In the meantime two boats were watched with much interest: one contained the domine and family, the other some well-to-do friends. The hearty welcome they received was beautiful; their sweet simplicity and genuine affection were charming, and certainly will never be forgotten by us, their visitors. Soon after the arrival the repast or dinner was announced, and the real Norwegian customs were well placed before us. After one course the master and lady of the house waited on us, every guest getting a knife and fork; and at the end of each we went and shook hands with the host and hostess, the children kissing their parents.[3] After the fish and various solids we adjourned to another room for fruit, patisserie, coffee, and, not an unwise thing in Norway, a cigar. The next event was to adjourn to the garden to see a glorious sunset over the fjord, and to finish the cigar. During this agreeable part of the evening the youthful Jules, with his nice fair face, came and asked if the “English gentlemen would come and play with the girls in the garden.” The Patriarch of our party sent his two young bachelor companions, who readily accepted the invitation with a spontaneous “Oh jag!” Report says the amusements in the garden were a combination of hide-and-seek, Tom Tiddler’s ground, and prisoner’s base. Anyhow they all seemed to have enjoyed them; in fact, the Patriarch often regretted afterwards he did not join the youthful throng instead of remaining with the seniors. Still there was much festivity in store, and the Patriarch took kindly to the dance, which included schottisches, mazourkas, and valses. This brings us to the boot question. The dance commenced. The evening began merrily. The piano (for there was a piano, and a good one, from Christiania) was in tune, and all were thoroughly enjoying themselves, when attention was drawn to one dancer in particular. Sage as an owl, how silently this youthful Achilles glided! How softly yet firmly he trod the polished boards, for no juniper tips were scattered that evening on the floor! Why was it? The Paymaster-general, equal to the occasion, was dancing in goloshes! O shades of Scandinavian gods! O Thor and Odin! that this should be the result of civilisation in Kjære Gamle Norge!
[3]This has been referred to in former books, we are well aware, but could we omit a custom so expressive of gratitude? Le bon Dieu donne tout; but do we always give thanks?
The Olden River.
Another great feature in the evening was the singing and the national music—and how we did enjoy it! Need we say how they sang, and we tried to sing, “The Hardanger,” by H. Kjerulf, and the chorus song of “Norsk Sjømandssang,” by Grieg, which goes with such grand emphasis; and the light tripping sweetness of “Ingrids Vise,” also by Kjerulf, with its chorus of “Over Lynget, over Lynget?”[4] Another, specially bright and cheery, touched the Patriarch very deeply; he is often heard still humming this air “without words,” which the merry dancer described as being all about some beautiful creature with large blue eyes and golden hair. If she had but been with us to have danced with the goloshes, what would she have thought?
It was a delightful opportunity for us to see the vie intime of a nice family in Norway. The welcome was most cordial; and thankful were we to find ourselves unexpectedly in a spot which every one tried to make us feel to be our home. Long may Herr Hammer, Madame Hammer, and their kindly family enjoy health and prosperity! and, might we say, continue their kindness and attention to those who go to Udvig?—for it seems a perfect pleasure to them to do so.
Lyth Fishing.
There was a disinclination to hurry from Udvig in spite of the fine trip before us, for it is a lovely row up the Nordfjord. The Tentmaster-general seemed loath to leave, he was so pleased with Jules; he thought he had grown—had so improved; and he determined on several good openings for him in London. The Paymaster-general had evidently made a great impression, and no wonder, with the happy combination of youth, a petite, petted dark moustache, and enthusiastic forehead and goloshes, to say nothing of really good firework execution on the Christiania piano. We were horrified afterwards to find that all this had induced the young ladies to ask him to write all our names on a pane of glass. In a weak moment he yielded; but why did he? How often have complaints been made by ourselves of the creatures who carved and wrote names! There were, perhaps, extenuating circumstances in this case. So farewell to Udvig and its pleasant associations.