“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, and made 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. Their point d’appui is most dexterously selected. There is no lack of funds, I assure you. They have settled on an estate at Alten, which they have bought.”