Personal Reminiscences in Book Making by Robert Michael Ballantyne (i am malala young readers edition .TXT) 📖

studied the Norse language till we became sea-sick, wished for land till we got well, then resumed the study of Norse until we sighted the outlying islands and finally cast anchor in the quaint old city and port of Bergen.

Now, it is well to admit at once that some of us were poor linguists; but it is only just to add that we could not be expected to learn much of any language in four days during intervals of internal derangement! However, it is curious to observe how very small an amount of Norse will suffice for ordinary travellers--especially for Scotchmen. The Danish language is the vernacular tongue of Norway and there is a strong affinity between Danish, (or Norse), and broad Scotch. Roughly speaking, I should say that a mixture of three words of Norse to two of broad Scotch, with a powerful emphasis and a strong infusion of impudence, will carry you from the Naze to the North Cape in perfect comfort.

Bergen is a most interesting city, and our party had many small adventures in it, which, however, I will not touch on here. But one scene--the fish-market--must not be passed over.

There must certainly be something in the atmosphere of a fish-market which tends to call forth the mental and physical energies of mankind, (perhaps I should rather say of _womankind_), and which calls forth a tremendous flow of abusive language. Billingsgate is notorious, but I think that the Bergen fish-market beats it hollow. One or two phases of the national character are there displayed in perfection. It is the Billingsgate of Norway--the spot where Norse females are roused to a pitch of frenzy that is not equalled, I believe, in any other country.

There are one or two peculiarities about the Bergen market, too, which are noteworthy, and which account in some degree for the frantic excitement that reigns there. The sellers of the fish, in the first place, are not women but men. The pier and fleet of boats beside it constitute the market-place. The fishermen row their cargoes of fish direct from the sea to the pier, and there transact sales. There is a stout iron railing along the edge of that pier--a most needful safeguard--over which the servant girls of the town lean and look down at the fishermen, who look up at them with a calm serio-comic "don't-you-wish-you-may-get-it" expression that is deeply impressive. Bargains, of course, are not easily made, and it is in attempting to make these that all the hubbub occurs. The noise is all on the women's side. The men, secure in their floating position, and certain of ultimate success, pay very little attention to the flaxen-haired, blue-eyed damsels who shout at them like maniacs, waving their arms, shaking their fists, snapping their fingers, and flourishing their umbrellas! They all carry umbrellas--cotton ones--of every colour in the rainbow, chiefly pink and sky-blue, for Bergen is celebrated as being the most rainy city in Europe.

The shouting of the girls is not only a safety-valve to their feelings, but is absolutely necessary in order to attract the attention of the men. As 15 or 20 of them usually scream at once, it is only she who screams loudest and flourishes her umbrella most vigorously that can obtain a hearing. The calm unruffled demeanour of the men is as much a feature in the scene as is the frenzy of the women.

During one of my visits I saw a fisherman there who was the most interesting specimen of cool impudence I ever encountered. He wore a blue coat, knee-breeches, white worsted stockings, and on his head of long yellow hair a red night-cap with a tall hat on top of all. When I discovered him he was looking up with a grave sarcastic expression into the flushed countenance of a stout, blue-eyed lass who had just eagerly offered him _syv skillings_ (seven skillings), for a lot of fish. That was about 3 and a half pence, the skilling being half a penny. The man had declined by look, not by tongue, and the girl began to grow angry.

"Haere du, fiskman," (hear you, fisherman), she cried, "vil du har otte skillings?" (will you have eight skillings?)

The fisherman turned away and gazed out to sea. The girl grew crimson in the face at this.

"Fiskman, fiskman!" she cried, "vil du har _ni_ (nine) skillings?"

The fisherman kicked out of the way a lobster that was crawling too near his naked toes, and began to bale out the boat. The girl now seemed to become furious. Her blue eyes flashed like those of a tiger. She gasped for breath, while her cotton umbrella flashed over the fisherman's head like a pink meteor. Had that umbrella been only a foot longer the tall black hat would have come to grief undoubtedly. Suddenly she paused, and in a tone of the deepest solemnity, said--

"Haere du, fiskman, vil du har ti (ten) shillings?"

The rock of Gibraltar is not more unyielding than was that "fiskman." He took off his hat, removed his night-cap, smoothed his yellow hair, and wiped his forehead; then, replacing the cap and hat, he thrust both hands into his coat pockets, turned his back on the entire market, and began to whistle.

This was too much! It was past female endurance! The girl turned round, scattered the bystanders right and left, and fled as if she had resolved then and there to dash out her brains on the first post she met, and so have done with men and fish for ever. But she was not done with them yet! The spell was still upon her. Ere she had got a dozen yards away she paused, stood one moment in uncertainty, and then rushing back forced her way to the old position, and shouted in a tone that might have moved the hearts even of the dead fish--

"Fiskman, here du, vil du hav tolve?"

"Tolve" (or twelve) skillings was apparently not quite the sum he meant to take; but he could hold out no longer--he wavered--and the instant man wavers, woman's victory is gained! Smiling benignly he handed up the fish to the girl, and held out his baling dish for the money.

The storm was over! The girl walked off in triumph with her fish, not a trace of her late excitement visible, the pink cotton umbrella tucked under her arm, and her face beaming with the consciousness of having conquered a "_fiskman_" in fair and open fight!

Steamers ply regularly between the north and south of Norway in summer, and an excursion in one of these is very enjoyable, not only on account of the scenery, but because of the opportunity afforded of making the acquaintance of the people. I once made a voyage in one of those steamers from the Nordfjord to Bergen, and one thing struck me very particularly on that occasion, namely, the _quietness_ that seemed to be cultivated by the people as if it were a virtue. I do not mean to say that the passengers and crew were taciturn--far from it. They bustled about actively; they were quite sociable and talkative, but no voice was ever raised to a loud pitch. Even the captain gave his orders in a quiet tone. Whether this quietness of demeanour is peculiar to Norwegian steamers in general, or was a feature of this steamer in particular, I am not prepared to say. I can only state the fact of the prevailing quietude on that particular occasion without pretending to explain it.

The state of quiescence culminated at the dinner-table, for there the silence was total! I never saw anything like it! When we had all assembled in the cabin, at the almost whispered invitation of the steward, and had stood for a few minutes looking benign and expectant, but not talking, the captain entered, bowed to the company, was bowed to by the company, motioned us to our seats, whispered "_ver so goot_," and sat down.

Now this phrase "_ver so goot_" merits particular notice. It is an expression that seems to me capable of extension and distension. It is a flexible, comfortable, jovial, rollicking expression. To give a perfect translation of it is not easy; but I cannot think of a better way of conveying its meaning, than by saying that it is a compound of the phrases--"be so good," "by your leave," "what's your will," "bless your heart," "all serene," and "that's your sort!"

The first of these, "be so good," is the literal translation--the others are the super-induced sentiments, resulting from the tone and manner in which it is said. You may rely on it, that, when a Norwegian offers you anything and says _ver so goot_, he means you well and hopes you will make yourself comfortable.

Well, there was no carving at that dinner. The dishes were handed round by waiters. First we had very thin rice soup with wine and raisins in it--the eating of which seemed to me like spoiling one's dinner with a bad pudding. This finished, the plates were removed. "_Now_," thought I, "surely some one will converse with his neighbour during this interval." No! not a lip moved! I looked at my right and left-hand men; I thought, for a moment, of venturing out upon the unknown deep of a foreign tongue, and cleared my throat for that purpose, but every eye was on me in an instant; and the sound of my own voice, even in that familiar process, was so appalling that I said nothing! I looked at a pretty girl opposite me. I felt certain that the youth beside her was about to speak--he looked as if he meant to, but he didn't. In a few minutes the next course came on. This was a dish like bread-pudding, minus currants and raisins; it looked like a sweet dish, but it turned out to be salt,--and pure melted butter, without any admixture of flour or water, was handed round as sauce. After this came veal and beef cutlets, which were eaten with cranberry jam, pickles, and potatoes. Fourth and last came a course of cold sponge-cake, with almonds and raisins stewed over it, so that, when we had eaten the cake as a sort of cold pudding, we slid, naturally and pleasantly, into dessert, without the delay of a change of plates.

There was no remaining to drink at that dinner. When the last knife and fork were laid down, we all rose simultaneously, and then a general process of bowing ensued.

In regard to this proceeding I have never been able to arrive at a clear understanding, as to what was actually done or intended to be done, but my impression is, that each bowed to the other, and all bowed to the captain; then the captain bowed to each individually and to all collectively, after which a comprehensive bow was made by everybody to all the rest all round--and then we went on deck to smoke. As each guest passed out, he or she said to the captain, "_tak for mad_," which is a manner and custom, and means "_thanks for meat_." With the exception of these three words, not a single syllable, to the best of my belief, was uttered by any one during the whole course of that meal!

Of course the gentlemen of our party performed many wonderful exploits in fishing, for sea-trout and