narrow gorge in the rocks. There is no fishing in the glacier water of the river. The house at RÖdsheim was very clean and well ventilated. Ole well knew the English penchant, especially of the mountain tourist. The comfortable guest chamber of his house had always its open window, with pleasant View down the valley.

Ole RÖdsheim90 was ready to receive us. He pointed out a convenient camping ground a short distance beyond the house, just below the road, close upon the edge of the precipice of the ravine. It suited us exactly. Ole knew it. He had not been camping with us some days without knowing the foibles of our heart.

“There’s the spot for the Herre.”

Ole was quite right; and the roaring waters of Boeverdal Elv in the stillness of that night hushed our party to sleep. Our tents were quickly pitched by our gipsies. The pige from the house brought us firewood. We had eggs, bread and butter, and tea, for our evening’s meal. Ole RÖdsheim brought out a bottle of his home-brewed beer. We had one glass each, for we shared everything with our party. It was excellent beer. Then we went to the house, and made acquaintance with Mrs. RÖdsheim, a quiet, pale, industrious helpmate. She appeared an excellent housewife. After a chat with Ole, we returned to our camp. Our music enlivened the quiet valley before we retired to rest.

Mephistopheles was in sad tribulation. May it be recorded, that the evening before, the hat from Christy’s of London, purchased in Norway, which had cost us one dollar, was blown into the ravine, and had disappeared. It was an occurrence which could not long be concealed. The hat must be produced some time, or accounted for. We certainly were annoyed when he confessed the fact. Something was said about the owner going to Christiania without one. Ultimately the Rye relented. Ole RÖdsheim lent Zachariah a cloth military-looking cap, which was afterwards purchased second-hand for less than half the price of the hat lost.

Sunday morning at RÖdsheim. We were up in good time. How we enjoyed our breakfast in the rocks at the edge of the deep ravine. The day was very hot. It was the last day of July. Most of the peasants would be actively engaged next month in their harvests. Ole came occasionally to see that we had everything we wished. Once Ole said, in a melancholy tone, he wished to speak with me aside. We went with him away from the tents, and he placed in our hands a blacked-edged letter, saying it might contain bad news, and we might wish to be alone when we received it. Fortunately, the emblem of mourning referred to past events already known. Yet we did not think the less of Ole’s kind thought. Some peasants came to see our camp and the donkeys. All was quietude and peace at RÖdsheim.

One of the points to be attained in our line of travel, was the ascent of the highest mountain in Norway, the GaldhÖpiggen, or pike of GaldhÖ. Who GaldhÖ was we could not ascertain.91 Although we were unsuccessful in obtaining the origin of the name, we determined, if possible, to make the ascent of this mountain.

It was arranged that we should start at nine o’clock at night, Ole, ourself, and Noah, for the expedition. Esmeralda and Zachariah to be left in care of the tents.

At mid-day we had ham, eggs, and potatoes for dinner, close to our camp. On the edge of the ravine stood a small log-hut used as a blacksmith’s shop. Since our kettle prop had been lost, we had substituted two Alpine stocks with a wire between them for boiling our water for tea. It was a clumsy substitute, which necessity imposed upon us. Ole now arranged that a blacksmith should make us another prop before we left RÖdsheim.

At nine o’clock Ole was ready, and ourself and Noah were each armed with an Alpine stock. Each took a small supply of bread and goat’s cheese. Making our adieu to Esmeralda and Zachariah, we were soon en route up the valley.

We had not proceeded far when a farm servant from RÖdsheim overtook us, and said that two English gentlemen required Ole’s presence as guide. They were certainly unfortunate; the expedition had commenced, and Ole sent back a message of excuse.

Ole soon afterwards left the main road. Entering a thick wood to our left in Indian file, we ascended a steep winding foot path, until an open plateau was reached. Very shortly afterwards we reached the “RÖdberg Soeter.” Ole knocked at the door, and obtained a rope from the woman. It was exactly half-past ten o’clock. Walking over some undulating turf ground we soon afterwards commenced another steep ascent. The slope was covered with loose stones, scattered on all sides. It was quite dusk, and deliciously cool after the heat of the day. At half-past eleven Ole called a halt, and we had a slight repast of bread and cheese and cold tea.

Again we were en route, still walking in Indian file, and soon reached another long narrow plateau. Over loose rocks, in the dim light, we picked our way as we could for some distance. The DÖgurdsmaals Kampen, a steep sharp mountain, rose above us. We at length skirted the glacier lake of the Gjuvbroeen. In this lake we were told by Ole, the Herre Watson, the tourist of tourists, once bathed. Ole evidently considered our countryman one of the best mountaineers he had seen. It must have been a cold plunge; but what is there that an Englishman will not undertake? If we had passed it at mid-day the example may have been followed.

The long reach of stones, whose angular points made it necessary to keep a sharp look-out at every step, were at last exchanged for a gentle slope of tolerably hard level snow. It was a great relief, after the rough pathway of stones just left. A false step on such an irregular causeway involves a broken leg, a grazed shin, or at least a sprained ankle.

At last we reached the edge of a broad but at this point tolerably level glacier, across which we could in the dimness of the night see the dome of the GaldhÖpiggen rising beyond. Its summit, a dome of hard frozen snow, rests against a precipice of rocks, above which it rises some feet. From the small nearly flat space, which forms the head of the GaldhÖpiggen, the frozen snow immediately slopes off at an angle of from 40 to 50 degrees, and joins the glaciers in the far distance below. It was a wild and desolate scene, as we sat on some broken rocks. Another precipice rose to our right, as if to test supremacy with the GaldhÖpiggen in this region of eternal snow. After some slight refreshment we roped ourselves together. No great difficulty presented itself as we crossed the glacier to the rocks which formed an arrÊte to the snow dome of the GaldhÖpiggen. Once or twice Noah sank up to his middle, but the crevasses were narrow and easily crossed. Very easy work to one who had crossed the Glacier des Bossons.

Then commenced the ascent of the steep arrÊte of rocks, but even these presented no great difficulty to a fair average mountaineer. Then came a rise of frozen snow at the junction of the dome with the rocks. There was an awkward crevasse to cross. Ole carefully tested the snow, and it was soon overcome. We were now on the frozen slope of the snow dome. On this, as we had no nails in our thick fishing-boots, with the utmost difficulty we could keep our legs. With the aid of our Alpine stock the summit was at length reached at five minutes past four o’clock. This is the highest mountain in Norway, 8300 feet above sea level. When we were on the rocks of the arrÊte we saw a glorious sunrise over the LauvhÖen Fjeld. The morning light enabled us to see a vast wilderness of dark rocky peaks rising from a setting of eternal snow. No sign of human habitation, no signs of animal life—silence reigned around us. Reindeer’s bones were lying on the rocks near the dome.