The most remarkable thing about these bridal petticoats is the skirt behind, which is divided by plaits like the flutings of a Doric column; while these, towards the bottom or base bulge out into two or three rounded folds, which stick out considerably from the person. Hear this, ye Miss Weazels, who condemn crinoline as a new-fangled institution, whereas in fact the idea is evidently taken from the primæval customs of Sætersdal. The support of this dead weight of clothing are not, as might be expected, the hips, for the whole system of integuments comes right up over the bosom, and is upheld by a couple of very short braces or shoulder-straps. A jacket under these circumstances is almost superfluous. It is of blue cloth with gold edging, and only reaches down to the arm-holes.
These vestments are no doubt of very ancient cut. In the district of Lom another sort of dress was once the fashion. The coat was of white wadmel, with dark coloured embroidery, and silver buttons as big as a dollar. The collar stood up. The waistcoat was scarlet, and also embroidered. White knee-breeches of wash-leather, garters of coloured thread, and shoes adorned with large silver buckles, set off the lower man. This dress went out at the beginning of the century. In Romerike, and elsewhere, there was on the back of the coat a quaint piece of embroidery pointing up like the spire of a church, and green, red, or blue, according to the parish of the wearer. At the public masquerades in Christiania, these dresses may still be seen.
But I had forgotten the old lady in the contemplation of the wardrobe. She appears to think she shall make me understand her jargon better by shouting in my ears—a common mistake—and while she does so, she skips about the chamber with all the agility of the old she-goat before the door. The proverb says, “Need makes the old wife run,” but she ran without any apparent cause. Finally, in her enthusiasm, she goes the length of putting one of these petticoats on—don’t be alarmed, fair reader—over her own, to show me how it looks. Besides the above state apparel, mutton and pork-hams, with other comestibles, find a secure place in the store-room.
In the sitting-room of the house is a remarkable picture of our Saviour on the cross, with various quaint devices round it. It is known to be more than three hundred years old, and no doubt dates from the Roman Catholic times. Like most of the peasants, who are exceedingly tenacious of these “Old-sager” (old-world articles), the master of the house won’t part with the picture for any consideration.
As a boat is procurable, I determine to vary the mode of travelling by going by water to the station ——, and the more so as this will enable me to try for a trout while I am resting my shaken limbs. There being no wind to ruffle the water, I only took one or two trout. A man on the lake, who was trailing a rough-looking fly, was not a little astonished at my artificial minnow. The Fjord is very fine. Pretty bays, nestling under the bare lofty mountains, and here and there a beach of yellow sand, fringing a grassy slope, while behind these, Scotch fir, birch, and aspen throw their shadows over the water.
“You see that odde (point),” says my old waterman; “that is Lobdal point. It was just there that Priest Brun had the misfortune to be lost, twenty years ago come Yule. He had been preaching down below, at one of his four churches, and was sleighing home again on the ice. The Glocker (precentor) was driving behind him, when he saw him suddenly disappear, horse and all. It was a weak place in the ice, and, there being snee-dicke (snow-thickness) at the time, the priest had not seen any symptoms of danger. Poor man, I knew him well; he was a very good person. He never received Christian burial, for his body was never found.” Such are the incidents that checquer the life of a Norwegian parson.
It was so nearly dark when we arrived at ——, that we had a difficulty in finding the landing-place, to which, however, we were guided by something that looked like a house in the gloaming.
“And where am I to lodge?” asked I of the boatman. “Is the station far off?”
“Yes, a good distance. You had best lie at Priest ——’s, there.”