Book: A Visit to Iceland and the Scandinavian North

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This etext was prepared by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk,
from the 1853 Ingram, Cooke, and Co. edition. Second proofread by
Mike Ruffell.





A Visit to Iceland and the Scandinavian North
Translated from German

by Madame Ida Pfeiffer




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.



VISIT TO ICELAND



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.

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