KAUTOKEINO. ­A DAY WITHOUT A SUN.

While in Dresden, my friend Ziegler had transferred to me a letter of introduction from Herr Berger, a merchant of Hammerfest, to his housekeeper in Kautokeino.  Such a transfer might be considered a great stretch of etiquette in those enlightened regions of the world where hospitality requires certificates of character; but, in a benighted country like Lapland, there was no danger of very fine distinctions being drawn, and Ziegler judged that the house which was to have been placed at his disposal had he made the journey, would as readily open its doors to me.  At Muoniovara, I learned that Berger himself was now in Kautokeino, so that I needed only to present him with his own letter.  We arrived so late, however, that I directed Long Isaac to take us to the inn until morning.  He seemed reluctant to do this, and I could not fathom the reason of his hesitation, until I had entered the hovel to which we were conducted.  A single room, filled with smoke from a fire of damp birch sticks, was crammed with Lapps of all sizes, and of both sexes.  There was scarcely room to spread a deerskin on the floor while the smell exhaled from their greasy garments and their unwashed bodies was absolutely stifling.  I have travelled too much to be particularly nice in my choice of lodgings, but in this instance I instantly retreated, determined to lie on the snow, under my overturned pulk, rather than pass the night among such bed-fellows.

We drove on for a short distance, and drew up before a large, substantial log-house, which Long Isaac informed me was the residence of the Lansman, or magistrate of the district.  I knocked at the door, and inquired of the Norwegian servant girl who opened it, where Herr Berger lived.  Presently appeared a stout, ruddy gentleman ­no less than Herr Berger himself ­who addressed me in fluent English.  A few words sufficed to explain everything, and in ten minutes our effects were deposited in the guest’s room of the Lansman’s house, and ourselves, stripped of our Polar hides, were seated on a sofa, in a warm, carpeted room, with a bountiful supper-table before us.  Blessed be civilisation! was my inward ejaculation.  Blessed be that yearning for comfort in Man, which has led to the invention of beds, of sofas, and easy chairs:  which has suggested cleanliness of body and of habitation, and which has developed the noble art of cooking!  The dreary and perilous wastes over which we had passed were forgotten.  With hearts warmed in both senses, and stomachs which reacted gratefully upon our hearts, we sank that night into a paradise of snowy linen, which sent a consciousness of pleasure even into the oblivion of sleep.

The Lansman, Herr Lie, a tall handsome man of twenty-three, was a native of Altengaard, and spoke tolerable English.  With him and Herr Berger, we found a third person, a theological student, stationed at Kautokeino to learn the Lapp tongue.  Pastor Hvoslef, the clergyman, was the only other Norwegian resident.  The village, separated from the Northern Ocean, by the barren, uninhabited ranges of the Kiolen Mountains, and from the Finnish settlements on the Muonio by the swampy table-lands we had traversed, is one of the wildest and most forlorn places in all Lapland.  Occupying, as it does, the centre of a large district, over which the Lapps range with their reindeer herds during the summer, it is nevertheless a place of some importance, both for trade and for the education, organization, and proper control of the barely-reclaimed inhabitants.  A church was first built here by Charles XI. of Sweden, in 1660, although, in the course of subsequent boundary adjustments, the district was made over to Norway.  Half a century afterwards, some families of Finns settled here; but they appear to have gradually mixed with the Lapps, so that there is little of the pure blood of either race to be found at present.  I should here remark that throughout Norwegian Lapland the Lapps are universally called Finns, and the Finns, Quans.  As the change of names, however, might occasion some confusion, I shall adhere to the more correct Swedish manner of designating them, which I have used hitherto.

Kautokeino is situated in a shallow valley, or rather basin, opening towards the north-east, whither its river flows to join the Alten.  Although only 835 feet above the sea, and consequently below the limits of the birch and the fir in this latitude, the country has been stripped entirely bare for miles around, and nothing but the scattering groups of low, dark huts, breaks the snowy monotony.  It is with great difficulty that vegetables of any kind can be raised.  Potatoes have once or twice been made to yield eight-fold, but they are generally killed by the early autumn frosts before maturity.  On the southern bank of the river, the ground remains frozen the whole year round, at a depth of only nine feet.  The country furnishes nothing except reindeer meat, milk, and cheese.  Grain, and other supplies of all kinds, must be hauled up from the Alten Fjord, a distance of 112 miles.  The carriage is usually performed in winter, when, of course, everything reaches its destination in a frozen state.  The potatoes are as hard as quartz pebbles, sugar and salt become stony masses, and even wine assumes a solid form.  In this state they are kept until wanted for use, rapidly thawed, and immediately consumed, whereby their flavour is but little impaired.  The potatoes, cabbage, and preserved berries on the Lansman’s table were almost as fresh as if they had never been frozen.

Formerly, the place was almost entirely deserted during the summer months, and the resident missionary and Lansman returned to Alten until the Lapps came back to their winter huts; but, for some years past, the stationary population has increased, and the church is kept open the whole year.  Winter, however, is the season when the Lapps are found at home, and when their life and habits are most characteristic and interesting.  The population of Kautokeino is then, perhaps, about 800; in summer it is scarcely one-tenth of this number.  Many of the families ­especially those of mixed Finnish blood ­live in wooden huts, with the luxury of a fireplace and chimney, and a window or two; but the greater part of them burrow in low habitations of earth, which resemble large mole hills raised in the crust of the soil.  Half snowed over and blended with the natural inequalities of the earth, one would never imagine, but for the smoke here and there issuing from holes, that human beings existed below.  On both sides of the stream are rows of storehouses, wherein the Lapps deposit their supplies and household articles during their summer wanderings.  These structures are raised upon birch posts, each capped with a smooth, horizontal board, in order to prevent the rats and mice from effecting an entrance.  The church is built upon a slight eminence to the south, with its low red belfry standing apart, as in Sweden, in a small grove of birches, which have been spared for a summer ornament to the sanctuary.

We awoke at eight o’clock to find a clear twilight and a cold of 10 deg. below zero.  Our stay at Muoniovara had given the sun time to increase his altitude somewhat, and I had some doubts whether we should succeed in beholding a day of the Polar winter.  The Lansman, however, encouraged us by the assurance that the sun had not yet risen upon his residence, though nearly six weeks had elapsed since his disappearance, but that his return was now looked for every day, since he had already begun to shine upon the northern hills.  By ten o’clock it was light enough to read; the southern sky was a broad sea of golden orange, dotted with a few crimson cloud-islands, and we set ourselves to watch with some anxiety the gradual approach of the exiled god.  But for this circumstance, and two other drawbacks, I should have gone to church to witness the Lapps at their religious exercises.  Pastor Hvoslef was ill, and the service consisted only of the reading of some prayers by the Lapp schoolmaster; added to which, the church is never warmed, even in the coldest days of winter.  One cause of this may, perhaps, be the dread of an accidental conflagration; but the main reason is, the inconvenience which would arise from the thawing out of so many antiquated reindeer garments, and the effluvia given out by the warmed bodies within them.  Consequently, the temperature inside the church is about the same as outside, and the frozen moisture of the worshippers’ breath forms a frosty cloud so dense as sometimes to hide the clergyman from the view of his congregation.  Pastor Hvoslef informed me that he had frequently preached in a temperature of 35 deg. below zero.  “At such times,” said he, “the very words seem to freeze as they issue from my lips, and fall upon the heads of my hearers like a shower of snow.”  “But,” I ventured to remark, “our souls are controlled to such a degree by the condition of our bodies, that I should doubt whether any true devotional spirit could exist at such a time.  Might not even religion itself be frozen?” “Yes,” he answered, “there is no doubt that all the better feelings either disappear, or become very faint, when the mercury begins to freeze.”  The pastor himself was at that time suffering the penalty of indulging a spirit of reverence which for a long time led him to officiate with uncovered head.

The sky increased in brightness as we watched.  The orange flushed into rose, and the pale white hills looked even more ghastly against the bar of glowing carmine which fringed the horizon.  A few long purple streaks of cloud hung over the sun’s place, and higher up in the vault floated some loose masses, tinged with fiery crimson on their lower edges.  About half-past eleven, a pencil of bright red light shot up ­a signal which the sun uplifted to herald his coming.  As it slowly moved westward along the hills, increasing in height and brilliancy until it became a long tongue of flame, playing against the streaks of cloud we were apprehensive that the near disc would rise to view.  When the Lansman’s clock pointed to twelve, its base had become so bright as to shine almost like the sun itself; but after a few breathless moments the unwelcome glow began to fade.  We took its bearing with a compass, and after making allowance for the variation (which is here very slight) were convinced that it was really past meridian, and the radiance, which was that of morning a few minutes before, belonged to the splendours of evening now.  The colours of the firmament began to change in reverse order, and the dawn, which had almost ripened to sunrise, now withered away to night without a sunset.  We had at last seen a day without a sun.

The snowy hills to the north, it is true, were tinged with a flood of rosy flame, and the very next day would probably bring down the tide-mark of sunshine to the tops of the houses.  One day, however, was enough to satisfy me.  You, my heroic friend, may paint with true pencil, and still truer pen, the dreary solemnity of the long Arctic night:  but, greatly as I enjoy your incomparable pictures, much as I honour your courage and your endurance, you shall never tempt me to share in the experience.  The South is a cup which one may drink to inebriation; but one taste from the icy goblet of the North is enough to allay curiosity and quench all further desire.  Yet the contrast between these two extremes came home to me vividly but once during this journey.  A traveller’s mind must never stray too far from the things about him, and long habit has enabled me to throw myself entirely into the conditions and circumstances of each separate phase of my wandering life, thereby preserving distinct the sensations and experiences of each, and preventing all later confusion in the memory.  But one day, at Muoniovara, as I sat before the fire in the afternoon darkness, there flashed across my mind a vision of cloudless Egypt ­trees rustling in the hot wind, yellow mountain-walls rising beyond the emerald plain of the Nile, the white pencils of minarets in the distance, the creamy odour of bean-blossoms in the air ­a world of glorious vitality, where Death seemed an unaccountable accident.  Here, Life existed only on sufferance, and all Nature frowned with a robber’s demand to give it up.  I flung my pipe across the room and very soon, behind a fast reindeer, drove away from the disturbing reminiscence.

I went across the valley to the schoolmaster’s house to make a sketch of Kautokeino, but the frost was so thick on the windows that I was obliged to take a chair in the open air and work with bare hands.  I soon learned the value of rapidity in such an employment.  We spent the afternoon in the Lansman’s parlor, occasionally interrupted by the visits of Lapps, who, having heard of our arrival, were very curious to behold the first Americans who ever reached this part of the world.  They came into the room with the most perfect freedom, saluted the Lansman, and then turned to stare at us until they were satisfied, when they retired to give place to others who were waiting outside.  We were obliged to hold quite a levee during the whole evening.  They had all heard of America, but knew very little else about it, and many of them questioned us, through Herr Berger, concerning our religion and laws.  The fact of the three Norwegian residents being able to converse with us astonished them greatly.  The Lapps of Kautokeino have hitherto exalted themselves over the Lapps of Karasjok and Karessuando, because the Lansman, Berger, and Pastor Hvoslef could speak with English and French travellers in their own language, while the merchants and pastors of the latter places are acquainted only with Norwegian and Swedish; and now their pride received a vast accession.  “How is it possible?” said they to Herr Berger, “these men come from the other side of the world, and you talk with them as fast in their own language as if you had never spoken any other!” The schoolmaster, Lars Kaino, a one-armed fellow, with a more than ordinary share of acuteness and intelligence, came to request that I would take his portrait, offering to pay me for my trouble.  I agreed to do it gratuitously, on condition that I should keep it myself, and that he should bring his wife to be included in the sketch.

He assented, with some sacrifice of vanity, and came around the next morning, in his holiday suit of blue cloth, trimmed with scarlet and yellow binding.  His wife, a short woman of about twenty-five, with a face as flat and round as a platter, but a remarkably fair complexion, accompanied him, though with evident reluctance, and sat with eyes modestly cast down while I sketched her features.  The circumstance of my giving Lars half a dollar at the close of the sitting was immediately spread through Kautokeino, and before night all the Lapps of the place were ambitious to undergo the same operation.  Indeed, the report reached the neighboring villages, and a Hammerfest merchant, who came in the following morning from a distance of seven miles, obtained a guide at less than the usual price, through the anxiety of the latter to arrive in time to have his portrait taken.  The shortness of the imperfect daylight, however, obliged me to decline further offers, especially as there were few Lapps of pure, unmixed blood among my visitors.

Kautokeino was the northern limit of my winter journey.  I proposed visiting Altengaard in the summer, on my way to the North Cape, and there is nothing in the barren tract between the two places to repay the excursion.  I had already seen enough of the Lapps to undeceive me in regard to previously-formed opinions respecting them, and to take away the desire for a more intimate acquaintance.  In features, as in language, they resemble the Finns sufficiently to indicate an ethnological relationship.  I could distinguish little, if any, trace of the Mongolian blood in them.  They are fatter, fairer, and altogether handsomer than the nomadic offshoots of that race, and resemble the Esquimaux (to whom they have been compared) in nothing but their rude, filthy manner of life.  Von Buch ascribes the difference in stature and physical stamina between them and the Finns to the use of the vapor bath by the latter and the aversion to water of the former.  They are a race of Northern gipsies, and it is the restless blood of this class rather than any want of natural capacity which retards their civilisation.  Although the whole race has been converted to Christianity, and education is universal among them ­no Lapp being permitted to marry until he can read ­they have but in too many respects substituted one form of superstition for another.  The spread of temperance among them, however, has produced excellent results, and, in point of morality, they are fully up to the prevailing standard in Sweden and Norway.  The practice, formerly imputed to them, of sharing their connubial rights with the guests who visited them, is wholly extinct, ­if it ever existed.  Theft is the most usual offence, but crimes of a more heinous character are rare.

Whatever was picturesque in the Lapps has departed with their paganism.  No wizards now ply their trade of selling favorable winds to the Norwegian coasters, or mutter their incantations to discover the concealed grottoes of silver in the Kiolen mountains.  It is in vain, therefore, for the romantic traveller to seek in them the materials for weird stories and wild adventures.  They are frightfully pious and commonplace.  Their conversion has destroyed what little of barbaric poetry there might have been in their composition, and, instead of chanting to the spirits of the winds, and clouds, and mountains, they have become furious ranters, who frequently claim to be possessed by the Holy Ghost.  As human beings, the change, incomplete as it is, is nevertheless to their endless profit; but as objects of interest to the traveller, it has been to their detriment.  It would be far more picturesque to describe a sabaoth of Lapland witches than a prayer-meeting of shouting converts, yet no friend of his race could help rejoicing to see the latter substituted for the former.  In proportion, therefore, as the Lapps have become enlightened (like all other savage tribes), they have become less interesting.  Retaining nearly all that is repulsive in their habits of life, they have lost the only peculiarities which could persuade one to endure the inconveniences of a closer acquaintance.

I have said that the conversion of the Lapps was in some respects the substitution of one form of superstition for another.  A tragic exemplification of this fact, which produced the greatest excitement throughout the North, took place in Kautokeino four years ago.  Through the preaching of Lestadius and other fanatical missionaries, a spiritual epidemic, manifesting itself in the form of visions, trances, and angelic possessions, broke out among the Lapps.  It infected the whole country, and gave rise to numerous disturbances and difficulties in Kautokeino.  It was no unusual thing for one of the congregation to arise during church service, declare that he was inspired by the Holy Ghost, and call upon those present to listen to his revelations.  The former Lansman arrested the most prominent of the offenders, and punished them with fine and imprisonment.  This begat feelings of hatred on the part of the fanatics, which soon ripened into a conspiracy.  The plot was matured during the summer months, when the Lapps descended towards the Norwegian coast with their herds of reindeer.

I have the account of what followed from the lips of Pastor Hvoslef, who was then stationed here, and was also one of the victims of their resentment.  Early one morning in October, when the inhabitants were returning from their summer wanderings, he was startled by the appearance of the resident merchant’s wife, who rushed into his house in a frantic state, declaring that her husband was murdered.  He fancied that the woman was bewildered by some sudden fright, and, in order to quiet her, walked over to the merchant’s house.  Here he found the unfortunate man lying dead upon the floor, while a band of about thirty Lapps, headed by the principal fanatics, were forcing the house of the Lansman, whom they immediately dispatched with their knives and clubs.  They then seized the pastor and his wife, beat them severely with birch-sticks, and threatened them with death unless they would acknowledge the divine mission of the so-called prophets.

The greater part of the day passed in uncertainty and terror, but towards evening appeared a crowd of friendly Lapps from the neighbouring villages, who, after having received information, through fugitives, of what had happened, armed themselves and marched to the rescue.  A fight ensued, in which the conspirators were beaten, and the prisoners delivered out of their hands.  The friendly Lapps, unable to take charge of all the criminals, and fearful lest some of them might escape during the night, adopted the alternative of beating every one of them so thoroughly that they were all found the next morning in the same places where they had been left the evening before.  They were tried at Alten, the two ringleaders executed, and a number of the others sent to the penitentiary at Christiania.  This summary justice put a stop to all open and violent manifestations of religious frenzy, but it still exists to some extent, though only indulged in secret.

We paid a visit to Pastor Hvoslef on Monday, and had the pleasure of his company to dinner in the evening.  He is a Christian gentleman in the best sense of the term, and though we differed in matters of belief, I was deeply impressed with his piety and sincerity.  Madame Hvoslef and two rosy little Arctic blossoms shared his exile ­for this is nothing less than an exile to a man of cultivation and intellectual tastes.  In his house I saw ­the last thing one would have expected to find in the heart of Lapland ­a piano.  Madame Hvoslef, who is an accomplished performer, sat down to it, and gave us the barcarole from Massaniello.  While in the midst of a maze of wild Norwegian melodies, I saw the Pastor whisper something in her ear.  At once, to our infinite amazement, she boldly struck up “Yankee Doodle!” Something like an American war-whoop began to issue from Braisted’s mouth, but was smothered in time to prevent an alarm.  “How on earth did that air get into Lapland!” I asked.  “I heard Olé Bull play it at Christiania,” said Madame Hvoslef, “and learned it from memory afterwards.”

The weather changed greatly after our arrival.  From 23 deg. below zero on Sunday evening, it rose to 8-1/2 deg. above, on Monday night, with a furious hurricane of snow from the north.  We sent for our deer from the hills early on Tuesday morning, in order to start on our return to Muoniovara.  The Lapps, however, have an Oriental disregard of time, and as there was no chance of our getting off before noon, we improved part of the delay in visiting the native schools and some of the earthen huts, or, rather, dens, in which most of the inhabitants live.  There were two schools, each containing about twenty scholars ­fat, greasy youngsters, swaddled in reindeer skins, with blue eyes, light brown or yellow hair, and tawny red cheeks, wherever the original colour could be discerned.  As the rooms were rather warm, the odour of Lapp childhood was not quite as fresh as a cowslip, and we did not tarry long among them.

Approaching the side of a pile of dirt covered with snow, we pushed one after another, against a small square door, hung at such a slant that it closed of itself, and entered an ante-den used as a store-room.  Another similar door ushered us into the house, a rude, vaulted space, framed with poles, sticks and reindeer hides, and covered compactly with earth, except a narrow opening in the top to let out the smoke from a fire kindled in the centre.  Pieces of reindeer hide, dried flesh, bags of fat, and other articles, hung from the frame and dangled against our heads as we entered.  The den was not more than five feet high by about eight feet in diameter.  The owner, a jolly, good-humoured Lapp, gave me a low wooden stool, while his wife, with a pipe in her mouth, squatted down on the hide which served for a bed and looked at me with amiable curiosity.  I contemplated them for a while with my eyes full of tears (the smoke being very thick,) until finally both eyes and nose could endure no more, and I sought the open air again.