We had an early “frokost” (breakfast)—excellent coffee, eggs, bread, and butter, People are moving early in Norway. It was a fine, beautiful morning: gipsies must be employed, and the violin and tambourine were again in requisition, whilst we sat on the sofa, at our small table, writing up our diary. The servants came up occasionally, and listened to the music, as they stood at the open doorway of our room. So the morning passed in delightful rest and tranquillity. Who could be otherwise than happy, with such honnêtes gens? Everything was so clean and tidy. Our “middags mad” (dinner, or midday meal) was served, at our request, at one o’clock. It is astonishing how a small stock of words, will enable you to supply your wants, in a foreign land. Yet we did not look upon Norway as foreign to us; all was so homely, that we felt at home with everything, and everybody. Possibly some of our very remote ancestors may have been Norwegians. We were soon quietly seated at our “middags mad” with our gipsies. A dish of mutton côtelettes, with bacon, very good potatoes, and two small glasses of “baiersk öl”[26] (bottled ale), completed our fare. The ale is peculiar in taste, but sparkling and clear; like some of the Australian colonial ale, it is not to be taken in any quantity with impunity.
After our dinner, Esmeralda decided to put on her new dress. She had one faded, worn frock, which she wore under her Alpine cloak. Her wardrobe being so limited, we had bought her a blue dress, at no great cost, before leaving England, and her mother made it up. In order that she should not be different from the Norwegian style of ornamentation, we purchased some plain silver buttons. They were stitched on in front, and at the cuffs, on a Scotch plaid braid, which trimmed the dress, and was the selection of her mother. We were rather amused, as we looked up from our writing, to see her descend from the inner room, where she had completed her toilette. The silver buttons were resplendent on the dark plaid braid. The dress was made according to the gipsy fashion. We thought her mother might have allowed her a little more skirt, and the bodice was rather close-fitting—scarcely room enough for development. Esmeralda had naturally a wonderfully small waist, and the dress was so made that it seemed quite tight all the way down before, being more ample behind. There was no concealment of legs; she had put on some coloured stockings, and her Alpine slippers, which we had given her to rest her feet occasionally when she took off the heavy boots so much admired by Mr. T. She had no reason to be ashamed of her foot and ankle. Her dark, raven hair was natural; no wretched chignon, and masses of false hair, distorted nature—there was no deception, truth was represented, reality was without a rival. Esmeralda we shall always remember as she then appeared in the guest chamber of beautiful Eidsvold. One of our attentive servants came up soon afterwards, and was apparently astonished at the sudden change to the gorgeous apparel she beheld. The transformation was as complete as one of those changes we read of in the old tales of enchantment. The “pige” did not stay long, but silently departed, and soon after returned, with another of our attendants, who gazed with a curious air of interest at what she saw. The old man soon came up, and occasionally stood in the passage. Sometimes he spoke—we did not understand him; then he would take off his hat, bow, and retire, whilst we continued our writing. We now discovered, to our annoyance, that the guitar had been left behind. Zacharia was certain he had seen it on board the Albion. We began to think we should never be able to get our things together, and sent a telegram to Mr. Bennett, from the station, saying that our things had been put on board the steamer, and to ask him to kindly send us a copy of Murray’s Guide Book. We were anxious to be well prepared with all information. Then we received a note addressed to us by name, but Mr. Bennett, not knowing where we were, and possibly supposing us camped on the shore of the Mjösen Lake, had, to insure its delivery, added, “Den Herre som reiste igaaraftes med 3 œsler,” meaning the gentleman travelling last night with three donkeys.
It appeared that two packages had been found. Three others, Mr. Bennett said, were probably in the hold of the vessel; and Captain Soulsby had reported several odds and ends, left in our cabin to be forwarded. We were almost au désespoir.
My gipsies must do something; so the violin, tambourine, and castanettes, again sounded in a maze of polkas and waltzes. At times a succession of visitors came up, and stood in the passage to hear the music, but we could hold no converse with them. At last we had coffee, eggs, and bread and butter. What coffee! We often wonder how it is we so seldom have in England anything which represents the name. In France, Germany, Norway, and Denmark you have excellent coffee almost everywhere. Our gipsies had managed wonderfully well. Zacharia did once upset the contents of his cup of coffee over the white cloth. We made them use their napkins, and restrained as much as possible the use of the knives, at times, when the fork was the proper vehicle to the mouth. Much nervousness was in consequence avoided. As we were lounging over our coffee, our guardian angel, the old man, came up, and bowing, murmured something about Herre wanted to see us. Who could want to see us? Probably some matter connected with our baggage, which was strongly associated at that time with every idea. We went down soon afterwards, and entered the next house under the same roof. A stout, portly, nice-looking man in uniform took off his hat, and said a very good English “Good evening, sir.” He was captain of the lake steamer, leaving the next morning for Lillehammer. The captain wished to know whether we were going next morning. He was also anxious to see the donkeys. Taking him with us to the stable, he said he would have a box ready to sling them on board, and they must be down at the place of embarkation, near the station at nine o’clock. We said they should be there, and that we should have much pleasure in going by his steamer, and avail ourselves of his knowledge of English. Wishing good evening, he strolled off to take a bath, in the large wooden bath-house, on the side of the lake below.
Returning to our room, we continued our diary. Noah informed us at dinner, that he had put by an engagement of £1 a week, offered by some farmer, in order that he might accompany us. Much thankfulness was expressed at so much self-sacrifice, and it was the subject of many a quiet joke during our journey. How pleasantly the time passed. How smiling life seemed in the retirement of Eidsvold. Again Zacharia struck up his violin; again Noah executed a clever roulade on his tambourine. More visitors occasionally appeared, and disappeared. Then we sent Noah and Zacharia down to the station, to see if any of our baggage had come by the last train, and we were fortunate enough to receive four packages, including our guitar, and one package by Captain Soulsby. The case of provisions could not be found. Our telegrams increased. We hoped to get the case next morning before the steamer left Eidsvold. In the stillness of the closing evening, we sang with the guitar, our gipsy song. One of our attendants was most certainly in love with Noah. We had generally sent him to the other house, to ask for whatever we wanted. It was practice for him, and no doubt he had made a conquest. About ten o’clock the attendants made up the bed on the sofa, and we gave them another last air before we retired. Well we remember the look our clean, tidy, and comely “pige” gave Noah, as he played his tambourine with an energy of feeling peculiar to the gipsy race. “Cushty ratty” (gip., good-night) to all, and we were soon asleep.
It is light at an early hour in Norway. We were up at four o’clock, a number of letters were written. At six o’clock it was found that Esmeralda had one eye nearly swollen up. A musketo had lounged in, through the open window in the night. It was natural that he should be attracted by her dark eyes, but he should have been satisfied, with distant contemplation. I was called in as the “cushty drabengro” (gip., good doctor), and by the aid of some glycerine rendered the bite less painful.
The rest were soon up. We had found Zacharia in some extraordinary complication of bed-clothes on the sofa. I think he was glad to regain tent life, for this was the last time he slept off the ground during his stay in Norway.
“Frokost” was served at seven o’clock—coffee, eggs, bread and butter. As usual, all excellent. The bread, we understood, was sent from Christiania to Eidsvold. The morning was lovely—our spirits almost irrepressible. Esmeralda poured out the coffee—“del the moro” (gip.) “give us the bread,” Romany and English sparkled on the board.
After “frokost” we repacked some of our baggage, and Esmeralda brushed our coat. The bright anticipation of a delightful trip along the Mjösen Lake, and the probability of our case of provisions coming by the morning train, in time for the steamer, had quite banished all melancholy. Noah and Zacharia gave one or two tunes after breakfast as a farewell, whilst the comely “pige” gazed at Noah in speechless wonder. She stood all spell bound. We fear the gipsy’s eyes, for they had scarcely any other medium of conversation, had wrought much mischief. Some man appeared at the open doorway, with his knife at his side, and seeming transfixed, so completed the tableau. Time flew on with rapid wing. Noah and Zacharia departed with the donkeys. We had more time; and as we sat on the sofa, waiting for our account, we took our guitar, and sang our last song at Eidsvold, “Welcome, you dear old land.”