The Icelanders consider this little green valley the finest
spot in the world. Not far from the opening of the ravine, on the
farther bank of the river Oxer, lies the little village of
Thingvalla, consisting of three or four cottages and a small chapel.
A few scattered farms and cottages are situated in the
neighbourhood.
Thingvalla was once one of the most important places in Iceland; the
stranger is still shewn the meadow, not far from the village, on
which the Allthing (general assembly) was held annually in the open
air. Here the people and their leaders met, pitching their tents
after the manner of nomads. Here it was also that many an opinion
and many a decree were enforced by the weight of steel.
The chiefs appeared, ostensibly for peace, at the head of their
tribe; yet many of them returned not again, but beneath the sword-
stroke of their enemies obtained that peace which no man seeketh,
but which all men find.
On one side the valley is skirted by the lake, on the other it is
bounded by lofty mountains, some of them still partly covered with
snow. Not far from the entrance of the ravine, the river Oxer
rushes over a wall of rock of considerable height, forming a
beautiful waterfall.
It was still fine clear daylight when I reached Thingvalla, and the
sky rose pure and cloudless over the far distance. It seemed
therefore the more singular to me to see a few clouds skimming over
the surface of the mountains, now shrouding a part of them in
vapour, now wreathing themselves round their summits, now vanishing
entirely, to reappear again at a different point.
This is a phenomenon frequently observed in Iceland during the
finest days, and one I had often noticed in the neighbourhood of
Reikjavik. Under a clear and cloudless sky, a light mist would
appear on the brow of a mountain, - in a moment it would increase to
a large cloud, and after remaining stationary for a time, it
frequently vanished suddenly, or soared slowly away. However often
it may be repeated, this appearance cannot fail to interest the
observer.
Herr Beck, the clergyman at Thingvalla, offered me the shelter of
his hut for the night; as the building, however, did not look much
more promising than the peasants' cottages by which it was
surrounded, I preferred quartering myself in the church, permission
to do so being but too easily obtained on all occasions. This
chapel is not much larger than that at Krisuvik, and stands at some
distance from the few surrounding cottages. This was perhaps the
reason why I was not incommoded by visitors. I had already
conquered any superstitious fears derived from the proximity of my
silent neighbours in the churchyard, and passed the night quietly on
one of the wooden chests of which I found several scattered about.
Habit is certainly every thing; after a few nights of gloomy
solitude one thinks no more about the matter.
