In giving to the world a narrative of her journey to Iceland, and her
wanderings through Norway and Sweden, Madame Pfeiffer anticipated certain
objections that would be advanced by the over-refined. "Another journey
!" she supposed them to exclaim; "and that to regions far more likely to
repel than attract the general traveller! What object could this woman
have had in visiting them, but a desire to excite our astonishment and
raise our curiosity? We might have been induced to pardon her pilgrimage
to the Holy Land, though it was sufficiently hazardous for a solitary
woman, because it was prompted, perhaps, by her religious feelings,--and
incredible things, as we all know, are frequently accomplished under such
an impulse. But, for the present expedition, what reasonable motive can
possibly be suggested?"
Madame Pfeiffer remarks that in all this a great injustice is, or would
be, done to her; that she was a plain, inoffensive creature, and by no
means desirous of drawing upon herself the observation of the crowd. As
a matter of fact, she was but following the bent of her natural
disposition. From her earliest childhood she had yearned to go forth
into the wide world. She could never meet a travelling-carriage without
stopping to watch it, and envying the postilion who drove it or the
persons it conveyed. When she was ten or twelve years old, no reading
had such a charm for her as books of voyages and travels; and then she
began to repine at the happiness of every great navigator or discoverer,
whose boldness revealed to him the secrets of lands and seas before
unknown.
She travelled much with her parents, and afterwards with her husband, and
thus her natural bias was encouraged. It was not until her two sons were
of age to be educated that she remained stationary--on their account. As
the business concerns of her husband required his presence alternately in
Vienna and in Lemberg, he intrusted to his wife the responsible duty of
superintending their education--feeling assured that, with her
perseverance and affection, she could supply the place of both parents.
When this duty was discharged, and the education of her sons completed,
the dreams and fancies of her youth once more revived within her. She
thought of the manners and customs of foreign lands, of remote islands
girdled by the "melancholy main," and dwelt so long on the great joy of
treading "the blessed acres" trodden by the Saviour's feet, that at last
she resolved on a pilgrimage thither. She made the journey to Palestine.
She visited Jerusalem, and other hallowed scenes, and she returned in
safety. She came, therefore, to the conclusion that she was not
presumptuously tempting the providence of God, or laying herself open to
the charge of wishing to excite the admiration of her contemporaries, if
she followed her inward impulse, and once more adventured forth to see
the world. She knew that travel could not but broaden her views, elevate
her thoughts, and inspire her with new sympathies. Iceland, the next
object of her desires, was a country where she hoped to see Nature under
an entirely novel and peculiar aspect. "I feel," she says, "so
wonderfully happy, and draw so close to my Maker, while gazing upon such
scenes, that no difficulties or fatigues can deter me from seeking so
great a reward."
* * * * *
It was in the year 1845 that Madame Pfeiffer began her northward journey.
She left Vienna on the 10th of April, and by way of Prague, Dresden, and
Altona, proceeded to Kiel. Thence the steamer carried her to Copenhagen,
a city of which she speaks in favourable terms. She notices its numerous
splendid palaces; its large and regular squares; its broad and handsome
promenades. At the Museum of Art she was interested by the chair which
Tycho Brahe, the astronomer, formerly used; and at the Thorvaldsen
Museum, the colossal lion executed by the great Danish sculptor. Having
seen all that was to be seen, she took ship for Iceland, passing
Helsingborg on the Swedish coast, and Elsinore on the Danish, the latter
associated with Shakespeare's "Hamlet;" and, through the Sound and the
Cattegat, entering upon the restless waters of the North Sea. Iceland
came in sight on the seventh day of a boisterous voyage, which had tried
our traveller somewhat severely; and at the close of the eleventh day she
reached Havenfiord, an excellent harbour, two miles from Reikiavik, the
capital of Iceland.
Her first impressions of the Icelandic coast, she says, were very
different from the descriptions she had read in books. She had conceived
of a barren desolate waste, shrubless and treeless; and she saw grassy
hillocks, leafy copses, and even, as she thought, patches of dwarfish
woods. But as she drew nearer, and could distinguish the different
objects more plainly, the hillocks were transformed into human
habitations, with small doors and windows; and the groups of trees proved
to be huge lava masses, from ten to fifteen feet in height, entirely
overgrown with verdure and moss. Everything was new, was surprising; and
it was with pleasurable sensations of excitement and curiosity that
Madame Pfeiffer landed on the shores of Ultima Thule.
[Reikiavik: page135.jpg]
* * * * *
At Reikiavik she found the population inhabiting two very different
classes of habitations. The wooden houses of the well-to-do are of a
single story, she says, with five or six windows in front. A low flight
of steps conducts to an entrance in the centre of the building; and this
entrance opens into a vestibule, where two doors communicate with the
rooms on the right and left respectively. In the rear is the kitchen,
and beyond the courtyard. Such a house contains four or five rooms on
the ground-floor, and a few small chambers under the roof. The domestic
or household arrangements are entirely European. The furniture, much of
which is mahogany, comes from Copenhagen, which also supplies the mirrors
and cast-iron stoves. Handsome rugs are spread in front of the sofas;
neat curtains drop before the windows; English engravings ornament the
whitewashed walls; and china, silver, and cut-glass, and the like, are
displayed upon the cabinets or corner-tables.
But the poor live in huts which are decidedly much more Icelandic. They
are small and low; built of lava blocks, filled in with earth; and as the
whole is covered with turf, they might almost be mistaken for natural
elevations of the ground, if the wooden chimneys, and low doors, and
almost imperceptible windows, did not betray that they were tenanted by
human beings. A dark, narrow passage, not more than four feet high,
leads on one hand to the living-room, on the other to the store-room,
where the provisions are kept, and where, in winter, the cows and sheep
are stabled. The fireplace is generally at the end of this passage,
which is purposely built low to keep out the cold. Neither the walls nor
floors of these huts are boarded; the dwelling-rooms are scarcely large
enough for people to sleep in or turn round in; and the whole furniture
consists of the bedsteads (very poorly supplied with bedding), a small
table, and a few chests--the latter, as well as the beds, being used for
seats. To poles fastened in the walls are suspended clothes, shoes,
stockings, and other articles; and in each hut is generally found a tiny
book-shelf supporting a few volumes. No stoves are needed in these
rooms, which are sufficiently warmed by the presence of their numerous
inmates.
Speaking of the better classes of the inhabitants of the Icelandic
capital, our traveller says: "Nothing struck me so much as the great
dignity of carriage at which the Icelandic ladies aim, and which is so
apt to degenerate into stiffness when it is not perfectly natural, or has
not become a second nature by habit. They incline their head very coolly
when you meet them, with less civility than we should use towards an
inferior or a stranger. The lady of the house never accompanies her
guests beyond the door of the room, after a call; if the husband is
present, he goes a little further; but when this is not the case, you are
often at a loss which way to turn, as there is no servant on the spot to
open the street door for you, unless it may happen to be in the house of
the Stiftsamtmann, the first dignitary of the island."
The church at Reikiavik is capable of accommodating about one hundred and
fifty persons; it is built of stone, with a wooden roof, under which is
kept a library of several thousand volumes. It possesses an artistic
treasure of no ordinary value in a font by Thorvaldsen, whose parents
were natives of Iceland, though he himself was born in Denmark. Captain
Burton describes it as the ancient classical altar, with basso-relievos
on all four sides--subjects of course evangelical; on the top an alto-
relievo of symbolical flowers, roses, and passiflorae is cut to support
the normal "Dobefal," or baptismal basin. In the sacristy are preserved
some handsome priestly robes--especially the velvet vestment sent by Pope
Julius II. to the last Roman Catholic bishop in the early part of the
sixteenth century, and still worn by the chief Protestant dignitary at
ordinations.
The climate at Reikiavik would be considered severe by an Englishman. The
thermometer sometimes sinks as low as 13 degrees below zero, and the sea
is covered with ice for several feet from the shore. The storms and snow-
drifts are of the most terrible character, and at times even the boldest
Icelander dares not cross his threshold. Daylight does not last more
than four or five hours; but the long night is illuminated by the
splendid coruscations of the aurora, filling the firmament with
many-coloured flame. From the middle until the end of June, however,
there is no night. The sun sinks for a short time below the hills, but
twilight blends with the dawn, and before the last rays of evening have
faded from the sky the morning light streams forth with renewed
brilliancy.
* * * * *
Then, as to the people, Madame Pfeiffer speaks of them as of medium
height and strength. Their hair is light, and frequently has a reddish
tint; their eyes are blue. The women are more prepossessing in
appearance than the men; and pleasing faces are not uncommon among the
young girls. They wear long skirts of coarse black woollen stuff, with
spencers, and coloured aprons. They cover their heads with a man's cap
of the same material as their petticoats, ending in a drooping point, to
which hangs a woollen or silken tassel, falling as low as the shoulders.
This simple head-dress is not inelegant. All the women have an abundance
of hair hanging picturesquely about their face and neck; they wear it
loose and short, and it is sometimes curled.
The men appear to dress very much like the German peasants. They wear
pantaloons, jackets, and vests of dark cloth, with a felt hat or fur cap,
and the feet wrapped in pieces of skin, either seal, sheep, or calf.
* * * * *
Here, as a corrective, and for the sake of comparison, let us refer to
Captain Burton's description. The men dress, he says, like sailors, in
breeches, jackets serving as coats, and vests of good broadcloth, with
four to six rows of buttons, always metal, either copper or silver. The
fishermen wear overcoats, coarse smooth waistcoats, large paletots, made
waterproof by grease or fish-liver oil; leather overalls, stockings, and
native shoes. The women attire themselves in jackets and gowns,
petticoats and aprons of woollen frieze; over which is thrown a "hempa,"
or wide black robe, like a Jesuit frock, trimmed with velvet binding. The
wealthy add silver ornaments down the length of the dress, and braid the
other articles with silk ribbons, galloon, or velvets of various colours.
The ruff forms a stiff collar, from three to four inches broad, of very
fine stuff, embroidered with gold or silver. The conical head-dress,
resembling a fool's-cap or sugar-loaf, measures two or three feet high,
and is kept in its place by a coarse cloth, and covered with a finer
kerchief. The soleless shoes of ox-hide or sheepskin, made by the women
out of a single piece, are strapped to the instep.
* * * * *
Having made herself generally acquainted with the Icelanders and their
mode of living, Madame Pfeiffer began to visit the most romantic and
interesting spots in the island accessible to an adventurous woman. At
first she confined herself to the neighbourhood of Reikiavik. She
journeyed, for instance, to the island of Vidoe, the cliffs of which are
frequented by the eider-duck. Its tameness while brooding is very
remarkable. "I had always looked," she says, "on the wonderful stories I
had heard on this subject as fabulous, and should do still had I not been
an eye-witness to the fact. I approached and laid my hands on the birds
while they were sitting; yes, I could even caress them without their
attempting to move from their nests; or, if they left them for a moment,
it was only to walk off for a few steps, and remain quietly waiting till
I withdrew, when they immediately returned to their station. Those whose
young were already hatched, however, would beat their wings with
violence, and snap at me with their bills when I came near them, rather
allowing themselves to be seized than to desert their broods. In size
they resemble our common duck; their eggs are of a greenish-gray, rather
larger than hens' eggs, and of an excellent flavour. Each bird lays
about eleven eggs. The finest down is that with which they line their
nests at first; it is of a dark gray, and is regularly carried off by the
islanders with the first eggs. The poor bird then robs itself of a
second portion of its down, and lays a few more eggs, which are also
seized; and it is not till the nest has been felted for the third time
that the ducks are left unmolested to bring up their brood. The down of
the second, and particularly that of the third hatching, is much lighter
than the first, and of an inferior quality."
The salmon-fishery at the Larsalf next engaged our traveller's attention.
It is conducted after a primitively simple fashion. When the fish at
spawning-time seek the quiet waters of the inland stream, their way back
to the sea is blocked up by an embankment of loose stones, about three
feet high. In front of this wall is extended a net; and several similar
barriers are erected at intervals of eighty to a hundred paces, to
prevent the fish which have slipped over one of them from finally
accomplishing their escape. A day is appointed for a grand _battue_. The
water is then let off as much as possible; and the ensnared fish, feeling
it grow shallower, dart hither and thither in frantic confusion, and
eventually gather together in such a mass that the fishermen have only to
thrust in their hands and seize their prey.
Yet _some_ degree of skill is necessary, for, as everybody knows, the
salmon is full of vivacity, and both strong and swift. So the fisher
takes his victim dexterously by head and tail, and throws it ashore
immediately. It is caught up by persons who are specially appointed to
this duty, and flung to a still greater distance from the stream. Were
not this done, and done quickly, many a fine fellow would escape. It is
strange to see the fish turn round in the hands of their captors, and
leap into the air, so that if the fishermen were not provided with
woollen mittens, they could not keep their hold of the slippery creatures
at all. In these wholesale razzias, from five hundred to a thousand fish
are generally taken at a time, each one weighing from five to fifteen
pounds.
[Salmon-fishing in Iceland: page145.jpg]
* * * * *
Iceland may, with little exaggeration, be described as nothing more than
a stratum of snow and ice overlying a mass of fire and vapour and boiling
water. Nowhere else do we see the two elements of frost and fire in such
immediate contiguity. The icy plains are furrowed by lower currents, and
in the midst of wastes of snow rise the seething ebullitions of hot
springs. Several of the snow-shrouded mountains of Iceland are volcanic.
In the neighbourhood of Kriservick Madame Pfeiffer saw a long, wide
valley, traversed by a current of lava, half a mile in length; a current
consisting not merely of isolated blocks and stones, but of large masses
of porous rock, ten or twelve feet high, frequently broken up by fissures
a foot wide.
Six miles further, and our traveller entered another valley, where, from
the sulphur-springs and hills, rose numerous columns of smoke. Ascending
the neighbouring hills, she saw a truly remarkable scene: basins filled
with bubbling waters, and vaporous shafts leaping up from the fissures in
the hills and plains. By keeping to windward, she was able to approach
very near these phenomenal objects; the ground was lukewarm in a few
places, and she could hold her hand for several minutes at a time over
the cracks whence the vapour escaped. No water was visible. The roar
and hiss of the steam, combined with the violence of the wind, made a
noise so deafening that she was glad to quit the scene, and feel a safer
soil beneath her feet. It seemed to her excited fancy as if the entire
mountain were converted into a boiling caldron.
Descending into the plain, she found there much to interest her. Here a
basin was filled with boiling mud; there, from another basin, burst forth
a column of steam with fearful violence. Several hot springs bubbled and
bubbled around. "These spots," says our traveller, "were far more
dangerous than any on the hills; in spite of the utmost caution, we often
sank in above our ankles, and drew back our feet in dread, covered with
the damp exhalations, which, with steam or boiling water, also escaped
from the opening. I allowed my guide to feel his way in front of me with
a stick; but, notwithstanding his precaution, he went through in one
place half-way to his knee--though he was so used to the danger that he
treated it very lightly, and stopped quite phlegmatically at the next
spring to cleanse himself from the mud. Being also covered with it to
the ankles, I followed his example."
* * * * *
We must now accompany our traveller on some longer excursions.
And first, to Thingvalla, the place where, of old, the Althing or island-
parliament was annually held. One side of the great valley of council is
bounded by the sea, the other by a fine range of peaks, always more or
less covered with snow. Through the pass of the Almannagja we descend
upon the Thingvallavatn lake, an expanse of placid blue, about thirty
miles in circuit. While our attention is rivetted on the lake and the
dark brown hills which encircle it, a chasm suddenly, and as if by
enchantment, opens at our feet, separating us from the valleys beyond. It
varies from thirty to forty feet in width, is several hundred feet in
depth, and four miles in length.
"We were compelled," says Madame Pfeiffer, "to descend its steep and
dangerous sides by a narrow path leading over fragments of lava. My
uneasiness increased as we went down, and could see the colossal masses,
in the shape of pillars or columns tottering loosely on the brink of the
precipice above our heads, threatening death and desolation at any
moment. Mute and anxious, we crept along in breathless haste, scarcely
venturing to raise our eyes, much less to give vent to the least
expression of alarm, for fear of starting the avalanche of stone, of the
impetuous force of which we could form some idea by the shattered rocks
around us. The echo is very remarkable, and gives back the faintest
whisper with perfect distinctness."
* * * * *
Every traveller to Iceland feels bound to visit its Geysirs, and Madame
Pfeiffer did as others did. From Thingvalla she rode for some distance
along the side of the lakes, and then struck through a rocky pass of a
very difficult character, into a series of valleys of widely different
aspect. At last she came to a stream which flowed over a bed of lava,
and between banks of lava, with great rapidity and a rushing, roaring
sound. At one point the river-bed was cleft through its centre, to the
depth of eighteen or twenty feet, by a chasm from fifteen to eighteen
feet wide, into which the waters pour with considerable violence. A
bridge in the middle of the river spans this rift, and the stranger who
reaches the banks feels unable to account for its appearance among the
cloud of spray which entirely conceals the chasm in the bed of the
stream.
Into her description of the passage of the river it is to be feared that
Madame Pfeiffer introduces a little exaggeration. The waters roar, she
says, with the utmost violence, and dashing wildly into the cavity, they
form falls on both sides of it, or shiver themselves to spray against the
projecting cliffs; at the extremity of the chasm, which is not far from
the bridge, the stream is precipitated in its whole breadth over rocks
from thirty to forty feet in height. "Our horses began to tremble, and
struggled to escape when we drew near the most furious part of the
torrent, where the noise was really deafening; and it was not without the
greatest difficulty we succeeded in making them obey the reins, and bear
us through the foaming waves by which the bridge was washed." Either the
scene has greatly altered since Madame Pfeiffer's visit, or her
imagination has considerably over-coloured its principal features. That
is, if we accept the accounts of recent travellers, and especially that
of Captain Burton, who has laboured so successfully to reduce the romance
of Icelandic travel to plain matter of fact.
[Great Geysir: page153.jpg]
The Geysirs lie within a comparatively limited area, and consist of
various specimens, differing considerably in magnitude. The basin of the
Great Geysir lies on a gentle elevation, about ten feet above the plain;
it measures about one hundred and fifty feet in diameter, while that of
the seething caldron is ten feet. Both caldron and basin, on the
occasion of Madame Pfeiffer's visit, were full to the brim with crystal-
clear water in a state of slight ebullition. At irregular intervals a
column of water is shot perpendicularly upwards from the centre of the
caldron, the explosion being always preceded by a low rumbling; but she
was not so fortunate as to witness one of these eruptions. Lord
Dufferin, however, after three days' watch, was rewarded for his
patience. The usual underground thunder having been heard, he and his
friends rushed to the spot. A violent agitation was convulsing the
centre of the pool. Suddenly a crystal dome lifted itself up to the
height of eight or ten feet, and then fell; immediately after which, a
shining liquid column, or rather a sheaf of columns, wreathed in robes of
vapour, sprang into the air, and in a succession of jerking leaps, each
higher than its predecessor, flung their silver crests against the sky.
For a few minutes the fountain held its own, then all at once appeared to
lose its ascending power. The unstable waters faltered, drooped, fell,
"like a broken purpose," back upon themselves, and were immediately
absorbed in the depths of the subterranean shaft.
About one hundred and forty yards distant is the Strokkr, or "churn,"
with a basin about seven feet wide in its outer, and eighteen feet in its
inner diameter. A funnel or inverted cone in shape, whereas the Great
Geysir is a mound and a cylinder, it gives the popular idea of a crater.
Its surface is "an ugly area of spluttering and ever boiling water." It
frequently "erupts," and throws a spout into the air, sometimes as high
as forty or fifty feet, the outbursts lasting from ten to thirty minutes.
Madame Pfeiffer had not the luck to see it in its grandest moods; the
highest eruption she saw did not rise above thirty feet, nor last more
than fifteen minutes. An eruption can be produced by throwing into the
caldron a sufficient quantity of turf or stones.
Two remarkable springs lie directly above the Geysirs, in openings
separated by a barrier of rock--which, however, rise nowhere above the
level of the ground. Their waters boil very gently, with an equable and
almost rhythmic flow. The charm of these springs lies in their wonderful
transparency and clearness. All the prominent points and corners, the
varied outlines of the cavities, and the different recesses, can be
distinguished far within the depths, until the eye is lost in the
darkness of the abyss; and the luminous effects upon the rocks lend an
additional beauty to the scene, which has all the magic of the poet's
fairy-land. It is illumined by a radiance of a soft pale blue and green,
which reaches only a few inches from the rocky barrier, leaving the
waters beyond in colourless transparency. The light, to all appearance,
seems reflected from the rock, but is really owing to atmospheric causes.
* * * * *
From the Geysirs, Madame Pfeiffer proceeded towards Hekla; and at the
village of Thorfustadir, on the route, had an opportunity of seeing an
Icelandic funeral. On entering the church she found the mourners
consoling themselves with a dram of brandy. On the arrival of the
priest, a psalm or prayer was screamed, under his direction, by a chosen
number of the congregation; each shouting his loudest, until he was
completely out of breath. The priest, standing by the coffin, which, for
lack of better accommodation, was resting on one of the seats, read in a
loud voice a prayer of more than half an hour's duration. The body was
then borne to the grave, which was one of remarkable depth; and the
coffin being duly lowered, the priest threw earth upon it thrice, thus
terminating the ceremony.
At the little village of Skalholt, where the first Icelandic bishopric
was established in 1095, Madame Pfeiffer was invited to visit the church,
and inspect its treasures. She was shown the grave of the first bishop,
Thorlakur, whose memory is cherished as that of a saint; an old
embroidered robe, and a plain gold chalice, both of which probably
belonged to him; and, in an antique chest, some dusty books in the
Iceland dialect, besides three ponderous folios in German, containing the
letters, epistles, and treatises of Martin Luther.
Continuing her journey, she arrived at the little village of Salsun,
which lies at the foot of Mount Hekla. Here she secured the services of
a guide, and made preparations for the ascent of the famous volcano.
These included the purchase of a store of bread and cheese, and the
supply of a bottle of water for herself, and one of brandy for the guide,
besides long sticks, shod with iron, to steady the adventurers'
footsteps.
The day fixed for the expedition opened brightly and warmly. At first
the road led through fields of tolerable fertility, covered with a rich
green herbage, soft as velvet; and then traversed patches of black sand,
surrounded by hills, and blocks, and currents of lava. By degrees it
grew more difficult, and was so encumbered with lava as greatly to impede
the progress of the travellers. Around and behind them rolled the dark
congealed lava; and it was needful to be constantly on the watch, to
prevent themselves from stumbling, or to avoid rude contact with the
rolling rocks. Greater still was the danger in the rifts and gorges
filled with snow moistening already in the summer heat; here they
frequently broke through the deceptive crust, or at every step slipped
backwards almost as far as they had advanced.
[Mount Hekla: page159.jpg]
At length they reached a point where it became necessary to leave behind
the horses, and trust entirely to their own strength. Laboriously, but
undauntedly, Madame Pfeiffer pressed upward. Yet, as she looked around
on the sterile scene, which seemed to have been swept by a blast of fire,
and on the drear expanse of black lava that surrounded her, Madame
Pfeiffer could scarcely repress a sensation of pain and terror.
They had still, she says, three heights to climb; the last of which was
also the most dangerous. The path clambered up the rocks which covered
the entire area of the mountain-summit. Frequent were our traveller's
falls; her hands were sadly wounded by the sharp jagged projections of
the lava; and her eyes suffered severely from the dazzling brilliancy of
the snow that filled every gorge and ravine.
But every obstacle gives way to the resolute; and at last Madame Pfeiffer
stood on the topmost peak of Hekla. Here she made a discovery: in books
of travel she had read of the crater of Mount Hekla, but a careful survey
convinced her that none existed. There was neither opening, crevasse,
nor sunken wall; in fact, no sign of a crater. Lower down on the
mountain-side she detected some wide fissures; and from these, not from
any crater, must have rolled the lava-rivers. The height of the mountain
is computed at 5110 feet.
During the last hour of the ascent the sun had been veiled in mists, and
from the neighbouring glaciers dense clouds now poured down upon them,
obscuring or concealing the entire prospect. Fortunately, they gradually
dissolved into snow, which spread a carpet, white and soft and
glittering, over the dreary lava. The thermometer stood at 29.75 degrees
F.
The snow-storm passed, and the sun once more gladdened earth, and filled
with light the clear blue arch of the firmament. On her elevated
watchtower stood the adventurous traveller, till the clouds, passing
away, opened up to her wondering gaze the glorious view--glorious, yet
terrible! It seemed as if the ruins of a burned-up world lay all around:
the wastes were strewn with masses of lava; of life not a sign was
visible; blocks of barren lava were piled upon one another in chaotic
confusion; and vast streams of indurated volcanic matter choked up every
valley.
"Here, on the topmost peak of Hekla," writes Madame Pfeiffer, "I could
look down far and wide upon the uninhabited land, the image of a torpid
nature, passionless, inanimate, and yet sublime,--an image which, once
seen, can never be forgotten, and the remembrance of which will
compensate me amply for all the toils and difficulties I have endured. A
whole world of glaciers, lava-peaks, fields of snow and ice, rivers and
miniature lakes, were comprehended in that magnificent prospect; and the
foot of man had never yet ventured within these regions of gloom and
solitude. How terrible must have been the resistless fury of the element
which has produced all these changes! And is its rage now silenced for
ever? Will it be satisfied with the ruin it has wrought? Or does it
slumber only to break forth again with renewed strength, and lay waste
those few cultivated spots which are scattered so sparingly throughout
the land? I thank God that he has allowed me to see this chaos of his
creation; and I doubly thank him that my lot was cast in these fair
plains where the sun does more than divide the day from the night; where
it warms and animates plant-life and animal-life; where it awakens in the
heart of man the deepest feelings of gratitude towards his Maker."
On her way down our traveller discovered that the snow had not melted for
the first five or six hundred feet. Below that distance the mountain-
sides were enveloped in a shroud of vapour. That glossy, coal-black,
shining lava, which is never porous, can be found only at Hekla and in
its immediate vicinity; but the other varieties, jagged, porous, and
vitrified, are also met with, though they are invariably black, as is the
sand which covers the side of the mountain. As the distance from the
volcano increases, the lava loses its jet-black colour, and fades into an
iron-gray.
After an absence of twelve hours, Madame Pfeiffer reached Salsun in
safety.
Six-and-twenty eruptions of Hekla have been recorded,--the last having
occurred in 1845-46. One was prolonged for a period of six years,
spreading desolation over a country which had formerly been the seat of a
prosperous settlement, and burying the cultivated fields beneath a flood
of lava, scoriae, and ashes. During the eruption of 1845-46, three new
crater-vents were formed, from which sprang columns of fire and smoke to
the height of 14,000 feet. The lava accumulated in formidable masses,
and fragments of scoriae and pumice-stone weighing two hundredweight were
thrown to a distance of a league and a half; while the ice and snow which
had lain on the mountain for centuries were liquefied, and rolled in
devastating torrents over the plains.
Hekla is not the only volcanic mountain of Iceland. Mounts Leirhnukr and
Krabla, in the northeast, are very formidable; and one of the most
terrible eruptions recorded in the island annals was that of the Skapta
Jokul in 1783.
We have now completed our summary of Madame Pfeiffer's Icelandic
excursions. From the country we may pass to its inhabitants, and
ascertain the deliberate opinion she had formed of them after an
experience extending over several weeks, and under conditions which
enabled so shrewd an observer as she was to judge them impartially. Her
estimate of their character is decidedly less favourable than that of her
predecessors; but it is to be noted that in almost every particular it is
confirmed by the latest authority, Captain Burton. And the evidence goes
to show that they are not the simple, generous, primitive, guileless
Arcadians which it had pleased some fanciful minds to portray.
Their principal occupation consists in the fisheries, which are pursued
with the greatest activity during the months of February, March, and
April. The people from the interior then stream into the different
harbours, and bargain with the coast-population, the fishermen proper, to
help them for a share of the profits. On the other hand, in July and
August many of the coast-population penetrate inland, and lend their
services in the hay-harvest, for which they are paid in butter, wool, and
salted lamb. Others resort to the mountains in search of Iceland moss,
which they mix with milk, and use as an article of food; or grind it into
meal, and make cakes with it, as a substitute for bread. The labours of
the women consist in preparing the fish for drying, smoking, or salting;
in tending the cattle, in knitting, and gathering moss. During the
winter season both men and women knit uninterruptedly.
Madame Pfeiffer thinks their hospitality has been overrated, and gives
them credit for the ability to make a good bargain. In fact, she saw
nothing of that disinterestedness which Dr. Henderson and other
travellers have ascribed to them. They are intolerably addicted to
brandy-drinking,--indeed, their circumstances would greatly improve if
they drank less and worked more. They are scarcely less passionately
addicted to snuff-taking, as well as to tobacco-chewing. Their mode of
taking snuff is peculiar, and certainly not one to be imitated. Most of
the peasants, and even many of the priests, have no snuff-boxes, but make
use instead of a piece of bone, turned in the shape of a little powder-
horn. When desirous of indulging in a little titillation, they throw
back their heads, and putting the point of the horn to their nostril,
empty in the snuff. So little fastidious are these devotees, that they
frequently pass on a horn from nose to nose, without the needless
formality of cleaning it. The mention of this practice leads Madame
Pfeiffer to comment very severely on the want of cleanliness among the
Icelanders, who are as dirty in their houses as in their persons.
They are also remarkable for their laziness. There are many ample
stretches of meadow-land at a short distance from the coast, completely
covered with bog, and passable only with great precautions, which the
construction of a few ditches would thoroughly drain. Capital grass
would then spring up in abundant crops. It is well known that such will
grow in Iceland, for the hillocks which rise above the swamps are
luxuriantly overgrown with herbage and wild clover. The best soil is
found, it is said, on the north side of the island, where potatoes grow
very well, and also a few trees--which, however, do not exceed seven or
eight feet in height. The chief occupation of the northerners is cattle-
breeding, particularly in the interior, where some of the farmers own
three or four hundred sheep, ten or fifteen cows, and a dozen horses.
These, it is true, are exceptional cases; but, as a rule, the population
here are in much better circumstances than the wretched coast-population,
who chiefly rely on the products of their fisheries.
* * * * *
From Iceland Madame Pfeiffer embarked for Copenhagen on the 29th of July,
in the sloop _Haabet_ (the "Hope"), which proved by no means a vessel of
luxurious accommodation. Our resolute voyager gives an amusing account
of her trials. The fare, for instance, was better adapted for a hermit
than for a lady of gentle nurture; but it was sublimely impartial, being
exactly the same for captain, mate, crew, and passengers. For breakfast
they had wretched tea,--or rather, dirty tea-coloured water,--which the
common hands drank without any sugar. The officers made use of a small
lump of candy, holding it in their mouths, where it melted slowly, while
they swallowed cup after cup to moisten the hard ship-biscuit and rancid
butter.
The dinners, however, showed a daily variation. First, a piece of salted
meat, which, having been soaked and boiled in sea-water, was so
intolerably hard, tough, and salt that it required the digestion of an
ostrich to overtake it. Instead of soup, vegetables, or dessert, barley
grits were served up, plainly boiled, without salt or butter, and eaten
with syrup and vinegar. On the second day, the _piece de resistance_ was
a lump of bacon, boiled in salt water; this was followed by the barley
grits. On the third day, cod-fish and pease; on the fourth, the same
bill of fare as on the first; and so on,--a cup of coffee, without milk,
closing the noonday meal. The evening's repast resembled that of the
morning, consisting of tea-water and ship-biscuit.
So much for the fare. As to the "table appointments," they were
miserably meagre. The cloth was a piece of an old sail, so soiled and
dirty that it effectually deprived Madame Pfeiffer and her
fellow-passengers of any small appetite with which they might have sat
down to dinner. Madame Pfeiffer began to think that it would be better
to have no cloth at all. She was mistaken! One day she saw the steward
belabouring a piece of sailcloth, which was stretched on the deck under
his feet, to receive a good sweeping from the ship's broom. The numerous
spots of dirt and grease showed plainly that it was the table-cloth; and
that same evening the table was bare. The consequence was, that the
teapot had no sooner been placed upon it than it began to slide; and
nothing but the captain's adroitness prevented the entire "bill of fare"
from being poured into the laps of the guests. It then became evident
that
A table-cloth all foul and stained
Is better far than none at all!
The _Hope_ was twenty days at sea, and for twelve days out of sight of
land. She was wind-driven to the westward, so that her passengers saw
but few of the monsters of the Northern Seas. They caught sight of the
spout of a single whale in the distance; it rose in the air exactly like
a fountain-jet, but the animal itself was too far off for its huge
outlines to be discernible. One shark had the gallantry to swim round
them for a few minutes, affording them an opportunity of observing it
closely. It appeared to be from sixteen to eighteen feet in length.
* * * * *
The "unresting" traveller reached Copenhagen on the 19th of August, and
on the very same day embarked again for Sweden and Norway.
Let us accompany her to Christiania. This town and its suburbs, the
fortress, the royal castle, the freemasons' lodge, and other buildings,
surmount the noble harbour in a stately semicircle; which, in its turn,
is enclosed by meadows, and woods, and green hills. As if loath to leave
a scene so charming, the blue sea winds in among the fields and vales to
some distance behind the town.
The best part of Christiania is, not unnaturally, the latest built, where
the streets are broad and long, and the houses, both of brick and stone,
substantial. In the suburbs, most of the houses are of timber. Some of
the public edifices are architecturally conspicuous, particularly the new
castle and the fortress, which are finely situated on a commanding
elevation, and enjoy a prospect of great extent and splendid variety.
Madame Pfeiffer was much struck by the diverseness of the conveyances
that dash through the pleasant, breezy streets of this picturesque city.
The most common, but the least convenient, are called _carriols_. They
consist of a very long, narrow, and uncovered box, strung between two
enormously high wheels, and provided with a very small seat, into which
the passenger must squeeze himself, with outstretched feet, and a
leathern apron drawn over his legs; nor can he, nor dare he, move, from
the moment he gets in until he gets out again. A place behind is
provided for the coachman, in case the occupant of the _carriol_ is
disinclined to drive; but as it is unpleasant to have the reins shaken
about one's head, and the whip constantly flourishing in one's ears, the
services of a driver are seldom in requisition. Besides these unshapely
vehicles, there are phaetons, droschkis, chariots, and similar light
conveyances; but no covered carriages.
* * * * *
From Christiania to Stockholm.
At Gothenburg Madame Pfeiffer embarked on board the steamer which plies
on the Gotha Canal, the great water-way, linking streams and lakes, which
affords access to the Swedish capital. She found herself before long on
the River Gotha, and at Lilla Edet came to the first of the five locks
which occur there. While the boat was passing through them she had an
opportunity of seeing the Gotha Falls, which, though of no great height,
pour down a considerable volume of water.
Through fir woods, brown with shadows, the canal winds onward to the
magnificent locks of Trollhatten--an engineering achievement of which any
nation might be justly proud. They are eleven in number, and rise by
gradations to a height of 112 feet in a distance of 3550 feet. The wide,
deep channel excavated in the rock is literally paved with flagstones;
and these locks mount one above the other like the solitary steps of a
majestic stairway, and almost lay claim to be ranked among the world's
wonders.
While the steamer passes through the successive barriers the passengers
have time to make an excursion to the falls of Trollhatten, which are
less remarkable for their elevation than for their flood of waters and
the picturesqueness of the surrounding scenery.
Beyond Trollhatten the stream expands to the proportions of a lake, while
a number of green and wooded islands divide it into several channels.
Thence it traverses the Lake of Wenner, which is ten or twelve miles
long, and proceeds onward through a country of no great interest, until
at Sjotorp it passes into the river again. A few miles further, and it
crosses the Vilkensoc, which, like all the other Swedish lakes, is
charmingly studded with islands. It lies three hundred and six feet
above the level of the North Sea, and is the culminating point of the
canal, which thence descends through about seventy locks, traversing the
Bottensee and Lake Wetter.
After a tedious journey of five days, Madame Pfeiffer reached the shores
of the Baltic, which are finely indented by bays and rivers, with long
stretches of lofty cliff, and, inland, dense masses of fir woods. Leaving
the sea again, a short canal conducts the voyager into Lake Malar,
celebrated for its cluster of islands. The lake at first resembles a
broad river, but soon widens to a great extent; the beauty of the scenery
never fails to excite the traveller's admiration. It is said that a
thousand isles besprinkle its surface; they are crowded together in the
most picturesque and varied groups, forming streams, and bays, and a
chain of smaller lakes, and continually revealing some new and attractive
feature.
Not less charming the shores: sometimes the hills and mountains pass
close to the water, and their steep and rocky sides frown like thunder-
smitten ramparts; but generally the eye is delighted by a constant and
brightly-coloured panorama of meadows, woods, and valleys, villages, and
sequestered farmhouses. On the summit of a steep declivity a high pole
is erected, to which hangs suspended the hat of the unfortunate King
Erik. It is said of him, that having fled from the field of battle, he
was here overtaken by one of his soldiers, whose stern reproaches so
stung him to the heart that he drove his spurs into his horse's sides,
and clearing the precipice with a bound, sank for ever beneath the waters
of the lake. His hat, which fell from his head as he made the plunge, is
preserved as a memorial of a king's remorse.
* * * * *
On arriving at Stockholm, several stalwart women offer us their services
as porters. They are Dalecarlians, who earn a livelihood by carrying
luggage or water, by rowing boats, and by resorting to other occupations
generally reserved for the stronger sex. Honest, industrious, capable of
immense fatigue, they never lack employment. They wear short black
petticoats, red bodices, white chemises with long sleeves, short and
narrow aprons of two colours, red stockings, and shoes with thick wooden
soles. Around their heads they generally bind a handkerchief, or else
wear a very small black cap, which just covers the back of their hair.
Stockholm proves, on examination, to be a handsome city, situated at the
junction of the Baltic with the Lake Malar; or, more strictly speaking,
on the banks of a short canal which unites the two. One of its most
conspicuous buildings is the stately Ritterholm Church, which Madame
Pfeiffer describes as resembling rather a vault and an armoury than a
religious edifice. In the side chapels are enshrined the monuments of
dead Swedish kings, whose bones lie in the royal sepulchres below. On
both sides of the nave are ranged the equestrian statues of armed
knights; while from every vantage-point hang flags and standards. The
keys of captured towns and fortresses are suspended in the side chapels,
and drums and kettle-drums piled upon the floor--trophies won from the
enemies of Sweden in the days when she was a great European power. The
chapels also contain, enclosed in glass-cases, parts of the dress and
armour of some of the Swedish monarchs. We notice, with keen interest,
the uniform worn by Charles XII.--he
"Who left a name at which the world grew pale,
To point a moral or adorn a tale"--
at the time of his death, and the hat penetrated by the fatal shot that
slew the fiery warrior. A remarkable contrast is afforded by the rich
dress and plumed hat of Bernadotte, the French soldier of fortune, who
founded the present royal house.
The royal palace is a stately structure, and its interior is enriched
with the costliest decoration. The Ritter-house, the Museum of Ancient
Art, the Crown-Prince's palace, the theatre, the bank, the mint, are all
deserving of inspection. In the vicinity a trip may be made to the
beautiful and diversified scenery of the Royal Park, or the military
school at Karlberg, or to the ancient royal castle of Gripsholm on the
Lake of Malar.
But our last excursion must be directed, by way of Upsala, to the iron-
mines of Danemora.
The little village of Danemora is embosomed in woods. It contains a
small church and a few scattered houses of various dimensions. The
neighbourhood abounds in the usual indications of a mining locality.
Madame Pfeiffer arrived in what is called "the nick of time," and just
opportunely, to witness the blasting of the ore. From the wide opening
of the largest mine it is possible to see what passes below; and a
strange and wonderful sight it is to peer down into the abyss, four
hundred and eighty feet deep, and observe the colossal entrances to the
various pits, the rocky bridges, the projections, arches, and caverns
excavated in the solid rock. The miners appear so many puppets; their
movements can hardly be distinguished, until the eye has grown accustomed
to the darkness and to their diminutive size.
At the given moment a match was applied to four trains of gunpowder. The
man who lighted them immediately sprang back, and hid himself behind a
wall of rock. In a minute or two came the flash; a few stones were
hurled into the air; and immediately afterwards was heard a loud
detonation, and the shattered mass fell in fragments all around. Echo
caught up the tremendous explosion, and carried it to the furthest
recesses of the mine; while, to enhance the terror of the scene, one rock
was hardly shivered before another crash was heard, and then a third, and
immediately afterwards a fourth.
[Iron-mine of Danemora: page179.jpg]
The other pits are still deeper, one of them being six hundred feet
beneath the ground; but as they are smaller in their openings, and as the
shafts are not always perpendicular, the gaze is soon lost in the
obscurity, which produces a dismal effect upon the spectator. The iron
obtained from the Swedish mines is of excellent quality, and large
quantities are annually exported.
* * * * *
Madame Pfeiffer now began her homeward journey, and, by way of Hamburg
and Berlin, proceeded to Dresden. Thence she returned to Vienna on the
6th of October, after an absence of six months.