A Journey to the Centre of the Earth
The bedding was composed of dry hay thrown into two long red wooden
boxes, ornamented with sentences painted in Icelandic. I really had no
idea that we should be made so comfortable. There was one objection to
the house, and that was, the very powerful odor of dried fish, of
macerated meat, and of sour milk, which three fragrances combined did
not at all suit my olfactory nerves.
As soon as we had freed ourselves from our heavy traveling costume, the
voice of our host was heard calling to us to come into the kitchen, the
only room in which the Icelanders ever make any fire, no matter how cold
it may be.
My uncle, nothing loath, hastened to obey this hospitable and friendly
invitation. I followed.
The kitchen chimney was made on an antique model. A large stone standing
in the middle of the room was the fireplace; above, in the roof, was a
hole for the smoke to pass through. This apartment was kitchen, parlor
and dining room all in one.
On our entrance, our worthy host, as if he had not seen us before,
advanced ceremoniously, uttered a word which means "be happy," and then
kissed both of us on the cheek.
His wife followed, pronounced the same word, with the same ceremonial,
then the husband and wife, placing their right hands upon their hearts,
bowed profoundly.
This excellent Icelandic woman was the mother of nineteen children, who,
little and big, rolled, crawled, and walked about in the midst of
volumes of smoke arising from the angular fireplace in the middle of the
room. Every now and then I could see a fresh white head, and a slightly
melancholy expression of countenance, peering at me through the vapor.
Both my uncle and myself, however, were very friendly with the whole
party, and before we were aware of it, there were three or four of these
little ones on our shoulders, as many on our boxes, and the rest hanging
about our legs. Those who could speak kept crying out saellvertu in
every possible and impossible key. Those who did not speak only made all
the more noise.
This concert was interrupted by the announcement of supper. At this
moment our worthy guide, the eider-duck hunter, came in after seeing to
the feeding and stabling of the horses--which consisted in letting them
loose to browse on the stunted green of the Icelandic prairies. There
was little for them to eat, but moss and some very dry and innutritious
grass; next day they were ready before the door, some time before we
were.
"Welcome," said Hans.
Then tranquilly, with the air of an automaton, without any more
expression in one kiss than another, he embraced the host and hostess
and their nineteen children.
This ceremony concluded to the satisfaction of all parties, we all sat
down to table, that is twenty-four of us, somewhat crowded. Those who
were best off had only two juveniles on their knees.
As soon, however, as the inevitable soup was placed on the table, the
natural taciturnity, common even to Icelandic babies, prevailed over all
else. Our host filled our plates with a portion of lichen soup of
Iceland moss, of by no means disagreeable flavor, an enormous lump of
fish floating in sour butter. After that there came some skyr, a kind of
curds and whey, served with biscuits and juniper-berry juice. To drink,
we had blanda, skimmed milk with water. I was hungry, so hungry, that by
way of dessert I finished up with a basin of thick oaten porridge.
As soon as the meal was over, the children disappeared, whilst the grown
people sat around the fireplace, on which was placed turf, heather, cow
dung and dried fish-bones. As soon as everybody was sufficiently warm, a
general dispersion took place, all retiring to their respective couches.
Our hostess offered to pull off our stockings and trousers, according to
the custom of the country, but as we graciously declined to be so
honored, she left us to our bed of dry fodder.
Next day, at five in the morning, we took our leave of these hospitable
peasants. My uncle had great difficulty in making them accept a
sufficient and proper remuneration.
Hans then gave the signal to start.
We had scarcely got a hundred yards from Gardar, when the character of
the country changed. The soil began to be marshy and boggy, and less
favorable to progress. To the right, the range of mountains was
prolonged indefinitely like a great system of natural fortifications, of
which we skirted the glacis. We met with numerous streams and rivulets
which it was necessary to ford, and that without wetting our baggage. As
we advanced, the deserted appearance increased, and yet now and then we
could see human shadows flitting in the distance. When a sudden turn of
the track brought us within easy reach of one of these specters, I felt
a sudden impulse of disgust at the sight of a swollen head, with shining
skin, utterly without hair, and whose repulsive and revolting wounds
could be seen through his rags. The unhappy wretches never came forward
to beg; on the contrary, they ran away; not so quick, however, but that
Hans was able to salute them with the universal saellvertu.
"Spetelsk," said he.
"A leper," explained my uncle.
The very sound of such a word caused a feeling of repulsion. The
horrible affliction known as leprosy, which has almost vanished before
the effects of modern science, is common in Iceland. It is not
contagious but hereditary, so that marriage is strictly prohibited to
these unfortunate creatures.
These poor lepers did not tend to enliven our journey, the scene of
which was inexpressibly sad and lonely. The very last tufts of grassy
vegetation appeared to die at our feet. Not a tree was to be seen,
except a few stunted willows about as big as blackberry bushes. Now and
then we watched a falcon soaring in the grey and misty air, taking his
flight towards warmer and sunnier regions. I could not help feeling a
sense of melancholy come over me. I sighed for my own Native Land, and
wished to be back with Gretchen.
We were compelled to cross several little fjords, and at last came to a
real gulf. The tide was at its height, and we were able to go over at
once, and reach the hamlet of Alftanes, about a mile farther.
That evening, after fording the Alfa and the Heta, two rivers rich in
trout and pike, we were compelled to pass the night in a deserted house,
worthy of being haunted by all the fays of Scandinavian mythology. The
King of Cold had taken up his residence there, and made us feel his
presence all night.
The following day was remarkable by its lack of any particular
incidents. Always the same damp and swampy soil; the same dreary
uniformity; the same sad and monotonous aspect of scenery. In the
evening, having accomplished the half of our projected journey, we slept
at the Annexia of Krosolbt.
For a whole mile we had under our feet nothing but lava. This
disposition of the soil is called <i>hraun</i>: the crumbled lava on the
surface was in some instances like ship cables stretched out
horizontally, in others coiled up in heaps; an immense field of lava
came from the neighboring mountains, all extinct volcanoes, but whose
remains showed what once they had been. Here and there could be made out
the steam from hot water springs.
There was no time, however, for us to take more than a cursory view of
these phenomena. We had to go forward with what speed we might. Soon the
soft and swampy soil again appeared under the feet of our horses, while
at every hundred yards we came upon one or more small lakes. Our journey
was now in a westerly direction; we had, in fact, swept round the great
bay of Faxa, and the twin white summits of Sneffels rose to the clouds
at a distance of less than five miles.
The horses now advanced rapidly. The accidents and difficulties of the
soil no longer checked them. I confess that fatigue began to tell
severely upon me; but my uncle was as firm and as hard as he had been on
the first day. I could not help admiring both the excellent Professor
and the worthy guide; for they appeared to regard this rugged expedition
as a mere walk!
On Saturday, the 20th June, at six o'clock in the evening, we reached
Budir, a small town picturesquely situated on the shore of the ocean;
and here the guide asked for his money. My uncle settled with him
immediately. It was now the family of Hans himself, that is to say, his
uncles, his cousins--german, who offered us hospitality. We were
exceedingly well received, and without taking too much advantage of the
goodness of these worthy people, I should have liked very much to have
rested with them after the fatigues of the journey. But my uncle, who
did not require rest, had no idea of anything of the kind; and despite
the fact that next day was Sunday, I was compelled once more to mount my
steed.
The soil was again affected by the neighborhood of the mountains, whose
granite peered out of the ground like tops of an old oak. We were
skirting the enormous base of the mighty volcano. My uncle never took
his eyes from off it; he could not keep from gesticulating, and looking
at it with a kind of sullen defiance as much as to say "That is the
giant I have made up my mind to conquer."
After four hours of steady traveling, the horses stopped of themselves
before the door of the presbytery of Stapi.
CHAPTER 11
WE REACH MOUNT SNEFFELS--THE "REYKIR"
Stapi is a town consisting of thirty huts, built on a large plain of
lava, exposed to the rays of the sun, reflected from the volcano. It
stretches its humble tenements along the end of a little fjord,
surrounded by a basaltic wall of the most singular character.
Basalt is a brown rock of igneous origin. It assumes regular forms,
which astonish by their singular appearance. Here we found Nature
proceeding geometrically, and working quite after a human fashion, as if
she had employed the plummet line, the compass and the rule. If
elsewhere she produces grand artistic effects by piling up huge masses
without order or connection--if elsewhere we see truncated cones,
imperfect pyramids, with an odd succession of lines; here, as if wishing
to give a lesson in regularity, and preceding the architects of the
early ages, she has erected a severe order of architecture, which
neither the splendors of Babylon nor the marvels of Greece ever
surpassed.
I had often heard of the Giant's Causeway in Ireland, and of Fingal's
Cave in one of the Hebrides, but the grand spectacle of a real basaltic
formation had never yet come before my eyes.
This at Stapi gave us an idea of one in all its wonderful beauty and
grace.
The wall of the fjord, like nearly the whole of the peninsula, consisted
of a series of vertical columns, in height about thirty feet. These
upright pillars of stone, of the finest proportions, supported an
archivault of horizontal columns which formed a kind of half-vaulted
roof above the sea. At certain intervals, and below this natural basin,
the eye was pleased and surprised by the sight of oval openings through
which the outward waves came thundering in volleys of foam. Some banks
of basalt, torn from their fastenings by the fury of the waves, lay
scattered on the ground like the ruins of an ancient temple--ruins
eternally young, over which the storms of ages swept without producing
any perceptible effect!
This was the last stage of our journey. Hans had brought us along with
fidelity and intelligence, and I began to feel somewhat more comfortable
when I reflected that he was to accompany us still farther on our way.
When we halted before the house of the Rector, a small and incommodious
cabin, neither handsome nor more comfortable than those of his
neighbors, I saw a man in the act of shoeing a horse, a hammer in his
hand, and a leathern apron tied round his waist.