On the morning of the 16th of May I landed in the harbour of Havenfiord,
and for the first time trod the shores of Iceland. Although I was quite
bewildered by sea-sickness, and still more by the continual rocking of
the ship, so that every object round me seemed to dance, and I could
scarcely make a firm step, still I could not rest in the house of Herr
Knudson, which he had obligingly placed at my disposal. I must go out at
once, to see and investigate every thing. I found that Havenfiord
consisted merely of three wooden houses, a few magazines built of the
same material, and some peasants' cottages.
The wooden houses are inhabited by merchants or by their factors, and
consist only of a ground-floor, with a front of four or six windows. Two
or three steps lead up to the entrance, which is in the centre of the
building, and opens upon a hall from which doors lead into the rooms to
the right and left. At the back of the house is situated the kitchen,
which opens into several back rooms and into the yard. A house of this
description consists only of five or six rooms on the ground-floor and a
few small attic bedrooms.
The internal arrangements are quite European. The furniture--which is
often of mahogany,--the mirrors, the cast-iron stoves, every thing, in
short, come from Copenhagen. Beautiful carpets lie spread before the
sofas; neat curtains shade the windows; English prints ornament the
whitewashed walls; porcelain, plate, cut-glass, &c., are displayed on
chests and on tables; and flower-pots with roses, mignonnette, and pinks
spread a delicious fragrance around. I even found a grand pianoforte
here. If any person could suddenly, and without having made the journey,
be transported into one of these houses, he would certainly fancy himself
in some continental town, rather than in the distant and barren island of
Iceland. And as in Havenfiord, so I found the houses of the more opulent
classes in Reikjavik, and in all the places I visited.
From these handsome houses I betook myself to the cottages of the
peasants, which have a more indigenous, Icelandic appearance. Small and
low, built of lava, with the interstices filled with earth, and the whole
covered with large pieces of turf, they would present rather the
appearance of natural mounds of earth than of human dwellings, were it
not that the projecting wooden chimneys, the low-browed entrances, and
the almost imperceptible windows, cause the spectator to conclude that
they are inhabited. A dark narrow passage, about four feet high, leads
on one side into the common room, and on the other to a few compartments,
some of which are used as storehouses for provisions, and the rest as
winter stables for the cows and sheep. At the end of this passage, which
is purposely built so low, as an additional defence against the cold, the
fireplace is generally situated. The rooms of the poorer class have
neither wooden walls nor floors, and are just large enough to admit of
the inhabitants sleeping, and perhaps turning round in them. The whole
interior accommodation is comprised in bedsteads with very little
covering, a small table, and a few drawers. Beds and chests of drawers
answer the purpose of benches and chairs. Above the beds are fixed rods,
from which depend clothes, shoes, stockings, &c. A small board, on which
are arranged a few books, is generally to be observed. Stoves are
considered unnecessary; for as the space is very confined, and the house
densely populated, the atmosphere is naturally warm.
Rods are also placed round the fireplace, and on these the wet clothes
and fishes are hung up in company to dry. The smoke completely fills the
room, and slowly finds its way through a few breathing-holes into the
open air.
Fire-wood there is none throughout the whole island. The rich
inhabitants have it brought from Norway or Denmark; the poor burn turf,
to which they frequently add bones and other offal of fish, which
naturally engender a most disagreeable smoke.
On entering one of these cottages, the visitor is at a loss to determine
which of the two is the more obnoxious--the suffocating smoke in the
passage or the poisoned air of the dwelling-room, rendered almost
insufferable by the crowding together of so many persons. I could almost
venture to assert, that the dreadful eruption called Lepra, which is
universal throughout Iceland, owes its existence rather to the total want
of cleanliness than to the climate of the country or to the food.
Throughout my subsequent journeys into the interior, I found the cottages
of the peasants every where alike squalid and filthy. Of course I speak
of the majority, and not of the exceptions; for here I found a few rich
peasants, whose dwellings looked cleaner and more habitable, in
proportion to the superior wealth or sense of decency of the owners. My
idea is, that the traveller's estimate of a country should be formed
according to the habits and customs of the generality of its inhabitants,
and not according to the doings of a few individuals, as is often the
case. Alas, how seldom did I meet with these creditable exceptions!
The neighbourhood of Havenfiord is formed by a most beautiful and
picturesque field of lava, at first rising in hills, then sinking into
hollows, and at length terminating in a great plain which extends to the
base of the neighbouring mountains. Masses of the most varied forms,
often black and naked, rise to the height of ten or fifteen feet, forming
walls, ruined pillars, small grottoes, and hollow spaces. Over these
latter large slabs often extend, and form bridges. Every thing around
consists of suddenly cooled heaped-up masses of lava, in some instances
covered to their summits with grass and moss; this circumstance gives
them, as already stated, the appearance of groups of stunted trees.
Horses, sheep, and cows were clambering about, diligently seeking out
every green place. I also clambered about diligently; I could not tire
of gazing and wondering at this terribly beautiful picture of
destruction.
After a few hours I had so completely forgotten the hardships of my
passage, and felt myself so much strengthened, that I began my journey to
Reikjavik at five o'clock on the evening of the same day. Herr Knudson
seemed much concerned for me; he warned me that the roads were bad, and
particularly emphasised the dangerous abysses I should be compelled to
pass. I comforted him with the assurance that I was a good horsewoman,
and could hardly have to encounter worse roads than those with which I
had had the honour to become acquainted in Syria. I therefore took leave
of the kind gentleman, who intended to stay a week or ten days in
Havenfiord, and mounting a small horse, set out in company of a female
guide.
In my guide I made the acquaintance of a remarkable antiquity of Iceland,
who is well worthy that I should devote a few words to her description.
She is above seventy years of age, but looks scarcely fifty; her head is
surrounded by tresses of rich fair hair. She is dressed like a man;
undertakes, in the capacity of messenger, the longest and most fatiguing
journeys; rows a boat as skilfully as the most practised fisherman; and
fulfils all her missions quicker and more exactly than a man, for she
does not keep up so good an understanding with the brandy-bottle. She
marched on so sturdily before me, that I was obliged to incite my little
horse to greater speed with my riding-whip.
At first the road lay between masses of lava, where it certainly was not
easy to ride; then over flats and small acclivities, from whence we could
descry the immense plain in which are situated Havenfiord, Bassastadt,
Reikjavik, and other places. Bassastadt, a town built on a promontory
jutting out into the sea, contains one of the principal schools, a church
built of masonry, and a few cottages. The town of Reikjavik cannot be
seen, as it is hidden behind a hill. The other places consist chiefly of
a few cottages, and only meet the eye of the traveller when he approaches
them nearly. Several chains of mountains, towering one above the other,
and sundry "Jokuls," or glaciers, which lay still sparkling in their
wintry garb, surround this interminable plain, which is only open at one
end, towards the sea. Some of the plains and hills shone with tender
green, and I fancied I beheld beautiful meadows. On a nearer inspection,
however, they proved to be swampy places, and hundreds upon hundreds of
little acclivities, sometimes resembling mole-hills, at others small
graves, and covered with grass and moss.
I could see over an area of at least thirty or forty miles, and yet could
not descry a tree or a shrub, a bit of meadow-land or a friendly village.
Every thing seemed dead. A few cottages lay scattered here and there; at
long intervals a bird would hover in the air, and still more seldom I
heard the kindly greeting of a passing inhabitant. Heaps of lava,
swamps, and turf-bogs surrounded me on all sides; in all the vast expanse
not a spot was to be seen through which a plough could be driven.
After riding more than four miles, I reached a hill, from which I could
see Reikjavik, the chief harbour, and, in fact, the only town on the
island. But I was deceived in my expectations; the place before me was a
mere village.
The distance from Havenfiord to Reikjavik is scarcely nine miles; but as
I was unwilling to tire my good old guide, I took three hours to
accomplish it. The road was, generally speaking, very good, excepting in
some places, where it lay over heaps of lava. Of the much-dreaded dizzy
abysses I saw nothing; the startling term must have been used to
designate some unimportant declivities, along the brow of which I rode,
in sight of the sea; or perhaps the "abysses" were on the lava-fields,
where I sometimes noticed small chasms of fifteen or sixteen feet in
depth at the most.
Shortly after eight o'clock in the evening I was fortunate enough to
reach Reikjavik safe and well. Through the kind forethought of Herr
Knudson, a neat little room had been prepared for me in one of his houses
occupied by the family of the worthy baker Bernhoft, and truly I could
not have been better received any where.
During my protracted stay the whole family of the Bernhofts shewed me
more kindness and cordiality than it has been my lot frequently to find.
Many an hour has Herr Bernhoft sacrificed to me, in order to accompany me
in my little excursions. He assisted me most diligently in my search for
flowers, insects, and shells, and was much rejoiced when he could find me
a new specimen. His kind wife and dear children rivalled him in
willingness to oblige. I can only say, may Heaven requite them a
thousand-fold for their kindness and friendship!
I had even an opportunity of hearing my native language spoken by Herr
Bernhoft, who was a Holsteiner by birth, and had not quite forgotten our
dear German tongue, though he had lived for many years partly in Denmark,
partly in Iceland.
So behold me now in the only town in Iceland, {27} the seat of the
so-called cultivated classes, whose customs and mode of life I will now
lay before my honoured readers.
Nothing was more disagreeable to me than a certain air of dignity assumed
by the ladies here; an air which, except when it is natural, or has
become so from long habit, is apt to degenerate into stiffness and
incivility. On meeting an acquaintance, the ladies of Reikjavik would
bend their heads with so stately and yet so careless an air as we should
scarcely assume towards the humblest stranger. At the conclusion of a
visit, the lady of the house only accompanies the guest as far as the
chamber-door. If the husband be present, this civility is carried a
little further; but when this does not happen to be the case, a stranger
who does not know exactly through which door he can make his exit, may
chance to feel not a little embarrassed. Excepting in the house of the
"Stiftsamtmann" (the principal official on the island), one does not find
a footman who can shew the way. In Hamburgh I had already noticed the
beginnings of this dignified coldness; it increased as I journeyed
further north, and at length reached its climax in Iceland.
Good letters of recommendation often fail to render the northern grandees
polite towards strangers. As an instance of this fact, I relate the
following trait:
Among other kind letters of recommendation, I had received one addressed
to Herr von H---, the "Stiftsamtmann" of Iceland. On my arrival at
Copenhagen, I heard that Herr von H--- happened to be there. I therefore
betook myself to his residence, and was shewn into a room where I found
two young ladies and three children. I delivered my letter, and remained
quietly standing for some time. Finding at length that no one invited me
to be seated, I sat down unasked on the nearest chair, never supposing
for an instant that the lady of the house could be present, and neglect
the commonest forms of politeness which should be observed towards every
stranger. After I had waited for some time, Herr von H--- graciously
made his appearance, and expressed his regret that he should have very
little time to spare for me, as he intended setting sail for Iceland with
his family in a short time, and in the interim had a number of weighty
affairs to settle at Copenhagen; in conclusion, he gave me the friendly
advice to abandon my intention of visiting Iceland, as the fatigues of
travelling in that country were very great; finding, however, that I
persevered in my intention, he promised, in case I set sail for Reikjavik
earlier than himself, to give me a letter of recommendation. All this
was concluded in great haste, and we stood during the interview. I took
my leave, and at first determined not to call again for the letter. On
reflection, however, I changed my mind, ascribed my unfriendly reception
to important and perhaps disagreeable business, and called again two days
afterwards. Then the letter was handed to me by a servant; the high
people, whom I could hear conversing in the adjoining apartment, probably
considered it too much trouble to deliver it to me personally.
On paying my respects to this amiable family in Reikjavik, I was not a
little surprised to recognise in Frau von H--- one of those ladies who in
Copenhagen had not had the civility to ask me to be seated. Five or six
days afterwards, Herr von H--- returned my call, and invited me to an
excursion to Vatne. I accepted the invitation with much pleasure, and
mentally asked pardon of him for having formed too hasty an opinion.
Frau von H---, however, did not find her way to me until the fourth week
of my stay in Reikjavik; she did not even invite me to visit her again,
so of course I did not go, and our acquaintance terminated there. As in
duty bound, the remaining dignitaries of this little town took their tone
from their chief. My visits were unreturned, and I received no
invitations, though I heard much during my stay of parties of pleasure,
dinners, and evening parties. Had I not fortunately been able to employ
myself, I should have been very badly off. Not one of the ladies had
kindness and delicacy enough to consider that I was alone here, and that
the society of educated people might be necessary for my comfort. I was
less annoyed at the want of politeness in the gentlemen; for I am no
longer young, and that accounts for every thing. When the women were
wanting in kindliness, I had no right to expect consideration from the
gentlemen.
I tried to discover the reason of this treatment, and soon found that it
lay in a national characteristic of these people--their selfishness.
It appears I had scarcely arrived at Reikjavik before diligent inquiries
were set on foot as to whether I was _rich_, and should see much company
at my house, and, in fact, whether much could be got out of me.
To be well received here it is necessary either to be rich, or else to
travel as a naturalist. Persons of the latter class are generally sent
by the European courts to investigate the remarkable productions of the
country. They make large collections of minerals, birds, &c.; they bring
with them numerous presents, sometimes of considerable value, which they
distribute among the dignitaries; they are, moreover, the projectors of
many an entertainment, and even of many a little ball, &c.; they buy up
every thing they can procure for their cabinets, and they always travel
in company; they have much baggage with them, and consequently require
many horses, which cannot be hired in Iceland, but must be bought. On
such occasions every one here is a dealer: offers of horses and cabinets
pour in on all sides.
The most welcome arrival of all is that of the French frigate, which
visits Iceland every year; for sometimes there are _dejeuners a la
fourchette_ on board, sometimes little evening parties and balls. There
is at least something to be got besides the rich presents; the
"Stiftsamtmann" even receives 600 florins per annum from the French
government to defray the expense of a few return balls which he gives to
the naval officers.
With me this was not the case: I gave no parties--I brought no
presents--they had nothing to expect from me; and therefore they left me
to myself. {28}
For this reason I affirm that he only can judge of the character of a
people who comes among them without claim to their attention, and from
whom they have nothing to expect. To such a person only do they appear
in their true colours, because they do not find it worth while to
dissemble and wear a mask in his presence. In these cases the traveller
is certainly apt to make painful discoveries; but when, on the other
hand, he meets with good people, he may be certain of their sincerity;
and so I must beg my honoured readers to bear with me, when I mention the
names of all those who heartily welcomed the undistinguished foreigner;
it is the only way in which I can express my gratitude towards them.
As I said before, I had intercourse with very few people, so that ample
time remained for solitary walks, during which I minutely noticed every
thing around me.
The little town of Reikjavik consists of a single broad street, with
houses and cottages scattered around. The number of inhabitants does not
amount to 500.
The houses of the wealthier inhabitants are of wood-work, and contain
merely a ground-floor, with the exception of a single building of one
story, to which the high school, now held at Bassastadt, will be
transferred next year. The house of the "Stiftsamtmann" is built of
stone. It was originally intended for a prison; but as criminals are
rarely to be met with in Iceland, the building was many years ago
transformed into the residence of the royal officer. A second stone
building, discernible from Reikjavik, is situated at Langarnes, half a
mile from the town. It lies near the sea, in the midst of meadows, and
is the residence of the bishop.
The church is capable of holding only at the most from 100 to 150
persons; it is built of stone, with a wooden roof. In the chambers of
this roof the library, consisting of several thousand volumes, is
deposited. The church contains a treasure which many a larger and
costlier edifice might envy,--a baptismal font by Thorwaldsen, whose
parents were of Icelandic extraction. The great sculptor himself was
born in Denmark, and probably wished, by this present, to do honour to
the birth-place of his ancestors.
To some of the houses in Reikjavik pieces of garden are attached. These
gardens are small plots of ground where, with great trouble and expense,
salad, spinach, parsley, potatoes, and a few varieties of edible roots,
are cultivated. The beds are separated from each other by strips of turf
a foot broad, seldom boasting even a few field-flowers.
The inhabitants of Iceland are generally of middle stature, and strongly
built, with light hair, frequently inclining to red, and blue eyes. The
men are for the most part ugly; the women are better favoured, and among
the girls I noticed some very sweet faces. To attain the age of seventy
or eighty years is here considered an extraordinary circumstance. {29}
The peasants have many children, and yet few; many are born, but few
survive the first year. The mothers do not nurse them, and rear them on
very bad food. Those who get over the first year look healthy enough;
but they have strangely red cheeks, almost as though they had an
eruption. Whether this appearance is to be ascribed to the sharp air, to
which the delicate skin is not yet accustomed, or to the food, I know
not.
In some places on the coast, when the violent storms prevent the poor
fishermen for whole weeks from launching their boats, they live almost
entirely on dried fishes' heads. {30} The fishes themselves have been
salted down and sold, partly to pay the fishermen's taxes, and partly to
liquidate debts for the necessaries of the past season, among which
brandy and snuff unfortunately play far too prominent a part.
Another reason why the population does not increase is to be found in the
numerous catastrophes attending the fisheries during the stormy season of
the year. The fishermen leave the shore with songs and mirth, for a
bright sky and a calm sea promise them good fortune. But, alas, tempests
and snow-storms too often overtake the unfortunate boatmen! The sea is
lashed into foam, and mighty waves overwhelm boats and fishermen
together, and they perish inevitably. It is seldom that the father of a
family embarks in the same boat with his sons. They divide themselves
among different parties, in order that, if one boat founder, the whole
family may not be destroyed.
I found the cottages of the peasants at Reikjavik smaller, and in every
respect worse provided, than those at Havenfiord. This seems, however,
to be entirely owing to the indolence of the peasants themselves; for
stones are to be had in abundance, and every man is his own builder. The
cows and sheep live through the winter in a wretched den, built either in
the cottage itself or in its immediate neighbourhood. The horses pass
the whole year under the canopy of heaven, and must find their own
provender. Occasionally only the peasant will shovel away the snow from
a little spot, to assist the poor animals in searching for the grass or
moss concealed beneath. It is then left to the horses to finish clearing
away the snow with their feet. It may easily be imagined that this mode
of treatment tends to render them very hardy; but the wonder is, how the
poor creatures manage to exist through the winter on such spare diet, and
to be strong and fit for work late in the spring and in summer. These
horses are so entirely unused to being fed with oats, that they will
refuse them when offered; they are not even fond of hay.
As I arrived in Iceland during the early spring, I had an opportunity of
seeing the horses and sheep in their winter garments. The horses seemed
to be covered, not with hair, but with a thick woolly coat; their manes
and tails are very long, and of surprising thickness. At the end of May
or the beginning of June the tail and mane are docked and thinned, their
woolly coat falls of itself, and they then look smooth enough. The sheep
have also a very thick coat during the winter. It is not the custom to
shear them, but at the beginning of June the wool is picked off piece by
piece with the hand. A sheep treated in this way sometimes presents a
very comical appearance, being perfectly naked on one side, while on the
other it is still covered with wool.
The horses and cows are considerably smaller than those of our country.
No one need journey so far north, however, to see stunted cattle.
Already, in Galicia, the cows and horses of the peasants are not a whit
larger or stronger than those in Iceland. The Icelandic cows are further
remarkable only for their peculiarly small horns; the sheep are also
smaller than ours.
Every peasant keeps horses. The mode of feeding them is, as already
shewn, very simple; the distances are long, the roads bad, and large
rivers, moorlands, and swamps must frequently be passed; so every one
rides, both men, women, and children. The use of carriages is as totally
unknown throughout the island as in Syria.
The immediate vicinity of Reikjavik is pretty enough. Some of the
townspeople go to much trouble and expense in sometimes collecting and
sometimes breaking the stones around their dwellings. With the little
ground thus obtained they mix turf, ashes, and manure, until at length a
soil is formed on which something will grow. But this is such a gigantic
undertaking, that the little culture bestowed on the spots wholly
neglected by nature cannot be wondered at. Herr Bernhoft shewed me a
small meadow which he had leased for thirty years, at an annual rent of
thirty kreutzers. In order, however, to transform the land he bought
into a meadow, which yields winter fodder for only one cow, it was
necessary to expend more than 150 florins, besides much personal labour
and pains. The rate of wages for peasants is very high when compared
with the limited wants of these people: they receive thirty or forty
kreutzers per diem, and during the hay-harvest as much as a florin.
For a long distance round the town the ground consists of stones, turf,
and swamps. The latter are mostly covered with hundreds upon hundreds of
great and small mounds of firm ground. By jumping from one of these
mounds to the next, the entire swamp may be crossed, not only without
danger, but dry-footed.
In spite of all this, one of these swamps put me in a position of much
difficulty and embarrassment during one of my solitary excursions. I was
sauntering quietly along, when suddenly a little butterfly fluttered past
me. It was the first I had seen in this country, and my eagerness to
catch it was proportionately great. I hastened after it; thought neither
of swamp nor of danger, and in the heat of the chase did not observe that
the mounds became every moment fewer and farther between. Soon I found
myself in the middle of the swamp, and could neither advance nor retreat.
Not a human being could I descry; the very animals were far from me; and
this circumstance confirmed me as to the dangerous nature of the ground.
Nothing remained for me but to fix my eyes upon one point of the
landscape, and to step out boldly towards it. I was often obliged to
hazard two or three steps into the swamp itself, in order to gain the
next acclivity, upon which I would then stand triumphantly, to determine
my farther progress. So long as I could distinguish traces of horses'
hoofs, I had no fear; but even these soon disappeared, and I stood there
alone in the morass. I could not remain for ever on my tower of
observation, and had no resource but to take to the swamp once more. I
must confess that I experienced a very uncomfortable feeling of
apprehension when my foot sank suddenly into the soft mud; but when I
found that it did not rise higher than the ankles, my courage returned; I
stepped out boldly, and was fortunate enough to escape with the fright
and a thorough wetting.
The most arduous posts in the country are those of the medical men and
clergymen. Their sphere of action is very enlarged, particularly that of
the medical man, whose practice sometimes extends over a distance of
eighty to a hundred miles. When we add to this the severity of the
winter, which lasts for seven or eight months, it seems marvellous that
any one can be found to fill such a situation.
In winter the peasants often come with shovels, pickaxes, and horses to
fetch the doctor. They then go before him, and hastily repair the worst
part of the road; while the doctor rides sometimes on one horse,
sometimes on another, that they may not sink under the fatigue. And thus
the procession travels for many, many miles, through night and fog,
through storm and snow, for on the doctor's promptitude life and death
often hang. When he then returns, quite benumbed, and half dead with
cold, to the bosom of his family, in the expectation of rest and
refreshment, and to rejoice with his friends over the dangers and
hardships he has escaped, the poor doctor is frequently compelled to set
off at once on a new and important journey, before he has even had time
to greet the dear ones at home.
Sometimes he is sent for by sea, where the danger is still greater on the
storm-tost element.
Though the salary of the medical men is not at all proportionate to the
hardships they are called upon to undergo, it is still far better than
that of the priests.
The smallest livings bring in six to eight florins annually, the richest
200 florins. Besides this, the government supplies for each priest a
house, often not much better than a peasant's cottage, a few meadows, and
some cattle. The peasants are also required to give certain small
contributions in the way of hay, wool, fish, &c. The greater number of
priests are so poor, that they and their families dress exactly like the
peasants, from whom they can scarcely be distinguished. The clergyman's
wife looks after the cattle, and milks cows and ewes like a maid-servant;
while her husband proceeds to the meadow, and mows the grass with the
labourer. The intercourse of the pastor is wholly confined to the
society of peasants; and this constitutes the chief element of that
"patriarchal life" which so many travellers describe as charming. I
should like to know which of them would wish to lead such a life!
The poor priest has, besides, frequently to officiate in two, three, or
even four districts, distant from four to twelve miles from his
residence. Every Sunday he must do duty at one or other of these
districts, taking them in turn, so that divine service is only performed
at each place once in every three or four weeks. The journeys of the
priest, however, are not considered quite so necessary as those of the
doctor; for if the weather is very bad on Sundays, particularly during
the winter, he can omit visiting the most distant places. This is done
the more readily, as but few of the peasants would be at church; all who
lived at a distance remaining at home.
The Sysselmann (an officer similar to that of the sheriff of a county) is
the best off. He has a good salary with little to do, and in some places
enjoys in addition the "strand-right," which is at times no
inconsiderable privilege, from the quantity of drift timber washed ashore
from the American continent.
Fishing and the chase are open to all, with the exception of the
salmon-fisheries in the rivers; these are farmed by the government.
Eider-ducks may not be shot, under penalty of a fine. There is no
military service, for throughout the whole island no soldiers are
required. Even Reikjavik itself boasts only two police-officers.
Commerce is also free; but the islanders possess so little commercial
spirit, that even if they had the necessary capital, they would never
embark in speculation.
The whole commerce of Iceland thus lies in the hands of Danish merchants,
who send their ships to the island every year, and have established
factories in the different ports where the retail trade is carried on.
These ships bring every thing to Iceland, corn, wood, wines, manufactured
goods, and colonial produce, &c. The imports are free, for it would not
pay the government to establish offices, and give servants salaries to
collect duties upon the small amount of produce required for the island.
Wine, and in fact all colonial produce, are therefore much cheaper than
in other countries.
The exports consist of fish, particularly salted cod, fish-roe, tallow,
train-oil, eider-down, and feathers of other birds, almost equal to
eider-down in softness, sheep's wool, and pickled or salted lamb. With
the exception of the articles just enumerated, the Icelanders possess
nothing; thirteen years ago, when Herr Knudson established a bakehouse,
{31} he was compelled to bring from Copenhagen, not only the builder, but
even the materials for building, stones, lime, &c.; for although the
island abounds with masses of stone, there are none which can be used for
building an oven, or which can be burnt into lime: every thing is of
lava.
Two or three cottages situated near each other are here dignified by the
name of a "place." These places, as well as the separate cottages, are
mostly built on little acclivities, surrounded by meadows. The meadows
are often fenced in with walls of stone or earth, two or three feet in
height, to prevent the cows, sheep, and horses from trespassing upon them
to graze. The grass of these meadows is made into hay, and laid up as a
winter provision for the cows.
I did not hear many complaints of the severity of the cold in winter; the
temperature seldom sinks to twenty degrees below zero; the sea is
sometimes frozen, but only a few feet from the shore. The snowstorms and
tempests, however, are often so violent, that it is almost impossible to
leave the house. Daylight lasts only for five or six hours, and to
supply its place the poor Icelanders have only the northern light, which
is said to illumine the long nights with a brilliancy truly marvellous.
The summer I passed in Iceland was one of the finest the inhabitants had
known for years. During the month of June the thermometer often rose at
noon to twenty degrees. The inhabitants found this heat so
insupportable, that they complained of being unable to work or to go on
messages during the day-time. On such warm days they would only begin
their hay-making in the evening, and continued their work half the night.
The changes in the weather are very remarkable. Twenty degrees of heat
on one day would be followed by rain on the next, with a temperature of
only five degrees; and on the 5th of June, at eight o'clock in the
morning, the thermometer stood at one degree below zero. It is also
curious that thunderstorms happen in Iceland in winter, and are said
never to occur during the summer.
From the 16th or 18th of June to the end of the month there is no night.
The sun appears only to retire for a short time behind a mountain, and
forms sunset and morning-dawn at the same time. As on one side the last
beam fades away, the orb of day re-appears at the opposite one with
redoubled splendour.
During my stay in Iceland, from the 15th of May to the 29th of July, I
never retired to rest before eleven o'clock at night, and never required
a candle. In May, and also in the latter portion of the month of July,
there was twilight for an hour or two, but it never became quite dark.
Even during the last days of my stay, I could read until half-past ten
o'clock. At first it appeared strange to me to go to bed in broad
daylight; but I soon accustomed myself to it, and when eleven o'clock
came, no sunlight was powerful enough to cheat me of my sleep. I found
much pleasure in walking at night, at past ten o'clock, not in the pale
moonshine, but in the broad blaze of the sun.
It was a much more difficult task to accustom myself to the diet. The
baker's wife was fully competent to superintend the cooking according to
the Danish and Icelandic schools of the art; but unfortunately these
modes of cookery differ widely from ours. One thing only was good, the
morning cup of coffee with cream, with which the most accomplished
gourmand could have found no fault: since my departure from Iceland I
have not found such coffee. I could have wished for some of my dear
Viennese friends to breakfast with me. The cream was so thick, that I at
first thought my hostess had misunderstood me, and brought me curds. The
butter made from the milk of Icelandic cows and ewes did not look very
inviting, and was as white as lard, but the taste was good. The
Icelanders, however, find the taste not sufficiently "piquant," and
generally qualify it with train-oil. Altogether, train-oil plays a very
prominent part in the Icelandic kitchen; the peasant considers it a most
delicious article, and thinks nothing of devouring a quantity of it
without bread, or indeed any thing else. {32}
I did not at all relish the diet at dinner; this meal consisted of two
dishes, namely, boiled fish, with vinegar and melted butter instead of
oil, and boiled potatoes. Unfortunately I am no admirer of fish, and now
this was my daily food. Ah, how I longed for beef-soup, a piece of meat,
and vegetables, in vain! As long as I remained in Iceland, I was
compelled quite to give up my German system of diet.
After a time I got on well enough with the boiled fish and potatoes, but
I could not manage the delicacies of the island. Worthy Madame Bernhoft,
it was so kindly meant on her part; and it was surely not her fault that
the system of cookery in Iceland is different from ours; but I could not
bring myself to like the Icelandic delicacies. They were of different
kinds, consisting sometimes of fishes, hard-boiled eggs, and potatoes
chopped up together, covered with a thick brown sauce, and seasoned with
pepper, sugar, and vinegar; at others, of potatoes baked in butter and
sugar. Another delicacy was cabbage chopped very small, rendered very
thin by the addition of water, and sweetened with sugar; the accompanying
dish was a piece of cured lamb, which had a very unpleasant "pickled"
flavour.
On Sundays we sometimes had "Prothe Grutze," properly a Scandinavian
dish, composed of fine sago boiled to a jelly, with currant-juice or red
wine, and eaten with cream or sugar. Tapfen, a kind of soft cheese, is
also sometimes eaten with cream and sugar.
In the months of June and July the diet improved materially. We could
often procure splendid salmon, sometimes roast lamb, and now and then
birds, among which latter dainties the snipes were particularly good. In
the evening came butter, cheese, cold fish, smoked lamb, and eggs of
eider-ducks, which are coarser than hen's eggs. In time I became so
accustomed to this kind of food, that I no longer missed either soup or
beef, and felt uncommonly well.
My drink was always clear fresh water; the gentlemen began their dinner
with a small glass of brandy, and during the meal all drank beer of Herr
Bernhoft's own brewing, which was very good. On Sundays, a bottle of
port or Bordeaux sometimes made its appearance at our table; and as we
fared at Herr Bernhoft's, so it was the custom in the houses of all the
merchants and officials.
At Reikjavik I had an opportunity of witnessing a great religious
ceremony. Three candidates of theology were raised to the ministerial
office. Though the whole community here is Lutheran, the ceremonies
differ in many respects from those of the continent of Europe, and I will
therefore give a short sketch of what I saw. The solemnity began at
noon, and lasted till four o'clock. I noticed at once that all the
people covered their faces for a moment on entering the church, the men
with their hats, and the women with their handkerchiefs. Most of the
congregation sat with their faces turned towards the altar; but this rule
had its exceptions. The vestments of the priests were the same as those
worn by our clergymen, and the commencement of the service also closely
resembled the ritual of our own Church; but soon this resemblance ceased.
The bishop stepped up to the altar with the candidates, and performed
certain ceremonies; then one would mount the pulpit and read part of a
sermon, or sing a psalm, while the other clergymen sat round on chairs,
and appeared to listen; then a second and a third ascended the pulpit,
and afterwards another sermon was preached from the altar, and another
psalm sung; then a sermon was again read from the pulpit. While
ceremonies were performed at the altar, the sacerdotal garments were
often put on and taken off again. I frequently thought the service was
coming to a close, but it always began afresh, and lasted, as I said
before, until four o'clock. The number of forms surprised me greatly, as
the ritual of the Lutheran Church is in general exceedingly simple.
On this occasion a considerable number of the country people were
assembled, and I had thus a good opportunity of noticing their costumes.
The dresses worn by the women and girls are all made of coarse black
woollen stuffs. The dress consists of a long skirt, a spencer, and a
coloured apron. On their heads they wear a man's nightcap of black
cloth, the point turned downwards, and terminating in a large tassel of
wool or silk, which hangs down to the shoulder. Their hair is unbound,
and reaches only to the shoulder: some of the women wear it slightly
curled. I involuntarily thought of the poetical descriptions of the
northern romancers, who grow enthusiastic in praise of ideal "angels'
heads with golden tresses." The hair is certainly worn in this manner
here, and our poets may have borrowed their descriptions from the
Scandinavians. But the beautiful faces which are said to beam forth from
among those golden locks exist only in the poet's vivid imagination.
Ornamental additions to the costume are very rare. In the whole assembly
I only noticed four women who were dressed differently from the others.
The cords which fastened their spencers, and also their girdles, were
ornamented with a garland worked in silver thread. Their skirts were of
fine black cloth, and decorated with a border of coloured silk a few
inches broad. Round their necks they wore a kind of stiff collar of
black velvet with a border of silver thread, and on their heads a black
silk handkerchief with a very strange addition. This appendage consisted
of a half-moon fastened to the back of the head, and extending five or
six inches above the forehead. It was covered with white lawn arranged
in folds; its breadth at the back of the head did not exceed an inch and
a half, but in front it widened to five or six inches.
The men, I found, were clothed almost like our peasants. They wore
small-clothes of dark cloth, jackets and waistcoats, felt hats, or fur
caps; and instead of boots a kind of shoe of ox-hide, sheep, or
seal-skin, bound to the feet by a leather strap. The women, and even the
children of the officials, all wear shoes of this description.
It was very seldom that I met people so wretchedly and poorly clad as we
find them but too often in the large continental towns. I never saw any
one without good warm shoes and stockings.
The better classes, such as merchants, officials, &c. are dressed in the
French style, and rather fashionably. There is no lack of silk and other
costly stuffs. Some of these are brought from England, but the greater
part come from Denmark.
On the king's birthday, which is kept every year at the house of the
Stiftsamtmann, the festivities are said to be very grand; on this
occasion the matrons appear arrayed in silk, and the maidens in white
jaconet; the rooms are lighted with wax tapers.
Some speculative genius or other has also established a sort of club in
Reikjavik. He has, namely, hired a couple of rooms, where the
townspeople meet of an evening to discuss "tea-water," bread and butter,
and sometimes even a bottle of wine or a bowl of punch. In winter the
proprietor gives balls in these apartments, charging 20 kr. for each
ticket of admission. Here the town grandees and the handicraftsmen, in
fact all who choose to come, assemble; and the ball is said to be
conducted in a very republican spirit. The shoemaker leads forth the
wife of the Stiftsamtmann to the dance, while that official himself has
perhaps chosen the wife or daughter of the shoemaker or baker for his
partner. The refreshments consist of "tea-water" and bread and butter,
and the room is lighted with tallow candles. The music, consisting of a
kind of three-stringed violin and a pipe, is said to be exquisitely
horrible.
In summer the dignitaries make frequent excursions on horse-back; and on
these occasions great care is taken that there be no lack of provisions.
Commonly each person contributes a share: some bring wine, others cake;
others, again, coffee, and so on. The ladies use fine English
side-saddles, and wear elegant riding-habits, and pretty felt hats with
green veils. These jaunts, however, are confined to Reikjavik; for, as I
have already observed, there is, with the exception of this town, no
place in Iceland containing more than two or three stores and some
half-dozen cottages.
To my great surprise, I found no less than six square piano-fortes
belonging to different families in Reikjavik, and heard waltzes by our
favourite composers, besides variations of Herz, and some pieces of
Liszt, Wilmers, and Thalberg. But such playing! I do not think that
these talented composers would have recognised their own works.
In conclusion, I must offer a few remarks relative to the travelling in
this country.
The best time to choose for this purpose is from the middle of June to
the end of August at latest. Until June the rivers are so swollen and
turbulent, by reason of the melting snows, as to render it very dangerous
to ride through them. The traveller must also pass over many a field of
snow not yet melted by the sun, and frequently concealing chasms and
masses of lava; and this is attended with danger almost as great. At
every footstep the traveller sinks into the snow; and he may thank his
lucky stars if the whole rotten surface does not give way. In September
the violent storms of wind and rain commence, and heavy falls of snow may
be expected from day to day.
A tent, provisions, cooking utensils, pillows, bed-clothes, and warm
garments, are highly necessary for the wayfarer's comfort. This
paraphernalia would have been too expensive for me to buy, and I was
unprovided with any thing of the kind; consequently I was forced to
endure the most dreadful hardships and toil, and was frequently obliged
to ride an immense distance to reach a little church or a cottage, which
would afford me shelter for the night. My sole food for eight or ten
days together was often bread and cheese; and I generally passed the
night upon a chest or a bench, where the cold would often prevent my
closing my eyes all night.
It is advisable to be provided with a waterproof cloak and a sailor's
tarpaulin hat, as a defence against the rain, which frequently falls. An
umbrella would be totally useless, as the rain is generally accompanied
by a storm, or, at any rate, by a strong wind; when we add to this, that
it is necessary in some places to ride quickly, it will easily be seen
that holding an umbrella open is a thing not to be thought of.
Altogether I found the travelling in this country attended with far more
hardship than in the East. For my part, I found the dreadful storms of
wind, the piercing air, the frequent rain, and the cold, much less
endurable than the Oriental heat, which never gave me either cracked lips
or caused scales to appear on my face. In Iceland my lips began to bleed
on the fifth day; and afterwards the skin came off my face in scales, as
if I had had the scrofula. Another source of great discomfort is to be
found in the long riding-habit. It is requisite to be very warmly clad;
and the heavy skirts, often dripping with rain, coil themselves round the
feet of the wearer in such a manner, as to render her exceedingly awkward
either in mounting or dismounting. The worst hardship of all, however,
is the being obliged to halt to rest the horses in a meadow during the
rain. The long skirts suck up the water from the damp grass, and the
wearer has often literally not a dry stitch in all her garments.
Heat and cold appear in this country to affect strangers in a remarkable
degree. The cold seemed to me more piercing, and the heat more
oppressive in Iceland, than when the thermometer stood at the same points
in my native land.
In summer the roads are marvellously good, so that one can generally ride
at a pretty quick pace. They are, however, impracticable for vehicles,
partly because they are too narrow, and partly also on account of some
very bad places which must occasionally be encountered. On the whole
island not a single carriage is to be found.
The road is only dangerous when it leads through swamps and moors, or
over fields of lava. Among these fields, such as are covered with white
moss are peculiarly to be feared, for the moss frequently conceals very
dangerous holes, into which the horse can easily stumble. In ascending
and descending the hills very formidable spots sometimes oppose the
traveller's progress. The road is at times so hidden among swamps and
bogs, that not a trace of it is to be distinguished, and I could only
wonder how my guide always succeeded in regaining the right path. One
could almost suppose that on these dangerous paths both horse and man are
guided by a kind of instinct.
Travelling is more expensive in Iceland than any where else, particularly
when one person travels alone, and must bear all the expense of the
baggage, the guide, ferries, &c. Horses are not let out on hire, they
must be bought. They are, however, very cheap; a pack-horse costs from
eighteen to twenty-four florins, and a riding-horse from forty to fifty
florins. To travel with any idea of comfort it is necessary to have
several pack-horses, for they must not be heavily laden; and an
additional servant must likewise be hired, as the guide only looks after
the saddle-horses, and, at most, one or two of the pack-horses. If the
traveller, at the conclusion of the journey, wishes to sell the horses,
such a wretchedly low price is offered, that it is just as well to give
them away at once. This is a proof of the fact that men are every where
alike ready to follow up their advantage. These people are well aware
that the horses must be left behind at any rate, and therefore they will
not bid for them. I must confess that I found the character of the
Icelanders in every respect below the estimate I had previously formed of
it, and still further below the standard given in books.
In spite of their scanty food, the Icelandic horses have a marvellous
power of endurance; they can often travel from thirty-five to forty miles
per diem for several consecutive days. But the only difficulty is to
keep the horse moving. The Icelanders have a habit of continually
kicking their heels against the poor beast's sides; and the horse at last
gets so accustomed to this mode of treatment, that it will hardly go if
the stimulus be discontinued. In passing the bad pieces of road it is
necessary to keep the bridle tight in hand, or the horse will stumble
frequently. This and the continual urging forward of the horse render
riding very fatiguing. {33}
Not a little consideration is certainly required before undertaking a
journey into the far north; but nothing frightened me,--and even in the
midst of the greatest dangers and hardships I did not for one moment
regret my undertaking, and would not have relinquished it under any
consideration.
I made excursions to every part of Iceland, and am thus enabled to place
before my readers, in regular order, the chief curiosities of this
remarkable country. I will commence with the immediate neighbourhood of
Reikjavik.