“The skies they are ashen and sober,
The streets they are dirty and drear.”
The weather makes the faintest struggles, even in mid-June, to be fine, but a tolerable day appears always to exhaust its efforts, and to be followed by a violent break. The Reykjavik climate is essentially fickle, and the invalid can rarely neglect, till late summer, the warm overcoat of which the cicerone at St Petersburgh persistently reminds his charges. A bitter north-easter, with high cirri, and
“The shrieking of the mindless wind,”
remind us that we are in high latitudes. All the thoroughfares are deserted, and the houses are fast closed against the roaring, screaming blast.
We were the first batch of the year’s tourists, arriving, however, only one day before the “Diana,” which brought with it sundry others. Whilst I remained at the capital to continue my studies, Messrs B. and S. determined to “do” the usual trip as soon as possible. A five days’ delay, without books or some definite object, makes the headquarter village a purgatory to strangers. Most of them bring out an Eton Latin grammar, under the impression that, by its good aid, with a course of Matthæus Corderius, they will make themselves at home amongst the learned. But the English pronunciation is impossible, and too often a total neglect of the “literæ humaniores,” persistently distributed over long years, has swept away all memory of musa, musæ, and of hic, hæc, hoc. Consequently, second-hand Anglo-Latin grammars are cheap and plentiful at Reykjavik.
Those who would save time in travelling can hardly expect to spare their expenditure. My companions wisely called in the head guide, Geir Zoega, pronounced Sögha, and frequently simplified by the Briton to “Goat-sucker.” The classical Italian name (De Origine et Usu Obeliscorum, etc.) shows his origin, but the family has drifted through Germany, and, as his grandfather settled in Iceland, he has wholly thrown off the Latin aspect. A tall, robust man, with harsh Scotch features, high cheek bones, yellow hair, and blue eyes, in earlier days he would have been most useful to explorers; now, however, he has waxed rich: he is farmer and fisherman, cattle-breeder and capitalist, boasting of house, boats, beasts, and other symptoms of wealth. These may represent a capital between £500 and £700, and almost unincumbered by expenses—a century and a half ago the same fortune would fully have contented a master-cutler at Sheffield. Consequently, Geir Zoega will only engage for short trips, and, despite rumours of $15,000, he refused to accompany the two young “Counts d’Elbe,” who came with the intention of spending some six weeks in the interior. Having business of his own in the east, he undertakes the tourists as far as the Geysirs, but he positively refuses Hekla, forage being still wanting there. During the bargain he amused me by certain points of resemblance with the Syrian dragoman taking command of a party of youngsters: the same covered and respectful contempt of greenhorns, the same intense objection to innovation, the same unwillingness of experience to be guided by “bumptious” inexperience, contrast curiously with the pliability of the Italian courier or cicerone, who thinks only of his bill.
Finally, Hr Zoega agreed to supply a tent, absolutely necessary for the Geysirs, a change of horses for each rider, and three baggage animals, moyennant a total of $14 per diem—his own fee being a daily $5. Moreover, the travellers were to feed their nine beasts at the rate of a mark each per march. This confirms Mr Newton’s opinion that, on the whole, travelling in Iceland is not more expensive—perhaps he might have said much cheaper—than in most parts of Europe.[19] Yet we find Professor Melsted, an Icelander, describing his native land to Metcalfe as “the most difficult and expensive country in the world.” During one day on the Congo, I have been asked, for simple permission to pass onwards, three times more than the cost of a three months’ tour in Iceland.
Mr S. being a barrister, drew out a written agreement, which the guide signed: the precaution, however, is of little value, as the stranger is completely in the native’s power, and a threat to drive away the horses will bring the most recalcitrant Griff to absolute submission. If you turn off your leader, as a certain traveller did, he will assuredly sue you in damages at Reykjavik; and for one who cannot speak Icelandic, or at least Danish, to be guideless is to be cast naked upon a desert shore. It is only fair to say that Hr Zoega gave ample satisfaction, and we only regret the more that the deceitfulness of riches has spoiled a thoroughly honest and intelligent guide.
My companions found no difficulty in starting: the dilatory Icelandic movement, of which old travellers complain so loudly, is now a thing of the past. The weather improved, as usual, after they left Reykjavik, and there were only a few showers to gladden the peasant’s heart. The birds were hatching, so they did not shoot: the water, cold, and clear as crystal, wanted vegetation, without which even gold-fish cannot live, consequently there was no fishing. There had been scanty reason to complain of what the Brazilians call “immundicies”—the smaller animal creation—but a Neapolitan might have recited every morning the popular song