In no place does the Norwegian appear to so great advantage as when busied about the graves of his family; these are cared for by all who cherish the memory of the dead, as their occupants would be were they still on earth. Appointments are often made among distant members of a family, and little parties are arranged to meet at the grave of a common relative; the first object of all these is invariably to trim its flowers. These are not sad or solemn meetings; they are rather joyful reunions, much as if the families were visiting the house of their relation, instead of his grave. They are not even dressed in mourning, for their meetings are continued long after the time of mourning is passed: it is a sort of sober festivity. Much of the good that exists in the Norwegian character—their family affection, their patriotism, their attachment to their native country throughout all their wanderings,—may be traced to their graves.
Suddenly, the bells struck up, and every man removed his hat, bowing to the church as if returning its salutation. Other people, besides the funeral parties, now began to collect from different quarters; here and there a stray cariole rattled up to the churchyard gate, and an old grandmother or two was brought along in one of the queer-looking little carts of the country; but the people of Norway are anything but vehicular in their habits; indeed, except the main roads—and these are very few indeed—the country is in no ways calculated for wheeled carriages.
Boats were a much more fashionable mode of progression; several of these were already seen approaching from different quarters of the lake, pulled by two or four oars, and containing a cargo of many-coloured petticoats, which looked, in the distance, like bunches of variegated tulips. Every Norwegian, man or woman, learns to row almost as soon as he learns to walk, and every Norwegian knows something of the principles of boat-building; and very elegant little craft, of the whale-boat build, they frequently turn out.
“Hallo!” said Birger; “we are in luck. I knew it was Communion Sunday, but we are to have a lot of christenings besides. Look at the little white bundles in their chrism-cloths, and the elegant white satin bows. I do believe they would none of them consider their children baptized without those white bows.”
“Have you Christening Sundays, then?” said the Parson.
“Not always: in many places the clergy set their faces against them. But the Norwegian is a gregarious animal: he dearly loves a set feast, and hospitably considers the more the merrier. In these country-places you will often find not only Communion Sundays, but Christening Sundays, and Wedding Sundays, and—”
“And funeral Sundays?” suggested the Captain.
“And funeral Sundays—you need not laugh, I mean what I say; in the winter we have a little frost here, hot as it is now,—and frost, compared to which your English frost is but a summer’s day. They cannot very well bury their dead in the winter, so they very frequently freeze them, and keep them till the frost breaks up. Whenever that happens it is of course necessary to bury immediately all that have died since the beginning of the winter, and thus—though I suspect you asked that question in pure joke—it really does happen, that besides gregarious communions, christenings, and weddings, they have gregarious funerals also.”
The bells now began to “ring in,” and that portion of the congregation who were not related to any of the little white bundles in satin bows, or were not destined to be godfathers or godmothers to them, came stumbling into the church, and arranging themselves as best they could on the benches.
To those coming in from the blaze of day outside, the interior appeared perfectly dark, so that the people were actually feeling for their places. The little square windows looked like dots of light against the black walls, but as the eye accustomed itself to the darkness, the scene came out by degrees: the tracery of the chancel screen—the great crucifix seen over it—the altar beyond, heavy with carving and gilding—the font just within the screen—the pulpit just without it—then the congregation themselves became visible—the men on one side of the nave, the women on the other. It was high mass; for though the Scandinavian Church be reformed, she still retains the ancient expressions.