One evening, after a very earnest attempt on the part of our coterie to sing some Norwegian songs by Kjerulf, it was discovered that amongst those listening outside was the brother of the composer, Professor Kjerulf, now of the Geological chair at Christiania. He expressed himself as being highly gratified with the English appreciation of his brother’s undoubted talent. All this musician’s work has great individuality and crispness, and his airs always “go” well. Hear his “Brudefærden.”
Der aander en tin-dren-de Som-mer-luft varmt o-ver Har-danger fjords Van- de, hvor højt op mod Him-len i blaa-lig Duft de mæg-ti-ge Fjel-de stan-de; det skin-ner fra Bræ, det grøn-nes fra Li, sit Hel-lig-dags- skrud staar E-nenkæde i; thi se——, o-ver grønkla-re Bøl-ge hjem- gu-der et Bru-de-føl-ge. O-ho! aahej! la la la la la la la la O-ho! aahej! la la la la la la, thi se, o-ver grønkla-re Bøl-ge hjem- gli-der et Bru-do føl—-— ge. O-ho—— —— ——]
[Illustration: _The Troltinderne by Moonlight._]
The previous woodcut shows the north side of the house and farm-buildings. The _stabur_, or provision-house, is there, with the bell above. This bell is rung regularly for the farm labourers to come in, as they are always fed by the _bönder_, and the meals, though very simple, seem frequent. It was at this good hostelry that Lady Di Beauclerc stopped and described the French count who was in search of good “chase” of reindeer there, and the lady whose pursuit was _le saumon_, and who had a fly of the same colour as her costume. One becomes imperceptibly very curiously impressed by an association of ideas. Several people have mentioned that they felt rather surprised that they had never seen the count with his French hunting horn, nor the lady. There is still an idea that their ghosts linger about the spot, waiting, we suppose, for the reindeer and the salmon to come to them. The friend who was so kindly received here some twenty years ago was offered a little fishing by Herr Landmark. A portion of the river Rauma runs in front under the house, and the good sport made the happy fisherman rabid for life on salmon: he has been to Norway almost every year since, and taken many with him.
A few miles above Aak, leaving the sand plateau behind, we enter the Romsdal valley proper, with the Romsdal Horn rearing its grand peak on the left. The Troltinderne, or the Witches, is one of the most remarkable groups of fantastically jagged rocks in Norway, ever varying in effect, the mist wreathing and most delicately veiling or throwing a film over them, which makes them more gigantic and weird than ever. The outline of the peaks when clear is very serrated indeed, and with the Northern people a fair share of superstition attaches to them. These two elements have brought about the tradition that the series of _aiguilles_ represent a wedding party going to the church. First, the _spilleman_ (fiddler), then the _kanderman_ (best man) with a tankard; the next large peak is the priest; then come two peaks, turning away as it were one from another: these were the unhappy bride and bridegroom, who foolishly and injudiciously quarrelled. Next come the father and mother. But the most curious character yet remains. By the side of a sharp point is a mass of rock, which certainly does look very much like a figure: this is the disconsolate lover, who, seeing that the bride and bridegroom had already quarrelled, makes a frantic rush to cut in and carry off the lady. This must have been the precise moment when they were all turned into stone, and so they remain, a warning to all frequenters of the valley. That the peasants believe in spirits and “little people” living on the fjeld, even in this year of grace, cannot be denied, as they say they do; but why they should think that these little people have blue heads I cannot imagine.