“She didn’t know; that was the custom there.”
The only spoon in the house was a large wooden one, but as by long practice I have arrived at such a pitch of dexterity that I might almost venture on teaching my grandmother to suck eggs, this occasioned me little inconvenience in transferring to my mouth the parboiled mementoes left by a hen now, alas! no more.
There is a mountain-pass across the Fjeld from hence to Roldal, and, as I mounted it next morning by the side of one of the feeders of the lake cascading grandly down, I had a fine view of this noble piece of water. After a stiff walk of three hours and a half we arrive at the summit of the col, and passing the rnan, or cairn, which marks the highest point, looked down upon the pretty Roldal water sunk deep among the mountains, with the snowfields of the Storfond gleaming in the distance.
Here we met a mournful cavalcade. First came a sickly-looking man riding, and another horse following loaded with luggage, while a spruce old dame and a handsome lad walked in the rear. This is a rich bonder from Botne below, who is troubled with a spinal complaint, and after enduring frightful tortures, is on his travels in search of a doctor. Horror of horrors! I felt it running cold down my back as I heard of it. Imagine a man with a diseased spine riding down a Norwegian mountain. Heaven help him! The lad hails me, and asks if I know where a doctor is to be found. I recommend Stavanger, sixty miles off—much of which distance, however, may be travelled by water—in preference to Lillesand, a small place nearer.
It was a great relief, after walking in the intense heat, to boat across Roldal lake, under the shade of the mountains, the air deliciously cooled by the glacier water, which, though milky in colour, did not prevent me catching some trout. The poor fellow, my boatman, has a swollen hand and wrist of some weeks’ standing; I recommend porridge poultice as hot as possible, and a douche of icy water afterwards. Formerly, instead of this simple remedy, it would have been necessary to do “some great thing.” Abana and Pharpar alone would have sufficed. I allude to the miraculous image which used to be kept in the old church at Roldal, now pulled down. On the Eve of St. John it used to sweat, and people came from far and near to apply the exudation to their bodily ailments. Like Dr. Steer’s opodeldoc, it never failed to effect a cure.
As we approach the other end of the lake, a little modern church rises on the shore, while an amphitheatre of cultivated ground, dotted here and there by log-houses, slopes gently upwards towards the grey rocky mountains behind, which afford pasturage for herds of tame reindeer. In the distance may be discerned at intervals a winding path. This path, which at present is only practicable for horses, crosses the summit level of the Hardanger mountains. At Gugaard it becomes a carriage-road, and thence passes on through Vinje to the part of Thelemarken visited by me last year. The Storthing have long been talking of completing the post-road from Gugaard to Busteten, on the Sör Fjord, a branch of the Hardanger; but hitherto it is confined to talk, although, at present, the only way of getting from the Hardanger district to Kongsberg and the capital, is either to go the long route by the sea round the Naze, or up to Leirdalsören, where the high road commences. Formerly Roldal parish was annexed to Suledal, thirty miles off, but it has lately been separated, and has the advantage of a resident clergyman, and service every Sunday.
Sending my effects to the Lehnsman’s, where I purposed stopping the night, I went up the hill to call upon his reverence. He was out, so the girl went to fetch him, taking care to lock the house-door and put the key in her pocket. Presently a vinegar-faced, Yankee-looking young man, with white neckcloth, light coat, and pea-green waistcoat, with enormous flowers embroidered on it, and sucking a cigar the colour of pig-tail, approached. There was a Barmecide look about him, which was not promising, and his line of action tallied exactly with his physiognomy. He stood before the house-door, but made no effort to open it, and there was a repelling uncommunicative way about him, which determined me to retire the moment I had obtained the information I stood in need of.
As I had landed from the boat, a ragged square-built little fellow, with gipsy countenance, had offered to carry my luggage, seventy pounds in weight, over the mountain to Odde, thirty miles distance. Showing me a miserable little hut, he told me he was very poor, and had five children with no bread to eat, while his wife, a tidy-looking woman carrying a bundle of sticks, chimed in with his entreaties, and thanked me warmly for the gift of the few fish I had caught. I was quite willing to hire him, and had come to the priest, to whom he referred me, for some account of his trustworthiness and capabilities.
“Yes,” said his reverence, “he is able to carry that weight; he carried for me more than double as much when I came hither from Odde, and that’s much more uphill (imod).”
“Yes,” said I; “but I travel quick, and I don’t wish to use a man as a beast of burden.”