The Lure of the North by William Dawson Hooker

Author:William Dawson Hooker [PUSHKIN PRESS — THE LONDON LIBRARY]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781782272625
Publisher: Steerforth Press
Published: 2016-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

The Dovre-fjeld—A Fine Farm and Old Lady—Wolves—Choose your Road

Leaving Toftemoen with regret, after a few days’ delightful visit and plenty of occupation for pencil and fishing-rod, we drove northwards; the aspect of the country gradually changing with the receding valley; and as we ascended higher and higher, leaving all trees beneath, suddenly emerged on the edge of a wild plateau; that peculiar feature of Scandinavia, there called a fjeld. Dull lakes and pools of water were imbedded in grassy banks; the road, flat for the first time, wound among them and innumerable little hillocks, until, taking a sudden rise, a chain of mountains appeared in front—that noble ridge of the Dovre which cuts through Norway, and includes Schneehätten.

At the doorway of a large farmhouse, on a slope at the foot of the mountains, stood a portly lady with cheerful smile ready to welcome the new-comers, which is seldom the case in Norway; the doors of every place being left wide open, the traveller can walk in and take possession without encountering a soul, which often gives a dullness to the arrival at a strange spot, till he has become courageous in the ways of the country. The dress of this fine old lady was our first specimen of uncommon costume, and as such minutely inspected and sketched on the spot; which so delighted her that the following day, when I was sitting quietly mending my clothes, she pounced upon me, took me off to an enormous room where the family wardrobe was kept, and, selecting the best of everything, dressed me up as a Dovre-fjeld peasant for the day; presenting her handiwork with great satisfaction to all new-comers, and insisting on another drawing being made.

The whole road from Christiania to Trondhjem rings with the praises of Madame Jerkin: hers is the favourite station, to which the knowing traveller always presses on. There, though white bread is unknown, the charming light waffle-kacker are cooked in little moulds fresh for him; the cream is too thick to pour, and must be ladled out with a spoon; the floors are scrubbed now and then, and the best brandiviin from Trondhjem is kept in a corner of the cupboard. Twenty horses wait in the stable, forty cows graze on the surrounding hills in summer, and lie on Iceland moss in their stalls in winter. The flad-bröd is piled up till it touch the ceiling in the store-room; and rows of salted mutton show that meat can be had in an extremity. Descendants of the old kings of Norway, the Jerkin family live in good style; and if any proof of their antiquity were wanting, the lock on the barn will be found on examination to be the facsimile of the ancient one in the museum of relics in Christiania. The family consisted of Madame Jerkin, her son and his wife, grandson, and an expected baby; who must be born by this time, and have worn the extraordinary pieces of small finery made upon the

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