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Visit to Iceland and the Scandinavian North

by Ida Pfeiffer · English · Gutenberg #1894 · 521,872 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Visit to Iceland and the Scandinavian North

Author: Ida Pfeiffer

Contributor: Frédéric Guillaume Bergmann


        
Release date: September 1, 1999 [eBook #1894]
                Most recently updated: May 7, 2007

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1894

Credits: Transcribed from the 1853 Ingram, Cooke, and Co. edition by David Price.; second proof by Mike Ruffell


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK VISIT TO ICELAND AND THE SCANDINAVIAN NORTH ***



Transcribed from the 1853 Ingram, Cooke, and Co. edition by David Price,
email ccx074@pglaf.org; second proof by Mike Ruffell.





VISIT TO ICELAND
AND THE
SCANDINAVIAN NORTH


                      TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF
                           MADAME IDA PFEIFFER.

                                   WITH
                        Numerous Explanatory Notes
                                   AND
                         EIGHT TINTED ENGRAVINGS.

                            TO WHICH ARE ADDED
                      AN ESSAY ON ICELANDIC POETRY,
                     FROM THE FRENCH OF M. BERGMANN;
             A TRANSLATION OF THE ICELANDIC POEM THE VOLUSPA;
                 AND A BRIEF SKETCH OF ICELANDIC HISTORY.

                             Second Edition.

                                 LONDON:
                          INGRAM, COOKE, AND CO.
                                   1853

                     [Picture: Pictorial title page]




ADVERTISEMENT TO THE FIRST EDITION


The success which attended the publication in this Series of Illustrated
Works of _A Woman's Journey round the World_, has induced the publication
of the present volume on a country so little known as Iceland, and about
which so little recent information exists.

The translation has been carefully made, expressly for this Series, from
the original work published at Vienna; and the Editor has added a great
many notes, wherever they seemed necessary to elucidate the text.

In addition to the matter which appeared in the original work, the
present volume contains a translation of a valuable Essay on Icelandic
poetry, by M. Bergmann; a translation of an Icelandic poem, the
'Voluspa;' a brief sketch of Icelandic History; and a translation of
Schiller's ballad, 'The Diver,' which is prominently alluded to by Madame
Pfeiffer in her description of the Geysers. {1}

The Illustrations have been printed in tints, so as to make the work
uniform with the _Journey round the World_.

London, August 1, 1852.




AUTHOR'S PREFACE


"Another journey--a journey, moreover, in regions which every one would
rather avoid than seek.  This woman only undertakes these journeys to
attract attention."

"The first journey, for a woman ALONE, was certainly rather a bold
proceeding.  Yet in that instance she might still have been excused.
Religious motives may perhaps have actuated her; and when this is the
case, people often go through incredible things.  At present, however, we
can see no just reason which could excuse an undertaking of this
description."

Thus, and perhaps more harshly still, will the majority judge me.  And
yet they will do me a grievous wrong.  I am surely simple and harmless
enough, and should have fancied any thing in the world rather than that
it would ever be my fate to draw upon myself in any degree the notice of
the public.  I will merely indicate, as briefly as may be, my character
and circumstances, and then I have no doubt my conduct will lose its
appearance of eccentricity, and seem perfectly natural.

When I was but a little child, I had already a strong desire to see the
world.  Whenever I met a travelling-carriage, I would stop involuntarily,
and gaze after it until it had disappeared; I used even to envy the
postilion, for I thought he also must have accomplished the whole long
journey.

As I grew to the age of from ten to twelve years, nothing gave me so much
pleasure as the perusal of voyages and travels.  I ceased, indeed, to
envy the postilions, but envied the more every navigator and naturalist.

Frequently my eyes would fill with tears when, having ascended a
mountain, I saw others towering before me, and could not gain the summit.

I made several journeys with my parents, and, after my marriage, with my
husband; and only settled down when it became necessary that my two boys
should visit particular schools.  My husband's affairs demanded his
entire attention, partly in Lemberg, partly in Vienna.  He therefore
confided the education and culture of the two boys entirely to my care;
for he knew my firmness and perseverance in all I undertook, and doubted
not that I would be both father and mother to his children.

When my sons' education had been completed, and I was living in peaceful
retirement, the dreams and aspirations of my youth gradually awoke once
more.  I thought of strange manners and customs, of distant regions,
where a new sky would be above me, and new ground beneath my feet.  I
pictured to myself the supreme happiness of treading the land once
hallowed by the presence of our Saviour, and at length made up my mind to
travel thither.

As dangers and difficulties rose before my mind, I endeavoured to wean
myself from the idea I had formed--but in vain.  For privation I cared
but little; my health was good and my frame hardy: I did not fear death.
And moreover, as I was born in the last century, I could travel ALONE.
Thus every objection was overcome; every thing had been duly weighed and
considered.  I commenced my journey to Palestine with a feeling of
perfect rapture; and behold, I returned in safety.  I now feel persuaded
that I am neither tempting Providence, nor justly incurring the
imputation of wishing to be talked about, in following the bent of my
inclinations, and looking still further about me in the world I chose
Iceland for my destination, because I hoped there to find Nature in a
garb such as she wears nowhere else.  I feel so completely happy, so
brought into communion with my Maker, when I contemplate sublime natural
phenomena, that in my eyes no degree of toil or difficulty is too great a
price at which to purchase such perfect enjoyment.

And should death overtake me sooner or later during my wanderings, I
shall await his approach in all resignation, and be deeply grateful to
the Almighty for the hours of holy beauty in which I have lived and gazed
upon His wonders.

And now, dear reader, I would beg thee not to be angry with me for
speaking so much of myself; it is only because this love of travelling
does not, according to established notions, seem proper for one of my
sex, that I have allowed my feelings to speak in my defence.

Judge me, therefore, not too harshly; but rather grant me the enjoyment
of a pleasure which hurts no one, while it makes me happy.

                                                               THE AUTHOR.




CHAPTER I


In the year 1845 I undertook another journey; {2} a journey, moreover, to
the far North.  Iceland was one of those regions towards which, from the
earliest period of my consciousness, I had felt myself impelled.  In this
country, stamped as it is by Nature with features so peculiar, as
probably to have no counterpart on the face of the globe, I hoped to see
things which should fill me with new and inexpressible astonishment.  How
deeply grateful do I feel to Thee, O Thou that hast vouchsafed to me to
behold the fulfilment of these my cherished dreams!

The parting from all my dear ones had this time far less bitterness; I
had found by experience, that a woman of an energetic mind can find her
way through the world as well as a man, and that good people are to be
met with every where.  To this was added the reflection, that the
hardships of my present voyage would be of short duration, and that five
or six months might see me restored to my family.

I left Vienna at five o'clock on the morning of the tenth of April.  As
the Danube had lately caused some devastations, on which occasion the
railroad had not entirely escaped, we rode for the first four miles, as
far as Florisdorf, in an omnibus--not the most agreeable mode of
travelling.  Our omnibuses are so small and narrow, that one would
suppose they were built for the exclusive accommodation of consumptive
subjects, and not for healthy, and in some cases portly individuals,
whose bulk is further increased by a goodly assemblage of cloaks, furs,
and overcoats.

At the barriers a new difficulty arose.  We delivered up our
pass-warrants (_passirscheine_) in turn, with the exception of one young
man, who was quite astounded at the demand.  He had provided nothing but
his passport and testimonials, being totally unaware that a pass-warrant
is more indispensable than all the rest.  In vain did he hasten into the
bureau to expostulate with the officials,--we were forced to continue our
journey without him.

We were informed that he was a student, who, at the conclusion of term,
was about to make holiday for a few weeks at his parents' house near
Prague.  Alas, poor youth! he had studied so much, and yet knew so
little.  He had not even an idea of the overwhelming importance of the
document in question.  For this trifling omission he forfeited the fare
to Prague, which had been paid in advance.

But to proceed with my journey.

At Florisdorf a joyful surprise awaited me.  I met my brother and my son,
who had, it appears, preceded me.  We entered the train to proceed in
company to Stockerau, a place between twelve and thirteen miles off; but
were obliged to alight halfway, and walk a short distance.  The
Embankment had given way.  Luckily the weather was favourable, inasmuch
as we had only a violent storm of wind.  Had it rained, we should have
been wetted to the skin, besides being compelled to wade ankle-deep in
mud.  We were next obliged to remain in the open air, awaiting the
arrival of the train from Stockerau, which unloaded its freight, and
received us in exchange.

At Stockerau I once more took leave of my companions, and was soon
securely packed in the post-carriage for transmission.

In travelling this short distance, I had thus entered four carriages; a
thing sufficiently disagreeable to an unencumbered person, but infinitely
more so to one who has luggage to watch over.  The only advantage I could
discover in all this was, that we had saved half an hour in coming these
seventeen miles.  For this, instead of 9 fl. 26 kr. from Vienna to
Prague, we paid 10 fl. 10 kr. from Stockerau to Prague, without reckoning
expense of omnibus and railway.  It was certainly a dearly-bought
half-hour. {3}

The little town of Znaim, with its neighbouring convent, is situated on a
large plain, extending from Vienna to Budwitz, seventeen miles beyond
Znaim; the monotony of the view is only broken here and there by low
hills.

Near Schelletau the scenery begins to improve.  On the left the view is
bounded by a range of high hills, with a ruined castle, suggestive of
tragical tales of centuries gone by.  Fir and pine forests skirt the
road, and lie scattered in picturesque groups over hill and dale.

April 11th.

Yesterday the weather had already begun to be ungracious to us.  At Znaim
we found the valleys still partly covered with snow, and the fog was at
times so thick, that we could not see a hundred paces in advance; but
to-day it was incomparably worse.  The mist resolved itself into a mild
rain, which, however, lost so much of its mildness as we passed from
station to station, that every thing around us was soon under water.  But
not only did we ride through water, we were obliged to sit in it also.
The roof of our carriage threatened to become a perfect sieve, and the
rain poured steadily in.  Had there been room for such a proceeding, we
should all have unfurled our umbrellas.

On occasions like these, I always silently admire the patience of my
worthy countrymen, who take every thing so good-humouredly.  Were I a
man, I should pursue a different plan, and should certainly not fail to
complain of such carelessness.  But as a woman, I must hold my peace;
people would only rail at my sex, and call it ill-humoured.  Besides, I
thanked my guardian-angel for these discomforts, looking upon them as a
preparation for what was to befall me in the far North.

Passing several small towns and villages, we at length entered the
Bohemian territory, close behind Iglau.  The first town which we saw was
Czaslau, with its large open square, and a few neat houses; the latter
provided with so-called arbours (or _verandahs_), which enable one to
pass round the square dry-footed, even in the most rainy weather.

Journeying onwards, we noticed the fine cathedral and town of Kuttenberg,
once famous for its gold and silver mines. {4}  Next comes the great
tobacco-manufactory of Sedlitz, near which we first see the Elbe, but
only for a short time, as it soon takes another direction.  Passing the
small town of Collin, we are whirled close by the battle-field where, in
the year 1757, the great King Frederick paid his score to the Austrians.
An obelisk, erected a few years since to the memory of General Daun,
occupies a small eminence on the right.  On the left is the plain of
Klephorcz, where the Austrian army was drawn up. {5}

At eleven o'clock on the same night we reached



PRAGUE.


As it was my intention to pursue my journey after two days, my first walk
on the following morning was to the police-office, to procure a passport
and the all-important pass-warrant; my next to the custom-house, to take
possession of a small chest, which I had delivered up five days before my
departure, and which, as the expeditor affirmed, I should find ready for
me on my arrival at Prague. {6}  Ah, Mr. Expeditor! my chest was not
there.  After Saturday comes Sunday; but on Sunday the custom-house is
closed.  So here was a day lost, a day in which I might have gone to
Dresden, and even visited the opera.

On Monday morning I once more hastened to the office in anxious
expectation; the box was not yet there.  An array of loaded wagons had,
however, arrived, and in one of these it might be.  Ah, how I longed to
see my darling little box, in order that I might--_not_ press it to my
heart, but unpack it in presence of the excise officer!

I took merely a cursory glance at Prague, as I had thoroughly examined
every thing there some years before.  The beautiful "Graben" and
Horse-market once more excited my admiration.  It was with a peculiar
feeling that I trod the old bridge, from which St. John of Nepomuk was
cast into the Moldau for refusing to publish the confession of King
Wenceslaus' consort. {7}  On the opposite bank I mounted the Hradschin,
and paid a visit to the cathedral, in which a large sarcophagus,
surrounded and borne by angels, and surmounted by a canopy of crimson
damask, is dedicated to the memory of the saint.  The monument is of
silver, and the worth of the metal alone is estimated at 80,000 florins.
The church itself is not spacious, but is built in the noble Gothic
style; the lesser altars, however, with their innumerable gilded wooden
figures, look by contrast extremely puny.  In the chapel are many
sarcophagi, on which repose bishops and knights hewn in stone, but so
much damaged, that many are without hands and feet, while some lack
heads.  To the right, at the entrance of the church, is the celebrated
chapel of St. Wenceslaus, with its walls ornamented with frescoes, of
which the colours and designs are now almost obliterated.  It is further
enriched with costly stones.

Not far from the cathedral is situated the palace of Count Czernin, a
building particularly favoured with windows, of which it has one for
every day in the year.  I was there in an ordinary year, and saw 365; how
they manage in leap-year I do not know.  The view from the belvedere of
this palace well repays the observer.  It takes in the old and new town,
the noble river with its two bridges (the ancient venerable-looking stone
structure, and the graceful suspension-bridge, six hundred paces long),
and the hills round about, clothed with gardens, among which appear neat
country-houses.

The streets of the "Kleinseite" are not particularly attractive, being
mostly tortuous, steep, and narrow.  They contain, however, several
remarkable palaces, among which that of Wallenstein Duke of Friedland
stands pre-eminent. {8}

After visiting St. Nicholas' Church, remarkable for the height of its
spire and its beautifully arched cupola, I betook myself to Wimmer's
gardens, and thence to the "Bastei," a place of public resort with the
citizens of Prague.

I could now observe the devastation caused by the rising of the water
shortly before my arrival.  The Moldau had overstepped its banks in so
turbulent a manner, as to carry along with it several small houses, and
even a little village not far from Prague, besides damaging all the
dwellings upon its banks.  The water had indeed already fallen, but the
walls of the houses were soaked through and through; the doors had been
carried away, and from the broken windows no faces looked out upon the
passers-by.  The water had risen two feet more than in 1784, in which
year the Moldau had also attained an unusual height.

From the same tower of observation, I looked down upon the great open
space bought a few years ago, and intended to be occupied by the termini
of the Vienna and Dresden railroads.  Although several houses were only
just being pulled down, and the foundations of but few buildings were
laid, I was assured that within six months every thing would be
completed.

I have still to mention a circumstance which struck me during my morning
peregrinations, namely, the curious method in which milk, vegetables, and
other provisions are here brought to town.  I could have fancied myself
transported to Lapland or Greenland, on meeting every where carts to
which two, three, or four dogs were harnessed.  One pair of dogs will
drag three hundredweight on level ground; but when they encounter a hill,
the driver must lend a helping hand.  These dogs are, besides, careful
guardians; and I would not advise any one to approach a car of this kind,
as it stands before the inn-door, while the proprietor is quenching his
thirst within, on the money he has just earned.

At five o'clock on the morning of the 15th of April I left Prague, and
rode for fourteen miles in the mail-carriage, as far as Obristwy on the
Elbe, at which place I embarked for Dresden, on board the steamer
Bohemia, of fifty-horse power, a miserable old craft, apparently a
stranger to beauty and comfort from her youth up.  The price charged for
this short passage of eight or nine hours is enormously dear.  The
travellers will, however, soon have their revenge on the extortionate
proprietors; a railroad is constructing, by means of which this distance
will be traversed in a much shorter time, and at a great saving of
expense.

But at any rate the journey by water is the more agreeable; the way lies
through very picturesque scenery, and at length through "Saxon
Switzerland" itself.  The commencement of the journey is, however, far
from pleasing.  On the right are naked hills, and on the left large
plains, over which, last spring, the swollen stream rolled, partly
covering the trees and the roofs of the cottages.  Here I could for the
first time see the whole extent of the calamity.  Many houses had been
completely torn down, and the crops, and even the loose alluvial earth
swept away; as we glided by each dreary scene of devastation, another yet
more dismal would appear in its place.

This continued till we reached Melnick, where the trees become higher,
and groups of houses peer forth from among the innumerable vineyards.
Opposite this little town the Moldau falls into the Elbe.  On the left,
in the far distance, the traveller can descry St. George's Mount, from
which, as the story goes, Czech took possession of all Bohemia.

Below the little town of Raudnitz the hills gave place to mountains, and
as many enthusiasts can only find those regions romantic where the
mountains are crowned with half-ruined castles and strongholds, good old
Time has taken care to plant there two fine ruins, Hafenberg and Skalt,
for the delectation of such sentimental observers.

Near Leitmeritz, a small town with a handsome castle, and a church and
convent, the Eger flows into the Elbe, and a high-arched wooden bridge
connects the two banks.  Here our poor sailors had difficult work to
lower the mast and the funnel.

The rather pretty village of Gross-Czernoseck is remarkable for its
gigantic cellars, hewn out of the rock.  A post-carriage could easily
turn round in one of these.  The vats are of course proportioned to the
cellars, particularly the barrels called the "twelve apostles," each of
which holds between three and four thousand gallons.  It would be no more
than fair to stop here awhile, to give every hero of the bottle an
opportunity to enjoy a sight of these palace-cellars, and to offer a
libation to the twelve apostles; but the steamer passed on, and we were
obliged to make the most of the descriptions furnished by those who were
more at home in these parts, and had no doubt frequently emerged in an
inspired state from the depths of the cellars in question.

The view now becomes more and more charming: the mountains appear to draw
closer together, and shut in the bed of the stream; romantic groups of
rocks, with summits crowned by rains yet more romantic, tower between.
The ancient but well-preserved castle of Schreckenstein, built on a rock
rising boldly out of the Elbe, is particularly striking; the approaches
to it are by serpentine walks hewn out of the rock.

Near the small town of Aussig we find the most considerable coal-mines in
Bohemia.  In their neighbourhood is situated the little mountain estate
Paschkal, which produces a kind of wine said to resemble champagne.

The mountains now become higher and higher, but above them all towers the
gigantic Jungfernsprung (Maiden's Leap).  The beauty of this region is
only surpassed by the situation of the town and castle of Tetschen.  The
castle stands on a rock, between twenty and thirty feet high, which seems
to rise out of the Elbe; it is surrounded by hot-houses and charming
gardens, shelving downwards as far as the town, which lies in a blooming
valley, near a little harbour.  The valley itself, encompassed by a chain
of lofty mountains, seems quite shut out from the rest of the world.

The left bank of the river is here so crowded with masses and walls of
rock, that there is only room at intervals for an isolated farm or hut.
Suddenly the tops of masts appear between the high rocks, a phenomenon
which is soon explained; a large gap in one of the rocky walls forms a
beautiful basin.

And now we come to Schandau, a place consisting only of a few houses; it
is a frontier town of the Saxon dominions.  Custom-house officers, a race
of beings ever associated with frontier towns, here boarded our vessel,
and rummaged every thing.  My daguerreotype apparatus, which I had locked
up in a small box, was looked upon with an eye of suspicion; but upon my
assertion that it was exclusively intended for my own use, I and my
apparatus were graciously dismissed.

In our onward journey we frequently observed rocks of peculiar shapes,
which have appropriate names, such as the "Zirkelstein," "Lilienstein,"
&c.  The Konigstein is a collection of jagged masses of rock, on which is
built the fortress of the same name, used at present as a prison for
great criminals.  At the foot of the rocks lies the little town of
Konigstein.  Not far off, on the right bank, a huge rock, resting on
others, bears a striking resemblance to a human head.  The more distant
groups of rocks are called those of "Rathen," but are considered as
belonging to Saxon Switzerland.  The "Basteien" (Bastions) of this
Switzerland, close by which we now pass, are most wonderful
superpositions of lofty and fantastically shaped rocks.  Unfortunately,
the steamer whirled us so rapidly on our way, that whilst we contemplated
one bank, the beauteous scenes on the opposite side had already glided
from our view.  In much too short a time we had passed the town of Pirna,
situate at the commencement of this range of mountains.  The very ancient
gate of this town towers far above all the other buildings.

Lastly we see the great castle Sonnenstein, built on a rock, and now used
as an asylum for lunatics.

All the beautiful and picturesque portion of our passage is now past, and
the royal villa of Pillnitz, with its many Chinese gables, looks
insignificant enough, after the grand scenes of nature.  A chain of
hills, covered with the country-houses of citizens, adjoins it; and on
the right extends a large plain, at the far end of which we can dimly
descry the Saxon metropolis.  But what is that in the distance?  We have
hardly time to arrange our luggage, when the anchor is let go near the
fine old Dresden Bridge.

This bridge had not escaped unscathed by the furious river.  One of the
centre arches had given way, and the cross and watchbox which surmounted
it were precipitated into the flood.  At first, carriages still passed
over the bridge; it was not until some time afterwards that the full
extent of the damage was ascertained, and the passage of carriages over
the bridge discontinued for many months.

As I had seen the town of Dresden several years before, and the only
building new to me was the splendid theatre, I took advantage of the few
evening hours of my stay to visit this structure.

Standing in the midst of the beautiful Cathedral-square, its noble
rotunda-like form at once rivets the attention.  The inner theatre is
surrounded by a superb broad and lofty corridor, with fine bow-windows
and straight broad staircases, leading in different directions towards
the galleries.  The interior of the theatre is not so spacious as,
judging from the exterior, one would imagine it to be, but the
architecture and decorations are truly gorgeous and striking.  The boxes
are all open, being separated from each other merely by a low partition;
the walls and chairs are covered with heavy silken draperies, and the
seats of the third and fourth galleries with a mixture of silk and
cotton.  One single circumstance was disagreeable to me in an acoustic
point of view--I could hear the slightest whisper of the prompter as
distinctly as though some one had been behind me reading the play.  The
curtain had scarcely fallen before the whole house was empty, and yet
there was no crowding to get out.  This first drew my attention to the
numerous and excellently contrived doors.

                                                               April 16th.

The Dresden omnibuses may be cited as models of comfort; one is certain
of plenty of room, and there is no occasion to dread either the corpulent
persons or the furs and cloaks of fellow-passengers.  A bell-pull is
fixed in the interior of the carriage, so that each individual can give
the coachman a signal when he or she wishes to alight.  These omnibuses
call at the principal inns, and wait for a moment; but the traveller who
is not ready in advance is left behind.

At half-past five in the morning it called at our hotel.  I was ready and
waiting, and drove off comfortably to the railway.  The distance from
Dresden to Leipzig is reckoned at fifty-six miles, and the journey
occupied three hours.

The first fourteen miles are very agreeable; gardens, fields, and
meadows, pine-forests in the plain and on the hills, and between these,
villages, farms, country-houses, and solitary chapels, combine to form a
very pretty landscape.  But the scene soon changes, and the town of
Meissen (famous for its porcelain manufactory), on the right hand, seems
to shut out from our view all that is picturesque and beautiful.

From here to Leipzig we travel through a wearisome monotonous plain,
enlivened at long intervals by villages and scattered farms.  There is
nothing to see but a great tunnel, and the river Pleisse--the latter, or
rather the Elster, is rendered famous by the death of Prince Poniatowski.
{9}

The town of Leipzig, celebrated far and wide for its fairs, and more for
its immense publishing trade, presents an appearance of noise and bustle
proportionate to its commercial importance.  I found streets, squares,
and inns alike crowded. {10}

Perhaps there does not exist a town with its houses, and consequently its
streets, so disfigured with announcements, in all sizes and shapes,
covering its walls, and sometimes projecting several feet, as Leipzig.

Among the public buildings, those which pleased me most were the
Augusteum and the Burgerschule.  The Bucherhalle (book-hall) I should
suppose indebted for its celebrity rather to its literary contents than
to its architectural beauty or its exterior.  The hall itself is indeed
large, and occupies the whole length of the building, while the lower
story consists of several rooms.  The hall, the chambers, and the
exterior are all plain, and without particular decoration.  The Tuchhalle
(cloth-hall) is simply a large house, with spacious chambers, containing
supplies of cloth.  The Theatre stands on a very large square, and does
not present a very splendid appearance, whether viewed from within or
from without.  The plan of having stalls in front of the boxes in the
second and third galleries was a novelty to me.  The orchestra I could
only hear, but could not discover its whereabouts; most probably it was
posted behind the scenes.  On inquiry, I was told that this was only done
on extraordinary occasions, when the seats in the orchestra were
converted into stalls, as was the case on the night of my visit.  The
play given was "the original Tartuffe," a popular piece by Gutzkow.  It
was capitally performed.

In the Leipzig theatre I had a second opportunity of observing, that as
regards the love of eating our good Saxons are not a whit behind the
much-censured Viennese.  In the Dresden theatre I had admired a couple of
ladies who sat next me.  They came provided with a neat bag, containing a
very sufficient supply of confectionery, to which they perseveringly
applied themselves between the acts.  But at Leipzig I found a
delicate-looking mother and her son, a lad of fifteen or sixteen years,
regaling themselves with more solid provisions--white bread and small
sausages.  I could not believe my eyes, and had made up my mind that the
sausages were artificially formed out of some kind of confectionery--but
alas! my nose came forward but too soon, as a potent witness, to
corroborate what I was so unwilling to believe!

Neither did these two episodes take place in the loftiest regions of
Thalia's temple, but in the stalls of the second tier.

Beautiful alleys are planted round Leipzig.  I took a walk into the
Rosenthal (Valley of Roses), which also consists of splendid avenues and
lawns.  A pretty coffee-house, with a very handsome alcove, built in a
semicircular form, invites the weary traveller to rest and refreshment,
while a band of agreeable music diffuses mirth and good humour around.

The rest of the scenery around Leipzig presents the appearance of a vast
and monotonous plain.

                                                               April 17th.

I had intended to continue my journey to Hamburgh via Berlin, but the
weather was so cold and stormy, and the rain poured down so heavily, that
I preferred the shorter way, and proceeded by rail to Magdeburg.  Flying
through the dismal plain past Halle, Kothen, and other towns, of which I
could only discern groups of houses, we hurriedly recognised the Saale
and the Elbe; and towards 10 o'clock in the morning arrived at Magdeburg,
having travelled seventy miles in three hours and a quarter.

As the steamer for Hamburgh was not to start until 3 o'clock, I had ample
time to look at the town.

Magdeburg is a mixed pattern of houses of ancient, mediaeval, and modern
dates.  Particularly remarkable in this respect is the principal street,
the "Broadway," which runs through the whole of the town.  Here we can
see houses dating their origin from the most ancient times; houses that
have stood proof against sieges and sackings; houses of all colours and
forms; some sporting peaked gables, on which stone figures may still be
seen; others covered from roof to basement with arabesques; and in one
instance I could even detect the remains of frescoes.  In the very midst
of these relics of antiquity would appear a house built in the newest
style.  I do not remember ever having seen a street which produced so
remarkable an impression on me.  The finest building is unquestionably
the venerable cathedral.  In Italy I had already seen numbers of the most
beautiful churches; yet I remained standing in mute admiration before
this masterpiece of Gothic architecture.

The monument with the twelve Apostles in this church is a worthy memorial
of the celebrated sculptor Vischer.  In order to view it, it is necessary
to obtain the special permission of the commandant.

The cathedral square is large, symmetrical, and decorated with two alleys
of trees; it is also used as a drilling-ground for the soldiers' minor
manoeuvres.  I was particularly struck with the number of military men to
be seen here.  Go where I would, I was sure to meet soldiers and
officers, frequently in large companies; in time of war it could scarcely
have been worse.  This was an unmistakeable token that I was on Prussian
territory.

The open canals, which come from all the houses, and meander through the
streets, are a great disfigurement to the town.

Half-past three o'clock came only too quickly, and I betook myself on
board the steamer _Magdeburg_, of sixty-horse power, to proceed to
Hamburgh.  Of the passage itself I can say nothing, except that a journey
on a river through execrable scenery is one of the most miserable things
that can well be imagined.  When, in addition to this, the weather is
bad, the ship dirty, and one is obliged to pass a night on board, the
discomfort is increased.  It was my lot to endure all this: the weather
was bad, the ship was dirty, the distance more than 100 miles, so that we
had the pleasant prospect of a delightful night on board the ship.  There
were, moreover, so many passengers, that we were forced to sit crowded
together; so there we sat with exemplary patience, stared at each other,
and sighed bitterly.  Order was entirely out of the question; no one had
time to think of such a thing.  Smoking and card-playing were
perseveringly carried on all day and all night; it can easily be imagined
that things did not go so quietly as at an English whist-party.  The
incessant rain rendered it impossible to leave the cabin even for a short
time.  The only consolation I had was, that I made the acquaintance of
the amiable composer Lorzing, a circumstance which delighted me the more,
as I had always been an admirer of his beautiful original music.




CHAPTER II


Morning dawned at length, and in a short time afterwards we reached the
great commercial city, which, half destroyed by the dreadful
conflagration of 1842, had risen grander and more majestic from its
ashes. {11}  I took up my quarters with a cousin, who is married to the
Wurtemburg consul, the merchant Schmidt, in whose house I spent a most
agreeable and happy week.  My cousin-in-law was polite enough to escort
me every where himself, and to shew me the lions of Hamburgh.

First of all we visited the Exchange between the hours of one and two,
when it is at the fullest, and therefore best calculated to impress a
stranger with an idea of the extent and importance of the business
transacted there.  The building contains a hall of great size, with
arcades and galleries, besides many large rooms, which are partly used
for consultations, partly for the sale of refreshments.  The most
interesting thing of all is, however, to sit in the gallery, and looking
downwards, to observe the continually increasing crowd passing and
repassing each other in the immense hall and through the galleries and
chambers, and to listen to the hubbub and noise of the thousands of eager
voices talking at once.  At half-past one o'clock the hall is at its
fullest, and the noise becomes absolutely deafening; for now they are
marking up the rates of exchange, by which the merchants regulate their
monetary transactions.

Leaving the Exchange, we bent our steps towards the great harbour, and
entering a small boat, cruised in and about it in all directions.  I had
resolved to count only the three-masted ships; but soon gave it up, for
their number seemed overwhelming, even without reckoning the splendid
steamers, brigs, sloops, and craft.  In short, I could only gaze and
wonder, for at least 900 ships lay before me.

Let any one fancy an excursion amidst 900 ships, great and small, which
lined both shores of the Elbe in tiers of three deep or more; the passing
to and fro of countless boats busily employed in loading or unloading
these vessels; these things, together with the shouting and singing of
the sailors, the rattling of anchors which are being weighed, and the
rush and swell of passing steamers, combine to constitute a picture not
to be surpassed in any city except in that metropolis of the world,
London. {12}

The reason of this unusual activity in the harbour lay in the severity of
the past winter.  Such a winter had not been experienced for seventy
years: the Elbe and the Baltic lay for months in icy chains, and not a
ship could traverse the frozen river, not an anchor could be weighed or
lowered.  It was only a short time before my arrival that the passage had
once more become free.

In the neighbourhood of the harbour are situated the greater number of
the so-called "yards."  I had read concerning them that, viewed from the
exterior, they look like common houses; but that they constitute separate
communities, and contain alleys and streets, serving as the domicile of
innumerable families.  I visited several of these places, and can assure
the reader that I saw nothing extraordinary in them.  Houses with two
large wings, forming an alley of from eighty to a hundred paces in
length, are to be met with in every large town; and that a number of
families should inhabit such a house is not remarkable, considering that
they are all poor, and that each only possesses a single small apartment.

The favourite walk in the town is the "Jungfernstieg" (Maiden's Walk), a
broad alley, extending round a spacious and beautiful basin of the
Alster.  On one side are splendid hotels, with which Hamburgh is richly
provided; on the other, a number of private residences of equal
pretensions.  Other walks are, the "Wall," surrounding the town, and the
"Botanical Garden," which resembles a fine park.  The noblest building,
distinguished alike as regards luxury, skill, tastefulness of design, and
stability, is the Bazaar.  It is truly a gigantic undertaking, and the
more to be admired from the fact that it is not built upon shares, but at
the expense of a single individual, Herr Carl Sillem; the architect's
name is Overdick.  The building itself is constructed entirely of stone,
and the walls of the great room and of the hall are inlaid with marble.
A lofty cupola and an immense glazed dome cover both the great room and
the hall; the upper staircases are ornamented with beautiful statues.
When in the evening it is brilliantly lighted with gas, and further
ornamented by a tasteful display of the richest wares, the spectator can
almost fancy himself transported to a fairy palace.

Altogether the shops in Hamburgh are very luxurious.  The wares lie
displayed in the most tasteful manner behind huge windows of plate-glass,
which are often from five to six feet broad, and eight or ten feet high;
a single sheet frequently costs 600 florins.  This plate-glass luxury is
not confined to shops, but extends to windows generally, not only in
Hamburgh, but also in Altona, and is also seen in the handsomest
country-houses of the Hamburghers.  Many a pane costs eight or ten
florins; and the glass is insured in case of breakage, like houses in
case of fire.

This display of glass is equalled by the costliness of the furniture,
which is almost universally of mahogany; a wood which is here in such
common use, that in some of the most elegant houses the very
stair-banisters are constructed of it.  Even the pilots have often
mahogany furniture.

The handsomest and most frequented street is the "Neue Wall" (New Wall).
I was particularly struck with the number of shops and dwellings
underground, to which one descends by a flight of six or eight stairs; an
iron railing is generally placed before the entrance, to prevent the
passers-by from falling down.

A very practical institution is the great slaughterhouse, in which all
cattle are killed on certain days of the week.

Concerning the town of Altona, I have only to observe that it appeared to
me a continuation of Hamburgh; from which town, indeed, it is only
separated by a wooden door.  A very broad, handsome street, or, more
properly speaking, an elongated square, planted with a double row of
large trees, is the most remarkable thing about Altona, which belongs to
the Danish Government, and is considered, after Copenhagen, the most
important place in the kingdom.

It is a delicious ride to the village of Blankenese, distant nine miles
from Hamburgh; the road lies among beautiful country-houses and large
park-like gardens.  Blankenese itself consists of cottages, grouped in a
picturesque manner round the Sulberg, a hill from which the traveller
enjoys a very extended view over the great plain, in which it is the only
elevated point.  The course of the Elbe, as it winds at moderate speed
towards the sea, is here to be traced almost to its embouchure at
Cuxhaven.

The breadth of the Elbe at Blankenese exceeds two miles.

Another interesting excursion is to the "New Mills," a little village on
the Elbe, not more than half a mile from Altona, and inhabited only by
fishermen and pilots.  Whoever wishes to form an idea of Dutch prettiness
and cleanliness should come here.

The houses are mostly one story high, neatly and tastefully built; the
brightest of brass handles adorn the street-doors; the windows are kept
scrupulously clean, and furnished with white curtains.

In Saxony I had found many dwellings of the peasantry tidy and neat
enough, displaying at any rate more opulence than we are accustomed to
find with this class of people; but I had seen none to compete with this
pretty village.

Among the peasants' costumes, I only liked that worn by the women from
the "Vierlanden."  They wear short full skirts of black stuff, fine white
chemisettes with long sleeves, and coloured bodices, lightly fastened in
front with silk cords or silver buckles.  Their straw hats have a most
comical appearance; the brim of the hat is turned up in such a manner
that the crown appears to have completely sunk in.  Many pretty young
girls dressed in this manner come to Hamburgh to sell flowers, and take
up their position in front of the Exchange.

The 26th of April, the day appointed for my departure, arrived only too
speedily.  To part is the unavoidable fate of the traveller; but
sometimes we part gladly, sometimes with regret.  I need not write many
pages to describe my feelings at the parting in Hamburgh.  I was leaving
behind me my last relations, my last friends.  Now I was going into the
wide world, and among strangers.

At eight o'clock in the morning I left Altona, and proceeded by railway
to Kiel.

I noticed with pleasure that on this railway even the third-class
carriages were securely covered in, and furnished with glass windows.  In
fact, they only differed from those of the first and second class in
being painted a different colour, and having the seats uncushioned.

The whole distance of seventy miles was passed in three hours; a rapid
journey, but agreeable merely by its rapidity, for the whole
neighbourhood presents only widely-extended plains, turf-bogs and
moorlands, sandy places and heaths, interspersed with a little meadow or
arable land.  From the nature of the soil, the water in the ditches and
fields looked black as ink.

Near Binneburg we notice a few stunted plantations of trees.  From
Eisholm a branch-line leads to Gluckstadt, and another from Neumunster, a
large place with important cloth-factories, to Rendsburg.

From here there is nothing to be seen but a convent, in which many Dukes
of Holstein lie buried, and several unimportant lakes; for instance,
those of Bernsholm, Einfeld, and Schulhof.  The little river Eider would
have passed unnoticed by me, had not some of my fellow-passengers made a
great feature of it.  In the finest countries I have found the natives
far less enthusiastic about what was really grand and beautiful, than
they were here in praise of what was neither the one nor the other.  My
neighbour, a very agreeable lady, was untiring in laudation of her
beautiful native land.  In her eyes the crippled wood was a splendid
park, the waste moorland an inexhaustible field for contemplation, and
every trifle a matter of real importance.  In my heart I wished her joy
of her fervid imagination; but unfortunately my colder nature would not
catch the infection.

Towards Kiel the plain becomes a region of low hills.  Kiel itself is
prettily situated on the Baltic, which, viewed from thence, has the
appearance of a lake of middling size.  The harbour is said to be good;
but there were not many ships there. {13}  Among these was the steamer
destined to carry me to Copenhagen.  Little did I anticipate the good
reason I should have to remember this vessel.

Thanks to the affectionate forethought of my cousin Schmidt, I found one
of his relations, Herr Brauer, waiting for me at the railway.  I was
immediately introduced to his family, and passed the few hours of my stay
very agreeably in their company.

Evening approached, and with it the hour of embarkation.  My kind friends
the Brauers accompanied me to the steamer, and I took a grateful leave of
them.

I soon discovered the steamer _Christian VIII._, of 180-horse power, to
be a vessel dirtier and more uncomfortable than any with which I had
become acquainted in my maritime excursions.  Scrubbing and sweeping
seemed things unknown here.  The approach to the cabin was by a flight of
stairs so steep, that great care was requisite to avoid descending in an
expeditious but disagreeable manner, by a fall from top to bottom.  In
the fore-cabin there was no attempt at separate quarters for ladies and
gentlemen.  In short, the arrangements seemed all to have been made with
a view of impressing the ship vividly on the recollection of every
traveller.

At nine o'clock we left Kiel.  The day and the twilight are here already
longer than in the lands lying to the south and the west.  There was
light enough to enable me to see, looming out of the surrounding
darkness, the fortress "Friedrichsort," which we passed at about ten
o'clock.

                                                               April 27th.

To-day I still rose with the sun; but that will soon be a difficult
matter to accomplish; for in the north the goddess of light makes amends
in spring and summer for her shortcomings during the winter.  I went on
deck, and looked on the broad expanse of ocean.  No land was to be seen;
but soon a coast appeared, then disappeared, and then a new and more
distant one rose out of the sea.  Towards noon we reached the island of
Moen, which lies about forty {14} miles distant from Copenhagen.  It
forms a beautiful group of rocks, rising boldly from the sea.  They are
white as chalk, and have a smooth and shining appearance.  The highest of
these walls of rock towers 400 feet above the level of the surrounding
ocean.  Soon we saw the coast of Sweden, then the island of Malmo; and at
last Copenhagen itself, where we landed at four o'clock in the afternoon.
The distance from Kiel to Copenhagen is 136 sea-miles.

I remained seven days at Copenhagen, and should have had ample time to
see every thing, had the weather been more favourable.  But it blew and
rained so violently, that I was obliged to give up all thoughts of
visiting the surrounding parks, and was fain to content myself with
seeing a few of the nearest walks, which I accomplished with some
difficulty.

The first street in Copenhagen which I traversed on coming from the
harbour generally produces a great impression.  It is called the "Broad
Street," and leads from the harbour through the greater part of the town.
In addition to its breadth it is very long and regular, and the splendid
palaces and houses on either side give it a remarkably grand appearance.

It is a peculiar sight, when, in the midst of this fine quarter, we come
suddenly upon a ruin, a giant building resting on huge pillars, but half
completed, and partly covered with moss and lichens.  It was intended for
a splendid church, and is built entirely of marble; but the soft ground
would not bear the immense weight.  The half-finished building began to
sink, and the completion of the undertaking became for ever impossible.

Many other streets rival the "Broad Street" in size and magnificence.
Foremost among them comes the Amalienstrasse.  The most bustling, but by
far not the finest, are the Oster and Gotherstrasse.  To walk in these is
at first quite a difficult undertaking for a stranger.  On one side of
the pavement, which is raised about a foot above the carriage-way, he
comes continually in contact with stairs, leading sometimes to warehouses
above, at others to subterranean warehouses below the level of the
street.  The approaches to the latter are not guarded by railings as in
Hamburgh.  The other side of the pavement is bounded by a little
unostentatious rivulet, called by unpoetical people "canal," into which
tributaries equally sweet pour from all the neighbouring houses.  It is
therefore necessary to take great care, lest you should fall into the
traitorous depths on the one side, or stumble over the projecting steps
on the other.  The pavement itself is covered with a row of stone slabs,
a foot and a half wide, on which one walks comfortably enough.  But then
every body contends for the possession of these, to avoid the uneven and
pointed stones at the side.  This, added to the dreadful crowding,
renders the street one which would scarcely be chosen for a walk, the
less so as the shops do not contain any thing handsome, the houses are
neither palace-like nor even tastefully built, and the street itself is
neither of the broadest nor of the cleanest.

The squares are all large and regularly built.  The finest is the
Kongensnytorf (King's New Market).  Some fine mansions, the chief
guard-house, the theatre, the chief coffee-houses and inns, the academy
of the fine arts, and the building belonging to the botanical garden, the
two last commonly known by the name of "Charlottenburg," are among the
ornaments of this magnificent square, in the midst of which stands a
beautiful monument, representing Christian V. on horseback, and
surrounded by several figures.

Smaller, but more beautiful in its perfect symmetry, is the
"Amalienplatz," containing four royal palaces, built exactly alike, and
intersected by four broad streets in the form of a cross.  This square
also is decorated by a monument standing in the midst, and representing
Frederick V.  In another fine square, the "Nytorf" (New Market), there is
a fountain.  Its little statue sends forth very meagre jets of water, and
the fountain is merely noticeable as being the only one I could find at
Copenhagen.

The traveller can hardly fail of being surprised by the number and
magnificence of the palaces, at sight of which he could fancy himself in
the metropolis of one of the largest kingdoms.  The "Christianensburg" is
truly imperial; it was completely destroyed by fire in the year 1794, but
has since been rebuilt with increased splendour.  The chapel of this
palace is very remarkable.  The interior has the appearance rather of a
concert-room than of a building devoted to purposes of worship.
Tastefully decorated boxes, among which we notice that of the king,
together with galleries, occupy the upper part of the chapel; the lower
is filled with benches covered with red velvet and silk.  The pulpit and
altar are so entirely without decoration, that, on first entering, they
wholly escape notice.

In the "Christianensburg" is also the "Northern Museum," peculiarly rich
in specimens of the ornaments, weapons, musical instruments, and other
mementoes of northern nations.

The Winter Riding-school, in which concerts are frequently given, is
large and symmetrical.  I admired the stalls, and yet more the grey
horses which occupied them--descendants of the pure Arabian and wild
Norwegian breeds--creatures with long manes and tails of fine silky hair.
Every one who sees these horses, whether he be a connoisseur or one of
the uninitiated, must admire them.

Adjoining the "Christianensburg" is Thorwaldsen's Museum, a square
building with fine saloons, lighted from above.  When I saw it, it was
not completed; the walls were being painted in fresco by some of the
first native artists.  The sculptured treasures were there, but
unfortunately yet unpacked.

In the midst of the courtyard Thorwaldsen's mausoleum is being erected.
There his ashes will rest, with his exquisitely finished lion as a
gravestone above them. {15}

The largest among the churches is the "Woman's Church."  The building has
no architectural beauty; the pillars, galleries, and cupola are all of
wood, covered with a mixture of sand and plaster.  But whatever may be
wanting in outward splendour is compensated by its contents, for this
church contains the masterpieces of Thorwaldsen.  At the high altar
stands his glorious figure of our Saviour, in the niches of the wall his
colossal twelve apostles.

In the contemplation of these works we forget the plainness of the
building which contains them.  May the fates be prosperous, and no
conflagration reach this church, built as it is half of wood!

The Catholic Church is small, but tasteful beyond expression.  The late
emperor of Austria presented to it a good full-toned organ, and two
oil-paintings, one by Kuppelweiser, the other by a pupil of this master.

In the "Museum of Arts" I was most interested in the ancient chair, used
in days of yore by Tycho de Brahe. {16}

The Exchange is a curious ancient building.  It is very long and narrow,
and surmounted by nine peaks, from the centre of which protrudes a
remarkable pointed tower, formed of four crocodiles' tails intertwined.

The hall itself is small, low, and dark; it contains a full-length
portrait in oil of Tycho de Brahe.  Nearly all the upper part of the
building is converted into a kind of bazaar, and the lower portion
contains a number of small and dingy booths.

Several canals, having an outlet into the sea, give a peculiar charm to
the town.  They are, in fact, so many markets; for the craft lying in
them are laden with provisions of all kinds, which are here offered for
sale.

The Sailors' Town, adjoining Copenhagen, and situated near the harbour,
is singularly neat and pretty.  It consists of three long, broad,
straight streets, built of houses looking so exactly alike, that on a
foggy night an accurate knowledge of the locality is requisite to know
one from the other.  It looks as though, on each side of the way, there
were only one long house of a single floor, with a building one story
high in the middle.  In the latter dwell the commandant and overseers.

The lighting of the streets is managed in Copenhagen in the same way as
in our smaller German towns.  When "moonlight" is announced in the
calendar, not a lamp is lighted.  If the lady moon chooses to hide behind
dark clouds, that is her fault.  It would be insolent to attempt to
supply the place of her radiance with miserable lamps--a wise
arrangement! (?)

Of the near walks, the garden of the "Rosenburg," within the town,
pleased me much; as did also the "Long Line," an alley of beautiful trees
extending parallel with the sea, and in which one can either walk or
ride.  A coffee-house, in front of which there is music in fine weather,
attracts many of the loungers.  The most beautiful place of all is the
"Kastell," above the "Long Line," from whence one can enjoy a beautiful
view.  The town lies displayed below in all its magnificence: the
harbour, with its many ships; the sparkling blue Sound, which spreads its
broad expanse between the coasts of Denmark and Sweden, and washes many a
beautiful group of islands belonging to one or the other of these
countries.  The background of the picture alone is uninteresting, as
there is no chain of mountains to form a horizon, and the eye wanders
over the boundless flats of Denmark.

Among the vessels lying at anchor in the harbour I saw but few
three-masters, and still fewer steamers.  The ships of the fleet
presented a curious appearance; at the first view they look like great
houses with flag-staves, for every ship is provided with a roof, out of
which the masts rise into the air; they are besides very high out of the
water, so that all the port-holes and the windows of the cabins appear in
two or three stories, one above the other.

A somewhat more distant excursion, which can be very conveniently made in
a capital omnibus, takes you to the royal chateau "Friedrichsberg," lying
before the water-gate, two miles distant from the town.  Splendid avenues
lead to this place, where are to be found all the delights that can
combine to draw a citizen into the country.  There are a tivoli, a
railway, cabinets, and booths with wax-figures, and countless other
sights, besides coffee-houses, beer-rooms, and music.  The gardens are
planted at the sides with a number of small arbours, each containing a
table and chairs, and all open in front, so as to shew at one view all
the visitors of these pretty natural huts.  On Sundays, when the gardens
are crowded, this is a very animated sight.

On the way to this "Prater" of Copenhagen, we pass many handsome villas,
each standing in a fine garden.

                [Picture: Copenhagen: From Frederiesbourg]

The royal palace is situated on the summit of a hill, at the end of the
avenue, and is surrounded by a beautiful park; it commands a view of a
great portion of the town, with the surrounding country and the sea;
still I far prefer the prospect from the "Kastell."  The Park contains a
considerable island, which, during some part of the year, stands in the
midst of an extensive lake.  This island is appropriated to the Court,
but the rest of the park is open to the public.

Immediately outside the water-gate stands an obelisk, remarkable neither
for its beauty nor for the skill displayed in its erection, for it
consists of various stones, and is not high, but interesting from the
circumstance to which it owes its origin.  It was erected by his grateful
subjects in memory of the late king Christian VII., to commemorate the
abolition of feudal service.  Surely no feeling person can contemplate
without joyful emotion a monument like this.

I have here given a faithful account of what I saw during my short stay
at Copenhagen.  It only remains for me to describe a few peculiar customs
of the people, and so I will begin as it were at the end, with the burial
of the dead.  In Denmark, as in fact in the whole of Scandinavia, not
excepting Iceland, it is customary not to bury the dead until eight or
ten days have elapsed.  In winter-time this is not of so much
consequence, but in summer it is far from healthy for those under the
same roof with the corpse.  I was present at Copenhagen at the funeral of
Dr. Brandis, physician to the king.  Two of the king's carriages and a
number of private equipages attended.  Nearly all these were empty, and
the servants walked beside them.  Among the mourners I did not notice a
single woman; I supposed that this was only the case at the funerals of
gentlemen, but on inquiry I found that the same rule is observed at the
burial of women.  This consideration for the weaker sex is carried so
far, that on the day of the funeral no woman may be seen in the house of
mourning.  The mourners assemble in the house of the deceased, and
partake of cold refreshments.  At the conclusion of the ceremony they are
again regaled.  What particularly pleased me in Copenhagen was, that I
never on any occasion saw beggars, or even such miserably clad people as
are found only too frequently in our great cities.  Here there are no
doubt poor people, as there are such every where else in the world, but
one does not see them beg.  I cannot help mentioning an arrangement which
certainly deserves to be universally carried out;--I mean, the setting
apart of many large houses, partly belonging to the royal family, partly
to rich private people or to companies, for the reception of poor people,
who are here lodged at a much cheaper rate than is possible in ordinary
dwellings.

The costumes of the peasants did not particularly please me.  The women
wear dresses of green or black woollen stuff, reaching to the ankle, and
trimmed at the skirt with broad coloured woollen borders.  The seams of
the spenser, and the arm-holes, are also trimmed with smaller coloured
borders.  On their heads they wear a handkerchief, and over this a kind
of shade, like a bonnet.  On Sundays I saw many of them in small, pretty
caps, worked with silk, with a border of lace of more than a hand's
breadth, plaited very stiffly; at the back they have large bows of fine
riband, the ends of which reach half down to their feet.  I found nothing
very remarkable in the dress of the peasants.  As far as strength and
beauty were concerned, I thought these peasants were neither more nor
less gifted than those of Austria.  As regards the beauty of the fair
sex, I should certainly give the preference to the Austrians.  Fair hair
and blue eyes predominate.

I saw but few soldiers; their uniforms, particularly those worn by the
king's life-guards, are very handsome.

I especially noticed the drummers; they were all little lads of ten or
twelve years old.  One could almost have exclaimed, "Drum, whither art
thou carrying that boy?"  To march, and to join in fatiguing manoeuvres,
carrying such a drum, and beating it bravely at the same time, is rather
cruel work for such young lads.  Many a ruined constitution may be
ascribed to this custom.

During my stay in Copenhagen I spent many very delightful hours with
Professor Mariboe and his amiable family, and with the kind clergyman of
the embassy, Herr Zimmermann.  They received me with true politeness and
hospitality, and drew me into their circle, where I soon felt myself
quite at ease.  I shall never forget their friendship, and shall make use
of every opportunity to shew them my appreciation of it.  Herr Edouard
Gottschalk and Herr Knudson have also my best thanks.  I applied to the
first of these gentlemen to procure me a passage to Iceland, and he was
kind enough to use his interest with Herr Knudson on my behalf.

Herr Knudson is one of the first general dealers in Copenhagen, and
carries on a larger and more extended commerce with Iceland than any
other house trading thither.  He is already beginning to retire, as the
continual journeys are becoming irksome to him; but he still owns a
number of great and small vessels, which are partly employed in the
fisheries, and partly in bringing all kinds of articles of consumption
and luxury to the different harbours of Iceland.

He himself goes in one of his ships every year, and stays a few months in
Iceland to settle his affairs there.  On the recommendation of Herr
Gottschalk, Herr Knudson was kind enough to give me a passage in the ship
in which he made the journey himself; a favour which I knew how to value.
It is certainly no small kindness to take a lady passenger on such a
journey.  Herr Knudson knew neither my fortitude nor my perseverance; he
did not know whether I should be able to endure the hardships of a
journey to the north, whether I would bear sea-sickness philosophically,
or even if I had courage enough, in case of storms or bad weather, to
abstain from annoying the captain by my fears or complaints at a time
when he would only have too much to harass him.  The kind man allowed no
such considerations to influence him.  He believed me when I promised to
behave courageously come what might, and took me with him.  Indeed his
kindness went so far that it is to him I owe every comfort I enjoyed in
Iceland, and every assistance in furthering the attainment of my
journey's object.  I could certainly not have commenced a voyage under
better auspices.

All ships visiting Iceland leave Copenhagen at the end of April, or at
the latest in the middle of May.  After this time only one ship is
despatched, to carry the mails of the Danish government.  This vessel
leaves Copenhagen in October, remains in Iceland during the winter
months, and returns in March.  The gain or loss of this expedition is
distributed in shares among the merchants of Copenhagen.

Besides this, a French frigate comes to Iceland every spring, and cruises
among the different harbours until the middle of August.  She
superintends the fishing vessels, which, attracted by the large profits
of the fisheries, visit these seas in great numbers during the summer.
{17}

Opportunities of returning from Iceland occur during the summer until the
end of September, by means of the merchant-ships, which carry freights
from the island to Denmark, England, and Spain.

At length, on Sunday the 4th of May, a favourable wind sprung up.  Herr
Knudson sent me word to be ready to embark at noon on board the fine brig
_John_.

I immediately proceeded on board.  The anchor was weighed, and the sails,
unfolding themselves like giant wings, wafted us gently out of the
harbour of Copenhagen.  No parting from children, relations, or
old-cherished friends embittered this hour.  With a glad heart I bade
adieu to the city, in the joyful hope soon to see the fulfilment of my
long-expected journey.

The bright sky smiled above us, and a most favourable wind filled our
sails.  I sat on deck and revelled in the contemplation of scenes so new
to me.  Behind us lay spread the majestic town; before us the Sound, an
immense natural basin, which I could almost compare to a great Swiss
lake; on the right and left were the coasts of Sweden and Denmark, which
here approach each other so closely that they seem to oppose a barrier to
the further progress of the adventurous voyager.

Soon we passed the little Swedish town of Carlscrona, and the desolate
island Hveen, on which Tycho de Brahe passed the greater portion of his
life, occupied with stellar observations and calculations.  Now came a
somewhat dangerous part, and one which called into action all the careful
seamanship of the captain to bring us safely through the confined sea and
the strong current,--the entrance of the Sound into the Cattegat.

The two coasts here approach to within a mile of each other.  On the
Swedish side lies the pretty little town of Helsingborg, on the Danish
side that of Helsingor, and at the extremity of a projecting neck of land
the fortress Kronburg, which demands a toll of every passing ship, and
shews a large row of threatening cannon in case of non-compliance.  Our
toll had already been paid before leaving Copenhagen; we had been
accurately signalled, and sailed fearlessly by. {18}

The entrance once passed, we entered the Cattegat, which already looked
more like the great ocean: the coasts retired on each side, and most of
the shifts and barques, which till now had hovered around us on all
sides, bade us "farewell."  Some bent their course towards the east,
others towards the west; and we alone, on the broad desert ocean, set
sail for the icy north.  Twilight did not set in until 9 o'clock at
night; and on the coasts the flaming beacons flashed up, to warn the
benighted mariner of the proximity of dangerous rocks.

I now offered up my thanksgiving to Heaven for the protection hitherto
vouchsafed me, with a humble prayer for its continuance.  Then I
descended to the cabin, where I found a convenient bunk (a kind of crib
fixed to the side of the ship); I laid myself down, and was soon in a
deep and refreshing sleep.

I awoke full of health and spirits, which, however, I enjoyed but for a
short time.  During the night we had left behind us the "Cattegat" and
the "Skagerrack," and were driving through the stormy German Ocean.  A
high wind, which increased almost to a gale, tumbled our poor ship about
in such a manner, that none but a good dancer could hope to maintain an
upright position.  I had unfortunately been from my youth no votary of
Terpsichore, and what was I to do?  The naiads of this stormy region
seized me, and bandied me to and fro, until they threw me into the arms
of what was, according to my experience, if not exactly after Schiller's
interpretation, "the horrible of horrors,"--sea-sickness.  At first I
took little heed of this, thinking that sea-sickness would soon be
overcome by a traveller like myself, who should be inured to every thing.
But in vain did I bear up; I became worse and worse, till I was at length
obliged to remain in my berth with but one consoling thought, namely,
that we were to-day on the open sea, where there was nothing worthy of
notice.  But the following day the Norwegian coast was in sight, and at
all hazards I must see it; so I crawled on deck more dead than alive,
looked at a row of mountains of moderate elevation, their tops at this
early season still sparkling with their snowy covering, and then hurried
back, benumbed by the piercing icy wind, to my good warm feather-bed.
Those who have never experienced it can have no conception of the biting,
penetrating coldness of a gale of wind in the northern seas.  The sun
shone high in the heavens; the thermometer (I always calculate according
to Reaumur) stood 3 degrees above zero; I was dressed much more warmly
than I should have thought necessary when, in my fatherland, the
thermometer was 8 or 10 degrees _below_ zero, and yet I felt chilled to
the heart, and could have fancied that I had no clothes on at all.

On the fourth night we sailed safely past the Shetland Islands; and on
the evening of the fifth day we passed so near the majestic rocky group
of the Feroe Islands, that we were at one time apprehensive of being cast
upon the rocks by the unceasing gale. {19}

Already on the seventh day we descried the coast of Iceland.  Our passage
had been unprecedentedly quick; the sailors declared that a favourable
gale was to be preferred even to steam, and that on our present voyage we
should certainly have left every steamer in our wake.  But I, wretched
being that I was, would gladly have dispensed with the services both of
gale and steam for the sake of a few hours' rest.  My illness increased
so much, that on the seventh day I thought I must succumb.  My limbs were
bathed in a cold perspiration; I was as weak as an infant, and my mouth
felt parched and dry.  I saw that I must now either make a great effort
or give up entirely; so I roused myself, and with the assistance of the
cabin-boy gained a seat, and promised to take any and every remedy which
should be recommended.  They gave me hot-water gruel with wine and sugar;
but it was not enough to be obliged to force this down, I was further
compelled to swallow small pieces of raw bacon highly peppered, and even
a mouthful of rum.  I need not say what strong determination was required
to make me submit to such a regimen.  I had, however, but one choice,
either to conquer my repugnance or give myself up a victim to
sea-sickness; so with all patience and resignation I received the
proffered gifts, and found, after a trial of many hours, that I could
manage to retain a small dose.  This physicking was continued for two
long, long days, and then I began slowly to recover.

I have here circumstantially described both my illness and its cure,
because so many people are unfortunately victims to the complaint, and
when under its influence cannot summon resolution to take sustenance.  I
should advise all my friends not to hold out so long as I did, but to
take food at once, and continue to do so until the system will receive
it.

As I was now convalescent, I tried to recruit my wearied mind by a
diligent study of the mode of life and customs of the mariners of the
northern seas.

Our ship's company consisted of Herr Knudson, Herr Bruge (a merchant whom
we were to land at the Westmann Islands), the captain, the mate, and six
or seven sailors.  Our mode of life in the cabin was as follows: in the
morning, at seven o'clock, we took coffee, but whence this coffee came,
heaven knows!  I drank it for eleven days, and could never discover any
thing which might serve as a clue in my attempt to discover the country
of its growth.  At ten o'clock we had a meal consisting of bread and
butter and cheese, with cold beef or pork, all excellent dishes for those
in health; the second course of this morning meal was "tea-water."  In
Scandinavia, by the way, they never say, "I drink _tea_," the word
"water" is always added: "I drink _tea-water_."  Our "tea-water" was, if
possible, worse than its predecessor, the incomparable coffee.  Thus I
was beaten at all points; the eatables were too strong for me, the
drinkables too--too--I can find no appropriate epithet--probably too
artificial.  I consoled myself with the prospect of dinner; but, alas,
too soon this sweet vision faded into thin air!  On the sixth day I made
my first appearance at the covered table, and could not help at once
remarking the cloth which had been spread over it.  At the commencement
of our journey it might perhaps have been white; now it was most
certainly no longer of that snowy hue.  The continual pitching and
rolling of the ship had caused each dish to set its peculiar stamp upon
the cloth.  A sort of wooden network was now laid upon it, in the
interstices of which the plates and glasses were set, and thus secured
from falling.  But before placing it on the table, our worthy cabin-boy
took each plate and glass separately, and polished it on a towel which
hung near, and in colour certainly rather resembling the dingy floor of
the cabin than the bight-hued rainbow.  This could still have been
endured, but the article in question really did duty _as a towel_ in the
morning, before extending its salutary influence over plates and glasses
for the remainder of the day.

On making discoveries such as these, I would merely turn away my eyes,
and try to think that perhaps _my glass_ and _my plate_ would be more
delicately manipulated, or probably escape altogether; and then I would
turn my whole attention to the expected dishes.

First came soup; but instead of gravy-soup, it was water-soup, with rice
and dried plums.  This, when mingled with red wine and sugar, formed a
most exquisite dish for Danish appetites, but it certainly did not suit
mine.  The second and concluding course consisted of a large piece of
beef, with which I had no fault to find, except that it was too heavy for
one in my weak state of health.  At supper we had the same dishes as at
dinner, and each meal was followed by "tea-water."  At first I could not
fancy this bill of fare at all; but within a few days after my
convalesence, I had accustomed myself to it, and could bear the sea-diet
very well. {20}

As the rich owner of the vessel was on board, there was no lack of the
best wines, and few evenings passed on which a bowl of punch was not
emptied.  There was, however, a reason found why every bottle of wine or
bowl of punch should be drunk: for instance, at our embarkation, to drink
the health of the friends we were leaving, and to hope for a quick and
prosperous voyage; then, when the wind was favourable, its health was
drunk, with the request that it would remain so; when it was contrary,
with the request that it would change; when we saw land, we saluted it
with a glass of wine, or perhaps with several, but I was too ill to
count; when we lost sight of it, we drank a farewell glass to its health:
so that every day brought with it three or four distinct and separate
occasions for drinking wine. {21}

The sailors drank tea-water without sugar every morning and evening, with
the addition of a glass of brandy; for dinner they had pease, beans,
barley, or potatoes, with salted cod, bacon, "or junk;" good sea-biscuit
they could get whenever they chose.

The diet is not the worst part of these poor people's hardships.  Their
life may be called a continual fight against the elements; for it is
precisely during the most dreadful storms, with rain and piercing cold,
that they have to be continually upon deck.  I could not sufficiently
admire the coolness, or rather the cheerfulness and alacrity with which
they fulfilled their onerous duties.  And what reward have they?  Scanty
pay, for food the diet I have just described, and for their
sleeping-place the smallest and most inconvenient part of the ship, a
dark place frequently infested with vermin, and smelling offensively from
being likewise used as a receptacle for oil-colours, varnish, tar,
salt-fish, &c. &c.

To be cheerful in the midst of all this requires a very quiet and
contented mind.  That the Danish sailors are contented, I had many
opportunities of observing during the voyage of which I am speaking, and
on several other occasions.

But after all this long description, it is high time that I should return
to the journey itself.

The favourable gale which had thus wafted us to the coast of Iceland
within seven days, now unfortunately changed its direction, and drove us
back.  We drifted about in the storm-tost ocean, and many a Spanish wave
{22} broke completely over our ship.  Twice we attempted to approach the
Westmann Islands {23} (a group belonging to Iceland) to watch an
opportunity of casting anchor, and setting ashore our fellow-traveller
Herr Bruge; but it was in vain, we were driven back each time.  At
length, at the close of the eleventh day, we reached Havenfiord, a very
good harbour, distant nine miles from Reikjavik, the capital of Iceland.

In spite of the very inopportune change in the direction of the wind, we
had had an unprecedentedly quick passage.  The distance from Copenhagen
to Iceland, in a straight line, is reckoned at 1200 geographical miles;
for a sailing vessel, which must tack now and then, and must go as much
with the wind as possible, 1500 to 1600 miles.  Had the strong wind,
which was at first so favourable, instead of changing on the seventh day,
held on for thirty or forty hours longer, we should have landed in
Iceland on the eighth or ninth day--even the steamer could not have
accomplished the passage so quickly.

The shores of Iceland appeared to me quite different from what I had
supposed them to be from the descriptions I had read.  I had fancied them
naked, without tree or shrub, dreary and desert; but now I saw green
hills, shrubs, and even what appeared to be groups of stunted trees.  As
we came nearer, however, I was enabled to distinguish objects more
clearly, and the green hills became human dwellings with small doors and
windows, while the supposed groups of trees proved in reality to be heaps
of lava, some ten or twelve feet high, thickly covered with moss and
grass.  Every thing was new and striking to me; I waited in great
impatience till we could land.

At length the anchor descended; but it was not till next morning that the
hour of disembarkation and deliverance came.

But one more night, and then, every difficulty overcome, I should tread
the shores of Iceland, the longed-for, and bask as it were in the wonders
of this island, so poor in the creations of art, so rich in the phenomena
of Nature.

                                * * * * *

Before I land in Iceland, I must trouble the reader with a few
preliminary observations regarding this island.  They are drawn from
Mackenzie's _Description of Iceland_, a book the sterling value of which
is appreciated every where. {24}

The discovery of Iceland, about the year of our Lord 860, is attributed
to the spirit of enterprise of some Swedish and Norwegian pirates, who
were drifted thither on a voyage to the Feroe Isles.  It was not till the
year 874 that the island was peopled by a number of voluntary emigrants,
who, feeling unhappy under the dominion of Harold Harfraga (fine hair),
arrived at the island under the direction of Ingold. {25}  As the
newcomers are said to have found no traces of dwellings, they are
presumed to be the first who took possession of the island.

At this time Iceland was still so completely covered with underwood, that
at some points it was necessary to cut a passage.  Bringing with them
their language, religion, customs, and historical monuments, the
Norwegians introduced a kind of feudal system, which, about the year 928,
gave place to a somewhat aristocratic government, retaining, however, the
name of a republic.  The island was divided into four provinces, over
each of which was placed an hereditary governor or judge.

The General Assembly of Iceland (called Allthing) was held annually on
the shores of the Lake Thingvalla.  The people possessed an excellent
code of laws, in which provision had been made for every case which could
occur.

This state of things lasted for more than 300 years, a period which may
be called the golden age of Iceland.  Education, literature, and even
refined poetry flourished among the inhabitants, who took part in
commerce and in the sea-voyages which the Norwegians undertook for
purposes of discovery.

The "Sagas," or histories of this country, contain many tales of personal
bravery.  Its bards and historians visited other climes, became the
favourites of monarchs, and returned to their island covered with honour
and loaded with presents.  The _Edda_, by Samund, is one of the most
valued poems of the ancient days of Iceland.  The second portion of the
_Edda_, called _Skalda_, dates from a later period, and is ascribed by
many to the celebrated Snorri Sturluson.  Isleif, first Bishop of
Skalholt, was the earliest Icelandic historian; after him came the noted
Snorri Sturluson, born in 1178, who became the richest and mightiest man
in Iceland.

Snorri Sturluson was frequently followed to the General Assembly of
Iceland by a splendid retinue of 800 armed men.  He was a great historian
and poet, and possessed an accurate knowledge of the Greek and Latin
tongues, besides being a powerful orator.  He was also the author of the
_Heims-kringla_.

The first school was founded at Skalholt, about the middle of the
eleventh century, under Isleif, first Bishop of Iceland; four other
schools and several convents soon followed.  Poetry and music seem to
have formed a staple branch of education.

The climate of Iceland appears to have been less inclement than is now
the case; corn is said to have grown, and trees and shrubs were larger
and thicker than we find them at present.  The population of Iceland was
also much more numerous than it is now, although there were neither towns
nor villages.  The people lived scattered throughout the island; and the
General Assembly was held at Thingvalla, in the open air.

Fishing constituted the chief employment of the Icelanders.  Their
clothing was woven from the wool of their sheep.  Commerce with
neighbouring countries opened to them another field of occupation.

The doctrines of Christianity were first introduced into Iceland, in the
year 981, by Friederich, a Saxon bishop.  Many churches were built, and
tithes established for the maintenance of the clergy.  Isleif, first
Bishop of Skalholt, was ordained in the year 1057.  After the
introduction of Christianity, all the Icelanders enjoyed an
unostentatious but undisturbed practice of their religion.

Greenland and the most northern part of America are said to have been
discovered by Icelanders.

In the middle of the thirteenth century Iceland came into the power of
the Norwegian kings.  In the year 1380 Norway was united to the crown of
Denmark; and Iceland incorporated, without resistance, in the Danish
monarchy.  Since the cession of the island to Norway, and then to
Denmark, peace and security took the place of the internal commotions
with which, before this time, Iceland had been frequently disturbed; but
this state of quiet brought forth indolence and apathy.  The voyages of
discovery were interfered with by the new government, and the commerce
gradually passed into the hands of other nations.  The climate appears
also to have changed; and the lessened industry and want of perseverance
in the inhabitants have brought agriculture completely into decline.

In the year 1402 the plague broke out upon the island, and carried off
two-thirds of the population.

The first printing-press was established at Hoolum, about the year 1530,
under the superintendence of the Bishop, John Areson.

The reformation in the Icelandic Church was not brought about without
disturbance.  It was legally established in the year 1551.

During the fifteenth century the Icelanders suffered more from the
piratical incursions of foreigners.  As late as the year 1616 the French
and English nations took part in these enormities.  The most melancholy
occurrence of this kind took place in 1627, in which year a great number
of Algerine pirates made a descent upon the Icelandic coast, murdered
about fifty of the inhabitants, and carried off nearly 400 others into
captivity. {26}

The eighteenth century commenced with a dreadful mortality from the
smallpox; of which disease more than 16,000 of the inhabitants died.  In
1757 a famine swept away about 10,000 souls.

The year 1783 was distinguished by most dreadful volcanic outbreaks in
the interior of the island.  Tremendous streams of lava carried all
before them; great rivers were checked in their course, and formed lakes.
For more than a year a thick cloud of smoke and volcanic ashes covered
the whole of Iceland, and nearly darkened the sunlight.  Horned cattle,
sheep, and horses were destroyed; famine came, with its accompanying
illnesses; and once more appeared the malignant small-pox.  In a few
years more than 11,000 persons had died; more than one-fourth of the
whole present population of the island.

Iceland lies in the Atlantic ocean; its greatest breadth is 240
geographical miles, and its extreme length from north to south 140 miles.
The number of inhabitants is estimated at 48,000, and the superficial
extent of the island at 29,800 square miles.




CHAPTER III


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.




CHAPTER IV


                                                                 May 25th.

Stiftsamtmann von H--- was to-day kind enough to pay me a visit, and to
invite me to join his party for a ride to the great lake Vatne.  I gladly
accepted the invitation, for, according to the description given by the
Stiftsamtmann, I hoped to behold a very Eden, and rejoiced at the
prospect of observing the recreations of the higher classes, and at the
same time gaining many acquisitions in specimens of plants, butterflies,
and beetles.  I resolved also to test the capabilities of the Icelandic
horses more thoroughly than I had been able to do during my first ride
from Havenfiord to Reikjavik, as I had been obliged on that occasion to
ride at a foot-pace, on account of my old guide.

The hour of starting was fixed for two o'clock.  Accustomed as I am to
strict punctuality, I was ready long before the appointed time, and at
two o'clock was about to hasten to the place of rendezvous, when my
hostess informed me I had plenty of time, for Herr von H--- was still at
dinner.  Instead of meeting at two o'clock, we did not assemble until
three, and even then another quarter of an hour elapsed before the
cavalcade started.  Oh, Syrian notions of punctuality and dispatch!
Here, almost at the very antipodes, did I once more greet ye.

The party consisted of the nobility and the town dignitaries.  Among the
former class may be reckoned Stiftsamtmann von H--- and his lady; a privy
councillor, Herr von B---, who had been sent from Copenhagen to attend
the "Allthing" (political assembly); and a Danish baron, who had
accompanied the councillor.  I noticed among the town dignitaries the
daughter and wife of the apothecary, and the daughters of some merchants
resident here.

Our road lay through fields of lava, swamps, and very poor grassy
patches, in a great valley, swelling here and there into gentle
acclivities, and shut in on three sides by several rows of mountains,
towering upwards in the most diversified shapes.  In the far distance
rose several jokuls or glaciers, seeming to look proudly down upon the
mountains, as though they asked, "Why would ye draw men's eyes upon you,
where we glisten in our silver sheen?"  In the season of the year at
which I beheld them, the glaciers were still very beautiful; not only
their summits, but their entire surface, as far as visible, being covered
with snow.  The fourth side of the valley through which we travelled was
washed by the ocean, which melted as it were into the horizon in
immeasurable distance.  The coast was dotted with small bays, having the
appearance of so many lakes.

As the road was good, we could generally ride forward at a brisk pace.
Occasionally, however, we met with small tracts on which the Icelandic
horse could exercise its sagacity and address.  My horse was careful and
free from vice; it carried me securely over masses of stone and chasms in
the rocks, but I cannot describe the suffering its trot caused me.  It is
said that riding is most beneficial to those who suffer from
liver-complaints.  This may be the case; but I should suppose that any
one who rode upon an Icelandic horse, with an Icelandic side-saddle,
every day for the space of four weeks, would find, at the expiration of
that time, her liver shaken to a pulp, and no part of it remaining.

All the rest of the party had good English saddles, mine alone was of
Icelandic origin.  It consisted of a chair, with a board for the back.
The rider was obliged to sit crooked upon the horse, and it was
impossible to keep a firm seat.  With much difficulty I trotted after the
others, for my horse would not be induced to break into a gallop.

At length, after a ride of an hour and a half, we reached a valley.  In
the midst of a tolerably green meadow I descried what was, for Iceland, a
farm of considerable dimensions, and not far from this farm was a very
small lake.  I did not dare to ask if this was the _great_ lake Vatne, or
if this was the delicious prospect I had been promised, for my question
would have been taken for irony.  I could not refrain from wonder when
Herr von H--- began praising the landscape as exquisite, and farther
declaring the effect of the lake to be bewitching.  I was obliged, for
politeness' sake, to acquiesce, and leave them in the supposition that I
had never seen a larger lake nor a finer prospect.

We now made a halt, and the whole party encamped in the meadow.  While
the preparations for a social meal were going on, I proceeded to satisfy
my curiosity.

The peasant's house first attracted my attention.  I found it to consist
of one large chamber, and two of smaller size, besides a storeroom and
extensive stables, from which I judged that the proprietor was rich in
cattle.  I afterwards learnt that he owned fifty sheep, eight cows, and
five horses, and was looked upon as one of the richest farmers in the
neighbourhood.  The kitchen was situated at the extreme end of the
building, and was furnished with a chimney that seemed intended only as a
protection against rain and snow, for the smoke dispersed itself
throughout the whole kitchen, drying the fish which hung from the
ceiling, and slowly making its exit through an air-hole.

The large apartment boasted a wooden bookshelf, containing about forty
volumes.  Some of these I turned over, and in spite of my limited
knowledge of the Danish language, could make out enough to discover that
they were chiefly on religious subjects.  But the farmer seemed also to
love poetry; among the works of this class in his library, I noticed
Kleist, Muller, and even Homer's _Odyssey_.  I could make nothing of the
Icelandic books; but on inquiring their contents, I was told that they
all treated of religious matters.

After inspecting these, I walked out into the meadow to search for
flowers and herbs.  Flowers I found but few, as it was not the right time
of the year for them; my search for herbs was more successful, and I even
found some wild clover.  I saw neither beetles nor butterflies; but, to
my no small surprise, heard the humming of two wild bees, one of which I
was fortunate enough to catch, and took home to preserve in spirits of
wine.

On rejoining my party, I found them encamped in the meadow around a
table, which had in the meantime been spread with butter, cheese, bread,
cake, roast lamb, raisins and almonds, a few oranges, and wine.  Neither
chairs nor benches were to be had, for even wealthy peasants only possess
planks nailed to the walls of their rooms; so we all sat down upon the
grass, and did ample justice to the capital coffee which made the
commencement of the meal.  Laughter and jokes predominated to such an
extent, that I could have fancied myself among impulsive Italians instead
of cold Northmen.

There was no lack of wit; but to-day I was unfortunately its butt.  And
what was my fault?--only my stupid modesty.  The conversation was carried
on in the Danish language; some members of our party spoke French and
others German, but I purposely abstained from availing myself of their
acquirements, in order not to disturb the hilarity of the conversation.
I sat silently among them, and was perfectly contented in listening to
their merriment.  But my behaviour was set down as proceeding from
stupidity, and I soon gathered from their discourse that they were
comparing me to the "stone guest" in Mozart's _Don Giovanni_.  If these
kind people had only surmised the true reason of my keeping silence, they
would perhaps have thanked me for doing so.

As we sat at our meal, I heard a voice in the farmhouse singing an
Icelandic song.  At a distance it resembled the humming of bees; on a
nearer approach it sounded monotonous, drawling, and melancholy.

While we were preparing for our departure, the farmer, his wife, and the
servants approached, and shook each of us by the hand.  This is the usual
mode of saluting such _high_ people as we numbered among our party.  The
true national salutation is a hearty kiss.

On my arrival at home the effect of the strong coffee soon began to
manifest itself.  I could not sleep at all, and had thus ample leisure to
make accurate observations as to the length of the day and of the
twilight.  Until eleven o'clock at night I could read ordinary print in
my room.  From eleven till one o'clock it was dusk, but never so dark as
to prevent my reading in the open air.  In my room, too, I could
distinguish the smallest objects, and even tell the time by my watch.  At
one o'clock I could again read in my room.



EXCURSION TO VIDOE.


The little island of Vidoe, four miles distant from Reikjavik, is
described by most travellers as the chief resort of the eider-duck.  I
visited the island on the 8th of June, but was disappointed in my
expectations.  I certainly saw many of these birds on the declivities and
in the chasms of the rocks, sitting quietly on their nests, but nothing
approaching the thousands I had been led to expect.  On the whole, I may
perhaps have seen from one hundred to a hundred and fifty nests.

The most remarkable circumstance connected with the eider-ducks is their
tameness during the period of incubation.  I had always regarded as myths
the stories told about them in this respect, and should do so still had I
not convinced myself of the truth of these assertions by laying hands
upon the ducks myself.  I could go quite up to them and caress them, and
even then they would not often leave their nests.  Some few birds,
indeed, did so when I wished to touch them; but they did not fly up, but
contented themselves with coolly walking a few paces away from the nest,
and there sitting quietly down until I had departed.  But those which
already had live young, beat out boldly with their wings when I
approached, struck at me with their bills, and allowed themselves to be
taken up bodily rather than leave the nest.  They are about the size of
our ducks; their eggs are of a greenish grey, rather larger than hen's
eggs, and taste very well.  Altogether they lay about eleven eggs.  The
finest down is that with which they line their nests at first; it is of a
dark grey colour.  The Icelanders take away this down, and the first nest
of eggs.  The poor bird now robs herself once more of a quantity of down
(which is, however, not of so fine a quality as the first), and again
lays eggs.  For the second time every thing is taken from her; and not
until she has a third time lined the nest with her down is the eider-duck
left in peace.  The down of the second, and that of the third quality
especially, are much lighter than that of the first.  I also was
sufficiently cruel to take a few eggs and some down out of several of the
nests. {34}

I did not witness the dangerous operation of collecting this down from
between the clefts of rocks and from unapproachable precipices, where
people are let down, or to which they are drawn up, by ropes, at peril of
their lives.  There are, however, none of these break-neck places in the
neighbourhood of Reikjavik.



SALMON FISHERY.


I made another excursion to a very short distance (two miles) from
Reikjavik, in the company of Herr Bernhoft and his daughter, to the
Laxselv (salmon river) to witness the salmon-fishing, which takes place
every week from the middle of June to the middle of August.  It is
conducted in a very simple manner.  The fish come up the river in the
spawning season; the stream is then dammed up with several walls of stone
loosely piled to the height of some three feet; and the retreat of the
fish to the sea is thus cut off.  When the day arrives on which the
salmon are to be caught, a net is spread behind each of these walls.
Three or four such dams are erected at intervals, of from eighty to a
hundred paces, so that even if the fishes escape one barrier, they are
generally caught at the next.  The water is now made to run off as much
as possible; the poor salmon dart to and fro, becoming every moment more
and more aware of the sinking of the water, and crowd to the weirs,
cutting themselves by contact with the sharp stones of which they are
built.  This is the deepest part of the water; and it is soon so thronged
with fish, that men, stationed in readiness, can seize them in their
hands and fling them ashore.

The salmon possess remarkable swiftness and strength.  The fisherman is
obliged to take them quickly by the head and tail, and to throw them
ashore, when they are immediately caught by other men, who fling them
still farther from the water.  If this is not done with great quickness
and care, many of the fishes escape.  It is wonderful how these creatures
can struggle themselves free, and leap into the air.  The fishermen are
obliged to wear woollen mittens, or they would be quite unable to hold
the smooth salmon.  At every day's fishing, from five hundred to a
thousand fish are taken, each weighing from five to fifteen pounds.  On
the day when I was present eight hundred were killed.  This salmon-stream
is farmed by a merchant of Reikjavik.

The fishermen receive very liberal pay,--in fact, one-half of the fish
taken.  And yet they are dissatisfied, and show so little gratitude, as
seldom to finish their work properly.  So, for instance, they only
brought the share of the merchant to the harbour of Reikjavik, and were
far too lazy to carry the salmon from the boat to the warehouse, a
distance certainly not more than sixty or seventy paces from the shore.
They sent a message to their employer, bidding him "send some fresh
hands, for they were much too tired."  Of course, in a case like this,
all remonstrance is unavailing.

As in the rest of the world, so also in Iceland, every occasion that
offers is seized upon for a feast or a merry-making.  The day on which I
witnessed the salmon-fishing happened to be one of the few fine days that
occur during a summer in Iceland.  It was therefore unanimously concluded
by several merchants, that the day and the salmon-fishing should be
celebrated by a _dejeuner a la fourchette_.  Every one contributed
something, and a plentiful and elegant breakfast was soon arranged, which
quite resembled an entertainment of the kind in our country; this one
circumstance excepted, that we were obliged to seat ourselves on the
ground, by reason of a scarcity of tables and benches.  Spanish and
French wines, as well as cold punch, were there in plenty, and the
greatest hilarity prevailed.

I made a fourth excursion, but to a very inconsiderable distance,--in
fact, only a mile and a half from Reikjavik.  It was to see a hot and
slightly sulphurous spring, which falls into a river of cold water.  By
this lucky meeting of extremes, water can be obtained at any temperature,
from the boiling almost to the freezing point.  The townspeople take
advantage of this good opportunity in two ways, for bathing and for
washing clothes.  The latter is undoubtedly the more important purpose of
application, and a hut has been erected, in order to shield the poor
people from wind and rain while they are at work.  Formerly this hut was
furnished with a good door and with glazed windows, and the key was kept
at an appointed place in the town, whence any one might fetch it.  But
the servants and peasant girls were soon too lazy to go for the key; they
burst open the lock, and smashed the windows, so that now the hut has a
very ruinous appearance, and affords but little protection against the
weather.  How much alike mankind are every where, and how seldom they do
right, except when it gives them no trouble, and then, unfortunately,
there is not much merit to be ascribed to them, as their doing right is
merely the result of a lucky chance!  Many people also bring fish and
potatoes, which they have only to lay in the hot water, and in a short
time both are completely cooked.

This spring is but little used for the purpose of bathing; at most
perhaps by a few children and peasants.  Its medicinal virtues, if it
possesses any, are completely unknown.



THE SULPHUR-SPRINGS AND SULPHUR-MOUNTAINS OF KRISUVIK.


The 4th of June was fixed for my departure.  I had only to pack up some
bread and cheese, sugar and coffee, then the horses were saddled, and at
seven o'clock the journey was happily commenced.  I was alone with my
guide, who, like the rest of his class, could not be considered as a very
favourable specimen of humanity.  He was very lazy, exceedingly
self-interested, and singularly loath to devote any part of his attention
either to me or to the horses, preferring to concentrate it upon brandy,
an article which can unfortunately be procured throughout the whole
country.

I had already seen the district between Reikjavik and Havenfiord at my
first arrival in Iceland.  At the present advanced season of the year it
wore a less gloomy aspect: strawberry-plants and violets,--the former,
however, without blossoms, and the latter inodorous,--were springing up
between the blocks of lava, together with beautiful ferns eight or ten
inches high.  In spite of the trifling distance, I noticed, as a rule,
that vegetation was here more luxuriant than at Reikjavik; for at the
latter place I had found no strawberry-plants, and the violets were not
yet in blossom.  This difference in the vegetation is, I think, to be
ascribed to the high walls of lava existing in great abundance round
Havenfiord; they protect the tender plants and ferns from the piercing
winds.  I noticed that both the grass and the plants before mentioned
throve capitally in the little hollows formed by masses of lava.

A couple of miles beyond Havenfiord I saw the first birch-trees, which,
however, did not exceed two or three feet in height, also some
bilberry-plants.  A number of little butterflies, all of one colour, and,
as it seemed to me, of the same species, fluttered among the shrubs and
plants.

The manifold forms and varied outline of the lava-fields present a
remarkable and really a marvellous appearance.  Short as this journey
is--for ten hours are amply sufficient for the trip to Krisuvik,--it
presents innumerable features for contemplation.  I could only gaze and
wonder.  I forgot every thing around me, felt neither cold nor storm, and
let my horse pick his way as slowly as he chose, so that I had once
almost become separated from my guide.

One of the most considerable of the streams of lava lay in a spacious
broad valley.  The lava-stream itself, about two miles long, and of a
considerable breadth, traversing the whole of the plain, seemed to have
been called into existence by magic, as there was no mountain to be seen
in the neighbourhood from which it could have emerged.  It appeared to be
the covering of an immense crater, formed, not of separate stones and
blocks, but of a single and slightly porous mass of rock ten or twelve
feet thick, broken here and there by clefts about a foot in breadth.

Another, and a still larger valley, many miles in circumference, was
filled with masses of lava shaped like waves, reminding the beholder of a
petrified sea.  From the midst rose a high black mountain, contrasting
beautifully with the surrounding masses of light-grey lava.  At first I
supposed the lava must have streamed forth from this mountain, but soon
found that the latter was perfectly smooth on all sides, and terminated
in a sharp peak.  The remaining mountains which shut in the valley were
also perfectly closed, and I looked in vain for any trace of a crater.

We now reached a small lake, and soon afterwards arrived at a larger one,
called Kleinfarvatne.  Both were hemmed in by mountains, which frequently
rose abruptly from the waters, leaving no room for the passage of the
horses.  We were obliged sometimes to climb the mountains by fearfully
dizzy paths; at others to scramble downwards, almost clinging to the face
of the rock.  At some points we were even compelled to dismount from our
horses, and scramble forward on our hands and knees.  In a word, these
dangerous points, which extended over a space of about seven miles, were
certainly quite as bad as any I had encountered in Syria; if any thing,
they were even more formidable.

I was, however, assured that I should have no more such places to
encounter during all my further journeys in Iceland, and this information
quite reconciled me to the roads in this country.  For the rest, the path
was generally tolerably safe even during this tour, which continually led
me across fields of lava.

A journey of some eight-and-twenty miles brought us at length into a
friendly valley; clouds of smoke, both small and great, were soon
discovered rising from the surrounding heights, and also from the valley
itself; these were the sulphur-springs and sulphur-mountains.

I could hardly restrain my impatience while we traversed the couple of
miles which separated us from Krisuvik.  A few small lakes were still to
be crossed; and at length, at six o'clock in the evening, we reached our
destination.

With the exception of a morsel of bread and cheese, I had eaten nothing
since the morning; still I could not spare time to make coffee, but at
once dismounted, summoned my guide, and commenced my pilgrimage to the
smoking mountains.  At the outset our way lay across swampy places and
meadow lands; but soon we had to climb the mountains themselves, a task
rendered extremely difficult by the elastic, yielding soil, in which
every footstep imprinted itself deeply, suggesting to the traveller the
unpleasant possibility of his sinking through,--a contingency rendered
any thing but agreeable by the neighbourhood of the boiling springs.  At
length I gained the summit, and saw around me numerous basins filled with
boiling water, while on all sides, from hill and valley, columns of
vapour rose out of numberless clefts in the rocks.  From a cleft in one
rock in particular a mighty column of vapour whirled into the air.  On
the windward side I could approach this place very closely.  The ground
was only lukewarm in some places, and I could hold my hand for several
moments to the gaps from which steam issued.  No trace of a crater was to
be seen.  The bubbling and hissing of the steam, added to the noise of
the wind, occasioned such a deafening clamour, that I was very glad to
feel firmer ground beneath my feet, and to leave the place in haste.  It
really seemed as if the interior of the mountain had been a boiling
caldron.  The prospect from these mountains is very fine.  Numerous
valleys and mountains innumerable offered themselves to my view, and I
could even discern the isolated black rock past which I had ridden five
or six hours previously.

I now commenced my descent into the valley; at a few hundred paces the
bubbling and hissing were already inaudible.  I supposed that I had seen
every thing worthy of notice; but much that was remarkable still
remained.  I particularly noticed a basin some five or six feet in
diameter, filled with boiling mud.  This mud has quite the appearance of
fine clay dissolved in water; its colour was a light grey.

From another basin, hardly two feet in diameter, a mighty column of steam
shot continually into the air with so much force and noise that I started
back half stunned, and could have fancied the vault of heaven would
burst.  This basin is situated in a corner of the valley, closely shut in
on three sides by hills.  In the neighbourhood many hot springs gushed
forth; but I saw no columns of water, and my guide assured me that such a
phenomenon was never witnessed here.

There is more danger in passing these spots than even in traversing the
mountains.  In spite of the greatest precautions, I frequently sank in
above the ankles, and would then draw back with a start, and find my foot
covered with hot mud.  From the place where I had broken through, steam
and hot mud, or boiling water, rose into the air.

Though my guide, who walked before me, carefully probed the ground with
his stick, he several times sank through half-way to the knee.  These men
are, however, so much accustomed to contingencies of this kind that they
take little account of them.  My guide would quietly repair to the next
spring and cleanse his clothes from mud.  As I was covered with it to
above the ankles, I thought it best to follow his example.

For excursions like these it is best to come provided with a few boards,
five or six feet in length, with which to cover the most dangerous
places.

At nine o'clock in the evening, but yet in the full glare of the sun, we
arrived at Krisuvik.  I now took time to look at this place, which I
found to consist of a small church and a few miserable huts.

I crept into one of these dens; it was so dark that a considerable time
elapsed before I could distinguish objects, the light was only admitted
through a very small aperture.  I found in this hut a few persons who
were suffering from the eruption called "lepra," a disease but too
commonly met with in Iceland.  Their hands and faces were completely
covered with this eruption; if it spreads over the whole body the patient
languishes slowly away, and is lost without remedy.

Churches are in this country not only used for purposes of public
worship, but also serve as magazines for provisions, clothes, &c., and as
inns for travellers.  I do not suppose that a parallel instance of
desecration could be met with even among the most uncivilised nations.  I
was assured, indeed, that these abuses were about to be remedied.  A
reform of this kind ought to have been carried out long ago; and even now
the matter seems to remain an open point; for wherever I came the church
was placed at my disposal for the night, and every where I found a store
of fish, tallow, and other equally odoriferous substances.

The little chapel at Krisuvik is only twenty-two feet long by ten broad;
on my arrival it was hastily prepared for my reception.  Saddles, ropes,
clothes, hats, and other articles which lay scattered about, were hastily
flung into a corner; mattresses and some nice soft pillows soon appeared,
and a very tolerable bed was prepared for me on a large chest in which
the vestments of the priest, the coverings of the altar, &c., were
deposited.  I would willingly have locked myself in, eaten my frugal
supper, and afterwards written a few pages of my diary before retiring to
rest; but this was out of the question.  The entire population of the
village turned out to see me, old and young hastened to the church, and
stood round in a circle and gazed at me.

Irksome as this curiosity was, I was obliged to endure it patiently, for
I could not have sent these good people away without seriously offending
them; so I began quietly to unpack my little portmanteau, and proceeded
to boil my coffee over a spirit-lamp.  A whispering consultation
immediately began; they seemed particularly struck by my mode of
preparing coffee, and followed every one of my movements with eager eyes.
My frugal meal dispatched, I resolved to try the patience of my audience,
and, taking out my journal, began to write.  For a few minutes they
remained quiet, then they began to whisper one to another, "She writes,
she writes," and this was repeated numberless times.  There was no sign
of any disposition to depart; I believe I could have sat there till
doomsday, and failed to tire my audience out.  At length, after this
scene had lasted a full hour, I could stand it no longer, and was fain to
request my amiable visitors to retire, as I wished to go to bed.

My sleep that night was none of the sweetest.  A certain feeling of
discomfort always attaches to the fact of sleeping in a church alone, in
the midst of a grave-yard.  Besides this, on the night in question such a
dreadful storm arose that the wooden walls creaked and groaned as though
their foundations were giving way.  The cold was also rather severe, my
thermometer inside the church shewing only two degrees above zero.  I was
truly thankful when approaching day brought with it the welcome hour of
departure.

                                                                 June 5th.

The heavy sleepiness and extreme indolence of an Icelandic guide render
departure before seven o'clock in the morning a thing not to be thought
of.  This is, however, of little consequence, as there is no night in
Iceland at this time of year.

Although the distance was materially increased by returning to Reikjavik
by way of Grundivik and Keblevik, I chose this route in order to pass
through the wildest of the inhabited tracts in Iceland.

The first stage, from Krisuvik to Grundivik, a distance of twelve to
fourteen miles, lay through fields of lava, consisting mostly of small
blocks of stone and fragments, filling the valley so completely that not
a single green spot remained.  I here met with masses of lava which
presented an appearance of singular beauty.  They were black mounds, ten
or twelve feet in height, piled upon each other in the most varied forms,
their bases covered with a broad band of whitish-coloured moss, while the
tops were broken into peaks and cones of the most fantastic shapes.
These lava-streams seem to date from a recent period, as the masses are
somewhat scaly and glazed.

Grundivik, a little village of a few wretched cottages, lies like an
oasis in this desert of lava.

My guide wished to remain here, asserting that there was no place between
this and Keblevik where I could pass the night, and that it would be
impossible for our horses, exhausted as they were with yesterday's march,
to carry us to Keblevik that night.  The true reason of this suggestion
was that he wished to prolong the journey for another day.

Luckily I had a good map with me, and by dint of consulting it could
calculate distances with tolerable accuracy; it was also my custom before
starting on a journey to make particular inquiries as to how I should
arrange the daily stages.

So I insisted upon proceeding at once; and soon we were wending our way
through fields of lava towards Stad, a small village six or seven miles
distant from Grundivik.

On the way I noticed a mountain of most singular appearance.  In colour
it closely resembled iron; its sides were perfectly smooth and shining,
and streaks of the colour of yellow ochre traversed it here and there.

Stad is the residence of a priest.  Contrary to the assertions of my
guide, I found this place far more cheerful and habitable than Grundivik.
Whilst our horses were resting, the priest paid me a visit, and conducted
me, not, as I anticipated, into his house, but into the church.  Chairs
and stools were quickly brought there, and my host introduced his wife
and children to me, after which we partook of coffee, bread and cheese,
&c.  On the rail surrounding the altar hung the clothes of the priest and
his family, differing little in texture and make from those of the
peasants.

The priest appeared to be a very intelligent, well-read man.  I could
speak the Danish language pretty fluently, and was therefore able to
converse with him on various subjects.  On hearing that I had already
been in Palestine, he put a number of questions to me, from which I could
plainly see that he was alike well acquainted with geography, history,
natural science, &c.  He accompanied me several miles on my road, and we
chatted away the time very pleasantly.

The distance between Krisuvik and Keblevik is about forty-two miles.  The
road lies through a most dreary landscape, among vast desert plains,
frequently twenty-five to thirty miles in circumference, entirely
divested of all traces of vegetation, and covered throughout their
extreme area by masses of lava--gloomy monuments of volcanic agency.  And
yet here, at the very heart of the subterranean fire, I saw only a single
mountain, the summit of which had fallen in, and presented the appearance
of a crater.  The rest were all completely closed, terminating sometimes
in a beautiful round top, and sometimes in sharp peaks; in other
instances they formed long narrow chains.

Who can tell whence these all-destroying masses of lava have poured
forth, or how many hundred years they have lain in these petrified
valleys?

Keblevik lies on the sea-coast; but the harbour is insecure, so that
ships remain here at anchor only so long as is absolutely necessary;
there are frequently only two or three ships in the harbour.

A few wooden houses, two of which belong to Herr Knudson, and some
peasants' cottages, are the only buildings in this little village.  I was
hospitably received, and rested from the toils of the day at the house of
Herr Siverson, Herr Knudson's manager.

On the following day (June 6th) I had a long ride to Reikjavik,
thirty-six good miles, mostly through fields of lava.

The whole tract of country from Grundivik almost to Havenfiord is called
"The lava-fields of Reikianes."

Tired and almost benumbed with cold, I arrived in the evening at
Reikjavik, with no other wish than to retire to rest as fast as possible.

In these three days I had ridden 114 miles, besides enduring much from
cold, storms, and rain.  To my great surprise, the roads had generally
been good; there were, however, many places highly dangerous and
difficult.

But what mattered these fatigues, forgotten, as they were, after a single
night's rest? what were they in comparison to the unutterably beautiful
and marvellous phenomena of the north, which will remain ever present to
my imagination so long as memory shall be spared me?

The distances of this excursion were: From Reikjavik to Krisuvik, 37
miles; from Krisuvik to Keblevik, 39 miles; from Keblevik to Reikjavik,
38 miles: total, 114 miles.




CHAPTER V


As the weather continued fine, I wished to lose no time in continuing my
wanderings.  I had next to make a tour of some 560 miles; it was
therefore necessary that I should take an extra horse, partly that it
might carry my few packages, consisting of a pillow, some rye-bread,
cheese, coffee, and sugar, but chiefly that I might be enabled to change
horses every day, as one horse would not have been equal to the fatigue
of so long a journey.

My former guide could not accompany me on my present journey, as he was
unacquainted with most of the roads.  My kind protectors, Herr Knudson
and Herr Bernhoft, were obliging enough to provide another guide for me;
a difficult task, as it is a rare occurrence to find an Icelander who
understands the Danish language, and who happens to be sober when his
services are required.  At length a peasant was found who suited our
purpose; but he considered two florins per diem too little pay, so I was
obliged to give an additional zwanziger.  On the other hand, it was
arranged that the guide should also take two horses, in order that he
might change every day.

The 16th of June was fixed for the commencement of our journey.  From the
very first day my guide did not shew himself in an amiable point of view.
On the morning of our departure his saddle had to be patched together,
and instead of coming with two horses, he appeared with only one.  He
certainly promised to buy a second when we should have proceeded some
miles, adding that it would be cheaper to buy one at a little distance
from the "capital."  I at once suspected this was merely an excuse of the
guide's, and that he wished thereby to avoid having the care of four
horses.  The event proved I was right; not a single horse could be found
that suited, and so my poor little animal had to carry the guide's
baggage in addition to my own.

Loading the pack-horses is a business of some difficulty, and is
conducted in the following manner: sundry large pieces of dried turf are
laid upon the horse's back, but not fastened; over these is buckled a
round piece of wood, furnished with two or three pegs.  To these pegs the
chests and packages are suspended.  If the weight is not quite equally
balanced, it is necessary to stop and repack frequently, for the whole
load at once gets askew.

The trunks used in this country are massively constructed of wood,
covered with a rough hide, and strengthened on all sides with nails, as
though they were intended to last an eternity.  The poor horses have a
considerable weight to bear in empty boxes alone, so that very little
real luggage can be taken.  The weight which a horse has to carry during
a long journey should never exceed 150lbs.

It is impossible to remember how many times our baggage had to be
repacked during a day's journey.  The great pieces of turf would never
stay in their places, and every moment something was wrong.  Nothing less
than a miracle, however, can prevail on an Icelander to depart from his
regular routine.  His ancestors packed in such and such a manner, and so
he must pack also. {35}

We had a journey of above forty miles before us the first day, and yet,
on account of the damaged saddle, we could not start before eight o'clock
in the morning.

The first twelve or fourteen miles of our journey lay through the great
valley in which Reikjavik is situated; the valley contains many low
hills, some of which we had to climb.  Several rivers, chief among which
was the Laxselv, opposed our progress, but at this season of the year
they could be crossed on horseback without danger.  Nearly all the
valleys through which we passed to-day were covered with lava, but
nevertheless offered many beautiful spots.

Many of the hills we passed seemed to me to be extinct volcanoes; the
whole upper portion was covered with colossal slabs of lava, as though
the crater had been choked up with them.  Lava of the same description
and colour, but in smaller pieces, lay strewed around.

For the first twelve or fourteen miles the sea is visible from the brow
of every successive hill.  The country is also pretty generally
inhabited; but afterwards a distance of nearly thirty miles is passed, on
which there is not a human habitation.  The traveller journeys from one
valley into another, and in the midst of these hill-girt deserts sees a
single small hut, erected for the convenience of those who, in the
winter, cannot accomplish the long distance in one day, and must take up
their quarters for the night in the valley.  No one must, however, rashly
hope to find here a human being in the shape of a host.  The little house
is quite uninhabited, and consists only of a single apartment with four
naked walls.  The visitor must depend on the accommodation he carries
with him.

The plains through which we travelled to-day were covered throughout with
one and the same kind of lava.  It occurs in masses, and also in smaller
stones, is not very porous, of a light grey colour, and mixed, in many
instances, with sand or earth.

Some miles from Thingvalla we entered a valley, the soil of which is
fine, but nevertheless only sparingly covered with grass, and full of
little acclivities, mostly clothed with delicate moss.  I have no doubt
that the indolence of the inhabitants alone prevents them from materially
improving many a piece of ground.  The worst soil is that in the
neighbourhood of Reikjavik; yet there we see many a garden, and many a
piece of meadow-land, wrung, as it were, from the barren earth by labour
and pains.  Why should not the same thing be done here--the more so as
nature has already accomplished the preliminary work?

Thingvalla, our resting-place for to-night, is situate on a lake of the
same name, and only becomes visible when the traveller is close upon it.
The lake is rather considerable, being almost three miles in length, and
at some parts certainly more than two miles in breadth; it contains two
small islands,--Sandey and Nesey.

My whole attention was still riveted by the lake and its naked and gloomy
circle of mountains, when suddenly, as if by magic, I found myself
standing on the brink of a chasm, into which I could scarcely look
without a shudder; involuntarily I thought of Weber's _Freyschutz_ and
the "Wolf's Hollow." {36}

The scene is the more startling from the circumstance that the traveller
approaching Thingvalla in a certain direction sees only the plains beyond
this chasm, and has no idea of its existence.  It was a fissure some five
or six fathoms broad, but several hundred feet in depth; and we were
forced to descend by a small, steep, dangerous path, across large
fragments of lava.  Colossal blocks of stone, threatening the unhappy
wanderer with death and destruction, hang loosely, in the form of
pyramids and of broken columns, from the lofty walls of lava, which
encircle the whole long ravine in the form of a gallery.  Speechless, and
in anxious suspense, we descend a part of this chasm, hardly daring to
look up, much less to give utterance to a single sound, lest the
vibration should bring down one of these avalanches of stone, to the
terrific force of which the rocky fragments scattered around bear ample
testimony.  The distinctness with which echo repeats the softest sound
and the lightest footfall is truly wonderful.

The appearance presented by the horses, which are allowed to come down
the ravine after their masters have descended, is most peculiar.  One
could fancy they were clinging to the walls of rock.

This ravine is known by the name of Almanagiau.  Its entire length is
about a mile, but a small portion only can be traversed; the rest is
blocked up by masses of lava heaped one upon the other.  On the right
hand, the rocky wall opens, and forms an outlet, over formidable masses
of lava, into the beautiful valley of Thingvalla.  I could have fancied I
wandered through the depths of a crater, which had piled around itself
these stupendous barriers during a mighty eruption in times long gone by.

The valley of Thingvalla is considered one of the most beautiful in
Iceland.  It contains many meadows, forming, as it were, a place of
refuge for the inhabitants, and enabling them to keep many head of
cattle.  The Icelanders consider this little green valley the finest spot
in the world.  Not far from the opening of the ravine, on the farther
bank of the river Oxer, lies the little village of Thingvalla, consisting
of three or four cottages and a small chapel.  A few scattered farms and
cottages are situated in the neighbourhood.

Thingvalla was once one of the most important places in Iceland; the
stranger is still shewn the meadow, not far from the village, on which
the Allthing (general assembly) was held annually in the open air.  Here
the people and their leaders met, pitching their tents after the manner
of nomads.  Here it was also that many an opinion and many a decree were
enforced by the weight of steel.

The chiefs appeared, ostensibly for peace, at the head of their tribe;
yet many of them returned not again, but beneath the sword-stroke of
their enemies obtained that peace which no man seeketh, but which all men
find.

On one side the valley is skirted by the lake, on the other it is bounded
by lofty mountains, some of them still partly covered with snow.  Not far
from the entrance of the ravine, the river Oxer rushes over a wall of
rock of considerable height, forming a beautiful waterfall.

It was still fine clear daylight when I reached Thingvalla, and the sky
rose pure and cloudless over the far distance.  It seemed therefore the
more singular to me to see a few clouds skimming over the surface of the
mountains, now shrouding a part of them in vapour, now wreathing
themselves round their summits, now vanishing entirely, to reappear again
at a different point.

This is a phenomenon frequently observed in Iceland during the finest
days, and one I had often noticed in the neighbourhood of Reikjavik.
Under a clear and cloudless sky, a light mist would appear on the brow of
a mountain,--in a moment it would increase to a large cloud, and after
remaining stationary for a time, it frequently vanished suddenly, or
soared slowly away.  However often it may be repeated, this appearance
cannot fail to interest the observer.

Herr Beck, the clergyman at Thingvalla, offered me the shelter of his hut
for the night; as the building, however, did not look much more promising
than the peasants' cottages by which it was surrounded, I preferred
quartering myself in the church, permission to do so being but too easily
obtained on all occasions.  This chapel is not much larger than that at
Krisuvik, and stands at some distance from the few surrounding cottages.
This was perhaps the reason why I was not incommoded by visitors.  I had
already conquered any superstitious fears derived from the proximity of
my silent neighbours in the churchyard, and passed the night quietly on
one of the wooden chests of which I found several scattered about.  Habit
is certainly every thing; after a few nights of gloomy solitude one
thinks no more about the matter.

                                                                June 17th.

Our journey of to-day was more formidable than that of yesterday.  I was
assured that Reikholt (also called Reikiadal) was almost fifty miles
distant.  Distances cannot always be accurately measured by the map;
impassable barriers, only to be avoided by circuitous routes, often
oppose the traveller's progress.  This was the case with us to-day.  To
judge from the map, the distance from Thingvalla to Reikholt seemed less
by a great deal than that from Reikjavik to Thingvalla, and yet we were
full fourteen hours accomplishing it--two hours longer than on our
yesterday's journey.

So long as our way lay through the valley of Thingvalla there was no lack
of variety.  At one time there was an arm of the river Oxer to cross, at
another we traversed a cheerful meadow; sometimes we even passed through
little shrubberies,--that is to say, according to the Icelandic
acceptation of the term.  In my country these lovely shrubberies would
have been cleared away as useless underwood.  The trees trail along the
ground, seldom attaining a height of more than two feet.  When one of
these puny stems reaches four feet in height, it is considered a gigantic
tree.  The greater portion of these miniature forests grow on the lava
with which the valley is covered.

The formation of the lava here assumes a new character.  Up to this point
it has mostly appeared either in large masses or in streams lying in
strata one above the other; but here the lava covered the greater portion
of the ground in the form of immense flat slabs or blocks of rock, often
split in a vertical direction.  I saw long fissures of eight or ten feet
in breadth, and from ten to fifteen feet in depth.  In these clefts the
flowers blossom earlier, and the fern grows taller and more luxuriantly,
than in the boisterous upper world.

After the valley of Thingvalla has been passed the journey becomes very
monotonous.  The district beyond is wholly uninhabited, and we travelled
many miles without seeing a single cottage.  From one desert valley we
passed into another; all were alike covered with light-grey or yellowish
lava, and at intervals also with fine sand, in which the horses sunk
deeply at every step.  The mountains surrounding these valleys were none
of the highest, and it was seldom that a jokul or glacier shone forth
from among them.  The mountains had a certain polished appearance, their
sides being perfectly smooth and shining.  In some instances, however,
masses of lava formed beautiful groups, bearing a great resemblance to
ruins of ancient buildings, and standing out in peculiarly fine relief
from the smooth walls.

These mountains are of different colours; they are black or brown, grey
or yellow, &c.; and the different shades of these colours are displayed
with marvellous effect in the brilliant sunshine.

Nine hours of uninterrupted riding brought us into a large tract of
moorland, very scantily covered with moss.  Yet this was the first and
only grazing-place to be met with in all the long distance from
Thingvalla.  We therefore made a halt of two hours, to let our poor
horses pick a scanty meal.  Large swarms of minute gnats, which seemed to
fly into our eyes, nose, and mouth, annoyed us dreadfully during our stay
in this place.

On this moor there was also a small lake; and here I saw for the first
time a small flock of swans.  Unfortunately these creatures are so very
timid, that the most cautious approach of a human being causes them to
rise with the speed of lightning into the air.  I was therefore obliged
perforce to be content with a distant view of these proud birds.  They
always keep in pairs, and the largest flock I saw did not consist of more
than four such pairs.

Since my first arrival in Iceland I had considered the inhabitants an
indolent race of people; to-day I was strengthened in my opinion by the
following slight circumstance.  The moorland on which we halted to rest
was separated from the adjoining fields of lava by a narrow ditch filled
with water.  Across this ditch a few stones and slabs had been laid, to
form a kind of bridge.  Now this bridge was so full of holes that the
horses could not tell where to plant their feet, and refused obstinately
to cross it, so that in the end we were obliged to dismount and lead them
across.  We had scarcely passed this place, and sat down to rest, when a
caravan of fifteen horses, laden with planks, dried fish, &c. arrived at
the bridge.  Of course the poor creatures observed the dangerous ground,
and could only be driven by hard blows to advance.  Hardly twenty paces
off there were stones in abundance; but rather than devote a few minutes
to filling up the holes, these lazy people beat their horses cruelly, and
exposed them to the risk of breaking their legs.  I pitied the poor
animals, which would be compelled to recross the bridge, so heartily,
that, after they are gone, I devoted a part of my resting-time to
collecting stones and filling up the holes,--a business which scarcely
occupied me a quarter of an hour.

It is interesting to notice how the horses know by instinct the dangerous
spots in the stony wastes, and in the moors and swamps.  On approaching
these places they bend their heads towards the earth, and look sharply
round on all sides.  If they cannot discover a firm resting-place for the
feet, they stop at once, and cannot be urged forward without many blows.

After a halt of two hours we continued our journey, which again led us
across fields of lava.  At past nine o'clock in the evening we reached an
elevated plain, after traversing which for half an hour we saw stretched
at our feet the valley of Reikholt or Reikiadal; it is fourteen to
seventeen miles long, of a good breadth, and girt round by a row of
mountains, among which several jokuls sparkle in their icy garments.

A sunset seen in the sublime wildness of Icelandic scenery has a
peculiarly beautiful effect.  Over these vast plains, divested of trees
or shrubs, covered with dark lava, and shut in by mountains almost of a
sable hue, the parting sun sheds an almost magical radiance.  The peaks
of the mountains shine in the bright parting rays, the jokuls are
shrouded in the most delicate roseate hue, while the lower parts of the
mountains lie in deep shadow, and frown darkly on the valleys, which
resemble a sheet of dark blue water, with an atmosphere of a bluish-red
colour floating above it.  The most impressive feature of all is the
profound silence and solitude; not a sound can be heard, not a living
creature is to be seen; every thing appears dead.  Throughout the broad
valleys not a town nor a village, no, not even a solitary house or a tree
or shrub, varies the prospect.  The eye wanders over the vast desert, and
finds not one familiar object on which it can rest.

To-night, as at past eleven o'clock we reached the elevated plain, I saw
a sunset which I shall never forget.  The sun disappeared behind the
mountains, and in its stead a gorgeous ruddy gleam lighted up hill and
valley and glacier.  It was long ere I could turn away my eyes from the
glittering heights, and yet the valley also offered much that was
striking and beautiful.

Throughout almost its entire length this valley formed a meadow, from the
extremities of which columns of smoke and boiling springs burst forth.
The mists had almost evaporated, and the atmosphere was bright and clear,
more transparent even than I had seen it in any other country.  I now for
the first time noticed, that in the valley itself the radiance was almost
as clear as the light of day, so that the most minute objects could be
plainly distinguished.  This was, however, extremely necessary, for steep
and dangerous paths lead over masses of lava into the valley.  On one
side ran a little river, forming many picturesque waterfalls, some of
them above thirty feet in height.

I strained my eyes in vain to discover any where, in this great valley, a
little church, which, if it only offered me a hard bench for a couch,
would at any rate afford me a shelter from the sharp night-wind; for it
is really no joke to ride for fifteen hours, with nothing to eat but
bread and cheese, and then not even to have the pleasant prospect of a
hotel _a la villa de Londres_ or _de Paris_.  Alas, my wishes were far
more modest.  I expected no porter at the gate to give the signal of my
arrival, no waiter, and no chambermaid; I only desired a little spot in
the neighbourhood of the dear departed Icelanders.  I was suddenly
recalled from these happy delusions by the voice of the guide, who cried
out: "Here we are at our destination for to-night."  I looked joyfully
round; alas! I could only see a few of those cottages which are never
observed until you almost hit your nose against one of them, as the
grass-covered walls can hardly be distinguished from the surrounding
meadow.

It was already midnight.  We stopped, and turned our horses loose, to
seek supper and rest in the nearest meadow.  Our lot was a less fortunate
one.  The inhabitants were already buried in deep slumbers, from which
even the barking set up by the dogs at our approach failed to arouse
them.  A cup of coffee would certainly have been very acceptable to me;
yet I was loath to rouse any one merely for this.  A piece of bread
satisfied my hunger, and a draught of water from the nearest spring
tasted most deliciously with it.  After concluding my frugal meal, I
sought out a corner beside a cottage, where I was partially sheltered
from the too-familiar wind; and wrapping my cloak around me, lay down on
the ground, having wished myself, with all my heart, a good night's rest
and pleasant dreams, in the broad daylight, {37} under the canopy of
heaven.  Just dropping off to sleep, I was surprised by a mild rain,
which, of course, at once put to flight every idea of repose.  Thus,
after all, I was obliged to wake some one up, to obtain the shelter of a
roof.

The best room, _i.e._ the store-room, was thrown open for my
accommodation, and a small wooden bedstead placed at my disposal.
Chambers of this kind are luckily found wherever two or three cottages
lie contiguous to each other; they are certainly far from inviting, as
dried fish, train-oil, tallow, and many other articles of the same
description combine to produce a most unsavoury atmosphere.  Yet they are
infinitely preferable to the dwellings of the peasants, which, by the by,
are the most filthy dens that can be imagined.  Besides being redolent of
every description of bad odour, these cottages are infested with vermin
to a degree which can certainly not be surpassed, except in the dwellings
of the Greenlanders and Laplanders.

                                                                June 18th.

Yesterday we had been forced to put upon our poor horses a wearisome
distance of more than fifty miles, as the last forty miles led us through
desert and uninhabited places, boasting not even a single cottage.
To-day, however, our steeds had a light duty to perform, for we only
proceeded seven miles to the little village of Reikiadal, where I halted
to-day, in order to visit the celebrated springs.

The inconsiderable village called Reikiadal, consisting only of a church
and a few cottages, is situated amidst pleasant meadows.  Altogether this
valley is rich in beautiful meadow-lands; consequently one sees many
scattered homesteads and cottages, with fine herds of sheep, and a
tolerable number of horses; cows are less plentiful.

The church at Reikiadal is among the neatest and most roomy of those
which came under my observation.  The dwelling of the priest too, though
only a turf-covered cottage, is large enough for the comfort of the
occupants.  This parish extends over a considerable area, and is not
thinly inhabited.

My first care on my arrival was to beg the clergyman, Herr Jonas Jonason,
to procure for me, as expeditiously as possible, fresh horses and a
guide, in order that I might visit the springs.  He promised to provide
me with both within half an hour; and yet it was not until three hours
had been wasted, that, with infinite pains, I saw my wish fulfilled.
Throughout my stay in Iceland, nothing annoyed me more than the slowness
and unconcern displayed by the inhabitants in all their undertakings.
Every wish and every request occupies a long time in its fulfilment.  Had
I not been continually at the good pastor's side, I believe I should
scarcely have attained my object.  At length every thing was ready, and
the pastor himself was kind enough to be my guide.

We rode about four miles through this beautiful vale, and in this short
distance were compelled at least six times to cross the river Sidumule,
which rolls its most tortuous course through the entire valley.  At
length the first spring was reached; it emerges from a rock about six
feet in height, standing in the midst of a moor.  The upper cavity of the
natural reservoir, in which the water continually boils and seethes, is
between two and three feet in diameter.  This spring never stops; the jet
of water rises two, and sometimes even four feet high, and is about
eighteen inches thick.  It is possible to increase the volume of the jet
for a few seconds, by throwing large stones or lumps of earth into the
opening, and thus stirring up the spring.  The stones are cast forcibly
forth, and the lumps of earth, dissolved by the action of the water,
impart to the latter a dingy colour.

Whoever has seen the jet of water at Carlsbad, in Bohemia, can well
imagine the appearance of this spring, which closely resembles that of
Carlsbad. {38}

In the immediate neighbourhood of the spring is an abyss, in which water
is continually seething, but never rises into the air.  At a little
distance, on a high rock, rising out of the river Sidumule, not far from
the shore, are other springs.  They are three in number, each at a short
distance from the next, and occupy nearly the entire upper surface of the
rock.  Lower down we find a reservoir of boiling water; and at the foot
of the rock, and on the nearest shore, are many more hot springs; but
most of these are inconsiderable.  Many of these hot springs emerge
almost from the cold river itself.

The chief group, however, lies still farther off, on a rock which may be
about twenty feet in height, and fifty in length.  It is called Tunga
Huer, and rises from the midst of a moor.  On this rock there are no less
than sixteen springs, some emerging from its base, others rather above
the middle, but none from the top of the rock.

The construction of the basins and the height and diameter of the jets
were precisely similar to those I have already described.  All these
sixteen springs are so near each other that they do not even occupy two
sides of the rock.  It is impossible to form an idea of the magnificence
of this singular spectacle, which becomes really fairy-like, if the
beholder have the courage to climb the rock itself, a proceeding of some
danger, though of little difficulty.  The upper stratum of the rock is
soft and warm, presenting almost the appearance of mud thickened with
sand and small stones.  Every footstep leaves a trace behind it, and the
visitor has continually before his eyes the fear of breaking through, and
falling into a hot spring hidden from view by a thin covering.  The good
pastor walked in advance of me, with a stick, and probed the dangerous
surface as much as possible.  I was loath to stay behind, and suddenly we
found ourselves at the summit of the rock.  Here we could take in, at one
view, the sixteen springs gushing from both its sides.  If the view from
below had been most interesting and singular, how shall I describe its
appearance as seen from above?  Sixteen jets of water seen at one glance,
sixteen reservoirs, in all their diversity of form and construction,
opening at once beneath the feet of the beholder, seemed almost too
wonderful a sight.  Forgetting all pusillanimous feelings, I stood and
honoured the Creator in these his marvellous works.  For a long time I
stood, and could not tire of gazing into the abysses from whose darkness
the masses of white and foaming water sprung hissing into the air, to
fall again, and hasten in quiet union towards the neighbouring river.
The good pastor found it necessary to remind me several times that our
position here was neither of the safest nor of the most comfortable, and
that it was therefore high time to abandon it.  I had ceased to 

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