gather ferns—_aspidium_ or _crystoperis_—on the Althing. The scene
around was singularly wild, and yet strikingly picturesque in its
desolate strangeness; while the tender green of the valley itself
afforded a refreshing rest to the eye. On returning I made a sketch of
the priest’s house;[13] examined the site of the little church which was
being re-erected; strolled down by the river side, and performed my
ablutions in it—laying my clothes in the priest’s fishing coble, which
was lying hauled up on the bank.
I then paused at the simple churchyard close by, and tried to conjure up
life and heart histories for those who had entered this
“Saula-hleith”—or soul-gate, as the churchyard is beautifully
named—while hymns were being chanted over them, and who were now resting
peacefully beneath the green sod.
Conversation with the pastor was again attempted to be carried on in
Latin. His morning salutation was “bonus dies,” or other remarks about
the weather, as with ourselves. After squaring accounts, on leaving, we
gave him—as a _nimbus_ for the rix-dollars—a mediaeval “pax-vobiscum,”
in exchange for his many expressions of good-will towards us, and his
rounded classical “vale!”
The glebe hay was being tedded, but the ground here as elsewhere is
covered with little hummocks. Were it only levelled and drained, the
soil, one would think, should raise turnips in quantity, and, certainly,
larger hay crops would be obtained. During the short summer there is not
time for the grain to ripen; but food suitable for cattle might readily
be grown in the valleys; for it is chiefly by the rearing of stock, that
Iceland, when she can muster the requisite enterprise and activity,
will, in all probability, advance to commercial prosperity.
After sketching the gorge of the Almannagjá—see illustration, p. 81—we
ascended it, crossed the lava plateau, and rapidly retraced our steps to
the capital, only pausing now and again to take a sketch.
[Illustration: ICELANDIC FARM.]
Over the last part of our journey, from the river which we forded just
below the farm house on the hill, to Reykjavik, we rode like the
wind—men and horses alike eager to get to the end of their journey. Our
entry into the town was a regular scrimmage. It was a quarter to three
P.M. when we got in, having done the distance from Thingvalla in six
hours. By this time we had ceased to wonder at any feats performed by
the ponies. Seldom, if ever, disconcerted, they go at anything in a most
patient philosophical manner, and get over difficulties which elsewhere
one would think insurmountable, and sheer madness to attempt. Thanks to
mackintosh overboots—made specially for the purpose—at the end of the
journey, I was the only one of our party whose feet were dry.
-----
Footnote 6:
“Di rado
Incontra, me rispose, che di nui
Faccia il cammino alcun per quale io vado.” L 19-21.
Footnote 7:
Pronounced Tingvatla.
Footnote 8:
In the same way a river in Perthshire is called Bruar; evidently from
the natural rock-bridge by which it is spanned.
Footnote 9:
Dr. Black’s analysis of the Geyser water is—
Soda, 0.95
Dry Sulphate of Soda, 1.46
Muriate of Soda, 2.46
Silica, 5.40
Alumina, 0.48
───────────────────────────
10.75
Footnote 10:
From the specific gravity of the globe, taken in connection with the
increasing ratio of heat as we descend from the surface, it is
calculated that all metals and rocks are melted at a depth of thirty
miles below the sea level, and that the fluid mass is chiefly _melted
iron_; while the temperature would indicate somewhere about 4000°
Fahrenheit.
Footnote 11:
The specimens nearly all became red before they got home, and Dr. R.
Angus Smith, F.R.S. &c., has since fully confirmed my surmise as to
the origin of the colours.
Footnote 12:
See Olafsen’s Reise, th. ii. p. 138-140. Finnsen’s Efterretning om
Tildragelserne ved Bierget Hekla. (Copenhagen 1767). Barry’s Orkney
Islands, p. 13; quoted by the author of Iceland, Greenland, and the
Faröe Islands, pp. 30-1.
Footnote 13:
See illustration at p. 84.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
REYKJAVIK.
Mr. Bushby invited us to dine with him at the hotel, and Dr. Mackinlay
kindly gave us his room to dress in.
How oddly things sometimes turn up! We saw lying on the floor a box of
“Brown and Polson’s Patent Corn Flour,” which at once suggested two very
different, although not incongruous, trains of ideas; one, the contrast
between the hurry and bustle of railway stations in Britain, where the
corn flour is everywhere so extensively advertised, and the primitive
locomotion of Iceland, in which not a single steam engine has been
erected; and the other, associating the beautiful locality where the
flour is made—near Paisley, at the foot of “the Braes of Gleniffer”
celebrated in song by Tannahill, one of Scotland’s sweetest
minstrels—with some of the loveliest scenes we had lately witnessed. For
here, are we not in the land of Eddas and Sagas! and is not the Poet
found singing wherever there are human hearts!
A gentleman told me, that having obtained permission, he had, that
afternoon, caught seventy trout in the salmon river—three of them from
his pony’s back; he had only to throw the fish over his head on the
grass behind him, as fast as he could whip them up. He had seen a
fisherman get 130 at one haul of the net. I saw the manager of the
fishery, an active intelligent Scotchman, whom, from his appearance, one
would take to be the mate of a vessel. He told me he had been three
years in Iceland, and had some of his family here with him.
Mr. Bushby procured us several specimens of double refracting Iceland
spar, obtained from the other side of the island. It polarizes light,
and is valuable in various ways, both to science and the arts.
Mr. Murray and Mr. Cleghorn set out after dinner to visit the sulphur
mines of Krisuvik; I, on the principle of letting well alone, preferred
remaining at Reykjavik to undergoing the fresh fatigue of such a ride
immediately after the Geyser journey. Three of us spent the evening, by
invitation, at the Governor’s—the Count Von Trampe. I had a long
conversation with him in German, during which he mentioned that all the
old Saga and Edda MSS. had been removed to Copenhagen; and, in answer to
sundry enquiries, told me that the “lang spiel” is the only Icelandic
musical instrument now in use. It is something like a guitar or banjo,
has four strings, and is played with a little bow. The airs now played
are chiefly Danish dance music, and other foreign melodies.
The Icelanders, like the natives of Madagascar, have adopted the music
of our “_God save the Queen_” as their national air. The words to which
it is sung were composed in the beginning of the present century, by the
late Biarni Thorarensen, Governor of the northern province of the
island, when he was a student at the university of Copenhagen. The song
is called “Islands Minni,” or the “Remembrance of Iceland;” and finely
illustrates the intense love of country displayed by Icelanders, who,
wherever they may travel or sojourn, always sooner or later return home
though but to die; for to them, as their own proverb has it, “Iceland is
the best land on which the sun shines.” We here give the words of this
national song, which, calling up in foreign lands memories of sweet
home, is no less to the Icelander, than is the _Ranz de Vaches_ to the
Swiss when far away from the one chalet he loves best in the world,
perched, it may be, on the lofty mountain side, or lying peacefully in
some green sunny valley.
[Illustration: MUSIC IN AN ICELANDIC HOME.]
ISLANDS MINNI.
I.
Eldgamla Isafold,
Astkæra fósturmold,
Fjallkonan fríd!
Mögum thín muntu kær,
Medan lönd girdir sær
Og gumar girnast mær;
Gljár sól á hlíd.
II.
Hafnar úr gufu hér
Heim allir girnumst vér
Thig thekka ad sjá;
Glepur oss glaumurinn,
Ginnir oss sollurinn,
Hlær ad oss heimskinginn
Hafnar slód á.
III.
Leidist oss fjall-laust frón,
Fær oss opt heilsutjón
Thokulopt léd;
Svipljótt land synist mér
Sífelt ad vera hér,
Sem neflaus ásynd er
Augnalaus med.
IV.
Ödruvís er ad sjá
A thjer hvítfaldinn há
Heid-himin vid;
Eda thær krystalls ár,
A hverjar sólin gljár,
Og heidar himin-blár,
Há-jökla rid.
V.
Eldgamla Isafold,
Astkæra fósturmold,
Fjallkonan fríd!
Agætust audnan thér
Upp lypt, bidjum vér,
Medan ad uppi er
Oll heimsins tíd![14]
From the literal prose-rendering into English which follows, the reader
will be able to gather how beautiful such thoughts must be, when clothed
in the flowing rhythmic music of the original stanzas.
THE REMEMBRANCE OF ICELAND.
I.
Old land of ice,
Dearly beloved native land,
Fair maid of the mountains!
Dear thou shalt be to thy sons
As long as land is surrounded by sea;
As men love women;
Or sun-gleam falls on the hill-side.
II.
Here, from the midst of Copenhagen’s smoke,
We all yearning after home
Long, dear one, again to behold thee.
The noisy din irks us;
Revelry tempts us in vain;
And the fool jeers contemptuously at us
In the streets of Copenhagen.
III.
We are tired of a mountainless land;
We are constantly losing our health
In this smoky thick atmosphere;
I find this country everywhere
To be destitute of fine features,
A land like a face without nose,
And even without eyes.
IV.
How different it is to see
Thy high-peaked head-dress of snowy white[15]
Reaching the cloudless sky;
Or the crystal rivers
Which sparkle in the sunshine;
And the bright blue heavens
Over the jökul’s brow.
V.
Old land of ice,
Dearly beloved native land,
Fair maid of the mountains!
The best luck attend thee
Ever, we pray,
As long as shall last
All the years of the world!
One or two old Icelandic airs linger amongst the people, but are seldom
heard; and as there was—so I understood the Governor to say—no musical
notation to hand them down, little reliance can be placed on their
accurate transmission.
I was introduced to the Compte d’Ademas of the _Artemise_ frigate, an
officer who speaks English well. He is Lord Dufferin’s cousin. There
were several other French officers present. After leaving the
Governor’s, we called for M. Randröp, the state’s apothecary, who
received us in the wonted hospitable Icelandic manner. Madam Randröp
kindly played to us on the piano-forte “Robin Adair,” “Cheer Boys,” “Fin
chan dal vino,” “Hear me, Norma,” a Danish dance, and an Icelandic song.
Her two daughters, the Misses Müller, are learning English, and her son
is going south by our steamer to attend the university at Copenhagen.
The _Arcturus_ having left the bay and gone somewhere for cargo, and the
few bedrooms upstairs at the hotel being all occupied, as it was late,
we resolved to sleep down stairs on the narrow sofa-seat which runs
round the assembly room.
Through a large door, that opened into the billiard-room, came the loud
clicking of ivory balls, noisy vociferations from the French sailors,
and strong fumes of tobacco; notwithstanding which, we somehow contrived
to fall asleep, and knew no more till the morning, when we beheld
blue-eyed flaxen-haired Thea, the maid-of-all-work, standing before us.
She was clad in a close fitting dress of home-made stuff, wore the
common little jaunty black cap with its silver ornament and long silk
tassel flowing down at the side of her head, and her waist-belt was
covered with richly-wrought filigreed bossy silver ornaments.
She brought in a cup of coffee and milk and a biscuit, depositing them
on a little table which she placed beside my long narrow couch. This
good old Norse custom is called “the little breakfast;” and, from the
experience of years, I can testify that in no way does it interfere with
or spoil the regular breakfast which follows, while the benefit at the
time is undeniable.
Then followed water, soap and towels, indicating that we were expected
to get up; and as breakfast was to be served in the apartment where we
lay, Thea’s hint was speedily taken.
After breakfast I called for Mr. Sivertsen, who procured for me some
coarse mits, made with two thumbs but no finger-divisions. These are the
customary wear of the fishermen, who, when the line cuts the one side,
are thus enabled to turn them and use the other. I also obtained a
curious snuff box like a bottle,[16] made of walrus-tooth; a collection
of stuffed birds, with a large black skua, a pair of Richardson’s
skua-gulls, a pair of jer-falcons, an eider duck and drake, a puffin, an
arctic gull, and a pair of pheasant-tailed ducks among them; also silver
bracelets and brooches of exquisite workmanship. These trinkets are made
of Danish dollars by native silver-smiths, who have certainly arrived at
great proficiency in their art.
I found that the few English Testaments I had brought with me to give
away, were greatly prized by those who were acquiring our language; the
cheapest edition of the New Testament in Icelandic costs between three
and four shillings.
Last night Captain Launay, of the _Agile_ French war brig, had called at
the hotel and invited us to visit him, on board his vessel, to-day at 11
o’clock. At the appointed time we went down to the jetty and found a
ten-oared boat waiting for us. Our party consisted of Dr. Mackinlay,
Captain Forbes, Mr. Haycock, Rector Jonson and his daughter, Professor
Chadbourne, and myself. We were kindly received and shown over the brig;
everything on board was neat and clean; the sailors were, for the most
part, diminutive in size, like Maltese, and, although lithe and agile,
wanted the physical build and stamina of British sailors. The men were
at mess and seemed to be well cared for.
In the captain’s cabin, cakes, bonbons, and champagne were produced, and
we were entertained by the officers with that frank and graceful
hospitality peculiar to the French. Captain Launay showed us collections
of geological specimens from Faröe, from the east of Iceland, and also
from the neighbourhood of Reykjavik; all kept distinctly separated, and
laudably labelled as such specimens ever ought to be. He offered me what
of them I wished, and then addressing Professor Chadbourne, added, “Take
all, and leave me one, I am only an amateur”! He gave me some Faröese
sea-weeds of his own preserving, and I also accepted one or two little
geological specimens as mementos of a pleasant hour spent with one who
is deservedly a favourite with all who know him.
The sailors, he told me, called him Captain Long-life, because he has
been five years in the north without losing a man. His present crew is a
hundred, but during that period, he has, one way and another, passed a
thousand men through his hands. This happy result he attributes partly
to the regular use of lime juice, which he flavours and renders
palatable by mixing it with a little brandy or rum. The addition of the
spirits adds nothing to its virtue, probably the reverse, but the
sailors like it so, and are thus induced to take it. In many ships, he
added, the men, if not watched, throw it over their heads into the sea.
A boat came alongside with an invitation from Captain Véron for us also
to visit his frigate the _Artemise_. It has a crew of 250. The men were
at mess between-decks; and, both seats and tables being swung, the
perpendicular ropes made the whole look not unlike the floor of a great
factory. An officer took me over the ship and through the stores. What
an immense establishment is a war ship!
The French officers are well paid, and have a handsome allowance per day
for mess, over and above their pay. On this station they have double
pay, are put to little expense, consequently save money fast, and get
leave of absence now and again to go home and spend it. Here we were
again offered champagne but declined it; and, at half-past one P.M.,
were rowed ashore in a ten oared gig, much pleased with the kind frank
attentions of all the officers.
When we landed I called for Mr. Sivertsen, and afterwards visited the
library with Dr. Mackinlay. The Rev. Olaf Pálsson dean and rector of the
cathedral, and Mr. Jón Arnason, secretary to the Bishop and also
librarian, were there before us by appointment and kindly gave us every
information we required. There were no manuscripts to be seen here older
than the fifteenth century, and these were chiefly genealogies, or
translations of mediæval tales or romances such as “Charlemagne.” We saw
a fine folio edition of Snorro Sturleson’s writings, and hastily looked
over the work on Iceland got up by the French expedition under Gaimard.
It embraces views of places, natural history, manners and customs,
costumes &c. Some views of localities we had visited were very good, but
others were inaccurate and careless, being only modified compositions
instead of faithful representations of the places indicated. Ere
leaving, I received several original little works, in Icelandic, both
from the dean and the librarian; those from the former were inscribed in
English “with the author’s best respects;” and those from the latter
with a legend of similar import in Icelandic.
As the althing or parliament, which ceased to meet at Thingvalla in A.D.
1800, was now assembled here, we went to see it. The place of meeting is
an oblong hall in the same building as the college. You enter by the
side, and see, facing you, a raised platform where the president and two
or three officials sit at a table covered with papers and writing
materials. Portraits in oil of the King and Queen of Denmark hung behind
them. On two rows of seats, like school forms with simple spar backs,
sit the members, forming an oblong square around the table; visitors
find places outside this square. There are several writing desks and
other conveniencies in the room.
The most of the deputies were sturdy intelligent looking
men—peasant-farmers dressed in brass buttoned wadmal jackets, and
wearing cow-skin shoes. On rising to speak, many of them expressed
themselves in an animated manner, which seemed to us, with the aid of
Mr. Brynjúlfsson’s explanations and interpretations, to be at once
fluent, pointed, eloquent, and effective.
The population of Iceland is, as already stated, 64,603. Parliament
meets every second year, and is composed of a deputy from each of the
eighteen syssels or counties into which the island is divided, and six
deputies, generally officials, nominated by the King. The members are
elected by household suffrage, but, on account of the great distances,
and the bad roads, few people care to vote. Dr. Mackinlay mentioned one
case, at last election, where a member had only one single vote—and that
his own!! This indifference to matters political, as contrasted with the
stirring old times when the Althing was supreme—being then both
deliberative and executive, “parliament and high court of justice in
one”—may be accounted for, by the fact that it does not now possess
legislative power. The result of its deliberations is merely a petition
to the King, suggesting that certain things should be done; and only
under certain circumstances, can they levy taxes or recommend them.
The island is divided into three governments, each government being in
civil matters quite independent of the others. The governor or
stiftsamptsman who resides at Reykjavik, is at the head of the civil
administration, “conducts all public affairs, presides in the supreme
courts of justice, watches over the execution of the laws, the
collecting and expenditure of the public revenue, and, along with the
Bishop, directs the school, and appoints the clergy” throughout the
whole island. The governor is sometimes a native of the island, though
oftener a Dane. “He continues in office five years, with a salary of
about £300 per annum, and is entitled to promotion on his return to
Denmark. Under him are the amptmen, of whom there ought to be four, but
as the governor holds this office in the southern province, and the
northern and eastern are united, there are only two others. These have
the superintendence of the inferior officers, and nearly the same duties
in their province as the governor exercises in relation to the whole
island. Subordinate to them are the sysselmen or sheriffs, nineteen in
number, who are empowered to hold courts, appoint justices of the peace
and notaries, and to administer the laws concerning inheritances. They
are chosen by the crown from among the principal proprietors in the
district. Under these are the hrepp-stiorar or bailiffs, who assist the
sheriff in preserving the peace and public order, and have at the same
time, the charge of the poor.
“All causes civil and criminal, come in the first instance before the
sysselman in the Heradsthing, one of which is held regularly, once in
twelve months, though extraordinary sessions are also called. This court
consists of the sheriff as judge, with four assistants named meddomsmen.
The landfoged or steward, who is receiver-general of the island, and
police-master of Reykjavik, holds a similar court in that town. From
their decision there is an appeal to the highest tribunal, instituted in
A.D. 1800, on the suppression of the althing, and which consists of the
governor as president, who takes no part in the proceedings, a
chief-justice, two assessors, a secretary, and two public pleaders.
Cases are here decided according to the native laws, or Jonsbook,
introduced in A.D. 1280, and the latter royal ordinances; and from their
judgment the last appeal lies to the supreme court of Copenhagen. The
high moral character of the people renders the last court nearly a
sinecure,—not more than six or eight cases, public or private, occurring
annually. The crimes are mostly sheep-stealing and small thefts, and the
only punishments inflicted in the country are whipping or fines. Those
condemned to hard labour are sent to Copenhagen; and a peasant, being
capitally convicted many years ago, for murdering his wife, it was found
necessary to carry him to Norway for execution.
“The taxes collected in the island, being very inconsiderable, impose
little burthen on the inhabitants. They are principally levied on
property according to several old customs; and payment is chiefly made
in produce of various kinds, which is converted into money by the
sysselman, and transmitted, after deducting a third for his own salary,
to the landfoged or treasurer. The whole amount does not exceed 50,000
rix-dollars, and does not even suffice for the support of the civil
government of the island.”[17]
The machinery of civil government is well arranged; but the people are
peaceable, and to a large extent govern themselves; thus rendering the
duties of the officials very light. In reference to this pleasant state
of matters, Dr. Mackinlay quaintly remarked, “Each country is presided
over by a sysselman or sheriff, who, besides his judicial duties, has to
discharge the duties of lord lieutenant and revenue officer, postmaster,
poorlaw guardian and head constable. As the average population of each
syssel is only 3700, he has, after discharging all his duties, time
enough on hand to be his own clerk and message boy!”
At five o’clock, Dr. Mackinlay, Mr. Haycock, Dr. Livingston, Professor
Chadbourne, and myself, dined at the hotel, with Gísli Brynjúlfsson, Mr.
Bushby, and Captain Forbes; it was our last dinner at Reykjavik. The
_Arcturus_ is to sail with us to-night at ten o’clock for the east of
the island. All last things have a touch of sadness about them; we have
been happy together, and shall not likely all meet again.
Mr. Murray and Mr. Cleghorn have not yet returned from Krisuvik. Gísli
Brynjúlfsson the poet is an M.P., and at present here to attend the
althing. He is employed, as already mentioned, by the government at
Copenhagen in connection with Icelandic antiquities and literature, and
has a work on these subjects in preparation. He speaks English fluently,
and gave us much interesting information.