CHAPTER IV.

SUNDAY AT REYKJAVIK--DRINKING IN ICELAND.

_Sunday, June 9._

The Iceland Sunday begins at six P.M. on Saturday, and ends at following six P.M.; this precession is the case with the days in general; thus Sunday night here is the Saturday night of Europe. Apparently Scandinavia is the only part of the Western World which preserves a chronometry directly imported from the East. We find it everywhere amongst Jews and Moslems; and Genesis (i. 5) tells us that Arab or Gharb (evening) and Bakar (morning) formed the first day or period before the sun came into being. The old Germans and Gauls computed, we know, by nights, and not by days; and the Teutons probably borrowed it from the Celts: it survives amongst ourselves in such terms as sen’night and fortnight. At Reykjavik we distinguish the “Sabbath” by the amount of flying bunting; every store has its flagstaff, and the merchants as well as the consuls claim a right, as in the Brazil and Zanzibar, to sport their colours, which are, however, always Danish. The “church-going bell” begins to ring, and the doors to open, about 11.15 A.M.: the people much prefer the lively measure of their own summons to the monotonous system of England, whilst the chimes of the Royal Exchange, a national disgrace, provoke their contempt. Service does not commence till near noon, the usual time in the island where many of the congregation have long and rough rides.

The Dómkirkja (cathedral) in the Austurvöllr has often been described externally and internally; the “Napoleon book” and others, however, make it all of stone instead of being partly brick. The older basaltic building may be seen in Mackenzie, and the last additions bear date A.D. 1847. Its outside is shabby as the People’s Palace at Sydenham; the unclean yellow plaster has fallen from the distempered walls, the result of mixing salt sea-sand with the mortar; and the same is the case with the College and the College Library. “Rispettate la Casa di Dio” should be writ large upon every corner of this nondescript. A clerestory, with double windows, partly stained, those on the ground floor being single; a low-tiled ridge for the chancel; a higher pent roof for the nave and aisles; and a tall wooden tower, revetted with boiler-plate, compose what the polite call Gothic, the uncivil “Bastard Nothing.” Utility is consulted by a weather-cock and a clock, serviceable to regulate time where no gun, even for saluting purposes, must be fired, lest H.H. the eider-duck take fright. The front, which is turned west, with a highly orthodox regard for orientation, shows the three windows of Roman Catholic architecture; and the Lich-gate,[376] never wanting in Iceland, is the normal house-hall: it is flanked to the right and left by flights of steps leading aloft. And the roof is now water-tight.

The inside is better kept than the outside. The ambulatorium and wings are all hard benches, with stiff, straight backs, but not divided into pews. The upper galleries along the long walls are supported by square and round wooden beams and pillars; the tint is characteristic salmon-colour. Over the entrance is the succedaneum for the Narthex-gallery, an organ loft, a cage like that used for women in the Melchite churches of Syria. On the left side of the nave hangs the board showing the lessons of the day; on the other and outside the chancel is a pulpit, with gilt gingerbread work. The holy of holies is very Lutheran, the usual blending of Catholicism with Protestantism, which marks the first step when consubstantiation took the place of transubstantiation. There is an altar--not a communion table--surmounted by a full-length figure of the Saviour, with a sleeping disciple and a Roman soldier as usual unusually alarmed; its frame supports a cross, and the _tout ensemble_ is an evident derivation from the Iconastasis or Rood-screen. Upon the altar, besides an open Bible and a chalice, with pall but without bourse, two brass candlesticks of ecclesiastical aspect bear lighted tapers, and eight medallions of the popular cherubim adorn the boarded wall. The railing is of brass perpendiculars, with wooden horizontals, and a cushioned step is knelt upon by communicants receiving the wafer. The gem of the building is the font of Bertel (Albert) Thorvaldsen, whose features, figure, and character prove him, though not born in Iceland, to have been essentially an Icelander.[377] The font has been described as a “low square obelisk of white marble:” it is the ancient classical altar, with basso-relievos on all four sides, subjects of course evangelical; on the top an alto-relievo of symbolical flowers, roses, and passifloræ, is cut to support the normal “Döbefad,” or baptismal basin. Some have blamed its un-Christian shape, without taking notice of its use; others have reported that the inscription has been erased; unhappily we still read such latinity as “TERRÆ SIBI GENTILICIÆ ... DONAVIT.” The sacristy contains some handsome priestly robes, especially the velvet vestment sent by Pope Julius II. to the last Catholic bishop and martyr(?), Jón Arason, in the early sixteenth century, and still worn by the chief Protestant dignitary at ordinations. All have been carefully described: they reminded me much of the splendid vestments displayed in the Armenian convent at Jerusalem during Holy Week, and of the specimens of old embroidery, of rich stuffs, rare and interesting, that are worn at certain parts of the Protestant service by the officiating clergyman of Transylvanian Kronstadt. “It is a strange contradiction,” says Bonar, “to the spirit of Lutheranism; and the rich, almost royal, robe ill accords with the studied plainness of the other parts of the dress, in which is not a trace of colour, of flowing lines or beauty. But the dissonance to the feelings is greater, for one could not but feel it as such, to see the magnificent chasuble which the priest had worn at the altar--so highly prized as only to be used on the most festive occasions--now employed for some everyday purpose unconnected with any holy mystery.” Six votive tablets of silver metal hang against the wall, in memoriam of departed dignitaries.

Presently enters the Rector, Hallgrímr Sweinsson, attended by Síra Guttormr, a candidate for ordination. He has walked to church in black robes, with the broad and stiffly-crimped white ruff, the Fraise à la Medicis, which is seen from Iceland to Trieste: the poorer clergy in the island, as in Norway and Denmark, do not use it on account of the expense. His close-cut hair and peaked beard give him the aspect of an old family portrait dating from the days of the Stuarts. Presently, assisted by a bustling clerk in a white surplice, he dons the purple vestment with a yellow cross down the back--it will be remembered that the cope and the vestment were long retained by the Reformed Church in England. Síra[378] Hallgrímr thus attired stands up and intones with rotund mouth and a good voice somewhat like a Russian papas: he has been seven years in Denmark, yet he speaks no French, and very little English. The congregation, which is certainly not crowded, first joins in a long, a very long, hymn; after this come the prayers of the Lutheran rite; and finally, a thirty-minutes sermon for the benefit of the nodders and the noddees. The service lasts at least two hours, therefore the people rarely sit through it: the men especially disappear for a few minutes, and return when they please with a faint aroma of tobacco, which no one remarks; whilst many strangers see it through by instalments. The governor, who was visiting, did not attend, nor did the bishop, who was unwell.

The first aspect of the congregation was a novelty, especially after reading sentimental descriptions of man, whose “œil est pensif; son attitude nonchalante et sa démarche engourdie,” and of woman, whose “traits respirent la douceur et la resignation.” The latter are naturally far more numerous than the former; firstly, the ceremony is in their line, and secondly, they preponderate in the population. They mostly affect the left aisle, whilst both sexes are mixed in the right. Few of the men sport broadcloth and chimney-pot hats; and these latter, when worn, are mostly of the category known as “shocking bad.” The usual habit is a Wadmal paletot, the creases showing “store-clothes,” and a billycock or wide-awake; the students carry caps, and the general look is that of the Bursch, without his swagger and jollity. The distinguishing article is the “Islandsk Skór,” Iceland shoon, of which I have deposited a specimen at the rooms of the Anthropological Institute. It is a square piece of leather--sheep, calf, seal, or horse--longer and broader than the foot; the toes and heels are sewn up, the tread is lined with a bit of coloured flannel, and the rim is provided with thongs like our old sandals. It corresponds with the Irish “brogue,” as shown in heraldry; the Shetland Rivlin, or Rullian; the Revlens or Revelins of the Scoto-Scandinavian islands; the Red Indian Mocassin; the Pyrenean Spartelle; the Zampette of Sicily; the Roman Cioccie; the Opanke of the Slavs; and the Mizz, which Egypt and the nearer East, however, are careful to guard with papooshes. It is one of the very worst _chaussures_ known; it has no hold upon snow; it is at once torn by stone; being soleless, it gives a heavy, lumping, tramping, waddling gait; it readily admits water; and being worn over a number of stockings, it makes the feet and ancles look Patagonian, even compared with the heavy figure. There are a few specimens of “Lancashire clogs” from Denmark and the Færoes; chumpers or sabots are unknown; and the civilised bottine is not wanting.

The women at first sight appear tall compared with the men, but not so notably as in the case of the little Welshman and his large wife. They are, as they should be, better looking than their mates, whilst the chubby and rosy children are better looking than their mothers. The expression of countenance is hard and uncompromising. We involuntarily think of “those chilly women of the north who live only by the head;” and they gorgonise us into stony statues. Regularity of features is hardly to be expected so near the Pole. Even amongst the

German races we look for complexion and piquancy to take the place of that classical beauty which is exceptional beyond the lovely Mediterranean shores. The congregation showed many a pretty girl, but not a single face that would be remarked farther south. The hair is admirable, and requires no chignon--the invention which conceals the Englishwoman’s chief defect, her _capigliatura_. It is either _blond-cendré_, dark red, or light chestnut-brown, as in older Denmark; farther south, but not here, brown-black is by no means a rarity. Plaited in two large queues, which hang down the back at home, it is gathered up when abroad under

the Hufa or cap. This article is a caricature of the Fez, as the Skór are of the Mizz, and it has every defect except that of ugliness. The material is elastic black web woven by the women. The old style is to wear it large, like the night-cap of former days: the juniors prefer a mere apology for head-covering, much smaller than the thing now called a hat in England. It is provided with a Tuskana, a long tassel of black spun silk brought from Copenhagen; and the latter is ornamented at the base by a short cylinder (Hólkr) of silver, gilt-silver, or brass made in the country. This tassel serves for not a little by-play; usually it depends upon the right or left shoulder indifferently, but when bending, for instance, it may be held under the chin for coquettish contrast of colours. The whole affair, which costs some six rixdollars, is kept in position by hair-pins, and, as it gives no protection against cold, it is covered out of doors with a shawl, mostly grey, striped white or chocolate; in fact, women rarely leave the house, even in what we consider warm weather, without being muffled to the ears; and the men are not less effeminate. There is only one specimen of the old Falldr or Skott Falldr (galeated cap), which seems to be growing obsolete; the day is windy, and this curved and

“High-peaked head-dress of snowy white,”

which corresponds with the “Roide Cornette” of ancient Holland, and of which modifications may still be seen in Normandy, could hardly be worn. I shall reserve a description of the crested and helmet-like affair which strangers compare with a flattened cornucopia, with a cap of liberty, or with a dragoon casque, ultra Amazonian: here let me merely premise that it is a larger edition of the Lapp head-dress; that, within the memory of man, it was worn in the Orkneys; and that the whole costume somewhat resembles that of the Oberland Bernois. The few hats and bonnets accompany more modern attire, and even the crinoline and the Dolly Varden are not wholly unknown. In Iceland dress denotes the station; in Europe it is only the most advanced society that escapes from this outward show. The sensible Yankee travels in his “Sunday best,” because it procures him respect and attention where he is unknown; we reverse the rule, and notably so on “the Continent”--which is uncivil and breeds incivility. Most of the elderly women are in black Wadmal; the juniors prefer fine, dark bottle-green stuff, with plaid or rainbow-coloured aprons. I at once remark the absence of the γυνή πυγοστόλος, called “bussle-wearer” by our grandmothers. Those in the island-costume wear a narrow band of gold embroidery round the skirt, which resembles the costume of the Slav women about Trieste. The bosom is no longer flattened as much as possible--was this the result of a savage decency which, taught the sex to mask nature? On the contrary, about the middle of the jacket a _soupçon_ of white chemisette is now allowed to peep forth. But these coy dames have still to borrow a hint from the young Irish person who wore

“every beauty free To sink or swell as heaven pleases.”

“Sabbath” in the “moral north” passed away as usual. The respectables, masculine as well as feminine, sat at the windows opposite one another, the former smoking vile Hamburg cigars, the latter devoting themselves to the serious and exhaustive study of street scenery. The German mirror placed to reflect the thoroughfare is still a rarity, and therefore the prospector must display herself as _chez nous_. The commonalty leaned against the walls and railings, much like the Irish peasantry of the present day, whose poetry, wit, and humour, once so famous, appear, like art in Italy, to have been crushed out of life by a generation-long course of “patriotism,” politics, and polemics. There was a little more apparent drunkenness than usual, men staggering about, peasants supporting one another, and all jostling whatever they met in the streets. This unpleasant process of “rubbing up” seems to be here the rule, and we can hardly complain of it when we remember the lower orders, and not only the lower orders, of the Lowland Scotch: as the Yankee is the Englishman with the weight taken off him, so here the people, like the scenery, are Caledonian intensified. In the evening, thus to speak, when the dissolute sun, instead of keeping the regular hours of the tropics, does not turn in before eleven P.M., the sexes paired, and one gentleman accompanied his “lady” in carpet slippers. The day ended without a brawl. On St Monday, however, there was a tavern quarrel, when one of the strongest men in the town had his face cut open by a stone. We were assured by all that such things are very rare. Yet on the following Wednesday one of the couthless Calibans from the country, whom tangle-leg had made “drunk as an auk,” thinking that he was derided by a party of Englishmen, slipped up behind one of them and hit him a rounder, in popular parlance a “regular slogdolager.” The Briton, thus unexpectedly assaulted, soon recovered himself,

and, though the peasant bundled away, rolling like a bolting bear, Mr A---- succeeded in lodging a couple of sound lashes with his horsewhip. A small crowd gathered; of course it took part against the strangers, and a free fight became imminent. This was prevented by the chief constable, whose badge is the tallest hat I ever did see, and who commands a body of three men, armed with the “Northern Star.” When appealed to, however, the dignitary distinctly refused to take his fellow-countryman into custody; hence, perhaps, the freedom of the jails from jail-birds, a peculiarity strongly insisted upon by complimentary writers, and quaintly corresponding with our “gratifying diminution of crime.” This is not what we read about Iceland and the Icelanders. It of course will be said that fair time is approaching, and that we are at Reykjavik, a centre of dissipation, where men are eagerly looking forward to the arrival of a grind-organ.

This appears to be the place for inserting a few remarks upon the subject of drinking in Iceland compared with that of England and Scotland. I had asserted in the _Standard_ that “more cases of open, shameless drunkenness may be seen during a day at Reykjavik than during a month in England and Scotland.” A gentleman interested in the matter writes to me: “According to the only official returns of Icelandic statistics (’Skýrslur um landshagi (resources of the country) á Íslandi, gefnar út af hinu islenska Bókmenntäfélagi,’ Kaupmannahöfn, 8vo), from 1865 to 1869, the date of the last publication, the consumption of intoxicating drinks has been steadily decreasing. Thus in--

1865 the amount of 2 gallons 6½ pints were drunk per head. 1866 ” 2 ” 1 ” “ 1867 ” 1 ” 6 ” “ 1868 ” 1 ” 4 ” “ 1869 ” 1 ” 3 ” “

In 1869 the gross total used in the island was thus one gallon and three pints per head. In Scotland the consumption of spirits alone for 1870 was a fraction of a gill less than two gallons a head (Parliamentary return for 1870 relating to spirits, beer, and malt spirits), and in the United Kingdom one gallon a head. I have not been able to ascertain the quantity of wines consumed, nor the proportion contributed by the secret stills of Scotland and Ireland; but of beer and spirits together, the consumption in the United Kingdom was no less than thirty gallons per head per annum. You must remember that the Icelanders have no spirits equal in strength to whiskies and French brandies. You must also remark in connection with the drunkenness observed by you at Reykjavik that you were there during the trading season, when people flock to the capital. They have not tasted, perhaps, a drop of intoxicating liquor during nine or ten months, and they make up for their sobriety by a fortnight or so of indulgence. I have known several peasants who bought a keg of Danish brandy at the trading-place, and who made free use of it during their homeward journey, and as long after as the supply lasted. Then they did not taste a drop till the next season, for the very good reason that they could not get it. It would therefore not be quite fair to state, as a general condition of the Icelanders, what might be observed at Reykjavik during the fair, from about the middle of June to the end of July. It would be equally unjust to show up the condition of Londoners on Boxing Night, or of the Scotch on New Year’s Day, not to speak of every Saturday night.”

To this I reply. In 1834 the consumption was only 2 bottles of spirits per head; on the whole, therefore, there is an increase. Between 1849-62 (Paijkull[379]) the imports had increased 79 per cent., and in the latter year the consumption per head was of 6·7 Danish pots or quarts, when Scotland uses 1½ gallons per head. Mr Consul Crowe (1870-71, p. 648) shows that the consumption is “about 24 quarts annually for every adult male, without counting ale, wine, rum, punch extract, and other spirituous drinks imported.” My stay in Iceland lasted not till the end of July, but till September the first. I found drunkenness prevail not only in the capital, but in the farm-houses; and, as the trading stations and market-ships are now scattered all round the coast, there is no difficulty in obtaining spirits throughout the year. Since 1869, the practice has apparently increased with the growth of commerce. As regards the figures, they are like facts perfectly capable of misleading as well as leading. The statistics of a sparse and scattered population can hardly be expected to be correct; for instance, the fleet of French fishing vessels smuggles a quantity of cognac which does not appear in the returns. The Consular Report (1870-71, p. 650) adds, “The consumption of ardent spirits in the island is very great, being as 490,000 imperial quarts annually (or 490,000: 70,000), and of this large quantities are landed by the foreign fishermen, who barter it with the natives for their fish and other raw produce.” We all issued from the “Queen” with more or less whisky, about which nothing was asked or said; and this may counter-balance even the large produce of the “secret stills” existing in Ireland,[380] but rare in England, Wales, and Scotland. Also what is consumed in Iceland is almost entirely drunk by the men--I never saw that disgrace of our great cities, a drunken woman.

The actual state of things is not what is shown by the figures. An eminent Icelander openly asserted that he had dived into the gin-palaces of London and Edinburgh, yet that he had seen more drunkenness in a day at Reykjavik than during his whole visit to Great Britain. This comparison with a nation which derives £13,000,000 of revenue from spirits alone, and which has “drunk itself out of the Alabama difficulty,” is telling. There have been repeated attempts to establish teetotalism, but none have succeeded--perhaps a whisky war might lead to victory. And here hard drinking is apparently a little reprobated practice. A party of English travellers lodged at the house of an educated man, who, fresh from a visit to Denmark, expressed the _dulce domum_ and domesticity sentiment by loud and late striving in strong liquors. The same tourists engaged a guide, who kept himself sober during the march, but afterwards broke out in a way which prevented his re-engagement, sleeping _unter freien himmel_, and so forth.

That our vices like our virtues are regulated by our “media,” no traveller can doubt. Thus in England, out of an annual total of 150,000 souls “drunk and disorderly,”[381] the number proceeded against in the south (not including London) was 3·2: 1000; in the Midland district, 4·0: 1000; whilst in the north it rose to the extreme ratio of 10·8: 1000. These figures show, if evidence be wanted, that “as we go north drunkenness increases.” The classical Scandinavian and the Northmen generally were deep topers, quarrelsome withal; their wives always removed their weapons when they sat down to drink; and they looked forward to a Houri-lacking and _pro tempore_ paradise, where the dead rode forth daily to cut one another to pieces, and rode back to gorge nasty boiled pork and swill vasty draughts of bilious mead. In the south, take Europe for instance, men hold wine to be the ἰατρεῖον ψυχῆς, and prefer to over-nourishment gambling, or what we call immorality, in the confined sense of the word. Race, again, heredity and atavism, or the habits bequeathed by forefathers, modify climate: the Slav, for example, who occupies the same latitudes as the abstemious Turk and Italian, is a hard eater and wine-bibber. And I have a conviction that spirit-drinking is becoming common in countries where it was formerly almost unknown. During a late ride to Ronda in Spain, two drunken men were seen in one day, and three appeared at an Italian country-fair--these are instances out of many which might be quoted.

In England, on the other hand, drinking in society has been modified not solely, as we flatter ourselves, by better taste or by a “higher tone,” but also by the increased use of nicotine--an axiom which will be grateful to the readers of _Cope’s Tobacco Plant_, and unpleasant to gentlemen of the happily defunct Palmerstonian school. In the age of Queen Anne apparently all Englishmen smoked. The Continental war made the practice “un-English,” and an increase of snuff was the result. At Oxford, shortly before I matriculated, some youth of heroic mould, who deserves a statue if any one does, lit a cigar almost immediately after the hall-dinner. He was called hard names, but he persevered, and he found imitators: the consequence was a notable curtailing of the “wines” which used to last from seven to eleven P.M. In 1852 I was objurgated, and not unfrequently cut, for smoking a manilla in the streets of London. Very shortly afterwards a ducal reformer spread his plaid under a tree in Hyde Park, produced a briar-root, and expected his friends to do likewise. I need hardly say that they did.

After this little experience of life, man will be careful how far he allows local custom to modify his comfort and his convenience.