Footnote 1: The "Spring dance" and "Halling" are the national dances of the country.
Footnote 2: To those of our readers who have travelled in the mountainous districts of Norway, the idea of the "Sœters" is sure to convey a romantic and pleasing impression, and though to others we fear we cannot give a just representation of these strongholds of the brownies, we may at least explain the meaning of the word.
In the prospect of the long winter before them, the farmers are anxious to cultivate as meadow every available spot of grass land in the valley, and therefore during the summer months the cattle are sent to graze up in the forests and on the mountain sides, where each farm has its Sœter usually several miles away from the farm itself. A part of the family take up their residence in the small wooden house prepared in the simplest way for their accommodation; a few plain wooden chairs and a table may be all the furniture, but everything is scrupulously clean, and here many a young girl may gain her first experience in housekeeping and the superintendence of the dairy.
Early in the morning, when the dewy freshness of the air gives life and vigour to all around, the milkmaid will arise, and in clear beautiful tones sing a song of the country, and gather the cattle around her, giving to each a handful of salt, and calling them all by name. The mountains rise on all sides, and her song is re-echoed from cliff to cliff. Far in the distance amid the towering peaks, peep here and there the deep crevasses filled with everlasting snow; the icy surface gives a glacier-like appearance, and there you may see grand images of the sun reflected like gigantic stars.
The herdsmen up in the Sœters play skilfully upon a curious wooden instrument, peculiar to the country. This can be heard for miles, and should any of the cattle have strayed from the rest, they are guided back by the sweet sounds of the "Luur."
Endregaarden was the name of a small solitary hamlet, surrounded by high mountains, from which flowed a broad river that divided the flat and fertile valley in two.
The river ran into a lake that lay close to the hamlet, and from this spot there was a beautiful prospect. Once there came a man rowing over Endre Water; his name was Endre, and it was he who had first settled in the valley, and his kindred who now lived there. Some said he had decamped hither for murder's sake, and it was therefore his descendants were so dark; others said it was due to the mountains, that shut out the sun at five o'clock on midsummer day.
Over this hamlet there hung an eagle's nest from the projecting cliffs up in the mountain, and though all could see when the eagle was sitting, the nest was quite out of reach. The male bird sailed over the hamlet, pouncing now on a lamb, now on a kid, once he had also taken a little child and borne away; therefore there was no security so long as the eagle had her nest in this mountain fastness.
There was a tradition among the people, that in the olden time, two brothers had climbed up and destroyed the nest; but now there was no one who could do it.
When two met in Endregaarden, they would speak of the eagle's nest, and look up. Every one knew what time in the new year the eagles had come back, where they had pounced down and done mischief, and who had last attempted to climb up.
In the hope of one day being able to achieve the feat of the two brothers, the lads, from quite small boys, would practise themselves in climbing trees and cliffs, wrestling, &c.
At the time of which we now speak, the first lad in Endregaarden was not of the Endre kin; his name was Leif, he had curly hair, and small eyes, was clever in all play, and fond of the gentler sex. He said very early of himself, that one day he would reach the eagle's nest, but people intimated he had better not have said it aloud.
This tickled him, and before he was of full age, he went aloft. It was a clear Sunday morning in the early summer; the young birds would scarcely be hatched. The people gathered in a crowd under the mountain to see; old and young alike advising him against the attempt.
But he listened only to the voice of his own strong will, and waiting till the eagle left her nest, he made one spring and hung in a tree several yards from the ground. It grew in a cleft, and up this cleft he began to climb. Small stones loosened from under his feet, and the soil and gravel came tumbling down, otherwise it was quite still, save the sound of the river from behind with its subdued and ceaseless sough.
He soon reached that part where the mountain began to project, and here he hung by one hand, groping with his foot for a hold; he could not see. Many, especially women, turned away, saying he would not have done this if his parents had been living. At last he found a footing, sought again, first with the hand, then with the foot; he missed, slipped, then hung fast again. They who stood below could hear each other breathing.
Then a tall young girl, who sat upon a stone apart from the rest, rose up; they said she had promised herself to him from a child, although he was not of the Endre kin, and her parents would never give their consent. She stretched out her arms and called aloud, "Leif, Leif, why do you do this!" Every one turned towards her; the father stood close by and gave her a severe look, but she did not heed him. "Come down again, Leif," she cried: "I, I love you, and there's nothing to be gained up there!"
One could see that he was considering, he waited a moment or two, and then went further up. He found a firm footing, and for a time he got on well; then he seemed to grow tired, for he often stopped.
A small stone came rolling down, as though it were a forerunner, and all who stood there must watch its course to the bottom. Some could not bear it longer, and went away. The girl still standing high upon the stone, wrung her hands and gazed up. Leif took hold again with one hand; it slipped, she saw it distinctly; he made a grasp with the other, it slipped also; "Leif!" she cried, so that it rang in the mountain, and all the others joined in. "He's slipping!" they cried, and stretched out their hands towards him, men and women. He continued to slip with the sand, stone, and soil; slip, slip, faster, faster. The people turned away, and then they heard a rustling and rattling on the mountain behind them, and something heavy fall down like a great piece of wet earth. When they looked round again, there he lay, torn and disfigured. The girl lay on the stone; the father took her up and carried her away. The lads, who had the most excited Leif to climb, dared not now go near to help him, some could not even look at him; so the old people had to come forward. The eldest of them said, as he took him up, "Alas! alas! but,--" he added, "it is well there is something hangs so high that every one cannot reach it."
Thord Overaas, of whom we are about to speak, was the wealthiest man in the parish.
His tall figure stood one day in the pastor's study: "I have got a son," he said eagerly, "and I wish to have him baptised."
"What shall he be called?"
"Finn, after my father."
"And his god parents?"
They were named, being relatives of Thord, and the best men and women in the district.
"Is there anything else?" asked the pastor, and looked up.
The farmer stood a minute;
"I should like to have him baptised by himself," he said.
"That is to say on a week day?"
"Next Saturday, at twelve o'clock."
"Is there anything else?"
"Nothing else."
The farmer took his hat, and moved to go.
Then the pastor rose; "There is still this," he said, and going up to Thord, he took his hand, and looked him in the face: "God grant that the child may be a blessing to you!"
Sixteen years after that day, Thord stood again in the pastor's study.
"You look exceedingly well, Thord," said the pastor; he saw no change in him.
"I have no trouble," replied Thord.
The pastor was silent, but a moment after: "What is your errand to-night?" he asked.
"I have come to-night about my son, who is to be confirmed to-morrow."
"He is a clever lad."
"I did not wish to pay the pastor, before I heard what number he would get."
"I hear that,--and here are ten dollars for the pastor."
"Is there anything else?" asked the pastor, he looked at Thord.
"Nothing else." Thord went.
Eight years more passed by, and so one day the pastor heard a noise without his door, for many men were there, and Thord first among them. The pastor looked up and recognised him: "You come with a powerful escort to-night."
"I have come to request that the banns may be published for my son; he is to be married to Karen Storliden, daughter of Gudmund, who is here with me."
"That is to say, to the richest girl in the parish."
"They say so," replied the farmer, he stroked his hair up with one hand.
The pastor sat a minute as in thought, he said nothing, but entered the names in his books, and the men wrote under.
Thord laid three dollars on the table.
"I should have only one," said the pastor.
"Know that perfectly, but he is my only child; will do the thing well."
The pastor took up the money: "This is the third time now, Thord, that you stand here on your son's account."
"But now I am done with him," said Thord, took up his pocket book, said good night, and went. The men slowly followed.
Just a fortnight after this, the father and son were rowing over the lake in still weather to Storliden, to arrange about the wedding.
"The cushion is not straight," said the son, he rose up to put it right. At the same moment his foot slipped; he stretched out his arms, and with a cry fell into the water.
"Catch hold of the oar!" called the father, he stood up and stuck it out. But when the son had made a few attempts, he became stiff.
"Wait a minute!" cried the father, and began to row. Then the son turned backwards over, gazed earnestly at his father, and sank.
Thord could scarcely believe it to be true; he kept the boat still, and stared at the spot where his son had sunk, as though he would come up again. A few bubbles rose up, a few more, then one great one, it burst--and the sea again lay bright as a mirror.
For three days and three nights the father was seen to row round and round the spot without either food or sleep; he was seeking for his son. On the morning of the third day he found him, and carried him up over the hills to his farm.
It would be about a year after that day, when the pastor, one autumn evening, heard something rustling outside the door in the passage, and fumbling about the lock. The door opened, and in walked a tall thin man, with bent figure and white hair. The pastor looked long at him before he recognised him; it was Thord.
"Do you come so late?" asked the pastor and stood still before him.
"Why yes, I do come late," said Thore, he seated himself. The pastor sat down also, as though waiting; there was a long silence.
Then said Thord, "I have something with me that I wish to give to the poor,"--he rose, laid some money on the table, and sat down again.
The pastor counted it: "It is a great deal of money," he said.
"It is the half of my farm, which I have sold to-day."
The pastor remained long sitting in silence; at last he asked, but gently: "What do you intend to do now?"
"Something better."
They sat there awhile, Thord with downcast eyes, the pastor with his raised to Thord. Then the pastor said slowly, and in a low tone: "I think at last your son has really become a blessing to you."
"Yes, I think so myself also," said Thord, he looked up, and two tears coursed slowly down his face.