THE LICH-HOUSE, CEMETERY, REYKJAVIK.
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
ICELAND WOMAN—SUNDAY WEAR.