“Oh! yes, we Norwegians are good people, except in Hallingdal—they are rare rough fellows there, terrible fighters.”
To the left of the road, high on the hill, is the abode of Herjus, the bear-victim mentioned above, who is gradually recovering from his wounds.
The scenery becomes grander as we advance. What would you think of trees growing on the side of a precipice, apparently as steep as Flamboro’ Head, and ten times as high? They seem determined to get into places where the axe cannot reach them. But they are not safe for all that. Now and then the mountain side will crack, and some of it comes down. Look at that vast stone, which would throw all your Borrowdale boulder stones into the shade; it has come down in this manner. Advantage has been taken of its overhanging top to stow away under it a lot of agricultural instruments, among which I see a primitive harrow of wood.
At Ryssestad station I find a quaint old powder-horn, more than two hundred years old, on which Daniel in the lion’s den, Roland, Adam and Eve, Samson and Delilah, figure in marvellous guise. I note this, as I afterwards saw almost the facsimile of it in the Bergen Museum. The owners declined to part with it.
There was also a wolf’s skin, price five dollars. The station-master shot him from one of the windows last winter, while prowling about the premises. One Sigur Sannes offers for sale a curious old “hand-axe,” date 1622, but I did not wish to add to my luggage.
What a set of giants surrounded me while I was drinking coffee! and such names—Bjug, Salvi, Jermund, Gundar! Imagine all these long-legged fellows standing in trousers reaching to their very shoulders and neck, and supported by shoulder-straps decked in brass ornaments, while below they are secured by nine buttons above the ankle. What may be seen of their shirts is confined by two immense silver bullet studs, and then a silver brooch an inch and a half wide. The hats, of felt, are made in the valley. The brim is very small, and the crown narrows half way up, and then swells out again. A silver chain is passed round it two or three times, and confined in front by a broad silver clasp, to which is suspended a cross. A figured velvet band likewise goes twice round it.
The dress of the women is the black or white skirt, already mentioned, swelling into enormous folds behind, and so short as to permit the garters with silver clasps to be seen. The stockings bulge out immensely at the calf—indeed, are much fuller than is necessary—giving the legs a most plethoric appearance, and, as in the Tyrol, they often only reach to the ankle. Occasionally, when the women wish to look very smart, a pair of white socks are drawn over the foot, which oddly contrasts with the black stocking. The shoes, which are home-made, are pointed, and fit remarkably well. On the bosom is a saucer-sized brooch of silver, besides bullet-studs at the collar and wristband. I see also women carrying their babies in the kjell or plaid.
Beyond the station, we have to diverge from the regular road, and take an improvised one, the bridge having been carried away by a flom (freshet). At a ferry above, where the river opens into a lake, the ferrywoman, after presenting to me her mull of home-made snuff, inquires if I am married. This provokes a similar query from me.
“No,” is the reply; “but I have a grown-up son.”
The custom of Nattefrieri, to which I have alluded elsewhere, will account for things of this kind.