There were not wanting, however, those among the representatives who resented the introduction into the Island of this new belief, hence the debate, so records the 'Njol-Saga,' waxed warm, when a messenger rushed in and disturbed the council by the alarming news that a stream of lava had burst out at Olfas, and that the priest's dwelling would soon be overrun. On this one of the heathen opponents to Christianity remarked, 'No wonder the gods exhibit their wrath, when such speeches as we have just heard against their power have been permitted.' On this Snorri with great dignity[p. 111] rose up, saying, as he pointed to the riven rocks and deep fissures around them, 'At what then were the gods wroth when this lava was molten and overran the whole district upon which we now stand?' To this speech there was no reply, for all well knew that the plain was one of the most remarkable lava tracks in the Island.
It is presumed that Snorri's remark told, and his persuasive eloquence won the day, for shortly after, the Icelanders in a body accepted Christianity as their national faith, and this apparently without either bloodshed or quarrelling.
In the 'Saga' mention is made of many remarkable sittings and debates which took place within the Althing, some of which ended in such animosity between individual members as to be the cause of party feuds and bloodshed.
In connection with the deep rifts which encompass the Althing, a romantic story is told. A Norseman called Flossi, a leader of some conspiracy in the Island, was condemned to death; he evaded this sentence by taking a leap from the blood stone, on which he stood, across the adjoining rift, a feat neither his accusers nor condemners were likely to imitate, and one inspired only by his extreme peril.
In 1800 the Althing was abolished, Iceland having fallen under Danish government; it was re-established again in 1843, but only in a very restricted form, its legislation being cramped in every way by Danish supremacy. In 1845 the[p. 112] romantic precinct where the Icelanders held their parliament was abandoned, and the legislative body was removed to the capital of Reykjavik.
In the 'National Encyclopædia,' we found the following note in reference to the new constitution granted to the Icelanders,—
'In 1874, on the occasion of the millennial jubilee of the Island's colonisation, the King of Denmark visited Iceland, and conferred upon his subjects there a new and very liberal constitution, most of its articles being moulded upon the Danish charter of 1849. It conceded to Iceland, in all matters concerning the Island, its own independent legislation and administration, superintended by an assembly, the new Althing consisting of thirty-six members—thirty elected by popular suffrage, and six nominated by the King. It put at the head of the country's affairs a minister named by the King, and residing in Copenhagen, but responsible to the Althing, and exercising his functions through a local governor residing at Reykjavik. It also fully guaranteed the independence of the tribunals, individual freedom, liberty of faith, of the press, of public meetings, the individuality of property, the self-government of principalities, and the equality of all citizens before the law.'
As will clearly be seen, this is a case of Home Rule, though the Icelanders are still in a measure under the Danish Government; apparently much the same kind of legislature as Mr Gladstone is so anxious to confer upon Ireland. The present[p. 113] Althing or Parliament has two Houses—an Upper and Lower House; there are twelve members in the former, and twenty-four in the latter. They must all be Icelanders, and usually they sit for about six years. We peeped into the Parliament House during the short time we were in Reykjavik; it was then sitting, but much as I should like to have remained and listened to the proceedings, the odours in the gallery in which we were placed forbade it. The impression it made upon me was that it resembled a small English law-court, the governor sitting in uniform at the head of the Council.
Certainly the ancient mode of transacting affairs of state was a far more interesting one, and the precincts of its primitive Parliament House and law-courts were unrivalled in their rocky architecture and romantic scenery.
Not far from the Almannagya is a very picturesque fall, formed by the waters of the 'Oxara,' which leap in a single bound from an elevation west of the 'Thingfields,' or 'speaking-place' into the 'Almannagya,' flowing through a gap in the rocks, and again leaping into the plain below, forming a large pool.