53. THINGVALLA, LÖGBERG, AND ALMANNAGJA.
Mr. Ross Browne thus describes the scene: “After a slight repast I walked out to take a look at the Lögberg, or Rock of Laws, which is situated about half a mile from the church. This is, perhaps, of all the objects of historical association in Iceland, the most interesting. It was here the judges tried criminals, pronounced judgments, and executed their stern decrees. On a small plateau of lava, separated from the general mass by a profound abyss on every side, save a narrow neck barely wide enough for a foothold, the famous “Thing” assembled once a year, and, secured from intrusion in their deliberations by the terrible chasm around, passed laws for the weal or woe of the people. It was only necessary to guard the causeway by which they entered; all other sides were well protected by the encircling moat, which varies from thirty to forty feet in width, and is half filled with water. The total depth to the bottom, which is distinctly visible through the crystal pool, must be sixty or seventy feet. Into this yawning abyss the unhappy criminals were cast, with stones around their necks, and many a long day did they lie beneath the water, a ghastly spectacle for the crowd that peered at them over the precipice. All was now as silent as the grave. Eight centuries had passed, and yet the strange scenes that had taken place here were vividly before me. I could imagine the gathering crowds, the rising hum of voices; the pause, the shriek, and plunge; the low murmur of horror, and then the stern warning of the lawgivers and the gradual dispersing of the multitude. The dimensions of the plateau are four or five hundred feet in length by an average of sixty or eighty in width. The surface is now covered with a fine coating of sod and grass, and furnishes good pasturage for the sheep belonging to the pastor.”
Christianity was first preached in Iceland about the year 981, by Friedrich, a Saxon bishop, to whom Thorwald the traveller, an Icelander, acted as interpreter. Thorwald having been treated with great severity by his father, Kodran, had fled to Denmark, where he had been converted by Friedrich. He returned with the pious bishop to his paternal home, where the solemn service of the Christians made some impression on Kodran, but still the obstinate pagan could not be prevailed upon to renounce his ancient gods. “He must believe,” said he, “the word of his own priest, who was wont to give him excellent advice.” “Well, then,” replied Thorwald, “this venerable man whom I have brought to thy dwelling is weak and infirm, while thy well-fed priest is full of vigor. Wilt thou believe in the power of our God if the bishop drives him hence?” Friedrich now cast a few drops of holy water on the priest, which immediately burnt deep holes into his skin, so that he fled, uttering dreadful curses. After this convincing proof, Kodran adopted the Christian faith. But persuasion and miracles acted too slowly for the fiery Thorwald, who would willingly have converted all Iceland at once with fire and sword. His sermons were imprecations, and the least contradiction roused him to fury. Unable to bear so irascible an associate, the good bishop Friedrich, giving up his missionary labors, returned to Saxony. As to Thorwald, his restless disposition led him to far-distant lands. He visited Greece and Syria, Jerusalem and Constantinople, and ultimately founded a convent in Russia, where he died in the odor of sanctity.
Soon after Thangbrand was sent by the Norwegian king, Olaf Truggeson, as missionary to Iceland. His method of conversion appears to have been very like that of his erratic predecessor; for while he held the cross in one hand, he grasped the sword with the other. “Thangbrand,” says an ancient chronicler, “was a passionate, ungovernable person, and a great manslayer, but a good scholar and clever. He was two years in Iceland, and was the death of three men before he left it.”
Other missionaries of a more evangelical character took his place, and proved by their success that mild reasoning is frequently a far more effectual means of persuasion than brutal violence. They made a great number of proselytes, and the whole island was now divided into two factions ready to appeal to the sword for the triumph of Christ or of Odin. But before coming to this dreadful extremity, the voice of reason was heard, and the contending parties agreed to submit the question to the decision of the Althing.
The assembly met, and the momentous debate was proceeding, when suddenly a loud crash of subterranean thunder was heard, and the earth shook under their feet. “Listen!” exclaimed a follower of Odin, “and beware of the anger of our gods: they will consume us with their fires, if we venture to question their authority.” The Christian party hesitated; but their confidence was soon restored by the presence of mind of their chief orator, Thorgeir, who, pointing to the lava-fields around, asked with whom the gods were angry when these rocks were melted: a burst of eloquence which at once decided the question in favor of the Cross.
The new faith brought with it a new spirit of intellectual development, which attained its highest splendor in the twelfth century. Classical studies were pursued with the utmost zeal, and learned Icelanders travelled to Germany and France to extend their knowledge in the schools of Paris or Cologne. The Icelandic bards, or scalds, were renowned throughout all Scandinavia; they frequented the courts of Sweden, Denmark, and Norway, and were everywhere received with the highest honors.
The historians, or sagamen, of Iceland were no less renowned than its scalds. They became the annalists of the whole Scandinavian world, and the simplicity and truth by which their works are distinguished fully justify their high reputation. Among the many remarkable men who at that time graced the literature of the Arctic isle, Sämund Frode, the learned author of the “Voluspa” (a work on the ancient Icelandic mythology) and the “Havamal” (a general chronicle of events from the beginning of the world); Are Thorgilson, whose “Landnama Bok” relates with the utmost accuracy the annals of his native land; and Gissur, who about the year 1180 described his voyages to the distant Orient, deserve to be particularly mentioned; but great above all in genius and fame was Snorri Sturleson, the Herodotus of the North, whose eventful life and tragic end would well deserve to be recounted at greater length.
Gifted with the rarest talents, and chief of the most powerful family of the island, Snorri was elected in 1215 to the high office of Logmathurman; but disgusting his sturdy countrymen by his excessive haughtiness, he was obliged to retire to the court of Hakon, king of Norway. During this exile he collected the materials for his justly celebrated “Heimskringla,” or Chronicle of the Kings of Norway. Returning home in 1221, he was again named Logmathurman; but as he endeavored to pave the way for the annexation of his native country to the Norwegian realm, his foreign intrigues caused a rising against his authority, and he was once more compelled to take refuge in Norway. Here he remained several years, until the triumph of his own faction allowed him to return to his family estate at Reikholt, where he was murdered on a dark September night in the year 1241. Thus perished the most remarkable man Iceland ever has produced. The republic itself did not long survive his fall; for, weary of the interminable feuds of their chiefs, the people voluntarily submitted to Hakon in 1254, and the middle of the thirteenth century was signalized by the transfer of the island to the Norwegian crown, after three hundred and forty years of a turbulent but glorious independence.
From that time the political history of the Icelanders offers but little interest. With their annexation to a European monarchy perished the vigor, restlessness, and activity which had characterized their forefathers; and though the Althing still met at Thingvalla, the national spirit had fled. It was still further subdued by a long chain of calamities—plagues, famines, volcanic eruptions, and piratical invasions—which, following each other in rapid succession, devastated the land and decimated its unfortunate inhabitants.