The mistress, who was a fine-looking woman, possessing some remains of former beauty, took us upstairs. It was a sort of large guest room, with two windows, and three or four beds. The station seemed to have been a perfect nest of artists. We were not surprised. The scenery around was lovely. Not that it was as impressive, as that we had lately left; but all the elements which entrance, and captivate the mind, of those who seek nature, were there. The artists had left their marks. One artist of the name of Lorck, had, on the morning of his departure, painted his watch on the wall, above the head of his bed. When he had left, the pige, thinking he had forgotten it, attempted to take it down. Another had painted a key on the wall, almost, if not quite equal to the one on the wall of Wiertz’s celebrated, and singular Musée at Bruxelles. There was also a landscape scene painted on the wall, of another part of the room, over one of the beds.
Of course the pencil of an industrious countryman was busy- “W.J. Phillips, Prestwich, 20-7-70.” Then we were shown a small likeness of Eckersberg the artist, which represented him as dressed in a red coat; the portrait had been painted by himself. We were told he had died three weeks before our visit, and the artist would never again visit the scenes which had afforded so many subjects for his pencil.
Then the hostess produced two girdles for sale, the owners being poor and wanting money. We at last bought one of the girdles as a souvenir—a Norwegian maiden’s girdle.
NORWEGIAN MAIDEN’S BELT, ÖILOE.
An engraving is now given of the belt. The ornaments and fastening are all in brass. The only similar belt we saw in Norway, was worn by the little dark woman, who visited our tents at Laugaard.
The hostess afterwards brought us some milk, for which she would not make any charge. In fact, our Bygdin friend, the hostess, ourself, and Noah, had quite a delightful conversazione. Vague news was of course given about the war.
When we had just descended the extremely primitive stairs, and were going out of the door, the husband met us. He gave a sort of suppressed shriek, when he saw Noah with the provisions. Our friend from the Bygdin Lake, and the man’s tall wife, said some words to him. Noah had certainly not taken the watch and key painted on the guest-room wall. Whatever they said, the effect was magical; the husband disappeared. With kindly salutations, we left the abode of artists.
What a charming spot Esmeralda had selected for the mid-day’s halt, at a short distance from the station, where the road traversed some new-mown, parky-looking ground, open to the road; they had unloaded near a clump of trees.
The river from the Lille Mjösen Lake, broken into picturesque rapids, was close to us. Esmeralda was seated midst the baggage, and the donkeys were grazing near. Zachariah was at once started to fish for the commissariat, and afterwards returned with seven delicious trout; one was a very fine one, one foot three inches long; beautifully pink. For our middags-mad, we had eggs, potatoes, fladbröd, and cheese. Our friend from the Bygdin Lake, soon after passed along the road, en route to Christiania, and waved his adieux. Several carrioles and carriages passed along the road towards Bergen. Some were apparently English travellers, and seemed rather astonished to see a party of gipsies near the roadside.