The Frydenland station is close to the road, and seemed very comfortable. They have a good-sized sitting-room, with a sofa, and all is exceedingly clean. The mistress was very civil and attentive. Whilst she provided us with three loaves of excellent bread, and a pound of good butter, we discussed a bottle of baiersk öl in the sitting-room. Noah and Zachariah came in for their share. Esmeralda took charge of our baggage outside. Our bread, butter, and bottle of öl cost two marks twelve skillings. As we came out into the road, the donkeys had found their admirers. A tall old gentleman with an immense hat, a stout lady, and a young lady, from a neighbouring house, and several people, were inspecting our animals and baggage. As we left, we exchanged good-humoured salutations, and their looks implied their best wishes for our bon voyage.
About twelve o’clock we approached to very nearly the turn from the main road towards “Krœmmermoen.” Coming to a large wooden trough on the roadside, supplied with clear water by a wooden spout from the rocks above, we called a halt. On the opposite side the road, a convenient space had been left, with a long wooden bench for travellers to sit upon. This is an excellent provision for the convenience of the wayfarer, which might be copied with advantage in England. Below the stone wall, along the roadside, the ground sloped to a valley.
Our baggage was all heaped behind the bench against the wall. A fire was lighted in the rocks above the road, and our water soon boiled for tea. A peasant, who lived at a house near, soon came down the road. He was a strong, powerful, intelligent-looking man, dressed in leather knee-breeches, woollen stockings, large shoes, one brace, and a spotted woollen shirt. The man was soon joined, by two comely, young, good-humoured females, probably his daughters. Then a peasant woman came from another house; soon after, a tall man came from we don’t know where. Peen giœre! Peen giœre! they all exclaimed, as they gazed in bewildered admiration at our donkeys. Out came the flask. We like to have our things admired. Out came the tobacco, and the man in leather breeches, borrowed a pipe from the tall man, and began to smoke. We were evidently looked upon as strolling actors of the better sort; yet the donkeys were their chief delight. Then they were much interested in our mode of making our tea in the Australian fashion, putting the tea into the boiling water, and reversing the usual mode. At length all, except one woman, and one or two children, left us. After the sardines were gone we presented the woman with the empty sardine box, whereupon she seized us by the hand, and shook hands, and immediately afterwards left, probably to place it in the strong armoire of her salle à manger.
Then, as we were at our middags-mad, a carriage and pair came in view, en route towards Bergen. Our Tarno Rye stood in the road. Noah was detached, but the Tarno Rye took himself off to the roadside, as soon as he saw the carriage.
The skydskarl was driving. A young lady was seated in front by the driver. An old gentleman and lady, probably her parents, were behind. Never shall we forget the young lady as the carriage came near our Tarno Rye. With desperate eagerness she suddenly snatched the whip from the boy. Then she dealt with all her might one vigorous stroke at our Tarno Rye, who was quietly standing on the roadside. We were amused at the expression of determination, and serious earnestness her countenance assumed. It is dreadful to think that our gallant Tarno Rye, after all his wanderings, was so nearly annihilated. What would Esmeralda have done? Fortunately our Tarno Rye, like the little jackdaw, in the Ingoldsby legend, was never a penny the worse.
Immediately after the carriage passed us, we saw what we at once knew before, that she was English. A heavy shower of rain came on soon afterwards, and, covering our baggage with the waterproof, we all availed ourselves of the same shelter. Our friend, the Norwegian farmer, came down the road through the pouring rain, and asked us to take shelter in his house. We explained that our covering was waterproof. He said something about our being wanderers, pointing good-naturedly towards his house, and then left. He had come through the rain himself, to offer us shelter and hospitality.
The rain cleared a little at half-past four o’clock, and we left at five. The farmer came down again. We gave him one of our gipsy songs as a souvenir, and he seemed much pleased. Afterwards, he came and showed us the turn from the Bergen and “Gjövig” road to Krœmmermoen. Shaking hands, he left us, with many wishes for our prosperous journey.
The road towards Krœmmermoen was similar to one of our English country lanes, very pleasant, and picturesque. At times we passed through thick fir woods open to the road. It soon rained heavily. Noah and Zachariah had no overcoats or change, and were obliged to take their wetting philosophically. At some places we tried for fladbröd, but in vain. One woman came across a field, with wild fruit to sell us. We did not take the fruit; but as she stood in the wet, we could not help giving her some recompense. Ultimately, we came to the edge of a tremendous declivity. If you make a zigzag road down the outside of St. Paul’s, you have got it. A very small piece of broken ground lay on our right, at the edge of the steep precipitous descent. On this we drove the donkeys. Just then, up drove a carriole, and we recognised one of the young gentlemen from Lomen. The carriole was one of the best we had seen, and was drawn by a beautiful Norwegian pony. Directly the pony caught sight of our donkeys, out got our friend, with the inevitable p-r-r-rh p-r-r-r-rh. The pony, with Noah’s assistance, was safely led past. Then our Norwegian friend came to us, and we conversed, as well as our knowledge of each other’s language would allow. When he was gone, Noah and Zachariah were dispatched to seek a camp-ground, lower down the hill, nearer to Krœmmermoen. We were now above the deep and charming valley of Lille Bang. The rain drizzled down occasionally, as we stood on the broken ground, at the edge of a deep, wooded steep. One donkey lay down with its load. Esmeralda in her long cloak, paced the wet turf, hot, and fiery. Our beautiful Puru Rawnee had given her some offence. It seldom rains but it pours. The Tarno Rye had escaped a young English lady, and now our Puru Rawnee, was to be knocked down by the heroine of our book. Very likely! Supposing our Puru Rawnee killed! what then? The Birmingham bagman will refuse his two copies. “You’ve fallen short. Don’t find the Puru Rawnee at the end; contract not complete.” Esmeralda makes a dash at our beautiful donkey; her dark eyes flash fire. The spirit of the young English lady pales before her. If the young English lady had been there, it is probable she would have learned a lesson in humanity. We interposed. Fancy a studious, thoughtful, wanderer of nature, staying, for the moment, the torrent of impetuous feeling of the tall handsome gipsy-girl, Esmeralda, about to overwhelm the beautiful Puru Rawnee, at the edge of a wooded steep, in the mizzling rain, of a Norwegian summer’s eve! Gipsies are creatures of impulse. Few words said we. Strong, and impetuous as were the passions of our heroine, she had a heart—at times, could deeply feel. The Puru Rawnee escaped unhurt.
CHAPTER XXXIX.
Helpe me wonder, her’s a booke
Where I would for ever looke.
Never did a gipsie trace
Smoother lines in hands or face;
Venus here doth Saturne move,
That you should be the Queene of Love.
Masque of Gipsies. Ben Jonson.[113]