TENT LIFE WITH
ENGLISH GIPSIES IN NORWAY.

CARL XV.

KING OF NORWAY AND SWEDEN.

OBIIT 18 SEPT. 1872.

TENT LIFE
WITH
ENGLISH GIPSIES IN NORWAY.
BY
HUBERT SMITH,
MEMBER OF THE ENGLISH ALPINE CLUB; NORSKE TURIST FORENING;
AND FELLOW OF THE HISTORICAL SOCIETY OF GREAT BRITAIN.
WITH
FIVE FULL-PAGE ENGRAVINGS, THIRTY-ONE SMALLER ILLUSTRATIONS,
AND MAP OF THE COUNTRY, SHOWING ROUTES.
Henry S. King & Co.,
65, Cornhill, & 12, Paternoster Row, London.
1873.

[The Right of Translation is reserved by the Author.]

In Memoriam.

DEDICATED
AS A SINCERE TRIBUTE
TO
HIS LATE MOST GRACIOUS MAJESTY
CARL XV.
BY
THE KIND AND SPECIAL PERMISSION OF THIS
PRESENT MOST GRACIOUS MAJESTY
OSCAR II.
KING OF NORWAY AND SWEDEN.

PREFACE.

We awoke one morning; our gipsies were gone; our camp was gone; no light shining through as we lay in our tent. No freshness of the morning air; no wafted perfume of fragrant wild flowers; no music of the waterfall in the glen below. We were left to pursue the pathway of our journey alone.

Yet our notes de voyage remained to us. Impressions caught on the wayside of travel—written by the light of actual circumstance—we give them to our readers. They are a true episode in a life.

THE AUTHOR.

CONTENTS.

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

⁂ The engravings are by Edward Whymper, author of “Scrambles amongst the Alps,” and have been taken from sketches made by the author during his wanderings in Norway, or from photographs obtained by him specially for this work.

INTRODUCTION.

“Nullus dolor est quem non longinquitas temporis minuat, ac molliat.”

There is no grief time does not lessen and soften.

Since the succeeding pages were written, Norway and Sweden have mourned the death of their King, Carl XV., at Malmoe, on the 18th September, 1872.

The dedication of this work is, therefore, with the kind and special permission of his present Majesty, King Oscar II., inscribed “In Memoriam.” Thus the work opens to the reader with a shadow of melancholy; for, in our experience, few kings have had the love and affection of their subjects in a greater degree.

One memorable event marked the close of his late Majesty’s reign, as if to illumine the last sands of the hour-glass of his life—the millennial period of the unity of Norway as one kingdom was accomplished on the 19th July, 1872.

A thousand years had elapsed since Harald Haarfager (the Fair Hair) gained the battle of Hafsfjord, and united Norway under one crown.[1]

At Hafsfjord, by a strange coincidence, King Harald Haarfager, having reigned, it is said, from about 861 to 931, was buried, according to the ancient sagas, near the town of Haugesund, not far from the scene of his memorable victory, the last of a series of conquests which gave to Norway one king.

The battle of Hafsfjord also accomplished King Harald’s vow, and gave to him the hand of Gyda, the handsome daughter of Eric, King of Hordaland, who, in answer to his proposals, had said, she would never throw herself away, even to take a king for a husband, who had only a few districts to rule over.[2]

The obelisk of granite, erected near Haugesund, on the grave of Harald Haarfager, to commemorate the event, is seventy feet high. Surrounding its base, twenty-one pillars, eight feet high, are inscribed with the names of the twenty-one petty kingdoms, into which ancient Norway was formerly divided. Bronzed reliefs on the pedestal record that Harald Haarfager is buried beneath, and that the monument was erected one thousand years after he had consolidated Norway into one kingdom.

At a grand National Jubilee Festival, at Haugesund, on the 19th July, 1872, his present Majesty the King of Norway and Sweden,[3] then Prince Oscar, with a large assemblage of the people of Norway, inaugurated the monument.

The day was fine, and the associations of a thousand years carried the mind back through the far distance of time to the battle of Hafsfjord, when, to apply the words of “Sigvat the Scald,”—

Loud was the battle-storm there,
When the King’s banner flamed in air,
The King beneath his banner stands,
And the battle he commands.

His late Majesty was also a poet and an artist. Two interesting volumes of the late King’s poems, entitled “En Samling Dikter” (a collection of poems), and “Smärre Dikter” (short poems) are the scintillations of a bright and imaginative mind—“Till Sverige” (To Sweden), “Borgruinen” (the Castle Ruins), “Fjerran” (Afar), “Ensamheten” (solitude), “Trosbekännelse” (Confession of Faith), “I drömmen” (I Dream), “Hvar bor Friden” (Where dwelleth Peace), “Kallan” (The Fountain), “Ziguenerskan” (The Gipsy Girl), with other poems form the Innehål, or contents of the “Smärre Dikter.” The larger volume—“En Samling Dikter”—includes “Heidi Gylfes Dotter” (Heidi Gylfe’s Daughter), “En Viking Gasaga” (A Viking Saga)[4] “Hafsfrun” (The Mermaid), “Tre Natter” (Three Nights), and several other poems.

The full-paged portrait of his late Majesty Carl XV. is an excellent likeness. He was cast in Nature’s most perfect mould; whilst his mind had true greatness and noble-hearted chivalry.

It is beautifully engraved by the author of “Scrambles Amongst the Alps,” indeed, this and the engravings illustrating this work, which have all been taken from original sketches of the author, or photographs obtained specially for the work, are by Mr. Edward Whymper,[5] to whom the author is much indebted for his prompt attention, when a very short space of time could only be allowed for their completion.

An additional interest will also be felt by the reader in knowing that the work is true, even to the names of the gipsies.

So must close our Introduction; and, as we look back to our tented wanderings, they seem as a bright summer’s day, whose sun, setting on the horizon of our fate, reflects itself, though with imperfect gleams, within this book, whilst the day is gone for ever!

THE AUTHOR.

7th May, 1873.

THE GIPSY GIRL.

Passing, I saw her as she stood beside
A lonely stream between two barren wolds;
Her loose vest hung in rudely-gathered folds
On her swart bosom, which in maiden pride
Pillowed a string of pearls; among her hair
Twined the light blue bell and the stonecrop gay;
And not far thence the small encampment lay,
Curling its wreathèd smoke into the air.
She seemed a child of some sun-favoured clime;
So still, so habited to warmth and rest;
And in my wayward musings on past time,
When my thought fills with treasured memories,
That image nearest borders on the blest
Creations of pure art that never dies.
Dean Alford.

MAP
Showing the Route and Camping grounds
of the
ENGLISH GIPSIES
through
NORWAY.
Henry S. King & Co, 65 Cornhill, London.

TENT LIFE WITH ENGLISH GIPSIES IN NORWAY.

CHAPTER I.

“The best books are records of the writer’s own experiences of what he himself has seen or known, or—best of all—has done. The writing then becomes naturally concrete, perspicuous, a mirror of the fact; and whether it be a book for the world and for ages, or for nations and generations, there is this common to them all, that they are genuine records of genuine things, and throw light on the subject.”—N. P. Willis.

NORWAY—OUR GIPSY TENT—TENT FITTINGS—COOKING APPARATUS—COMMISSARIAT—GIPSIES’ TENT—BAGAGE DE LUXE—WEIGHT OF BAGGAGE—TRANSIT—DONKEYS—OUR PARTY—ESMERALDA.

The picturesque and lovely scenes of Norway offered many inducements for our campaign. The peculiar advantages of tent life would enable us to wander in its wildest Dals. Its beautiful fjelds, fjords, and fosses could be seen at our ease. We might bivouac in the silent forest; we could sleep in its lonely glens, and wander in its deepest recesses, independent of the chance accommodation of the “gjœstgiver-gaard,” or the more doubtful comfort of the mountain “sœter.” The result of a former visit had not been without its practical utility, and the tent carried the day.

In previous travels we had used many kinds of tents, including Mr. Whymper’s very useful Alpine Tent. For this campaign we had a new one made, such as gipsies use. All experience inclined us to adopt this form of tent as the most comfortable.[6] It was made by gipsies, whom we had often befriended in our search after gipsy lore,—and who now no longer regarded us with distrust, as belonging to the kairengroes (house-dwellers). When it was completed, my people declared it was the best they had ever seen. A stout back pole, with strong pliable raniers or rods, fitted into it, and a cover made of two pairs of light gray blankets, of strong but fine texture, sewn together, with a broad edging of scarlet bocking, gave it an appearance which the gipsies declared to be perfection.

The interior fittings of our tent were not neglected. One of Edgington’s waterproofs costing twenty-five shillings, was laid on the ground as a substratum. A handsome carpet, of strong but light material and warm colouring, was cut to the size of the tent as usually pitched, and then neatly bound with scarlet braid by my housekeeper, who made nearly everything used for the expedition. When the carpet was placed on the waterproof rug, it formed an excellent floor to the tent. Our large railway-rug, which had been with us all round the world, was still serviceable. An extra rug for use if necessary, and two air pillows covered with scarlet flannel, completed the bed accommodation. A blue partition-curtain, with broad yellow braid artistically elaborated in zigzag pattern, to be suspended à volonté from the tent raniers for privacy and seclusion, left nothing more to be desired. We had not yet sunk so low in effeminacy as to use beds, though there are instances of gipsies in England who have descended to that melancholy state.

It was necessary that our batterie de cuisine should be as simple as possible. In the first place we had our kettle prop which had done duty in camp life in the previous year. A kettle prop is a stout bar of iron bent at one end so as to have a projecting portion for hanging the kettle upon to boil water. The other end of the prop is sharpened so as to make holes in the ground to fix the tent raniers or rods into. (The three stakes joined together at the top, with a large witch’s caldron suspended over the fire, as seen in many representations of gipsy life, have now passed away with the gipsies’ scarlet cloaks once so fashionable.) We had our large fish kettle for boiling anything; our tin can for boiling and making tea for four persons; two larger tin cans for boiling or fetching milk or water, all with lids; two large zinc bowls; four smaller soup bowls, fitting one within the other; a round tin with lid to hold three pounds of butter; a quart tin can with handle; two sets of tin pannikins, four each set, fitting one within the other;[7] eight pewter plates; seven knives and six forks; eight spoons; a tin salt box; a tin pepper box; a sardine box opener; a frying pan, with handle to remove; a tin box containing the exact measure of tea for four persons. This was very useful, not only for economy, but in wet weather,—the box, being filled in the tent, could be carried in the hand,—in readiness for the boiling water. A Russian lamp; a small axe; two tin boxes of wax lucifer matches, and eight small cloths for cleaning, completed our service de ménage. All the articles enumerated could be conveniently put into the fish-kettle, except the two large cans, the two large bowls, the pewter plates, the frying-pan, and one or two other articles. These were all placed at one end of a bag called the kettle-bag, tied in the middle; our bags of tea and sugar, &c., for present use, being placed at the other end, ready to be slung over the donkey for transit.[8]

Our commissariat was selected with a care commensurate to the requirements of the expedition and of the four hungry voyageurs to be fed.

Our provisions were procured at Hudson Brothers, Ludgate Hill, London (with whom we had before had dealings), and were all we could desire for quality. Our purchase included 28lbs. of Australian meat (costing 7½d. per lb.)—which for the first time, we ventured, with some hesitation, to take—two hams, some bacon, a dozen boxes of sardines, 2 cheeses, a number of jars of Liebig’s essence of meat, some tins of potted meats, 2 tins of biscuits,—some of which were college biscuits,—rice, oat-meal, pea flour, beans, &c.; which, together with 12lbs. of tea from Messrs. Phillips, King William Street, in small bags of 3lbs. each, were placed in a large stout “pocket” as far as space would allow, and then packed in a wooden case, and forwarded to the care of Messrs. Wilson & Co., Hull, ready for the steamer. The weight of the provisions when sent, was 150lbs. These articles, with 30lbs. of sugar in six small bags of 5lbs. each, which we had before forwarded to Hull, completed our stock of provisions for the expedition.

The gipsies brought their own tent rods; we found blankets for the tent cover. The gipsies’ tent cover is formed of two blankets, fastened with pin thorns over their tent frame of raniers or rods. They had for use one of Edgington’s waterproofs and two double blankets.

We also took a railway rug ornamented with foxes’ heads, which we often used with the aid of our Alpine stocks, as a balk to keep off the wind, and to close in the space between our tents when we required more room or shelter. We had, besides, a very large but exceedingly light waterproof sheeting, purchased from Edmiston, made to loop over our tents, so as to enlarge them considerably and protect us from heavy rain. The blanket covers of our tents were not waterproof; and this waterproof sheeting, which only weighed 4½ lbs., was invaluable. When we were resting during the day, it effectually protected our provisions, baggage, and ourselves from the heavy showers of rain which sometimes occurred during our wanderings.

Our additional baggage consisted of one salmon rod, three trout rods, four Alpine stocks, two long ropes for tethering the animals, a fishing basket, a tin box with padlock, a musical box, a moderate allowance of clothes, a small tin of blacking with brushes, hair brushes and combs, soap, towels, pocket mirrors, writing-case, maps, stout straps, books (guide books and others), fishing tackle, &c., two courier bags with locks, and a plaid haversack, which contained a small case of medicaments for use when we were beyond all chance of medical advice—for, although fresh air is peculiarly health-giving, there were times and seasons when we had to officiate as the “cushty drabengro” (good doctor) of the party. We had also in this plaid bag a silver-mounted glass flask of imposing appearance, which was kept filled with Brændeviin, to be poured out into a thick-set, solid-looking drinking glass, that had been purchased, once upon a time, at Épernay, in France; it was fitted to stand the hard usage of this world, even to receiving libations of brændeviin instead of champagne. The glass is still unbroken, and ready to do duty in another campaign; and when we look at it, our brain becomes puzzled as to the number of bold Norwegians whose lips it has touched as they quaffed its contents to gamle Norge.

The weight of baggage is given in the following divisions:—

The kettle and articles packed into it weighed 10½ lbs.; bowls and pewter plates, packed separately, 6¾ lbs.; the frying pan, 3½ lbs.; our boiling can for making tea for our party, four in number, 1¼ lbs.; our large boiling can, for a larger number than four persons, weighed 1¾ lbs.; the large iron kettle-prop, 6 lbs. 6 ozs., making the total weight of cooking apparatus and service de ménage, 30 lbs. 2 ozs.

The tent rods and pole weighed 14½ lbs.; the tent blanket, cover, and partition-curtain, 17½ lbs.; large waterproof siphonia cover, 4½ lbs.; small spade to dig trenches round tent in wet weather, 1 lb. 15 ozs.; total weight, 38 lbs. 7 ozs.

One of Edgington’s waterproof rugs, the tent carpet, two rugs, and two air-pillows, weighed, together, 20 lbs.

Our large tent and fittings, with cooking apparatus and service de ménage, therefore weighed 88 lbs. 9 ozs.; and with books, fishing-rods, clothes, the provisions, and other baggage, made a total of about 360 lbs. weight, which allowed 120 lbs. for each donkey to carry.

The method of transit for baggage of all kinds, that impediment to rapid movement, required careful consideration. We had 360 lbs. weight of baggage to carry across the sea, to take with us through the valleys of Norway, to convey over mountains, and rugged paths, across rivers and shaky wooden bridges. The kind of animal suited to our expedition had also to be considered; ponies and mules had their claims. Excellent ponies might be purchased in Norway upon our arrival, but then we had the risk of delay. If we took mules they were oftentimes vicious and troublesome. At last we commissioned a gipsy to purchase three strong donkeys, to be specially selected for the purpose. It is said in one of Dickens’s works, that no one ever saw a dead donkey or a dead postboy—and this inspired additional hope that the animals would survive the journey. We had no reason to regret our choice. Donkeys will endure want of food better than even mules or horses; they are patient, quiet, and tractable; they soon take to the camp, and seldom stray far. The weight would be about 120 lbs. each, decreasing as they progressed on their journey. A strong donkey has been known to carry for a short distance, 4 cwt., but this is exceptional; 200 lbs. for a journey on good roads they can manage without difficulty; for rough mountain roads and paths, this load ought to be reduced to less than 100 lbs. Donkeys were much valued in early times; and in New South Wales they were recently more expensive than horses. Fortunately our gipsy was able to procure them at a moderate rate; and in a short time I was the possessor—to use gipsy language—of three “cushty merles” (good donkeys). They were to travel with the gipsies’ camp until we were ready to start, and so become used to camp-life. Very good ones they were:[9]

Content with the thistle they tramped o’er the road,
And never repined at the weight of the load.

It was necessary for the success of the expedition, that the party should be composed of not less than four; but one who had before accompanied our wanderings, was unable to come. Our preparations were partly made, and his loss as a fellow compagnon de voyage was irreparable. Skilful in designing and making a tent, full of resource in camp life, never without an expedient to overcome a difficulty, a sketcher from nature, cheerful under all exposure, temperate in all his pleasures, ever ready with his song and guitar; at eveningtide, by the flickering embers of the camp fire, by the silent lake, or in the mountain cwm, or lonely glen—his loss was indeed to be regretted. His lithe figure, and luxuriant raven-black hair, shading in heavy tresses his ample forehead, jet-black eyes, and thoughtful countenance bronzed by exposure, strongly resembled the true gipsy type. By other gipsies whom we had chanced to meet, he had been thought of better gipsy blood than our own gipsy people.

Our right hand seemed gone. As we lounged into the gipsies’ camp, there was no sun to illumine our way to the north. The party must be made up to four; but no other friend would venture on the exposure of a camp life in a foreign country. The romantic scenery, the novelty and charm of a nomadic life in nature’s wildest scenes, completely failed to allure them from their comfortable homes.

So the party was to be made up to four. The Rye was not to go without a sufficient escort to take care of him. Tall Noah would pitch the tents and pack the animals. Esmeralda, as the forlorn hope, would do all the cooking, and undertake the arrangements of the tent, which our friend had beforetime done with our joint assistance. Zacharia, the “boshomengro” (violin-player), would again obtain water, and make the fire. They would each have one animal under their charge. With this arrangement we were obliged to content ourselves. Esmeralda, who was nearly sixteen years old, was tall, spare, and active, and wonderfully strong for her age. She had dark hair, and eyes full of fathomless fire. Zacharia had certain nervous misgivings about being chopped up by a bear in his tent some night; tigers and lions were also inquired after; but, all being settled, there was no flinching, and our gipsies were ready on the day named.

CHAPTER II.

“He is an excellent oriental scholar, and he tells me that amongst the gipsies are the remains of a language (peculiar to themselves) in which are traces of Sanscrit. Sir David Baird, too, was remarkably struck with the resemblance of some of the Sepoys to the English gipsies. They are evidently not the dregs of any people. The countenances of many of the females are beautiful, as those of the males are manly.”—The Peacock at Rowsly.

GIPSY EQUIPMENT—NORWEGIAN GIPSIES—PRESTEN EILERT SUNDT—THE HULL STEAMER—THE TOURIST’S FRIEND—OUR GIPSY SONG.

The gipsies’ equipment and wardrobe was not extensive; some additions given by the Rye made them up assez bien pour la voyage. One or two waistcoats, and a handkerchief or two, formed, we believe, the whole of Noah and Zacharia’s change. But their boots! those were unexceptionable. They must be new—they must be thick—they must be nailed—double and treble nailed. One shoemaker failed in solidity and soundness of substratum; but at last, to the Rye’s comfort and inexpressible relief, a more skilled follower of St. Crispin produced some chef d’œuvres of ponderous construction, which the gipsies admitted to be masterpieces. The man who drove the nails had well-earned his wages; the soles, indeed, at length resembled one of those old-fashioned oak doors, that one sometimes sees in ancient castles, or manorial residences. We duly discharged their cost, consoling ourselves with the reflection that we had not to walk in them through Norway. Esmeralda had one dress to change. What it wanted in skirt, was made up by the ornamentation of plaid braid, and silver buttons, quite in accordance with the fashion of some Norwegian districts. She had no bandboxes, chignon-boxes, gloveboxes, parasols, umbrellas, caps, pomades, perfumes, and a thousand other things often required. A long Alpine cloak, and a few articles of change, formed a very slight addition to our baggage.

There are Norwegian gipsies. Even Norway has been reached by wandering hordes of this singular people.[10] We were desirous of comparing the language of English gipsies with that of the Norwegian Zigeuner; we were anxious to see some of the roving Tater-pak of this Northern land. In our researches into the history, language, origin, and probable fate of this wild, wandering people, who still cling with remarkable tenacity to their ancient modes of life and language, we had met with the interesting works of Presten Eilert Sundt—a gentleman who has given much time and indefatigable energy to a complete investigation of the present state of the Norwegian gipsies, and has formed a vocabulary of the Romany language as spoken by them in Norway.

Presten Sundt’s notes will remain a valuable record of the footsteps of this people in the world. His first work, “Beretning om Fante-eller Landstrygerfolket i Norge,” was published at Christiania in 1852; it was succeeded by “Anden aars Beretning om Fantefolket,” published at Christiania in 1862. To him the Norwegian Government are indebted for the only information which we believe has yet been given relative to the Norwegian gipsies. The extracts from Presten Sundt’s works, expressly made for us, will be found in the Appendix to this work.

Our preparations had wonderfully progressed: besides bags of various kinds we had three pockets, as the gipsies call them,—one for each animal. The pocket is a large broad, flat sack, sewed up at both ends, with a slit on one side, which buttons. The blankets and rugs, &c., are folded and packed flat into it through the slit or opening. Any hard substances are placed at each end of the pocket, so that the donkey’s back may not be injured. The pocket is placed flat over the tent covers, and then girthed tightly round the animal. The bags, tent-rods, and other things are fastened by cords passing between the girth and the pocket.

A steamer was to sail from Hull in June, and we ultimately arranged to take a return ticket from Hull to Norway and back, ourself first-class, and the gipsies second-class: our return tickets cost us £25, including the carriage of three animals, either donkeys or horses, whichever we might wish to take, going or returning. At one time we thought of going by the special steamer to Throndhjem, intended for the convenience of sportsmen, but as the voyage was longer, and the fare considerably higher, we gave up the idea. Messrs. Wilson were most prompt in giving us every information, and when we had decided to go, they secured us an excellent berth, and received our heavy baggage when forwarded.

BREAKING UP CAMP: GIPSY POCKET AND LOADED DONKEY.

We soon received a small publication, by John Bradley, entitled, “Norway, its Fjords, Fjelds, and Fosses, and How to See Them for Fifteen Guineas:” with a tempting view of Norwegian scenery on the cover. Unfortunately we could not travel at so cheap a rate with our party; but we recommend the publication to intending tourists.

We now wrote to Mr. Bennett, 17, Store Strandgade, Christiania, who is a perfect oracle upon all matters pertaining to Norway, and gives ready aid to northern tourists, and he at once sent the maps we required. We afterwards received his newly revised Guide Book, which is indispensable to all Norwegian travellers.

A gipsy song was composed by us for our campaign,—a sort of souvenir, to be given here and there,—a memorial of our visit; we had it translated into Norwegian. It was a guitar song, with an engraved border, illustrative of gipsy life. The music was arranged by our friend, of whose regretted absence, we have already spoken. He had taken it from an air, which he once heard played, by an Italian boy, in the streets of London. It had since dwelt on his memory. The following is the music of the air, and the song follows, with a Norwegian translation, which is said, to be exceedingly good.

MUSIC OF GIPSIES’ NORWEGIAN SONG.

ZIGEUNERNES SANG TIL NORGE.

Hil dig du kjœre gamle Land!
Hvor Frihed og Munterhed boe,
Vi Zigeunere komme til din Strand
Forat vandre med dig i Ro.

Vi vandre paa Mark, vi vandre i Fjord
I det stolte gamle Norge.
Der leve gjœve Folk i Nord,
Thi her ere Frihedens Borge.

I mit Telt ved din blanke Söe
Belyst af Maanen södt jeg drömmer.
Din Erindring hos mig vil aldrig döe
Dine höie Granskove jeg ikke glemmer.

Giv os Eders Velkomst til Norgesland,
Hvor Alter saa yndigt at skue.
I Eders Fædres Bryst for den fremmede Mand
Opflammede Venskabets Lue.

Den hellige Olaf velsigned dig.
De djærve Haralders Jord,
Om dig stedse siges sandelig:
Som Guld kan man tage dit Ord.

Farvel! vi Afsked maa tage,
Og besöge hver Skov og hvert Fjeld
Vor Velsignelse Eder altid ledsage
Og gjentone vort sidste Farvel.

THE GIPSIES’ NORWEGIAN SONG.

Welcome, you dear old land,
Land of the gay and free;
We are a gipsy band,
And wander awhile with thee.

In fiord and fell we wander,
Nor tire, old Norge, of thee,
A people so brave, and no wonder—
For they live in the land of the free.

I dream in my tent by your Indsöe,
When the moonlight hour is mine,
And my heart can never forget you,
And your beautiful forests of pine.

Give us your welcome to Norway,
Where all is lovely and fair;
Your fathers of old never tardy
Their friendship with strangers to share.

Blessed by St. Olaf the holy,
Land of Harold the bold,
Of you it is ever said truly
Your word is as good as your gold.

And now adieu; we must leave you,
To wander each forest and fell;
Our blessing for ever attend you,
And echo our parting farewell.

CHAPTER III.

“The woods are green, the hedges white
With leaves, and blossoms fair;
There’s music in the forest now,
And I too must be there.”
Jeffreys.

A FRIEND’S MISGIVING—DARK FOREBODINGS—A SLEEPLESS NIGHT—THE RAILWAY STATION—THE ALBION—A PHILOSOPHER—THE STREET BOY—DISTINGUISHED TRAVELLERS.

We had nearly completed our preparations, and were leaving town, when we dined one evening with a friend whom we had not seen for some time. He seemed interested in our approaching excursion, but his astonishment was great, when our plan was divulged.

“What! going to Norway with gipsies?” said he in amazement, as he poised in his hand, a glass of champagne. “Why I don’t believe my friend Tom Taylor, who has taken a great interest in the gipsy language, ever went so far as to camp with them. You’ll be robbed, and murdered—not the slightest doubt. Travel with gipsies!” exclaimed our friend, and he seemed to shudder at the thought

We were quite unable to say how much self-sacrifice Mr. Tom Taylor may have made. We had read his interesting collection of Breton Ballads. He writes well on a great variety of subjects, and is an excellent art critic; but we could not give any opinion upon his camp experience. My friend shook his head, “Write to me when you get there,—promise to write me a letter,” said he earnestly. “Yes, you will be certainly robbed, and murdered,” and he silently emptied his glass.

There was something touching in his manner, as he gulped down the effervescent draught, with a look which showed plainly that he had no hope for our safe return.

In the drawing-room the subject seemed one of interest. We gave our friend a promise to write. As we left the house, his adieux were those of separation, for the last time.

It had been a wild rainy night. What with packing, and writing letters, we never went to bed. Mes gens de la maison remained up also. After a very early breakfast we were en route. As we drove up to the railway station of a large populous town, we caught sight of our gipsies. They were waiting for us with the three donkeys in the shelter of some open building of the station. The gipsies looked wet, draggled, and miry, but full of spirits. As we stepped from the carriage, a porter took charge of our twelve packages.

We had received previously full and explicit information from the passenger department as to the trains and expense of transit, and had engaged a horse box to Hull. One of the officials, seemed rather astonished, when he found three donkeys, were to be conveyed in the horse-box, he scarcely seemed able to connect a horse-box, with the proposed freight.

A stray policeman seemed puzzled at the retinue. The three gipsies, saluting us with Shawshon baugh, Sir? (How do you do, Sir?) marched up and down the platform, apparently much pleased at our arrival. The stray policeman wandered about, as if he was up, and down, and nohow, as to what it all meant, or whether the gipsies, belonged to us, or themselves. He was lingering near, when we produced a 10l. Bank of England note at the booking-office, in payment for our tickets. A new light then beamed on his mind, and we did not see him again. The horse-box was paid for. The porter got labels for all our packages, and timidly ventured to inquire the use of the tent-rods, which he had curiously regarded for some time. We secured a second-class, and a first-class compartment in the same carriage, all was arranged, the signal was given, and we were off. We had only one change—at Leeds—and no stoppage. The horse-box went right through. A pleasant compagnon de voyage, accompanied us most of the journey; he had lately come from the blue skies of Italy.

The gipsies were joined by an inquisitive fellow-traveller, in a white hat. Some people trouble themselves about everybody else’s business but their own. He cross-examined them, as to who we were, and where we came from. “Gloucestershire,” said Noah—“we all came from Gloucestershire this morning.” “You must have started very early,” said the inquisitive traveller. “Oh, yes,” said Noah with emphasis—“very early.”

It was a damp, wet morning, as we arrived on Friday, the 17th June, 1871, at the Hull station, and found ourselves on the platform. We left the gipsies, to look after the donkeys, which were put in some stables at the station; and taking all our things in a cab to the Albion steamer, we put them on board. Messrs. Wilson were called upon. They are prompt men of business; to their word in all things. Ample arrangements would be made to shelter the donkeys during the voyage, and we paid our fare. At the station on our return we found a civil porter waiting for us, and having paid the stout stableman 1s. for each donkey, the gipsies took them on board about one or two o’clock in the day.

Much curiosity was created when the gipsies came on deck. The steward of the vessel said, they seemed to have lately come from a warm country.

The Albion steamer had small, but comfortable second-class accommodation. No meal could be had until seven o’clock; but the second steward managed to get the gipsies some sandwiches and ale. They had been fed en route in the morning, and were quite satisfied, with the refreshments so provided.

During the previous wet night, they had camped some distance from the starting point, and had ridden the donkeys through the rain to the railway station. Noah and Zacharia had no great-coats, but Esmeralda was dressed in her long Alpine cloak, and treble necklace of blue, and white beads. Her straw hat was surmounted by a small plume of feathers, dyed blue, by one of her brothers. She did not wear earrings, and had no other ornament.

We had left the steamer to obtain some methylated spirit for our Russian lamp, and to call at Messrs. Wilson and Co.‘s, when we remembered, that we had forgotten our watch-keys. A watchmaker’s shop was soon found. The watchmaker was a merry-looking man. The watch had always been provided with one key to wind it up, and another to regulate the hands. We had always been assured, that two different keys, were required. “Ha! ha!! ha!!!” laughed the watchmaker, who was apparently a German, “I will give you one key which will do the same thing—ha! ha!! ha!!!”

It was a beautifully formed key, nor had we ever met with one like it before.

The watchmaker appeared to us as a second Jean Batiste Schwilgué of Strasbourg.[11] “Ha! ha!! ha!!!” laughed the merry little man, “all is mystery. We eat and drink, but we comprehend nothing. Ah! we often end in believing nothing.” We remarked that no one who contemplated with attention the works of Nature could overlook the design of a great Creator. The watchmaker went to an inner door. A pretty girl probably his daughter, changed a shilling for him. “Ah!” continued he, “you see by travel; you take in through the eyes; they are the great vehicles of human life. I laugh at them, ha! ha!! ha!!!” and he bowed as I left the shop.

We were now nearly ready for the voyage; as we passed from the gates of the railway station an interesting-looking boy, pleaded hard to black our boots. It is an honest way of making a livelihood. In this instance we stepped aside—one boot was just finished, when he suddenly bolted. Although he did not wait for his money, he did not forget the paraphernalia of his business. Another boy explained, that he was not allowed to black boots so near the station, and a policeman in the distance had caused his hasty disappearance.

The boy again met us soon after, and completed his work; we were glad to have the chance of paying him.

When we went on board the steamer, all was confusion. On the wharf, we had 1s. wharfage, to pay for each animal. The total expenses of our party to join the steamer amounted to 10l. 9s. 6d. including 6s. 11d. for hay, supplied to the donkeys for the voyage.

The evening was damp and gloomy. An old weather-beaten Norwegian pilot wandered about the deck. Men in oilskin coats, smelling strongly of tar and tobacco-quid, hustle and bustle, against everything. Very comfortable accommodation, had been erected specially for the animals near the engines, in the waist of the steamer. Esmeralda was feeding them with hay.

When the gipsies were afterwards looking over the side of the vessel, they formed an interesting group. Then came the active steward, of the second cabin, who promised us to take care of them. The second steward was a small, but firmly-knit, active young fellow, who said he had been wrecked twice, in the old coat he was then wearing, and for which, therefore, he had a strong affection; after saying he should go next winter to California, he left us to look after his many arrangements.

We were informed that Sir Charles Mordaunt and also Lord Muncaster,[12] who had so narrowly escaped the Athenian brigands, had left Hull in the special steamer for Throndhjem on the previous evening.

CHAPTER IV.

“Zarca. It is well.
You shall not long count days in weariness:
Ere the full moon has waned again to new,
We shall reach Almeria; Berber ships
Will take us for their freight, and we shall go
With plenteous spoil, not stolen, bravely won
By service done on Spaniards. Do you shrink?
Are you aught less than a Zincala?”
George Eliot’s Spanish Gipsy.

ENGLAND’S FAREWELL—SUMMER TOURISTS—THE CHEVALIER—SEAFARING—A GIPSY RECEPTION—CHANGE OF PLANS—NORWEGIAN PILOT—THE BIRMINGHAM BAGMAN—INDUCEMENT TO AUTHORSHIP—STRANGE WILLS—A SAILOR’S PHILOSOPHY—ICELANDIC LANGUAGE—PROGNOSTICATIONS.

The steamer’s saloon was elegantly fitted up. Bouquets of flowers shed their fragrance on each table; books, pens, and ink had been supplied for the use of the voyagers. One passenger soon entered, carrying a long sword; another—a French gentleman—followed, and expressed a wish to be in the same cabin with his wife. We have pleasure in saying that we found the captain very agreeable, and courteous.

The Albion steamer left the Hull docks at eight o’clock the same evening, being towed out by a steam-tug. The under-steward, went to meet some passengers, whose arrival was expected by a late train, but returned without having found them. The gipsies and ourself, as we stood looking over the bulwarks of the steamer, took our last view of the fading shore, and the steamer was soon fairly on her voyage. Our gipsies were almost famished; but we managed to get them some tea, at nine o’clock, and they went off to bed.

Our cabin was one of the best in the steamer. We awoke as daylight dawned through the open bull’s-eye window of our upper berth. Not feeling decidedly well, or ill, we got up, to see how we were; then we had some conversation, with our fellow-passenger in the berth below. (We were the only two occupants of the cabin.) This traveller, who was invisible behind the curtain of his berth, informed us that he was going on business to Gottenberg; while we told him, that we were going to make a tour, in the wilds of Norway.

When we sought our gipsies, we found that they were not up. In company with several of our fellow-passengers, we afterwards sat down to a capital breakfast provided for us in the saloon. The steamer had its usual complement of travellers to Norway in summer—some for fishing, some for health, and some for business.

One pale, gentlemanly passenger, whose acquaintance we made, had met with an accident to his leg. Another agreeable tourist, whom we will call Mr. C., was accompanied by his wife—a tall young lady, with a Tyrolese hat and feather. A young invalid officer, just returned from Italy, had had the Roman fever, and was given up; he had, however, recovered sufficiently to travel, and intended going to Lyngdal to join some friends. There were also two or three Norwegian gentlemen (one of them, a Chevalier de l’Ordre de Wasa), a Scotch traveller with a large sandy beard, and a tall, portly gentleman, going to visit some friends near Christiania.

Finding we had three donkeys on board, the Chevalier and another passenger accompanied us to see them. The first-named gentleman, was especially interested in our proposed excursion. How shall we describe him?

He was rather under middle height, thick-set, and strongly built; and occasionally his countenance expressed, much animation, and good-humoured energy. The information he possessed was extensive; he spoke English perfectly; had travelled much, and knew Scandinavia, and its people well.

The donkeys were declared very fine ones, especially the large light-coloured animal, with a dark cross on its shoulders, long, finely-formed legs, and beautiful head. This donkey was about six years old, and we called it the Puru Rawnee.[13]

The next donkey, was a dark animal, five years old, strong, but not so finely formed; although not so spirited, it endured all the fatigue of long travel, even better than its two companions; we called it the Puro Rye.[14]

The third was about four years old, with a beautiful head, very lively, and was called the Tarno Rye.[15] They seemed to relish the hay, and made themselves quite at home.

The donkeys became objects of special interest, and the Puru Rawnee was much admired. Most of the passengers had something to recount as to their impressions. A Norwegian gentleman said that they had no donkeys in Norway, which we afterwards found to be quite correct. Another good-humouredly said, that sixpence each ought to be charged, and the entrance closed. Many were the suggestions, and speculations, concerning them by the passengers, as they quietly puffed their cigars. The gentleman of the Roman fever, who seemed to be improving each hour, said in a significant manner, during a pause in the conversation, “You’ll write a book; your experience will be interesting—you ought to write a book.”

We now went to find our gipsies, or what was left of them. Esmeralda was lying on the deck, with her head on a closed hatchway. She raised her head in a most doleful manner, and said, “Very bad, sir.” Noah was lying next his sister, and sat up for a moment looking very wild. Zacharia was extended full length, perfectly speechless. Evidently, they wished themselves on shore again.

Great curiosity was excited among the passengers to see the gipsies. We explained, that they were in a very prostrate condition—in fact, quite unable to hold much intercourse, with the outer world; but at length we yielded, and introduced a party to them. The interview was short, and as our gipsies were still lying on the deck, and quite unable to do the honours of the reception, we soon left them in peace. The passengers were apparently much pleased with the introduction.

They were real gipsies—gipsies who had all their life roamed England with their tents—none of your half-and-half caravan people—an effeminate race, who sleep in closed boxes, gaudily painted outside, with a stove, and a large fire within. Ours were nomads, who slept on the ground, and wandered with their tents, during every season of the year.

The steward took care we did not starve. Our dinner was quite a success. The table groaned beneath the weight of soup, salmon, roast beef, veal, ducks and green peas, young potatoes, puddings, Stilton and Cheshire cheese, &c., with excellent claret from a Norwegian house at Christiania.

The gipsies did not give much sign of revival. During the afternoon, we visited them now, and then, consoled them, and gave the steward orders, to let them have whatever they wanted.

We had a long conversation, with the Chevalier, as to our route, through Norway. It had been our intention to make Christiansand our starting-point, go through the wilds of the Thelemarken, and visit again the Gousta Mountain, and the Rjukan Fos. The Chevalier suggested Christiania, as the best starting-point, taking railway to Eidsvold, where, he said, Presten Eilert Sundt resided. He then said, we could travel by road, or steamer, to Lillehammer, and from thence through the Gudbrandsdalen. He afterwards sketched out a very long and interesting route, having its termination at Christiansand, and we determined to follow as far as possible his suggestions.

There were many inquiries by the passengers as to how the gipsies fared, and we went to see them again just before tea-time. Zacharia was in bed, and asleep; Noah was just getting into bed; and Esmeralda was in the second-class women’s cabin, with some tea, and bread-and-butter before her, looking exceedingly poorly. The close proximity to a stout woman who was dreadfully sea-sick, was not enlivening.

The Norwegian pilot, who was a good-tempered old man, had been much interested with the nails in the gipsies’ boots; when they were lying on the deck, he would sometimes stoop down to make a close inspection, as if he were counting them. He said nothing, but probably thought more.

The occupant of our cabin, when we saw him, was a young man with an eye to business; in fact, some of the passengers averred afterwards, that he could calculate in a few moments, the exact amount, the steamer cost, to a fourpenny nail. He seemed, however, to be very well intentioned, in his inquisitive analysis of everybody, and everything. He was said by some one to be a Birmingham bagman, whilst others said he was a wandering Jew; but whether Jew or Gentile, he took a decided interest in the gipsies, and the donkeys, for which we suppose there was some excuse. He had dark hair, eyebrows, and beard, pale complexion, and generally walked with his hands in his pockets, and his shoulders screwed up to the back of his neck. His head, was inclined downwards, whilst he looked at you, with large rolling eyes, from under his bushy eyebrows, with a quick upward glance of inquiry. Now and then, he would walk off to see the donkeys, and report on his return, to the other passengers, his views as to their state of comfort, and happiness.

Somehow his opinion, did not appear to have much weight with the other passengers—whether it was from want of intelligence on their part, or obscurity of perception, we could not say. At tea-time he sat opposite to us; he dashed wildly into salad, and then said in a loud voice across the table, “I have seen your donkeys; I should like to go with you.” “You seem to like them,” we replied. “No!” exclaimed he, very wildly; “it is your gipsies’ dark eyes.”

“He is insane,” said the Chevalier, in an under tone, to which we readily assented. The bagman certainly did look wild; and it immediately occurred to us that he slept under our berth, in the same cabin—not a lively contemplation, but we were determined, not to meet trouble halfway.

We had entered up some of our notes, and had strolled on deck to enjoy the freshness of the sea-breeze, when we found ourselves one of a small party of passengers, whiling away the time, in pleasant conversation, in which our captain joined.

“You must write a book,” said the officer who had had the Roman fever.

“And dedicate it to you?” we rejoined.

“I will take one copy,” said one passenger.

“I will take three copies,” said our captain.

“Ah!” said another, “it should be on the saloon table.”

“And then,” said another, “it will be interesting to know the fate of the three donkeys.”

We admitted that, after so much encouragement, we must write a book, and dedicate it to the officer, who had had the Roman fever.

Several anecdotes were related. One passenger said, “There was a house near Hyde Park, which formerly belonged to an old gentleman, who left his property to trustees on certain trusts, provided they buried him on the top of his house.”[16] Several instances were told of persons desiring in their wills to be buried in their garden; and one or two cases were mentioned where the wish had been disregarded.

The weather became rainy, and our compagnons de voyage, sought shelter elsewhere. We, however, still clung to the fresh sea-air, and as we paced the deck near the wheel, we could not help observing the silent seaman, gazing intently in solemn earnestness, on his compass, as if, like Dr. Dee, he noted many things, within a magic crystal. He was a good-looking, though weather-beaten man, with a dark moustache.

In answer to an observation we made, as to the weather, he said, “Well, sir, I never felt it so cold as it was last Sunday—not even in the Baltic last winter, when I had ice, an inch thick on my back. Why, I had three coats on last Sunday!”

We then remarked, that there were few accidents on the line of steamers.

“Accidents you think seldom occur on this line? Well, I don’t know. There was the Echo last winter; not a soul saved! I’ve slipped four in my time, as have soon after gone down.”

“You’ve been lucky,” said we.

“Lucky? Well—if there is such a thing as luck; but I think Providence ordains all things; I believe all things are ordained for us.” Many sailors we have met, have been men of deep religious feeling; below a rough surface, we have often found much true piety.

The Chevalier still remained on deck, and we had a long conversation about Iceland. The Icelandic language is the same as the old Norwegian language; but he told us that it is difficult for one who speaks only modern Norwegian, to learn Icelandic. In Iceland, he said, they were great snuff-takers; it was calculated that each person took 2lbs. of snuff per head each year. Like the Scotch, they had their mulls or snuff-horns.

At twelve o’clock on this day, the thermometer stood at 62.° The ladies had scarcely appeared; they generally suffer more than gentlemen.

It was nearly twelve at night when we entered our cabin to go to bed. The occupant of the second berth was invisible, but not asleep; and he asked whether we objected to have the cabin-door open. We were only too glad to oblige him, and with the bull’s-eye window open also, we had an agreeable atmosphere.

His mind was apparently still dwelling upon the gipsies. An interrogating voice issued from the lower berth, as we were preparing to go to bed.

“I suppose you have been writing your diary?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I suppose you will write a book? I will take two copies. Have you a bed or a mattrass in your tent?”

“No!”

“That would not do for me. I should have an air bed to keep you off the ground. You will probably stay a day or two at Christiania? I suppose the gipsy girl will cook for you? She will suffer, and be ill, won’t she? You will have much trouble with her.”

We informed him she had more spirit, and was quite as strong as her brothers.

Our fellow-passenger again continued, “Where did you engage them?”

We answered, we had known them some time, and they were attached to us; and then, wishing him good-night, we left him to pursue his dreams of the gipsies’ dark eyes, which had evidently made an impression upon him.

Our shrewd calculator was evidently under the gipsies’ spell.

CHAPTER V.

“Que veut dire ce mot la, Esmeralda?”
“Je ne sais pas,” dit-elle.
“A quelle langue appartient-il?”
“C’est de l’Égyptien, je crois.”
Notre Dame de Paris, par Victor Hugo.

“What is the meaning of the name Esmeralda?”
“I don’t know,” said she.
“To what language does it belong?”
“It is Egyptian, I believe.”

A SEAMAN’S ADVENTURES—THE UNFORTUNATE TOURIST—AN APT QUOTATION—FREEMASONRY—CHRISTIANSAND—PAST RECOLLECTIONS—THE RUNIC STONE—OVERPAYMENT—TWO SALMON FISHERMEN—A TRAVELLER’S CURIOSITY—NORWEGIAN SNAKES—SCENERY—WE ARE ONE—GOLDEN OPINIONS.

On Sunday morning, the 19th of June, we rose at four o’clock, and went on deck. The morning was cloudy; not a passenger to be seen. The seaman at the helm received our salutation. This one did not possess a moustache, but he had his say, and said it. He philosophised thus. His wages were not 4l. a month. “4l.,” said he, “I ought to have; but if I did not take less, they would ship men at 3l. who would. There were 300 men in the Custom House at Hull who never did more than two hours’ work a day. They had not got it for them to do. He had been to California, and had, by gold digging, accumulated in a few months 350l.—was stuck-up coming down the country—lost all—shipped to Valparaiso, got about 80l., and set up in business. The Spaniards and the Chilians had a row, and he walked off and lost everything. Had not done much—did not know where a man could go to make money—England was overcrowded. They were emigrating now from Norway, to the United States and Canada. Had tried Australia, but did nothing there. Had seen men in Sydney who were walking about, and could not get more than two hours’ work. Thought it best to stick to England, though he could not get higher wages; but, somehow,” said he (finishing up) as he gave the wheel a pull, “we seem to be all going along together; I suppose we shall come out at some gate, or other. It beats me, but I suppose it will be all right at last.”

We took advantage of early hours—our diary progressed. Leave nothing to memory, but that page of perception, which gilds the past, with a thousand golden spangles. The tints of remembrance, give more genial hue. As a record of truth, the facts must be rigidly noted; they must have instant impress, if they are to be of value.

One by one, passengers appear in the saloon from their cabins. The Scotch tourist with a large sandy beard enters. He was one in search of health, and had by accident fallen thirty-seven feet, which nearly killed him. Could not speak Norwegian—had been very sea-sick—was going through Norway—thought the fall had injured his head—felt very unwell, and looked it.

We get a cup of tea at 7·30. At eight o’clock, stewards make their appearance, and bustle about. The morning began to clear; passengers assemble at breakfast in larger numbers and in better spirits. A fine day is expected.

Many inquiries are made after our gipsies and donkeys. The gipsies were still unwell. Esmeralda managed some beefsteak and tea as she lay on deck. The gipsies had our best encouragement.

The barrister and the officer recovered from the Roman fever (a member of the Naval and Military Club) were both charmed with our gipsies’ names.

The officer especially so, and gave occasionally, the following recitation:—

“Upon a time it came to pass
That these two brothers die did;
They laid Tobias on his back,
And Ezekiel by his side did.”

This quotation from a popular song, was considered a very apt illustration, of the probable fate, of our two gipsies, Noah and Zacharia, before the expedition was ended.

The Birmingham bagman, was soon seen hovering on the narrow bridge, leading to the forecastle above the waist of the steamer. At times, he leaned upon the handrail, and would look down upon the deck below, where our gipsies reclined. Sometimes after gazing at them, he made some observation to Esmeralda. Occasionally he came to us, and was exceedingly anxious about the donkeys.

So frequently did he come, and so many were his suggestions, that at last we began to fear, we should be in the same melancholy position, as Sinbad the Sailor, with the Old Man of the Sea.

The passengers seemed most pleased with the name of Esmeralda. The portly English gentleman said it was a gipsy queen’s name. The barrister often hummed an air from a favourite opera called “Esmeralda,” which had been brought out in London that very season.

The Chevalier was in excellent spirits at dinner. He had been engaged upon a diplomatic mission to England. We discovered ourselves as Freemasons, which led to our taking champagne together at dinner.

A young Norwegian, who spoke English exceedingly well, and his English wife, sat near us.

The day had gradually become bright and lovely. The steamer approached Christiansand. In the afternoon, we sighted its forts. The town looked smiling, as if to welcome us from the ocean. Several passengers were going on shore: the portly gentleman, the officer who had had the Roman fever, the Chevalier, and ourselves and gipsies descended into a boat. The fare when we landed was 16 skillings. The officer was going to some place near Lyngdal. We left him at the Custom House, passing his baggage. As he wished ourselves, and gipsies good-bye, his last words were, “Remember, I must have a copy of your book.” We hope before this, he has recovered, and is able to read these pages.

The houses of Christiansand are of wood; the streets are broad, the pavement, when not Macadamized, often rough and uneven. The town had wonderfully improved since our last visit.

Christiansand recalled to mind the time, when a friend and ourself, once landed there from England. We had sailed in a small fishing-smack, commanded by Captain Dixon. It was our first visit to Norway. We stayed at the Scandinavian Hotel, kept by Madame Lemcou. The hotel was very like a private house. No one spoke English. Well, we remember our difficulties, and the kind old inhabitant, who called upon us. He had no doubt come to place his knowledge of the country at our service. His stock of English consisted of “your most humble obedient servant,” which he often repeated. Our knowledge of Norwegian, at that time was in comparison, scarcely more extensive, so that our interview, ended much as it began.

We rambled with our gipsies through the town. It was a sunny evening. The inhabitants were also enjoying their evening promenade. Although warm, and pleasant, scarcely any of the windows of the houses, were opened for ventilation. The sides of the wooden houses were often covered with weather-boards, and painted. Esmeralda, with her dark raven hair, and eyes; Noah, with his tall figure; Zacharia decorated with a flaming yellow “dicklo” (gipsy handkerchief) flaunting round his neck in gipsy fashion, were severally scanned by curious observers as we passed. Noah heard one person say in English, “How healthy-looking they are!” We could not help being amused, at the puzzled expression of some, not excepting several young soldiers we met.

We walked round the cathedral, which was not improved by whitewash, and possessed no chef d’œuvre of sculptured ornament, to make us linger in our contemplation.

The old Runic stone in the churchyard of Oddernœs Church, we had before visited. Noah—whose ideas no doubt connected most views with sites for a camp—pointed out one highly suitable on the bank of the Torrisdals Elv. Time wore away, and we at length made our way quickly down to the boats, waiting at the rough wooden piers of the harbour.

We had a boat to ourselves. Esmeralda sat with us at the stern—her two brothers sat on the seat opposite. As the boatman rowed us from the shore, we thought how strangely, we wander through the world, as we follow the high road of life. When we reached the Albion steamer, many passengers were looking over the side of the vessel. We had no small change, when we went on shore, but the portly gentleman kindly lent us the necessary amount. On our return it was necessary to pay the boatman. We gave him the smallest change we had, which was a quarter of a dollar, and then ascended the gangway with our gipsies.

The Birmingham bagman had been watching us. “Ah!” said he, coming up, as we stepped on deck, “why you gave the man too much. I saw you give a large piece of silver to him. He pulled off his hat to you. You spoil them.” We explained that we had no change. “But,” said he, in a state of excitement, “you spoil them.” We trusted it would do the boatman good, and left him, to communicate his ideas of pecuniary compensation, to some one else.

This he appears to have done; for very shortly after the Chevalier coming on board, grossly infringed, the bagman’s scale of payment, and he came in for another storm of indignant remonstrance.

Monsieur le Chevalier, whose quiet humour nothing could disturb, asked the excited bagman, why he did not give the boatman the English half-crown he wanted to get rid of? “Can you give me any discount?” shouted the bagman, infuriated. The Chevalier calmly answered, “Your appearance shows me, that you can give me nothing to discount upon.” The bagman rushed off, and we found him some short time after, when we went into our cabin, lying in his berth.

“I have had a row with that Dutchman,” said he, beginning to unfold his melancholy history, when we advised him to mind his own affairs, and went on deck.

Two gentlemen came on board at Christiansand, whom we at once noted as salmon fishermen. Both were handsome, though slightly past the meridian of life. One was taller than his companion, with a complexion, darkly bronzed in the summer’s sun, and by exposure to the fresh air. He had been on board a very few minutes, when we entered into conversation. His companion, and himself, had been at Mandal, salmon-fishing, but the weather was hot, and the water low, and clear. The largest salmon they had taken was 18lbs. My expedition incidentally became partly known in conversation. He seemed much interested. We showed him our donkeys, and he seemed to think our expedition a heavy cost. Very shortly after, when we had parted, our gipsies came on the after-deck, and said a gentleman in a velvet jacket had sent for them. We told them to return, and soon after saw Mr. T. interrogating Noah on the fore-deck. We were rather annoyed at the time, that any one should send for our people and question them as to who their master was, and his name. When we saw Noah afterwards, he said, “I told him nothing, sir. He asked your name, and I told him ‘Harper.’” Afterwards Mr. T. again joined us on deck, with the portly gentleman and the barrister in search of health. Mr. T. was afraid of sleeping on the ground, and having rheumatism. He mentioned an American method—a kind of frame which kept you completely off the ground, and folded into a small compass. We described our tent, and many questions were asked about our method of camping, which we explained. Most seemed very anxious to know, how we became acquainted with our gipsies. But we merely said that our interest in the tent-dwelling races, had thrown us in contact with them. The portly gentleman informed us that a species of viper existed in Norway, but the snakes were not numerous. He said he was once in the Thelemarken[17] district, and having put up the horses in a shed, he lay down on the turf. Some time afterwards when he got up, a small viper, was found clinging to his coat, which, falling off, the peasants cut it into pieces and burnt each piece separately, since they have an idea that if the pieces get together, the viper can piece itself again. When he afterwards got into his carriole to continue his journey, he felt a shivering sensation between his shoulders most of the day. Mr. T. asked a variety of questions, about our commissariat, and what we were taking, and seemed much interested in the expedition. We gave him the best information we could. He was one of the best types of an Englishman we met with in Norway.

The passengers began to recover. The steamer had been nearly two days at sea. The evening was beautiful. We had been charmed with the rocks tinged with reddish hue, rising in picturesque outline, from the Topdals Fjord. The fringed pine woods of the shore, were mirrored upon the almost motionless water, of the Norwegian frith.

The passengers were now more numerous at tea. Some ladies joined us. All were looking forward to their arrival the next morning at Christiania.

It was delicious as we strolled on deck. What a pleasant freedom there is upon the sea, away from the hum, and noise, of the great human struggle, of many minds, in populous cities! What bitterness and strife, misery and evil, we had left far behind us!

As we paced the deck in the delightful contemplation, of a summer’s eve at sea, we could not help noticing, Mr. C. and his wife, with the Tyrolese hat and feather. They were seated side by side on the deck, with their backs towards us. In silence, they appeared lost in happy contemplation. The surrounding light of circumstances seemed to say, “We are one!” How pleasurable should be the feelings of two hearts firmly united, holding, as it were, silent communion with each other. By a few touches of the pencil, in our small note-book, we caught their outline. We felt we were in the hallowed precincts of true love, and retired to another part of the vessel, lest we should disturb their happy dream.

We again lounged near the man at the helm. There stood the sailor, with his compass before him, as the vessel glided onwards from England’s shore. This seaman was not one of our former friends, but he was a rough, honest-looking, thick-set, hardy fellow; one of those men, who carry honesty written in their countenance. “Well, sir, I hope you will have a pleasant time of it,” said he. We thanked him for his good wishes, “That young lady,” continued he, alluding to Esmeralda “has had more than one talking to her. There’s that one, sir,” said he, looking towards the Birmingham bagman, who was walking about in the distance, with his hands thrust deep in his trousers’ pockets as usual; “and there’s another that is just gone. But she is not one of that sort; she let them go so far, and then she stopped them short. She’s a very good young girl. They have had a good education;” and he gave his wheel another tug, as if to clinch the observation.

CHAPTER VI.

“Free as the winds that through the forest rush—
Wild as the flowers that by the way-side blush.
Children of nature wandering to and fro,
Man knows not whence ye come, nor where ye go.
Like foreign weeds cast up on western strands,
Which stormy waves have borne from unknown lands;
Like murmuring shells to fancy’s ear that tell
The mystic secrets of their ocean cell.”
The Gipsies. Dean Stanley’s Prize Poem.

MARINER’S LIFE—THE EVASIVE ANSWER—A TRUE PRESENTIMENT—THE KING OF SWEDEN AND NORWAY—THE BEAUTIFUL FJORD—GIPSY MUSIC—A CUSTOM-HOUSE DIFFICULTY—ANOTHER FREEMASON—APPROPRIATE VERSES—CHRISTIANIA—HORSE MONEY—17, STORE STRANDGADE.

The stewards were excellent. One had been shipwrecked several times. “Rough work in winter, sir. Most on the line get lost. At Hull most of the young men who go to sea are drowned.” Not very encouraging information, thought we, but such are the chances of a seaman’s life. Having sent our gipsies to bed, we retired ourselves. About twelve o’clock our first doze was disturbed by a noise in our cabin. Looking round, we saw the bagman with a bottle in his hand. He was taking Lamplough’s pyretic saline, which he strongly recommended for headache, or to set you right after drinking. After taking his draught, he disappeared into his berth. Our thermometer was 66°, with both port-holes open.

We were recommended to look out for beautiful scenery, at about seven o’clock the next morning. When we went on deck, at an early hour, the weather was damp and cloudy.

Some time afterwards we had a chat on deck, with our fellow-passenger the barrister. He was going to Christiania, and from thence by the coast steamer to the North Cape. The coast excursion is a very pleasing one. Our fellow-passenger was full of anecdotes and information. Mr. T., after examining our gipsy, Noah, had said to the barrister, “I find that the gentleman’s name is Harper.” “You are quite in error, I can assure you,” said the barrister, “the gipsies have only been cramming you.” Mr. T. appeared much astonished, and we said it was only what he could expect; and, although not done intentionally, it was not exactly the right way to acquire information; and any one doing so would not get much for their trouble. We had risen at four o’clock. Our portly fellow-passenger, was also up soon after, and wishing us good-bye, descended with his portmanteau into a boat, and left the steamer. This he did to save time, not wishing to go to Christiania. We found afterwards that a young Norwegian in the second cabin, would have gladly availed himself of the same boat. He had been absent eight years from his home, and friends, and was anxious to see them as soon as possible.

When he afterwards arrived at Christiania, he said, “I have a dread, that I shall hear some bad news.” After a short absence from the steamer, he again returned. His worst fears were but too true, and he sat down, and cried very much. Such are the melancholy scenes of life, meeting us at every turn, and sadly remind us, of the short existence of all things in this world.

The early morning was rather damp and wet. The passengers were up in good time. Our gipsies we found as gay and sprightly, as they had been before ill, and prostrate. Mr. T. still seemed delighted with our expedition, and visited from time to time our gipsies, with his friend, whom we took for his brother. We mustered well at breakfast, under the presidency, of our polite captain. When we had finished, and returned on deck, our title to be recognised as an accepted mason, after a very rigid and searching ordeal, was at length acknowledged, by Monsieur le Chevalier, who was exceedingly particular.

From various circumstances, we had not been lately to our lodge in London. We still retained pleasant reminiscences of former visits, and especially of our reception, at those Lodges we once visited in Paris, with our old friend the Chevalier M.[18] His Majesty the King of Sweden and Norway is now one of the most distinguished masons in Europe. May he long hold the proud position, of being a monarch, whose power rests upon the affections, of a free, and noble-hearted people.[19]

The conversation at breakfast, was lively and animated. Most of the passengers were in good spirits, and seemed delighted with the bright anticipations, of their approaching wanderings, over fjeld and fjord. Even the Birmingham bagman was better, and we noticed him, at some distance from us, feeding his beard, in a most reckless manner with egg.

What a delightful scene presented itself after breakfast! From the steamer’s deck, we gazed on the beautiful fjord, calm and glistening in the sun. The cloudy morning was now changed—all was lovely, and filled the heart with a dreamy sensation of pleasure. Rocky shores, wooded islands, secluded maisonettes, and dark pine woods, extended as far as the eye could reach, into the boundless distance of endless woodland—one eternity of nature, which reminded us of the stanza:—

“There is a pleasure in the pathless woods;
There is a rapture on the lonely shore;
There is society where none intrudes
By the deep sea, and music in its roar.”

Soon after breakfast Mr. T. came to us, and said, “I have asked your young man to play his violin, and he very properly says he cannot do so, without your permission.” Mr. T. was anxious to hear them play; we therefore at once gave our consent. Noah came for one of the Regent Street tambourines, then in our cabin, and in a very short time the gay sounds of violin and tambourine, were heard in the Christiania Fjord. Our gipsies were grouped below the fore-deck, the sun was shining. The travellers and sailors seemed much amused. “Why you are travelling with your band!” said some of the passengers. Nor shall we forget the tall form of our gipsy, Noah, with his hat placed jauntily on one side his head, as he rattled the tambourine, with a verve, and feeling which only one, of wild, strong passions can do. Mr. T. came up. “I like your idea very much,” said he; “and I suppose that young gipsy girl, will cook for you. I admire her boots; they are something like boots. What a difference,” whispered he, as a genteel, ladylike passenger, passed near, whose small, thin, elaborately-worked, fashionable boots, with high heels, and small rosettes, just above the toes, certainly did not appear, fitted to promote, the elasticity of the footstep, or comfort of the wearer, among the Norwegian fjelds and fjords.

Then we had much speculation as to the astonishment of the Norwegian people, when they saw our donkeys. We were informed that the Chevalier’s father, had once possessed the only donkey in Norway. This animal had long since been dead, and Norway had been left without a single donkey in all the land. Some said we ought to make a charge for exhibiting them to the peasantry, and an animated discussion took place, as to the amount of duty to be paid, before they could be landed. One said it would be the same as upon horses; another said that the duty could not be the same as upon horses, and they would have nothing to pay. Some passengers expressed an opinion, that they would have to pass a law in the Storthing, to assess the amount of duty, before we could possibly land them, and it might cost us 20l. to get them through.

As we approached Christiania, and our voyage was nearly over, we had our account to discharge with the stewards. Our gipsies cost quite a fortune. If they had been ill at first, their appetites must have been ravenous, towards the close of the voyage. The steward had been told, to let them have everything they wanted to eat, and to drink; we could not, therefore, say much, so settled the bill. Both stewards, hoped we should come back in the same vessel, and took some trouble to give us the dates of sailing, from Christiansand. It was then our intention to take the steamer from Christiansand, at the end of the summer.

We met with another freemason on the morning we landed at Christiania, whom we believe was chief engineer—a very stout-built man, with a kind, amiable disposition, whose every word rang, of open-heartedness, and benevolence. He had a jolly, merry wife, and a French poodle dog, which, of course, begged, and was as intelligent, as those animals usually are. We became very good friends. Before we landed he gave us a newspaper, containing some verses, which, if we remember right, were written by some man going to be hung. Unfortunately, we have mislaid the gift. Our friend said the verses had struck his wife, and himself, as being most appropriate to the wanderings of ourself, and the young people. They wished us all success, which we sincerely reciprocated.

In the second cabin there was also a sea captain, and his wife, from Australia—very kind people to our gipsies; in fact, we could not help feeling, some tinge of regret, that we were so soon to leave. Yet we were on the threshold of camp life. We were about to continue our former wanderings. The thread broken elsewhere, was to be resumed in Norway. We must admit, that the allurements of fresh scenes of nomadic life, softened our separation, and gave us new hopes for the approaching campaign.

Our baggage was mounted on deck, as we approached Christiania. Very soon we had the city of Christiania in full view, with the King’s palace, and castle of Agershuus.[20] We could scarcely account for the feeling, but Christiania seemed to wear a pleasant, homelike aspect, which we liked. It was probably eleven o’clock when the steamer arrived. A number of the inhabitants had arrived on the pier. Mr. Bennett was there. Time had favoured him, for he looked stronger, and we might say younger, than when we were last at Christiania. One of the first incidents before landing was a solicitation for horse-money. It seems to be a kind of payment customary for the benefit of the sailors; and it was hoped that the donkeys, although not horses, would still entitle the sailors to its payment. We had enjoyed such a pleasant voyage, and were in such good temper, with all on board, that we did not raise any objection to the remuneration.

What a quaint, foreign-looking court-yard you enter as you seek Mr. Bennett. Numbers of carrioles are crowded together at the end of the court, ready for distant journeys. Then you ascend some steps, to a wooden balcony, and enter his suite of rooms. One large room is completely full of Norwegian silver relics—tankards, belts of a past age, carvings, paintings, engravings, photographs of Norwegian scenery, maps, books, and all sorts of articles, illustrative of the manners, and customs of the Norwegians, of ancient and modern time. We seem to have wandered into a dream-land of ancient sagas, and ten to one you meet other spirits who are doing the same.

Mr. Bennett, the presiding genius of the place, had probably ceased to be astonished at any mode of travelling an Englishman might adopt. Williams had landed with his knapsack, which resulted in an interesting work, having the additional value, of giving a correct entry, of the expenses of his expedition. MacGregor came en route to Sweden, with his canoe, and wrote another interesting work. Now an Englishman comes with gipsies and donkeys! What next?[21] The worthy English consul, and chargé-d’affaires, who so well represents our country, was absent from Christiania, but we were introduced to his son. When he heard of our retinue, grave doubts as to our safety, apparently crossed his mind. He seemed to think it improbable, we should return to our friends. It could scarcely be expected, that Mr. Bennett could advise us, upon the best camping grounds, but we must ever feel grateful remembrance to him, for the trouble he took, to pass our things through the Custom-house, and forward those left behind to Eidsvold.

The cicerone provided for us by the Chevalier, dined with us at the Victoria Hotel, Raadhuusgaden. The day was lovely. We found some of our fellow-passengers, already seated at the table d’hôte. -

CHAPTER VII.

“Gipsies, although long forgotten, and despised, have claims which we must not resist. Their eternal destinies, their residence in our own land, point us to a line of conduct we ought to pursue. They show that God expects us, to be interested for them, and to impart to them, the crumbs which fall from our table.”

“The Gipsies.” By a Clergyman of the Church of England.

THE VICTORIA HOTEL—THE GIPSIES’ FRIEND—THE PASSE-PARTOUT—PRESTEN EILERT SUNDT—THE CHRISTIANIA RAILWAY—OUR DONKEYS APPRECIATED—GIPSY SPIRIT—THE “TOLK”—NORWEGIAN MONEY—LINGUISTIC DIFFICULTIES—GIPSY AUTHORS—GIPSY NUMERALS—DEPARTURE FROM CHRISTIANIA.

There is often a pleasant sociability at a table d’hôte. Mr. T. was there, the invalid barrister, the tall Scotchman, and other travellers. Nor was the Birmingham bagman absent, as the background to throw out the lively tints of life’s experience. Mr. T. and the barrister sat near us. Mr. T. was delighted with our plan of seeing Norway, saying it was just what he should like. Time passed quickly. We hastily terminated our dinner, with some excellent Château-de-la-Rose claret, and then bade our fellow-travellers farewell. As we left the table, we saw the Birmingham bagman mournfully contemplating his fork. Whether he was going to use it as a toothpick, or whether he was calculating its cost, or whether he was hesitating, as to the possibility of sleeping in a tent without a bed, we know not. Whatever his thoughts may have been, we could have no unfriendly feeling at parting, especially after his extreme anxiety for the comfort of our donkeys, his admiration of Esmeralda’s dark eyes, and his liberal offer, to take two copies of our book. Be this as it may, we trust by some mysterious method of calculation, he will make a handsome profit to himself.

We found that Presten Eilert Sundt had not yet removed to Eidsvold. The Chevalier kindly gave us a letter of introduction to him, and we drove at once to his residence in the suburbs of Christiania, which we reached at about four o’clock. Ascending a large staircase, in a few minutes we were shown into Presten Sundt’s sitting-room. The “gipsies’ friend” was seated at his writing-table, with his books, papers, and various accessories, indicating active, and literary tastes. We met as two spirits, who, though taking far separate paths in life, had the same results in view—the same end to accomplish. Nor could we help being impressed with the energy written so strongly on his countenance. His forehead surmounted by thick, bristly hair, gave additional determination, to an expressive look, tempered by gleams of strong feeling. Then we discovered the combination of great energy, with a deep interest in the welfare of his fellow-men. When Presten Sundt had read the Chevalier’s letter, we at once explained that our time was limited, and we should shortly take the train from Christiania to Eidsvold. Many were his inquiries about the English gipsies. The Norwegian gipsies, he said, were difficult to meet with. Presten Sundt, said a traveller had called upon him last year when he was from home; Mrs. Sundt received the visitor, who said he was much interested in gipsies, and before he left gave the name of Viscount Monroe. Presten Sundt showed us the works he had written, and their practical value cannot be too highly estimated. Foreseeing the many difficulties, our small gipsy party might encounter, in a strange country, Presten Sundt wrote out, signed and sealed a document which he delivered to us. It was a kind of passe-partout, requesting his countrymen at all times to give us aid and assistance, and a kindly reception was ensured. The name of Presten Eilert Sundt, was so well known, in the length, and breadth, of Norway’s land, that a few words were the “open sesame” of our excursion, and possessed a talismanic value, we must always appreciate. Presten Eilert Sundt introduced us to Mrs. Sundt and his son. Coffee was brought in, but, alas! our time had expired. Preston Sundt regretted our hasty departure, and suddenly decided to accompany us to the station and bring his son. We all stepped into the carriage, still in waiting, and drove towards the station. En route our conversation was continued upon the subject of gipsies. We suggested, that in order to utilise the energy, and ability of the gipsy race, those paths in life, should be selected, in harmony with their previous habits. The descendants of generations of tent-dwellers, could not be turned into kairengroes, or house-dwellers, by a wave of the hand. Their employment must be consistent with their inborn, and inherent attachment, to the pure air of heaven. The rain poured down in torrents, as we drove up to the station, and entered the salle d’attente. At first we could not see anything of our people, though the hour of departure was near at hand. As we waited in the salle d’attente, Presten Sundt pointed to a map of Norway, hanging on the wall. It was the “Reisekart over Norges,” in two sheets. Presten Sundt recommended the map, as being coloured to indicate the cultivated, and inclosed portions of the country, so that we could distinguish with tolerable accuracy, the wild and open districts, likely to form our most convenient camping-grounds. Whilst there was yet time, Presten Sundt’s son kindly purchased one for us.

At length we found our cicerone in the left-luggage office. He had acted the part of pilot, to enable the gipsies and donkeys to reach the station. The donkeys had been the centre of considerable interest to the inhabitants of Christiania that day. Multitudes thronged on board the Albion steamer. The deck was trodden and tramped by an animated people, anxious to inspect the new arrivals. The gipsies must have felt some slight degree of envy upon the occasion. This curiosity of the inhabitants was only natural, when we consider that they had never seen any donkeys before, and they were quite as likely to excite special interest, as the hippopotamus we well remember in the Zoological Gardens, Regent’s Park. Can we forget the intensity of the moment, when it rose to the surface of its tank, and its nose, was distinguished for a few moments above water? Can we forget the satisfaction of impatient crowds of visitors, when such an event occurred? If we could know the discussions respecting our donkeys, they would doubtless be most instructive—a tome of literature, added to the natural history of the animal kingdom. The animals were pulled about from nose to tail. Their ears were pulled—a particular part of the back, was pressed with the thumb, to gauge their strength; their mouths opened, their teeth examined, their fore-legs smoothed down with many hands. One of the sailors being asked what he called them, answered, “Rabbits,” and pointing to the “Puru Rawnee,” informed them that she was the mother of all rabbits. No rest had the animals, and sorely puzzled they must have been, to make out what it was all about. The sailors could with difficulty manage to wash the decks. At length, one, either by accident, or intention, gave the crowd a sudden shower-bath with the ship’s hose, bringing forth ejaculations, which my gipsies did not understand. Multitudes of pocket-handkerchiefs, removed the moist results, as our friends precipitately left the vessel.

Our time had been so occupied, that we could not return to the steamer before the evening train. The gipsies had remained on board during the day in charge of the donkeys. They expected us from hour to hour. Esmeralda informed us afterwards, that they had almost given us up, we were so long. Before they left for the railway-station, Mr. T. and the invalid barrister had been to the steamer to inquire after their master, and joked them about our absence. “What shall you do, now your master is gone away?” Upon which Esmeralda answered, “My word, I shall let him know what it is staying in this way; I shall speak my mind.” “You must keep your master under,” said Mr. T. “Yes, I will,” said Esmeralda, with assumed indignation, which caused much laughter. Yet, with all her wild spirit, we had no cause to complain of want of obedience in Esmeralda. Many long, long miles, we afterwards walked together, and we must always remember her willing attention, in our hours of camp life. When our gipsies saw us at the station, their eyes lighted up with a thousand smiles.

On board the Albion, a young man offered his services as an interpreter, or “Tolk,” as they are designated in Norway. We were afterwards accosted in the street, by a smart-looking fellow, much more fit for a butler, than a campaigner, who also wished to accompany us. We declined their aid, preferring for the present to trust to our own resources, rather than make any addition to our party.

Our donkeys, notwithstanding the various opinions expressed, were allowed to land without any duty being charged. Mr. Bennett kindly arranged for the railway tickets, and procured for us the amount of small money we required. Every traveller is obliged to take a good supply of small coin. It is not very easy to get change out of large towns in Norway. Mr. Bennett’s Guide Book gives complete information as to the various small coins in circulation, and their actual value. Some are depreciated, to less than the amount marked upon them. Thus: eight-skilling pieces, with the crown and ‘F.R.VI.’ on the reverse, are now only worth six skillings; and four-skilling pieces, with the same reverse are only worth three skillings. This is often perplexing at the commencement of a Norwegian tour.

NORWEGIAN MONEY.

There are dollar notes. One (een), variegated coloured paper; five (fem), blue; ten (ti), yellow; fifty (femti), green; one hundred dollars (hundrede dollars), pink.

Immediately Presten Sundt caught sight of our gipsies at the station, he commenced speaking in the Romany language. He tried their knowledge of Romany numerals. Noah, we believed, failed at five or six. Their reckoning powers are not of high order, especially as they are unable to read and write.

Baudrimont, in his work containing a vocabulary of the gipsy language, spoken by gipsies wandering in the French territory of the Basque Provinces, says, the gipsy women he questioned say “jec” for one, “doui” for two, and they did not know any higher numeral, using beyond two, “b8ter” (bouter) signifying “much.”[22]

It is curious to notice, even in one word, the different methods of spelling, adopted by each author. The Romanes, not being a written language, and the opportunities of obtaining it from these wanderers over the world, being few, each author has struggled into print, with a vocabulary formed on some phonetic system of his own. Again, what a different sound, may be given to a word, by some slight modification of accent, depending upon the education, and temperament, of the individual speaking. For instance, if a stranger, unacquainted with English, but taking an interest in the language, came to England, for the first time, and wrote down in his note-book, English words spoken by the less educated natives, of Hampshire, Staffordshire, Lancashire, Yorkshire, Gloucestershire, Derbyshire, or Dorsetshire, what a variation he would find, in the spelling, and pronunciation, of many words, so collected. It is not, therefore, singular that gipsy philologists, should differ in their spelling. It is only extraordinary, that the accuracy of sound, distinguishing each word, has been so well conveyed. For example, take the word “much.” Baudrimont gives b8ter (bouter); Bryant’s collection, published 1785, gives “bootsee;” Borrow gives Spanish gipsy “buter” and “butre,” signifying “more.” Most of the other philologists give “but.” Presten Eilert Sundt gives “but” in his extensive vocabulary of the Norwegian Romany. One author (Dr. Bath C. Smart) gives “booty” and “boot,” and also “kissy.” Our own gipsies give “koosee” as the Romany for “much.”

At page 25 of his work,[23] M. Baudrimont says: “The gipsies have without doubt forgotten the numerals, for the women I questioned, only knew two.” Mr. F. Michel gives five;[24] Mr. Balby gives ten. Baudrimont has collected 245 Romany words, which, with those taken from the vocabulary of Mr. F. Michel, increase the number to 352. We notice some repetition of words in his vocabulary, which reduces the actual number.[25]

Our gipsies seemed to interest Presten Sundt. Noah and Zacharia were not so dark, as he expected to see them; Esmeralda seemed quite equal to the standard of gipsy type. Their ages, and a variety of questions, were asked in a very short time. Presten Sundt is a man of much energy, and rapidity of manner, and he was conversant with the English language.

We were sorry Presten Sundt had not an opportunity of seeing our tents; they were the same kind as those used by the gipsies who travel England. Esmeralda and Zacharia took their places in the second-class compartment, of the same carriage in which we travelled. Noah went in the same van with the donkeys.

Presten Sundt and his son, Mr. Bennett, Mr. T., the invalid barrister, and our active cicerone sent by the Chevalier, were assembled on the platform, and wished us bon voyage, as the train moved out of the station. Was not one wanting? He may have missed his road. He was not there—the Birmingham bagman had been left behind.

CHAPTER VIII.

“The moss your couch, the oak your canopy;
The sun awakes you as with trumpet call;
Lightly ye spring from slumber’s gentle thrall;
Eve draws her curtain o’er the burning west,
Like forest birds ye sink at once to rest.”
The Gipsies:—Dean Stanley’s Prize Poem.

A NORWEGIAN OFFICER—NORWEGIAN EMIGRATION—EIDSVOLD—THE SKYDSKIFTET—QUIET RETREAT—HAPPY HOURS—BAIERSK ÖL—ESMERALDA’S TOILETTE—THE TRANSFORMATION—CURIOUS ADDRESS—NEW ACQUAINTANCE—NOAH’S ENGAGEMENT—NOAH’S CONQUEST—AN UNGRATEFUL VISITOR—A RELUCTANT PARTING.

Two or three other passengers were seated in our first-class compartment. The accommodation was very comfortable. In the carriage, above our seat, there was a small tap, and drinking-glass, for the supply of deliciously clear, pure iced water, for the convenience of the thirsty passenger.

It was after five o’clock when we left Christiania. We had about fifty-two miles to travel that evening. Our attention was divided, between conversation, with one of our fellow-passengers—a military Norwegian officer—the contemplation of the country through which we passed, and the thoughts of what sort of place, we should have to camp in that night. The Norwegian officer was an interesting companion, the paysage, we passed through, was picturesque, but the idea of our future camp, occupied most of our thoughts. We must say, they were very misty and uncertain. Our fellow-traveller continued with us longer than any of the other passengers. He had been in England some time, and was, we believe, an inspector of the Artillery, possessing a perfect knowledge of the English language. He told us that the trees in the forests were often cut down to such an extent, as to be very detrimental to the climate and shelter required in a cold country.

Great numbers of the inhabitants were now emigrating to America. Many sold their farms very cheap, in order to leave the country. The train stopped once for refreshment, at a large wooden station, and we had an opportunity of seeing our gipsies. We passed through the largest plain in Norway. When we had nearly arrived at Eidsvold, our fellow-traveller left to visit the artillery practice-ground. We were then left to muse over our coming adventures. The train stopped at last on the side of a large platform.

We were now close to the Mjösen Lake, and had reached the terminus of the Christiania and Eidsvold railway. Descending to the platform, we found that not a person spoke a word of English. With some little difficulty we got our luggage out, and the donkeys also, to the astonishment of a small group of people, including an old man in a white hat. Showers of rain had prevailed during the route, and we could not see any convenient camping-ground near the station.

We walked up the platform, and down the platform, followed by our retinue of three gipsies. The old man in the white hat continued to watch over us: he followed us, hovered round us. We tried to converse, but made nothing of it; we were unable to understand what he wanted. At length, seeing a telegraph-office, we sent a telegram to Mr. Bennett, relative to a coat, and books, we had left on board the Albion. Most of the small group of people departed after they had gazed a short time at the gipsies and donkeys. We could not see any outlet to our difficulty, or where we were to go for the night; our provisions were left behind, even if we could find a convenient camping-ground. At last the old man took a decided course, and, summoning courage, led off one of the donkeys, and the other two followed. With our usual reliance upon results, we let him have his own way, determined to follow whither he would. Some men, when they saw us moving off, fastened our baggage on a small rough hand-cart. In a few minutes, we were toiling up a steep, winding road, and lost sight of the railway-station. Then we shortly after arrived at a large, sloping, open space, shut in by trees and comfortable wooden buildings, which gave it an air of charming seclusion. The place was apparently a “skydskift,” and here seemed to be our destination. The old man went direct across the open space, in front of the wooden house, to what appeared a stable, and then halted. The donkeys were minutely inspected by the people. They brought some hay and water for our animals, who, placed in the stable, must have been astonished at their sudden transition, through such various scenes. We were then conducted through what appeared to be the doorway of the “Guest Huus,” into a passage, up some stairs, into another passage, and through an open doorway into a very comfortable room. This was a sitting-room, and also a bed-room, on the first floor. There were two windows in it, which we put open; a mirror between them, which our gipsies looked into, as the shades of night were fast coming upon us. The furniture consisted of a sofa, and table, some chairs, a bed, and washing-stand. Up some more stairs, we had another narrow, but comfortable inner room, with two more beds.

Saying something about “speise,” coffee and eggs and most excellent bread and butter were set before us. Our baggage was deposited in the passage. The gipsies, Noah and Zacharia, at our request, commenced playing the violin and tambourine, whilst the evening meal was being placed on the table. The old man, who came up with the luggage, still lingered to hear the music. We seated him on a chair near the door, for we began to look upon him as our guardian angel. The comely-looking “pige,” or girl-in-waiting, at length seated us at table, as we set our musical-box to play. They had probably never heard one. There was a charming stillness about the place, broken by those liquid modulations of harmony, which seemed to create a thousand impressions, and agreeable sensations. Then we found ourselves taking our quiet evening meal with our three gipsies, who, to do them justice, passed muster wonderfully well. Esmeralda had the small sofa. After all the hurry, worry, and bustle of the day, as we sipped our coffee, we could not help feeling thankfulness to the Giver of all things, peace with all men, and content with the world. Our repast ended, the musical box ceased to play, the old man, bowing, retired. The kind-hearted looking girls prepared the beds. Esmeralda had the best bed, in the sitting-room; Zacharia, one made up for the night on the sofa; Noah and myself, the two beds in the narrow inner room. The beds were a serious business to Noah and Zacharia. Noah could not find his road into bed. At length, with our guidance, he was initiated into the mysteries; the result was almost immediate sleep. With the windows all open, and not a sound to disturb the stillness of night, we were not long, before we became unconscious of all toil and trouble.

Never shall we forget Zacharia in his bed, as we looked into the sitting-room the next morning. High above the sofa, one naked foot protruded, somewhere trailing near the floor we noticed some straggling locks of black hair, belonging to a head, whilst all the bed-clothes were tied, twisted, tumbled, and rolled into every conceivable shape.

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.”

CHAPTER IX.

“Choriñoac kaiolan
Tristeric du cantatcen,
Duelarican cer jan,
Cer edan,
Campoa du desiratcen;
Ceren, ceren
Libertatia hain eder den.”
Le Pays Basque, par Francisque Michel.

“The little bird in the cage
Singeth sadly,
Withal to eat,
Withal to drink,
He would be out;
Because, because
Nothing is sweet but liberty.”

MODERATE BILL—PROVISIONS LOST—WE MEET AGAIN—GIPSIES IN ADVANCE—LEFT ALONE—A WELCOME TELEGRAM—NORWEGIAN BATH ROOM—SINGULAR PAINTINGS—ONCE MORE FAREWELL—THE TELEGRAPH CLERK—THE MJÖSEN LAKE—THE DRONNINGEN—RUINED CATHEDRAL—UTILITARIANISM—LILLEHAMMER—ONCE MORE IN CAMP.

Our bill was moderate—four dollars, four marks, and eight skillings; twenty-four skillings for attendance seemed quite sufficient. Our things were all placed on a truck; Esmeralda carried Zacharia’s violin, our guitar, and our two extra caps, whilst we took our courier-bags, and, under our arm, in two satchels made for them, the two Regent-street tambourines. Our appearance certainly much resembled travelling musicians.

Bidding adieu to the kind people of the house, we were soon descending the winding road to the steamer. As we walked along, we could not help alluding to the astonishment our numerous friends would express if they could see us. Noah and Zacharia soon after met us; they had left the donkeys at the railway-station, and came to say the provisions had not arrived. When we reached the station, another telegram was sent, in which we mentioned Hudson Brothers, as consignors to Messrs. Wilson. The clerk of the telegraph office began to regard us as an habitué of the bureau, and we looked upon him as a pupil in the English language. We were astonished at his progress, and he was apparently equally so at our large expenditure of money in telegrams. Rather in mournful mood, we went to the wooden platform to which the steamer was moored. There was the box; there stood the donkeys; there the men to put them into the box, and the sling, to sling them on board. How are the donkeys to be put into the box? Vain were the efforts made—all to no purpose; the donkeys had made up their minds. At last, with the united efforts of four men, and Noah, one by one they were pulled, dragged, lifted, carried, forced, in wild resistance, over the passenger’s bridge, and along the deck, in sight of the astonished lookers-on. The “Puru Rawnee” and his companions were at length safely placed before the windlass on the fore-deck, close to four brass guns, ready loaded for a salute. We decided to go to Christiania, in search of the provisions, and sent another telegram to Mr. Bennett. The passage-money of our gipsies, and the three donkeys to Lillehammer, amounted to five dollars, seventeen marks; we also paid six marks for our gipsies’ dinner, including one bottle of “Baiersk Öl” between them, and a cup of coffee each. The captain kindly promised to look after them, and arrange for them to camp, when they got to Lillehammer. Just before leaving, we gave them some Norsk words for bread, cheese, coffee, &c. The old man in the white hat, our guardian angel, was, of course, at hand. With much anxiety he wrote down the words for Noah. Unfortunately, Noah could not read; but as the old man pronounced each word aloud, Noah followed, and the old man did not suspect, apparently, the neglected education of his pupil.

There was the sound of the coming train, just before eleven; down came the passengers, hurrying with their things to the steamer. There was the officer, and his wife, with the Tyrolese hat and feather—we had met again. Their two carrioles[27] are put on board—hasty salutations—we learn that the invalid barrister has left Christiania for Bergen—they are going to Gjövik. We told him our dilemma, and he said we had hurried too quickly through Christiania. They had been busy making purchases at Christiania. Our conversation now ceases, for the steamer must depart. The stout captain took up his position on the steamer’s pont, and, taking out his watch, he gave the signal for starting. As the Dronningen glided along the still waters of the Mjösen, our “cushty chavos” (gip., good children) made farewell signals to their Romany Rye.

NORWEGIAN FENCE.

Another telegram to Mr. Bennett, to say we should be in Christiania at seven o’clock in the evening, no train leaving Eidsvold before the afternoon. The telegraph clerk expressed his astonishment at the number of our telegrams, and increased his stock of English. We felt lonely away from our people. It was a very warm day, and we had some hours on hand. Crossing the bridge at the head of the lake, near the railway station, we passed the houses on the opposite side, and walked along the dusty narrow road beyond. We could see nothing but inclosures on either side the road. The common style of Norwegian road fence consists of posts, with two long parallel rails, supporting a number of slanting rails, of shorter length, loosely placed between them.

There was no shade. The wooden log houses, here and there, had generally tiled roofs. No attempt was made at ornament or picturesque effect. Everything in the rough. We sat on the narrow road side, and noted up our diary; then we returned to the houses again near the bridge, and being hungry, boldly walked into one which bore some resemblance to a place of refreshment. They civilly said they had nothing, and that there was a house on the hill, beyond the station, where refreshment might be had. They meant the house at which we had lately stayed.[28] It was about half-past two o’clock when we again crossed the bridge, and called at the telegraph office. The polite clerk seemed rather pleased to see us, at the same time handing a telegram with much alacrity.

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.