It is strange how little the style of Iceland life has altered since the time (1767) when M. de Kerguelen wrote his short and lively sketch—it seems to be fixed like the language. As now, the island was divided into four provinces, of which each had eighteen to twenty counties, and every county fifteen to sixteen parishes. The Sýslur were under bailiffs, all subject to the grand bailiff (Governor), and to the sovereign council (Althing). The chief civil officer and the royal seneschal (treasurer), who collected the taxes, reported to a governor-general residing at Copenhagen—he is now represented by the minister for Iceland. There were two bishops, one for the south (Skálholt), and another for the north (Hólar); there is at present only one in the capital, but the people would willingly see, and will see, the older status restored.
The Iceland farm-house[179] was then, as now, a set of buildings scattered over the “tún,” or infield. The abode was entered by a passage (Bæjar-dyr) six feet wide, with a cross-raftered roof, and this “Skemma” was lighted by windowlets (Skjágluggi) of “Himna” (membrane), transparent parchment of cattle’s bladder; by Likna-belgur, ewe’s chorion; by Vats-belgur, sheep’s amnion; or by Skæna, inner membranes of the stomach, a little more opaque, or, rarely, by bulls’ eyes of glass. They were not the only tenements in the eighteenth century which had no light—
“Save one dull pane, that, coarsely patched, gives way
To the rude tempest, yet excludes the day.”
Fronting the common entrance was the Baðstofa (public room, literally meaning bathroom), measuring fourteen ells by eight, in which the household worked at dressing wool and weaving cloth. It led to a bedroom, where the house master and mistress slept, the children and servants occupying the garrets and cock-lofts. On each side of the lobby were two rooms, the kitchen (Eld-hús, opposed to the stofa or gynæceum), and the store-room or Búr (our “bower,” and the Scottish “byre”); the dairy and the guest-chamber (Gestaskáli). At present the entrance is usually faced by the kitchen, and at right angles there is a covered gallery or tunnel, upon which the doors open: thus the rooms are not wholly dark, even when they lack glass, which is rare.[180] The outhouses (Úti-hús) were the stables, the stores (Geymslu-hús), the byres, the sheep pens (Fjár-hús), the forge, and, sometimes, the carpenter’s shop. The house (Bæjar-hás or Heima-hús) was built of planks, which, coming from Copenhagen, were too expensive to be used as flooring. The only fire was in a stove; the fuel was of turf and cow-“chips,” and the interior was never dry—the unrheumatic traveller will not find that damp of which the many complained. The furniture consisted of a table and chests acting chairs; Niels Horrebow, the Dane who saw everything en beau, added wainscots, glasses, and a variety of luxuries. Johann Anderson, afterwards burgomaster of Hamburg, by no means wore the rose-coloured spectacles.
“The people appeared mild, good-natured, and humane, but distrustful and addicted to drink. They were very fond of chess, and good coasting sailors, but not very courageous”—no wonder, considering their craft! They soon became infirm; they were old at fifty, and they rarely reached eighty. “Landsarsak” (Landfarsótt[181]) was the name given to all fatal illnesses usually arising from scurvy, wet feet, and want of exercise. Their hay was not housed, but heaped in stacks two yards square, upon raised mounds, at short distances, and covered with sloping turf to lead the rain into surrounding ditches. In summer food was of cods’-heads, boiled like all other provisions: in winter the peasants ate sheeps’-heads kept in (fermented) vinegar of sour milk (Sýra), or in juice of sorrel (Súra),[182] and other plants, the mutton being sold. Bread was not the staff of life, being eaten only on high days and holidays, that is, at births, marriages, and deaths: the richer sort baked cakes, broad and thin, like sea biscuits, of black rye flour from Copenhagen.
The men dressed like sailors in breeches, jackets acting coats, and vests of good broadcloth, with four to six rows of buttons, always metal, copper or silver. The fishermen wore overalls, coarse smooth waistcoats, large paletots of sheepskin or leather, made water-proof by grease or fish-liver oil; leather overalls, stockings, and native shoes. The women were clad in jackets and gowns, petticoats and aprons of woollen frieze, over which was thrown a “Hempa,” or wide black robe, like a Jesuit frock, trimmed with velvet binding. The wealthy added silver ornaments down the length of the dress, and braided the other articles with silk ribbons, galloon, or velvets of various colours. The ruff was a stiff collar from three to four inches broad, of very fine stuff, embroidered with gold or silver. The head-dress was a cone like a fool’s-cap or sugar-loaf, two to three feet tall, kept in place by a coarse cloth, and covered with a finer kerchief. The soleless shoes of ox-hide or sheep-skin, made by the women out of a single piece, were strapped to the instep.
The wives were not so strong as the husbands, yet they had the hardest work in haymaking. Their labour was difficult, and they “kept their beds for a week.” At baptism a bit of linen dipped in milk was placed in the babe’s mouth, and the child was breeched at the end of two years.
§ 4. The Family.
Population was checked by not allowing marriage to a man who did not own a hundred of land or a six-oared boat in trim: this wholesome law, however, is becoming obsolete as the ferocious old code which prevented the propagation of paupers. The number of births is about 2940 to 2020 deaths per annum: thus the annual increase is 920, but the mortality of children is, or perhaps we should say was, disproportionate. In 1858, 489 upon the island died between the ages of 1 to 5, and 68 between 5 to 10—a total of 557. During the same year the number of illegitimate to legitimate births was 15:100: this figure appears pretty constant, but rather on the increase than the reverse. In the early nineteenth century, Hooker gives 383 illegitimates in 2516 births = 15⅕ per cent. = nearly to 1:7—a high average, which he explains by the huddling together of families. Mr Vice-Consul Crowe (1866) gives 1:6·9 of births. Statistics of the years between 1860 and 1870 give 20:100, or 1:5. The Consular Report of 1870-71 asserts that “in every 100 births there were 17 of illegitimate children,” and shows the following figures: 1866, 17·7; 1867, 16·7; 1868, 17·2; 1869, 16·2; 1870, 16·8.
Of 2937 children, only 48 were born (1858) of mothers under 20; 23 were legitimate, and 25 were not: 458 had mothers aged 20 to 25: 933, of whom 764 were born in wedlock and 169 were not, had mothers aged 25 to 30: the mothers of 703 new-born children were 30 to 35 years old; those of 549, from 35 to 40; those of 221 from 40 to 45; and, lastly, those of 25, from 45 to 50.