Hubert Smith

The guitar is part and parcel of the Spaniard and his ballads; he slings it across his shoulder with a ribbon, as was depicted on the tombs of Egypt four thousand years ago. The performers seldom are very scientific musicians; they content themselves with striking the chords, sweeping the whole hand over the strings, or flourishing, and tapping the board with the thumb, at which they are very expert.

Ford’s Spain.

LAKE TYEN—THE TOURIST CLUB CHÂLET—LORTWICK SŒTER—LAKE DRIFTWOOD—A COLD MORNING—A CHEAP MEAL—THUNDER IN THE AIR—SUNSHINE AGAIN—THE SEPARATION—THE GALLANT OLE FAREWELL—TO CHRISTIANA—ENERGY ALWAYS—PUSH ON—THE BERGEN ROAD—THE VIOLINIST—ONE DOLLAR MORE—PICTURESQUE SCENE.

Eisbod, on Lake Bygdin, had been left at one o’clock. The Lake Tyen was soon reached. The Lake Bygdin is said to be 17½ English miles long, Lake Tyen about 12 miles. The evening was beautiful when we reached Lake Tyen. Our route lay along its left shore nearly the whole length of the lake.

After we had journeyed some short distance, following the narrow footpath or rough track, we reached Tvindehougen.

This is also a wooden chÂlet, on a rise of ground above the lake, erected, we were told, at the cost of the “Norwegian Tourist Club” for their accommodation in summer. The cost, we were told, was 100 dollars, equivalent to about 20l. The sketch of the chÂlet we then made is given below, with a view of the lake, and the Koldedalstinderne (peaks of the cold valley).110

NORWEGIAN TOURIST CLUB CHÂLET.

Ole shouted to some fishermen at “Fiskebod,” on the other side of the lake. It was expected they would bring some fish. One man came in his boat after we had waited quite a quarter of an hour. Ole was disappointed to find he had brought no fish. It occurred to us we should have to pay him after calling him over: a glass of aquavitÆ settled matters to his satisfaction. There were two men at the “Tourists’ ChÂlet.” One was a tall thin fellow, draped in leather, and nothing else—coat, breeches, stockings, and a sort of skin shoe. The chÂlet consists of two rooms, with superior kind of “bunks,” or bedsteads, but no fittings of any kind. The windows are too low to obtain a pleasant view of the lake when standing up, and are not adapted for ventilation. Travellers staying at the chÂlet must take everything with them, including bedding, &c. There is a stove in one room. We must, of course, consider that this chÂlet of the Norwegian club, is only intended for summer residence. Travellers who avail themselves of its accommodation, must be mountaineers. It is a shelter from the storm, wind, and night-air, and is not intended for anything more. The evening was warm and sultry; at the same time we enjoyed the summer’s sun, as we made our way, as best we could, along the narrow broken track.

Except ourself, all the party were very thirsty; even Ole, seldom troubled with thirst, made frequent visits to the clear rippling mountain streams, which often crossed our path.

At evening close, we reached a green, pleasant slope, below a rising bank, covered with juniper bushes, and very near a shingly beach on the lake.

We were within five or ten minutes of the time, Ole predicted we should reach the soeter of Lortwick. The name, Ole said, meant dirty. Not from the state of the soeter, but from the prevailing bad weather of that part of the lake. If we could judge from the outside of the soeter, it might also have suited the name.

At first the gipsies did not see any dry fire-wood. “Go to the shingly beach,” said we, “you will find plenty.” There is always some rough wood, drifted up by high winds on every beach. They found plenty, and we had a good fire.

What is that we hear, as Noah is putting up the tents? Esmeralda’s voice to her brother Zachariah, in severe reproof—“Push it on, Highflyer.—What, pushing the prop the wrong way. Oh, Lucas! Lucas! you were always a mumper!”

We had tea, fladbrÖd, and butter, for our aftens-mad, Ole afterwards went to the soeter, and had their iron pot cleaned out for grÖd in the morning.

Noah produced a meerschaum pipe, and began to smoke. What camp rules—smoking! Noah was, upon explanation, found to have picked it up at a spring, and said he was only drawing out the contents of the tobacco in it, to empty it. He very soon put it up. After reflection—Why are thoughtless tourists so careless, as to leave their pipes about, to the serious injury, and temptation of our gipsies?

Just as we were retiring to bed, Esmeralda thought she heard a toad creaking—didn’t like it. As far as we could ascertain, it was her brother Zachariah, who was fast asleep in bed snoring.

Up at half-past three O’clock; a very cold morning; there is a wintry feeling about the air. To-day is Wednesday, the 10th August, yet, after all, we can stand without inconvenience, the chilliness of an early sunrise in the mountains. The view was beautiful, as the sun rose beyond the lake, over the sharp peaks of Koldedalstinderne. We went to the Lortwick soeter. Ole was of course up. Does he sit up all night? was a question, we again asked. He had got the iron pot full of water ready to boil. When we returned Noah was sent for the grÖd. How we enjoyed, notwithstanding the extreme freshness of the morning, a summer’s day iced, as we had our matutinal splash in the lake. Noah soon brought the grÖd to the tents; Ole joined us, and we had our breakfast. GrÖd and milk is certainly a cheap meal, sufficient for five people scarcely exceeds the cost of ten skillings. We found the grÖd very good for hard work; our cost at the Lortwick soeter was—

At six o’clock in the morning, we passed the Lortwick soeter on the Tyen Vand. Esmeralda and Noah had evidently got up on the wrong side the turf.

The Lake Tyen is picturesque, but not so wild as the Lake Bygdin. Time did not permit us to test the fishing. The view, especially from the “Tourist’s ChÂlet,” Tvindehougen, is very picturesque. On the opposite shore there are generally some Norwegian fishermen, at a place called Fiskebod.

As we left the shores of the lake, the gipsy storm rose higher; the hurricane of human intellect was even too great for Zachariah to swim in—Mephistopheles kept aloof with his donkey, as a mariner shuns a maËlstrom. Even Ole pushed ahead some yards farther than usual, not altogether out of reach of the wordy projectiles, which fell around.

We were used to it—ours was a kind of charmed life; it is marvellous how we sometimes escaped. Fancy the melancholy termination of our career, as a wandering gipsy, on the shores of the Tyen Vand.

The Birmingham bagman would have lost two copies of this work. The fate of the English gipsies in Norway, would have remained an impenetrable mystery.

Esmeralda, as we passed the Lortwick soeter, would now and then advance rapidly from the rear, and fire a heavy broadside into Noah. The Romany chaff was very severe on both sides. “Isn’t Ambrose a balloshero? Oh, yes, Ambrose is like varnon, when he rockers like a galdering gorgio. Ambrose can talk, can’t he? The mumply dinlo! What a state he puts himself in, over everybody else.”

Noah was by no means wanting in ammunition. When Esmeralda fell back to the rear, we did our best to keep her there. Noah kept a running fire all the time. The tall gipsy kept his temper very well, except when severely hit, by some more than usually sarcastic allusion.

Leaving the lake, we passed down a narrow gorge. At the head of this gorge, Esmeralda again brought up all her reserve of the Romany artillery. Uncle Elijah was brought up, knocked down, and killed ten times over.

How well we remember the tall active form of the gipsy girl, rapidly bringing up her merle and baggage from the rear, her eyes flashing with indignant fire—poor Noah—what will be his fate? The battle of Dorking was nothing to it. Noah stands firm. He takes advantage of the intricacy of the narrow pathway; the broken nature of the ground separates their forces. Ole, we see, is still alive; a stray shot is only heard now and then.

Again we had calm, and quiet, on the horizon. Shortly after coming forth from the defile, we halt. Our donkeys are unloaded on the summit of a lofty slope. At a short distance from us there is a soeter. Below, at the bottom of the valley across a small river, we see the Bergen road. The gipsies had had their say. No one had any conception, or they themselves, what it was all about. An exhaustion of superabundant animal energy, and intense physical force. All was forgotten. A fire was quickly lighted in the now warm sunshine. Ole and ourselves were now to part. The middags-mad consisted of fried English ham, vinegar, fladbrÖd, butter, ovensbrÖd, and tea. Ole was delighted with our tea. He carefully measured the tin pannikin we had given him to use. Ole always had the same. Noah said he knew it by a dinge on the side. Our guide said he should have one made like it. All our camp arrangements had, apparently, much interested Ole. Mountaineers are naturally interested in the most portable, and convenient methods, of affording food and shelter, in those regions where accommodation is scanty and uncertain. There was very little that we had not provided; scarcely any addition necessary, beyond those things we had already brought. Such was the practical result of our camp experience.

After our middags-mad, slightly tinged perhaps with a shade of melancholy, we strolled aside with Ole. The cost of Ole’s services amounted to eight specie dollars, calculated at the rate of four marks a day, and including his return allowance. Our coat, lost on the GaldhÖpiggen, was to be sent by parcel post if found. The postage would be twelve skillings per pound, and we gave him one mark twelve shillings.

Ole said he hoped to see us again; we hoped so too. With unfeigned regret we parted with our gallant Ole Halvorsen, of RÖdsheim. Always punctual, even-tempered, and ever anxious to save us any unnecessary expense; possessed of much practical experience of a large region of wild country; ready to camp out on the mountain side without a tent; undaunted in the hour of difficulty; never at fault, quick in expedients, cool and calm; of few words, but full of information; we pay this parting tribute to our excellent Ole Halvorsen.

Ole said he had never fared so well in the mountains. It was a compliment to our cook and commissariat.

“Good-by, Mr. Ambrose, good-by, Miss daughter, and master ZÂkee,” said Ole.

“Good-by, Mr. RÖdsheim,” said our gipsies as we shook hands, and with our parting farewell, and good wishes, Ole was soon far up the mountain side.

Our donkeys were already loaded. In a very short time we had crossed the river, and had reached the Bergen road. Our party came forth from the deep recesses of the Horungerne mountains with new energy; issuing forth, as it were, from the vast wilderness of peak, glacier, lake, and river, to the civilized world. The distance to Christiania was yet considerable; the time we could allow ourselves was short; the summer fast waning, yet we had gathered renewed energy. Our donkeys pricked their ears when they found themselves on the hard road. Nothing could exceed the health and spirits of our party. A few forced marches would accomplish all we required. Mephistopheles said it could not be done in the time, and was quickly snuffed out.

It is necessary to push on in this world. Splangy when he goes out to hunt, will always be in somewhere. It is true his weight may be a stone or two more than his hunter can well carry. It is equally certain that Splangy’s mare is disinclined to jump if it can bore through a fence. If she stumbles into the first ditch, Splangy tumbles into the second. Still Splangy never looses the reins; he pulls through, and is always in somewhere.

Then there are Johnson and Toboys, men of business. Johnson is said to sleep with one eye open, and Toboys never sleeps at all. They have business all over the world. For instance, when an order is given, it is sent in to the day. It is pushed through. The set of chairs are in the drawing-room, never mind if the owner, a few days afterwards, sits on one with a defective leg, and is flat on the floor, with the chair upon him. He is painfully reminded of Johnson and Toboys’ address. Well, after all, says he, they were delivered in time for me to receive the Prussian Ambassador. With many other firms, says the owner, I should have had to wait two years, when the chintz would be faded, and the fashion gone. Johnson and Toboys, of course, get the order for his dining-room. The furniture van dashes up; all is delivered on the day. What matter if one chair is afterwards discovered legless. Ah! says the owner, holding it up, it is well cushioned, and comfortable. What matter if, forgetting the legs, he sits down, turning an acrobatic back-somersault in the air? Carpets are thick now-a-days; no bones are broken. The owner is only painfully reminded of Johnson and Toboys’ address. Never mind, says the owner, after all, they were in time for me to receive my friend Fitful and his wife from India. It soon turns out the workman who had the legs, had no head; they were only forgotten. Johnson and Toboys have made their fortune, whilst some firms are thinking about it. Let us push on.

The Bergen road was reached by our party, at a point between Nystuen and Skogstad. The trout of Nystuen are said to be exceedingly good. We were at the foot of the Fille Fjeld. The scenery was charming as we followed the road down to Skogstad; all down hill, and an excellent road. Groves of birch, mountain willow, and alder trees, alternating with rock scenes, and fir wood. The Findal’s Horn rises to our right. Allons donc! How gaily the Puru Rawnee, with her jingling bells stepped out; ever leading; head well up, as if in her pride, she knew she was always admired. We shall never see another donkey like her; such fine long legs, clean, and admirably shaped, stepping under her heavy load, as if it was nothing. Allons donc! as we rapidly followed the winding road, and our party soon reached Skogstad Station. We had parted from Ole at the soeter, at twenty minutes past twelve o’clock, and reached Skogstad at half-past one. In we went to get some fladbrÖd. Whilst the pige was getting the fladbrÖd, we went into a very small comfortable side room. Seeing a curiously inlaid violin hanging up, we asked the pige the price. She brought the master of the station; he called the ostler. It now appeared the ostler was a fabricator of violins; a musical genius. The short old man, who wore breeches on very bow legs, reached out another violin from a cupboard. This was of more recent manufacture, and far better tone. The station-master, who was a very pleasant obliging man, prevailed on the ostler to play a tune. “An ancient Norwegian air,” said the station-master. We can only say the composer must have been far from lively at the time of composition. The old man sawed away in a slow methodical manner. As contrasted with our camp music, it was lugubrious. How delighted Ole Bull, the celebrated Norwegian violinist, would have been with his countryman’s performance. Mephistopheles was nearly in a fit. We ordered a bottle of excellent ale, and gave the ostler a glass to drink gamle norge. The ostler had exhausted his inspiration, and the ale had no reviving effect. The gipsies and myself, therefore, finished the rest. Ah! what about strict camp rules? We are not in camp, we are in the Skogstad Station. Then Mephistopheles played some rather stirring airs on the new violin and the old one. We understood it was one of the Hardanger violins, and asked the price. The station-master and the two pige stood by, whilst Mephistopheles played. Then the station-master said, “English,” and smiled. The ostler wanted three dollars. We were considering, trying, discussing, when up drove some carrioles to the station; English travellers in knickerbockers. Out went the old ostler; out went the station-master. We paid the pige for the fladbrÖd and Öl. Noah took the Hardanger violin, if it was one, under his arm. The ostler was outside, standing by the pony of the first carriole just put in. We handed three paper dollars to the old man. “Fire,” said the old fellow, showing four fingers. “Nei! Nei!” said Noah. “No,” said we, finding the old man had suddenly raised his price. “Tre,” and we put out our hand with our three dollars. The two young girls were close by him with anxious countenances, evidently expecting we should give up the purchase.

The scene was famous, Skogstad Station, and its picturesque scenery. Carrioles before the entrance with ponies just put in, and ponies just taken out. Jolly station-master; English travellers in knickerbockers just getting into carrioles. Two rather pretty Norwegian girls standing beside the old ostler; old ostler, the picture of irresolution. His melancholy countenance, expressing anxiety to get one dollar more. Esmeralda at our elbow, telling us not to let the gorgio do Mandy. Her tall gipsy brother waiting for the ancient violin, Mephistopheles saying: “Maw kin the Bosh, sir, if he don’t lel the three dollars.”111 We were just going off; the old man suddenly clutched the three dollar notes. Noah quickly placed the ancient violin and bow under his arm. Away we went from the road side scene, and soon joined our animals and baggage.

The violin as represented still remains a souvenir of Skogstad.

Scarcely had we left, when a tall powerful man, in breeches, came running after us in breathless haste; taking off his hat, we found he wished to see the donkeys; staying a few moments to gratify his curiosity, he exclaimed many times Peen gioere!!! peen gioere!! “Ya, ya,” said Noah, and we again continued our journey, wishing him god morgen.