Coffin, I felt a shudder pass over me as the lid was
removed, and I saw - as the priest had assured me I should do - merely
a tombstone with the usual inscription, which this coffin-like
covering is intended to protect against the rude storms of the
winter.
Close beside the entrance to the church is the mound beneath which
rest the bones of Snorri Sturluson, the celebrated poet; {39} over
this grave stands a small runic stone of the length of the mound
itself. This stone is said to have once been completely covered
with runic characters; but all trace of these has been swept away by
the storms of five hundred winters, against which the tomb had no
protecting coffin. The stone, too, is split throughout its entire
length into two pieces. The mound above the grave is often renewed,
so that the beholder could often fancy he saw a new-made grave. I
picked all the buttercups I could find growing on the grave, and
preserved them carefully in a book. Perhaps I may be able to give
pleasure to several of my countrywomen by offering them a floweret
from the grave of the greatest of Icelandic poets.
June 19th.
In order to pursue my journey without interruption, I hired fresh
horses, and allowed my own, which were rather fatigued, to accompany
us unloaded. My object in this further excursion was to visit the
very remarkable cavern of Surthellir, distant a good thirty-three
miles from this place. The clergyman was again kind enough to make
the necessary arrangements for me, and even to act as my Mentor on
the journey.
Though we were only three strong, we departed with a retinue of
seven horses, and for nearly ten miles rode back the same way by
which I had come from Reikholt on the preceding morning; then we
turned off to the left, and crossing hills and acclivities, reached
other valleys, which were partly traversed by beautiful streams of
lava, and partly interspersed with forests - FORESTS, as I have
already said, according to Icelandic notions. The separate stems
were certainly slightly higher than those in the valley of
Thingvalla.
At Kalmannstunga we left the spare horses, and took with us a man to
serve as guide in the cavern, from which we were now still some
seven miles distant. The great valley in which this cavern lies is
reckoned among the most remarkable in Iceland. It is a most perfect
picture of volcanic devastation. The most beautiful masses of lava,
in the most varied and picturesque forms, occupy the whole
immeasurable valley. Lava is to be seen there in a rough glassy
state, forming exquisite flames and arabesques; and in immense
slabs, lying sometimes scattered, sometimes piled in strata one
above the other, as though they had been cast there by a flood.
Among these, again, lie mighty isolated streams, which must have
been frozen in the midst of their course.
