A life-boat on the ocean to the shipwrecked mariner, could not have given much greater pleasure. The provisions had been found. Our name was not on the case, but our mention of Messrs. Hudson Brothers, as consignors, had fortunately furnished the clue. They would reach Eidsvold that night. With some degree of satisfaction we soon ascended the hill, and came to our quiet retreat. The comely “pige” welcomed us—she seemed much pleased—and we were shown into a finer, and more stately chamber, than the one we had before occupied. We were hungry, and our dinner was quickly served. Côtelettes, potatoes, and some kind of sweet dish, with some “Baiersk Öl.” Then we wrote letters at a table near the window, in View of the Mjösen Lake. All was quietude; we felt as if we were lost. At six o’clock our thermometer was 82° Fahrenheit. We determined to take a Badekar (bath). The large wooden bath-house was at a short distance below the “gjœstgiver-gaard.”
NORWEGIAN BATH-ROOM.
Crossing over a light wooden bridge from the lake shore, we were immediately on a balcony extending round the building, above the waters of the lake. Doors opened from the balcony into the bath-rooms. Each visitor has a small dressing-room adjoining another small room, in which stands a zinc bath. As we looked in, a curious leather spout pendant from the ceiling supplied the water to the bath. It was a clumsy contrivance, and out of repair; part of the water poured in streams on the floor, whilst the other portion found its way into the bath.
The man in attendance, who came to prepare the bath, could not understand what heat we required, especially as they use Reaumur, and we use the Fahrenheit thermometer. A Norwegian gentleman, just taking his bath, and very scantily clothed, at the request of the man, politely came to the bath-room door to act as interpreter. He spoke some English, and kindly relieved us from our difficulty. Thanking him for his aid, he bowed and retired. The price of our bath was fivepence. Giving the attendant a few skillings, we returned to our pleasant room at the quiet “gjœstgiver-gaard.” How dreamy we felt at eve, as we watched from our window the lights and shadows on the Lake Mjösen. A gilded surface in the evening sun—how full of beauty—one seemed to view the imagery of other worlds. There is in nature more than art can tell, or language render. Not a leaf but has its history, a flower its tale, nor a sound without its music to the mind. There were some quaint old paintings on the panels of the chamber, which caught our attention as we sat musing there, and we hastily sketched them. One represented a priest in old-fashioned clerical costume walking unconsciously as he reads, into a river, or out to sea. The priest is saying, as he reads: “Jeg maa gaae til Bunden i dette Problem for jeg gaae vidre.” (I must go to the bottom of this problem before I go farther.)
The other painting represented a stout clergyman who is being rowed along a lake or river. He is so stout that the end of the boat in which he sits is nearly under water. He is supposed to be shouting to the boatman:
“Hal’ud manne. Der gaa er Dampen.” (Pull away, lad! There goes the steamer.)
With our mind much at ease we retired early to rest. By some chance they put us to sleep in Esmeralda’s bed. We rose at four o’clock the next morning, and wrote letters. Our “frokost” was served at seven o’clock. It was a beautiful morning: our comely “pige” was there, but she had no gipsy Noah to admire. We paid our account—three marks sixteen skillings. Slinging our courier-bag over our shoulder, as we gave the comely “pige” a douceur, we again wished these kind and attentive people farewell. It must be owned that we lingered for a moment near this quiet retreat, so full of pleasant moments and long-to-be-remembered reminiscences.