August 25th.
I hired a fresh horse here, with which I proceeded to Kongsberg,
eighteen miles farther. The first seven miles afforded a repetition
of the romantic scenery of the previous day, with the exception of
the sea. But instead I had the beautiful river, until I had
ascended a hill, from whose summit I overlooked a large and
apparently populous valley, filled with groups of houses and single
farms. It is strange that there are very few large towns in Norway;
every peasant builds his house in the midst of his fields.
Beyond this hill the scenery grows more monotonous. The mountains
are lower, the valley narrower, and the road is enclosed by wood or
rocks. One peculiarity of Norwegian rocks is their humidity. The
water penetrates through countless fissures, but only in such small
quantities as to cover the stones with a kind of veil. When the sun
shines on these wet surfaces of rock, of which there are many and
large ones, they shine like mirrors.
Delemarken seems to be tolerably populous. I often met with
solitary peasant-huts in the large gloomy forests, and they gave
some life to the monotonous landscape. The industry of the
Norwegian peasant is very great; for every spot of earth, even on
the steepest precipices, bore potatoes, barley, or oats; their
houses also look cheerful, and were painted for the most part of a
brick-red colour.
