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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/5603-8.txt b/5603-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..880d53c --- /dev/null +++ b/5603-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3988 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Seven Icelandic Short Stories, by Various + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Seven Icelandic Short Stories + +Author: Various + +Posting Date: February 3, 2011 [EBook #5603] +Release Date: May, 2004 +[This file was first posted on July 19, 2002] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SEVEN ICELANDIC SHORT STORIES *** + + + + +Produced by Nicole Apostola, Charles Franks and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team. + + + + + + + + + +SEVEN ICELANDIC SHORT STORIES + +REYKJAVIK + +THE MINISTRY OF EDUCATION + + + + +CONTENTS + +INTRODUCTION BY STEINGRIMUR J. PORSTEINSSON + +ANONYMOUS (13TH CENTURY) +THE STORY OF AUDUNN AND THE BEAR +TRANSLATED BY G. TURVILLE-PEIRE + +EINAR H. KVARAN +A DRY SPELL (1905) +TRANSLATED BY JAKOBINA JOHNSON + +GUÐMUNDUR FRIÐJÓNSSON +THE OLD HAY (1909) +TRANSLATED BY MEKKIN SVEINSON PERKINS + +JON TRAUSTI +WHEN I WAS ON THE FRIGATE (1910) +TRANSLATED BY ARNOLD R. TAYLOR + +GUNNAR GUNNARSSON +FATHER AND SON (1916) +TRANSLATED BY PETER FOOTE + +GUÐMUNDUR G. HAGALIN +THE FOX SKIN (1923) +TRANSLATED BY MEKKIN SVEINSON PERKINS + +HALLDÓR KILJAN LAXNESS +NEW ICELAND (1927) +TRANSLATED BY AXEL EYBERG AND JOHN WATKINS + + + + +INTRODUCTION + +I + + +Of the seven Icelandic short stories which appear here, the first +was probably written early in the thirteenth century, while the rest +all date from the early twentieth century. It might therefore be +supposed that the earliest of these stories was written in a +language more or less unintelligible to modern Icelanders, and that +there was a gap of many centuries in the literary production of the +nation. This, however, is not the case. + +The Norsemen who colonized Iceland in the last quarter of the ninth +century brought with than the language then spoken throughout the +whole of Scandinavia. This ancestor of the modern Scandinavian +tongues has been preserved in Iceland so little changed that every +Icelander still understands, without the aid of explanatory +commentaries, the oldest preserved prose written in their country +850 years ago. The principal reasons for this were probably limited +communications between Iceland and other countries, frequent +migrations inside the island, and, not least important, a long and +uninterrupted literary tradition. As a consequence, Icelandic has +not developed any dialects in the ordinary sense. + +It is to their language and literature, as well as to the island +separateness of their country, that the 175 thousand inhabitants of +this North-Atlantic state of a little more than a hundred thousand +square kilometres owe their existence as an independent and separate +nation. + +The Icelanders established a democratic legislative assembly, the +Althingi (Alþingi) in 930 A.D., and in the year 1000 embraced +Christianity. Hence there soon arose the necessity of writing down +the law and translations of sacred works. Such matter, along with +historical knowledge, may well have constituted the earliest +writings in Icelandic, probably dating as far back as the eleventh +century, while the oldest preserved texts were composed early in the +twelfth century. This was the beginning of the so-called saga- +writing. The important thing was that most of what was written down +was in the vernacular, Latin being used but sparingly. Thus a +literary style was evolved which soon reached a high standard. This +style, so forceful in its perspicuity, was effectively simple, yet +rich in the variety of its classical structure. + +There were different categories of sagas. Among the most important +were the sagas of the Norwegian kings and the family sagas. The +latter tell us about the first generations of native Icelanders. +They are all anonymous and the majority of them were written in the +thirteenth century. Most of them contain a more or less historical +core. Above all, however, they are fine literature, at times +realistic, whose excellence is clearly seen in their descriptions of +events and character, their dialogue and structure. Most of them are +in fact in the nature of historical novels. The Viking view of life +pervading them is characteristically heroic, but with frequent +traces of the influence of Christian writing. + +Besides these there were short stories (þaettir) about Icelanders, +of which THE STORY OF AUDUNN AND THE BEAR (Auðunar þáttr vestfirzka) +is one of the best known. [Footnote: In this edition, the specially- +Icelandic consonants þ and ð are printed as th and d respectively, +and the superstressed vowels á,í,ó, and ú, are given without the +acute accent, when they occur in proper names in the stories, e. g. +Pórður: Thordur.] + +These may be regarded as a preliminary stage in the development of +the longer family saga, simpler, yet having essentially the same +characteristics. Both types then continued to be written side by +side. Although the geographical isolation of the country was stated +above as one of the reasons for the preservation of the language, +too great a stress should not be laid on this factor, especially not +during the early centuries of the settlement. The Icelanders were +great and active navigators who discovered Greenland (shortly after +980) and North America (Leifr Eiriksson, about 1000). Thus THE STORY +OF AUDUNN AND THE BEAR recounts travels to Greenland, Norway, +Denmark and Italy. It was then fashionable for young Icelanders to +go abroad and spend some time at the courts of the Norwegian kings, +where the skalds recited poems of praise dedicated to the king. In +this story the occasion of the voyage is a less common one, the +bringing of a polar bear as a gift to the Danish king. In several +other Icelandic stories, and in some of other countries, we read of +such gifts, and of how European potentates prized these rare +creatures from Greenland. + +In Scandinavia, Germany, and elsewhere, there have been legends +similar to the story of Audunn, where a man, after having been to +the Norwegian king with a tame bear, decides to present it to the +king of Denmark. However, we know of no earlier source for this +motif than the story of Audunn. Whatever its value as historical +fact, it could well be the model to which the other versions might +be traced. This story is preserved in the Morkinskinna, an Icelandic +manuscript written in the second half of the thirteenth century, as +well as in several later manuscripts. [Footnote: The most valuable +edition of THE STORY OF ADUNN AND THE BEAR is that of Guðni Jónsson +in the series Íslenzk fornrit (vol. VI. Reykjavík 1943). The text of +this edition is followed in the present translation, except in a few +cases where reference has been made to the texts of Fornmannasögur +VI, Copenhagen 1831, and Flateyjarbók III, Oslo 1868.] The story had +probably been written down by 1220, if not earlier. It is given a +historical background in so far as it is set in the time of Haraldr +the Hard-ruler, King of Norway (1046-66), and Sveinn Úlfsson, King +of Denmark (1047-76), when the two countries were at war (c. 1062- +64). Both monarchs are depicted as generous, magnanimous men, but +Audunn was shrewd enough to see which would give the greater reward +for his precious bear. For all his generosity, King Haraldr was +known to be ruthless and grasping. What the writer had in mind may +have been a character-comparison of the two kings and the +description of "one of the luckiest of men", about whom the +translator, G. Turville-Petre says: "Audunn himself, in spite of his +shrewd and purposeful character, is shown as a pious man, thoughtful +of salvation, and richly endowed with human qualities, affection for +his patron and especially for his mother. The story is an optimistic +one, suggesting that good luck may attend those who have good +morals." + + + + +II + + +The Icelanders have never waged war against any nation. But in the +thirteenth century they were engaged in a civil war which ended in +their submitting to the authority of the Norwegian king in the +sixties (this authority was transferred to the King of the Danes in +1380). It is interesting that, during the next few decades after +this capitulation, saga-writing seems to reach a climax as an art, +in family sagas like Njáls saga, "one of the great prose works of +the world" (W. P. Ker). It is as if the dangers of civil war and the +experiences gained in times of surrender had created in the authors +a kind of inner tension--as if their maturity had found full +expression in the security of peace. However, with the first +generation born in Iceland in subjection, the decline of saga- +writing seems to begin. This can hardly be a mere coincidence. On +the contrary it was brought about by a number of different factors. + +Subsequently, in the fourteenth century, saga-writing becomes for +the most part extinct. From c. 1400-1800 there is hardly any prose +fiction at all. Hence the fact that several centuries remain +unrepresented in this work (though the gap might have been reduced +to four or five centuries had literary-historical considerations +alone been allowed to influence the present selection). + +But the sagas continued to be copied and read. After the setting up +of the first printing press (c. 1530), and after the Reformation (c. +1550), religious literature grew much in bulk, both translations +(that of the Bible was printed in 1584) and original works, and a +new kind of historical writing came into being. Side by side with +scholars, we have self-educated commoners who wrote both prose and, +especially, poetry. + +In Iceland, being a "poet" has never been considered out of the +ordinary. On the contrary, a person unable to make up a verse or two +would almost be considered exceptional. Yet, this requires +considerable skill as the Icelanders are the only nation that has +preserved the ancient common Germanic alliteration (found in all +Germanic poetry till late medieval times). We frequently find this +device accompanied by highly complicated rhyme schemes. Despite this +rather rigid form, restrictive perhaps, yet disciplinary in its +effect, exquisite poetry has nevertheless been produced. This +poetry, however, is not within the scope of this introduction. +Suffice it to say that from what exists of their verse it is clear +that poets have been active at all times since the colonization of +the country. It is this uninterrupted flow of poetry that above all +has helped to preserve the language and the continuity of the +literary tradition. + +During the centuries we have been discussing--especially, however, +the seventeenth--the Icelanders probably wrote more verse than any +other nation has ever done--ranging in quality, to be sure, from the +lowest to the highest. When, in the sixteenth century, they had got +paper to take the place of the more expensive parchment, they could +universally indulge in copying old literature and writing new, an +opportunity which they certainly made use of. It was their only +luxury--and, at the same time, a vital need. + +We have said that the Icelanders had never waged war against any +other people. But they have had to struggle against foreign rulers, +and against hardships caused by the nature of their country. After +the Reformation, the intervention of the Crown greatly increased, +and, at the same time, its revenues from the country. A Crown +monopoly of all trade was imposed (in 1602). Nature joined forces +with mismanagement by the authorities; on the seas surrounding the +island pack-ice frequently became a menace to shipping, and there +also occurred unusually long and vicious series of volcanic +eruptions. These culminated in the late eighteenth century (1783), +when the world's most extensive lava fields of historical times were +formed, and the mist from the eruption was carried all over Europe +and far into the continent of Asia. Directly or indirectly as a +consequence of this eruption, the greater part of the live-stock, +and a fifth of the human population of the country perished. + +Still the people continued to tell stories and to compose poems. No +doubt the Icelanders have thus wasted on poetical fantasies and +visionary daydreams much of the energy that they might otherwise +have used in life's real battle. But the greyness of commonplace +existence became more bearable when they listened to tales of the +heroic deeds of the past. In the evening, the living-room +(baðstofa), built of turf and stone, became a little more cheerful, +and hunger was forgotten, while a member of the household read, or +sang, about far-away knights and heroes, and the banquets they gave +in splendid halls. In their imagination people thus tended to make +their environment seem larger, and better, than life, as did Hrolfur +with his fishing-boat in the story When I was on the Frigate. + + + + +III + + +About 1800, things began to improve. The monopoly of trade, which +had been relaxed in 1787, was finally abolished in 1854. In the year +1874 Iceland got self-government in its internal affairs, and in +1904 its first minister of state with residence in the country. It +became a sovereign kingdom in union with Denmark in 1918, and an +independent republic in 1944. + +The climate of the country has improved during the last hundred and +fifty years, though there were a number of severe years in the +eighteen eighties. It was at this time that emigration to the North- +American Continent reached a peak, especially to Canada, where one +of the settlements came to be called New Iceland--the title given to +the last story in this book. Many of these emigrants suffered great +hardships, and, as the story tells, several of them became +disillusioned with the land of promise. Their descendants, however, +have on the whole done well in the New World. + +Until recently, the Icelanders were almost entirely a nation of +farmers, and the majority of the stories in this collection contain +sketches of country life. A certain amount of perseverance and even +obstinacy was needed for a farmer's life on an island skirting the +Arctic Circle (The Old Hay). Only about a quarter of the country is +fit for human habitation, mainly the districts along the coast. The +uplands, for the most part made up of mountains, glaciers, sand- +deserts, and lava, are often awe-inspiring in their grandeur. + +Nevertheless it would be wrong to exaggerate the severity of the +land. In many places the soil is fertile, as is often the case in +volcanic countries, and--thanks to the Gulf Stream, which flows up +to the shores of the island--the climate is a good deal more +temperate than one might suppose (the average annual temperatures in +Reykjavík are 4-5° Centigrade). + +Besides, the surrounding sea makes up for the barrenness of the +country by having some of the richest fishing banks in the world. +Hence, in addition to being farmers, the Icelanders have always been +fishermen who brought means of sustenance from the sea--usually in +primitive open boats like those described in When I was on the +Frigate and Father and Son. In the late nineteenth century decked +vessels came into use besides the open boats, succeeded by steam +trawlers at the beginning of the present century. For the last few +decades, the Icelanders have been employing a modern fishing fleet, +and, at the time of writing, fishery products constitute more than +ninety per cent of the country's exports. + +With the growth of the fisheries and commerce there began to spring +up towards the end of the nineteenth century a number of trading +villages in different parts of the country. Reykjavík, the only +municipality of fairly long standing and by far the biggest one, had +at the turn of the present century a population of only between six +and seven thousand--now about eleven times that number. We catch +glimpses of these small trading stations at the beginning of the +twentieth century in A Dry Spell and Father and Son. + +Nowadays, four fifths of the population live in villages and +townships--where some light industry has sprung up--and, in +Reykjavík alone, more than two fifths of the population are +concentrated. + +In the last fifty years, the occupations of the people and their +culture have changed from being in many respects medieval, and have +assumed modern forms. The earlier turfbuilt farmhouses have now been +replaced by comfortable concrete buildings which get their +electricity from a source of water power virtually inexhaustible. +Many of these,--e. g. the majority of houses in Reykjavík--are +heated by water from hot springs, so that the purity of the northern +air is seldom spoilt by smoke from coal-fires. The reliable +Icelandic pony--so dear to the farmer in New Iceland, and for long +known as "a man's best friend"--has now for the most part come to +serve the well-to-do who can afford to use it for their joy-rides, +its place in farmwork being taken by modern agricultural machinery. +As a means of travel it has been replaced by a host of motorcars, +and by aeroplanes, which in Iceland are as commonly used in going +from one part of the country to another as railway trains in other +countries. In fact, it has not been found feasible to build railways +in Iceland. Besides this, a large number of airliners make daily use +of Icelandic airfields on transatlantic flights. What with most +other nations has been a slow and gradual process lasting several +centuries, has in Iceland come about in more or less a revolutionary +way. It is therefore not to be wondered at that there should have +been a certain instability in the development of the urban and +economic life of the country. In this field, however, there appear +to be signs of consolidation. + +Foreigners who come to this country in search of the old saga-island +are sometimes a little disappointed at finding here, in place of +saga-tellers and bards, a modern community, with its own university, +a national theatre, and a symphony orchestra. Be this as it may, +literature still holds first place among the arts and cultures. A +collection of books is indeed considered as essential a part of a +home as the furniture itself. For such visitors, there may be some +consolation in the fact that in some places they may have quite a +job in spotting the grocer's among the bookshops. + + + + +IV + + +In literature there had, especially in poetry, been a continuity +from the very beginnings. Yet, in the field also, the early +nineteenth century saw the dawn of a new age. The Romantic Movement +was here, as elsewhere, accompanied by a national awakening, so that +literature became the herald and the principal motive force of +social improvement. There was at the same time a new drive for an +increased beauty of language and refinement of style, where the +classical, cultivated, literary language and the living speech of +the time merged. With Romanticism there also emerged poets of so +great merit that only a few such had come forward since the end of +the saga period. But henceforward--let's take as our point of +departure the second quarter of the nineteenth century--each +generation in the country has indeed produced some outstanding +literary works, comparable in quality with the accomplishments of +the ancient classical Edda and saga periods. + +During this new golden age, several literary tendencies and genres +may be observed. But Romanticism remained the most lasting and +potent literary force for about a century. However, one of the +characteristics of the Icelandic literature of later ages is the +infrequent manifestation of literary trends in their purest and most +extreme forms. Here the stabilizing and moderating influence of the +ancient sagas has, without doubt, been at work. In most cases this +middle course may be said to have been beneficial to the literature. + +But the saga-literature may also well have had a restraining +influence on later authors in so far as it set a difficult standard +to be emulated. It is probably here that the principal explanation +of the late re-emergence of prose fiction is to be sought. It was +not until about the middle of the nineteenth century that modern +short stories, novels and plays began to be written on anything like +a scale worthy of note. The earliest of these were romantic in +spirit, though most of them had a realistic tinge. With Realism, the +short story came into its own in the eighties and nineties of the +last century. This trend came like a fresh current to take its place +side by side with Romanticism, without, however, ousting it from the +literary scene. But owing to the realistic technique and the tragic +endings of much in the ancient literature--Eddaic poetry and sagas +alike--Realism was never the novel force it generally was felt to be +elsewhere. Still, it brought social criticism into our literature. +This was introduced through the activity of young literary-minded +students who, while studying at the University of Copenhagen, had +become full of enthusiasm for Georg Brandes and his school. + +One of these young men was Einar H. Kvaran (1859-1938), a +clergyman's son from the North, who, after beginning as a student of +politics, soon turned his attention to literature and journalism. He +became editor of Icelandic newspapers in Canada (1885-95), and, +later, in Iceland, mainly in Reykjavík. His chief preoccupation, +however, became the composition of short stories and novels, and +besides these he also wrote some plays and poetry. The delicacy and +the religious bent of his nature could not for long remain the soil +for the satirical asperity and materialism of the realist school, +though his art was always marked by its technique. As he advanced in +years, brotherhood and forgiveness became an evergrowing element in +his idealism, and he became the first bearer of the spiritualist +message in this country. With his stories he had a humanizing +influence on his times, especially in the education of children, and +in the field of culture he remained actively interested right up to +a ripe old age. If somewhat lacking in creative fervour and +colourful raciness of style, he made up for it by the abundance of +his intelligence, his humanity and culture. + +He wrote A Dry Spell (Ðurrkur) at the beginning of the present +century, when he had disengaged himself from the strongest influence +of Realism, but before moral preaching and the belief in the life +hereafter had become the leading elements in his stories. He had +then, for a few years, been living in the north-country town of +Akureyri, which obviously provides the model for the setting of the +story. It was first printed in the 1905 issue of the periodical +Skírnir. + +In addition to the travelled, academic realists, there appeared a +group of self-educated popular writers, some of whom had come into +direct contact with this foreign school. They were farmers, even in +the more remote country districts, who had read the latest +Scandinavian literature in the original, and who wrote stories +containing radical social satire. Guðmundur Friðjónsson, for +instance, had begun his career in this way. In many of these +authors, however, we find rather a sort of native realism, where +there is not necessarily a question of the influence of any +particular literary tendency. Their works sprang out of the native +environment of the authors, whose vision, despite a limited horizon, +was often vivid. They convey true impressions of real life. + +Of this kind are most of the works of Guðmundur Friðjónsson +(1869-1944), a radical who later turned to conservatism--and the +best works of Jón Trausti (1873-1918). These, who had their debut as +writers about the turn of the century, are the authors of the next +two stories in our collection. Both were North-countrymen. The +former, a farmer's son from a district enjoying a high standard of +culture, himself settled down as a farmer in his native locality in +order to earn a living for his large family. In his youth he had +attended a secondary school in the neighbourhood for a couple of +winters, but he never had his experiences enriched by foreign travel +and was during the whole of his life anchored to his native region. +Jón Trausti, the son of a farm labourer and his wife, who had been +born on one of the northernmost farms in Iceland in a barren and +outlying district, was brought up in dire poverty. From an early age +he had had to fend for himself as a farmhand and fisherman, finally +settling in Reykjavík as a printer. Apart from his apprenticeship +with the printers, he never went to any sort of school (school +education was first made compulsory by law in Iceland in 1907); but +on two occasions he had travelled abroad. + +These energetic persons became widely read, especially in Icelandic +literature, and wrote extensively under difficult circumstances:--in +fact all the modern authors represented in the present book may be +said to have been prolific as writers. Guðmundur Friðjónsson was +equally versatile as a writer of short stories and poems. He has a +rich command of imagery and diction, and his style, at times a +little pompous, is often powerful though slightly archaic in +flavour. The ancient heroic literature doubtless fostered his manly +ideas, which, however, sprang from his own experience in life. One +must, he felt, be hard on oneself, and on one's guard against the +vanity of newfangled ideas and against the enervating effect of +civilization. It is in the nature of things that with this farmer +and father of a family of twelve, assiduity, prudence, and self- +discipline should be among the highest virtues. This is notably +apparent in The Old Hay (Gamla heyið), which he wrote in 1909, and +which was published in Tólf sögur (Twelve stories) in 1915. + +Jón Trausti (pseudonym of Guðmundur Magnússon) is best known as +the author of novels and short stories on contemporary and +historical themes, but he also wrote plays and poems. He was endowed +with fertile creative powers and the ability to draw vivid sketches +of environment and character. At times, however, he lacks restraint, +especially in his longer novels. Still, his principal work, The +Mountain Cot (Heiðarbýlið)--one of the longest cycles in +Icelandic fiction--is his greatest. The little outlying mountain cot +becomes a separate world in its own right, a coign of vantage +affording a clear view of the surrounding countryside where we get +profound insight into human nature. Like the bulk of his best work, +this novel has a foundation in his own experiences. In reading the +story by him included in this volume, the reader may find it helpful +to bear in mind Trausti's early life as a fisherman. What he +attempts to show us there is a kind of inner reality--an offset to +reality. When I was on the Frigate (Þegar eg var á fregátunni) +first published in Skírnir for 1910. + +Jón Trausti and Einar H. Kvaran--who between them form an +interesting contrast--were the most prolific novelists at the +beginning of the present century. By that time prose was becoming an +increasingly important part of Icelandic literature. It would be +more or less true to say that in the first thirty years of the +century it had gained an equal footing with poetry. For the last +thirty years, however, prose has taken first place, after poetry had +constituted the backbone of Icelandic literature for six hundred +years, or since the end of saga-writing. + +But there were several writers who felt that the small reading +public at home in Iceland gave them too little scope. So they +emigrated, mostly to Denmark, and in the early decades of the +century began to write in foreign languages, though the majority +continued simultaneously to write in the vernacular. Pioneers in +this field were the dramatist Johann Sigurjónsson (1880-1919), and +the novelist Gunnar Gunnarsson (b. 1889). Both of these wrote in +Danish as well as in Icelandic. Early in the second decade of the +century three of this overseas group produced works that were +accorded immediate acclaim, and which have since become classics, +being widely translated into foreign languages. These were Eyvind of +the Hills (Fjalla-Eyvindur) by Johann Sigurjonsson; The Borg Family +(Borgaraettin, in English Guest the One-eyed) by Gunnar Gunnarsson; +and Nonni, Erlebnisse eines jungen Isländers, the first of the +famous children's books by the Jesuit monk Jón Sveinsson (Jon +Svensson, 1857-1944). With these works modern Icelandic literature +won for the first time a place for itself among the living +contemporary literatures of the world. Since then, Iceland's +contribution has been steady, not only in the works of those who +wrote in foreign languages, but equally--and during the last couple +of decades exclusively--in vernacular writing. In fact, with the +return to his native country of Gunnar Gunnarsson in 1939, the vogue +of writing in foreign languages virtually came to an end. + +On his arrival in Iceland Gunnarsson had settled in his native east- +country district though he afterwards moved to Reykjavík, where he +now lives. Indeed he possesses many of the best qualities of the +gentleman-farmer--firmness, tenacity of purpose, and a craving for +freedom in his domain,--combined with a writer's imaginative and +narrative powers and understanding of humanity. He often describes +human determination and man's struggle with destiny, especially in +his historical novels, which are set in most periods of Icelandic +history. More moving, perhaps, are his novels on contemporary +themes. The greatest among these is the cycle The Church on the +Mountain (Fjallkirkjan; of the five novels making up this sequence, +three have been translated into English under two titles, Ships in +the Sky and The Night and the Dream). This is one of the major works +of Icelandic literature--containing a fascinating world of fancy, +invention, and reality. It is the story of the development of a +writer who leaves home in order to seek the world. One of the best +known stories in all Icelandic literature is his masterly short +novel Advent or The good Shepherd (Aðventa).--Father and Sam +Feðgarnir) was first published in the periodical Eimreiðin in +1916. The present version, with slight changes, is that found in the +author's collected works, Rit XI, 1951. + +Most Icelandic writers have, of course, written in the vernacular +only, in spite of longer or shorter stay abroad. This applies to the +last two authors represented here, both of whom appeared on the +literary scene about 1920. + +Guðmundur G. Hagalín (b. 1898) comes from the sea-girt Western +Fiords, where he was a fisherman before attending secondary school. +Later, he lectured on Iceland in Norway for a few years (1924-27), +and is now a superintendent of public libraries. His home is in the +neighbourhood of Reykjavík. In his novels, and more particularly in +his short stories, he is at his best in his portrayals of the simple +sturdy seamen and countryfolk of his native region, which are often +refreshingly arch in manner. Hagalín, who is a talented narrator, +frequently succeeds in catching the living speech and characteristic +mode of expression of his characters. The Fox Skin (Tófuskinnið) +first appeared in 1923, in one of his collections of short stories +(Strandbúar).--He has also been successful as a recorder and editor +of the biographies of greatly different people, based on first-hand +accounts of their own lives. He is at present continuing with the +writing of his autobiography--a long and interesting work. + +Halldór Kiljan Laxness was born in 1902 in Reykjavík. Shortly +afterwards his parents established themselves on a farm in the +neighbourhood where he was brought up, and where he has now built +himself a home. He is a patriot and, at the same time, a +cosmopolitan who has probably travelled more extensively abroad than +any other of his fellow-countrymen. After becoming a Catholic at the +age of twenty, he spent a year in monasteries abroad, but had +already begun to waver in his Catholicism when he first visited +America, where he stayed from 1927 to 1930. During those years he +became more and more radical in his social beliefs. Already in his +first year there, he wrote the short story New Iceland (Nýja +Ísland), which was immediately published in Heimskringla, an +Icelandic weekly in Winnipeg. The story thus dates from an early +period, when his art was in process of great development. + +Indeed, the nineteen twenties saw important changes in our +literature. The last of the great nineteenth century poets were +vanishing from the literary scene, their places being taken by +others, whose poetry, though hardly as profound and lofty in +conception, was more lyrical and simple in manner, with greater +delicacy and refinement of form. Especially in the prose-writing of +the period, there were signs of flourishing growth. Gunnar +Gunnarsson wrote The Church on the Mountain, and Laxness was +becoming known. In the early thirties he appears as a fully mature +writer in Salka Valka, a political love story from a fishing +village, and Independent People (Sjálfstaett fólk), a heroic novel +about the stubbornness and the lot of the Icelandic mountain farmer, +both of which have appeared in English translations. Laxness has +devoted less attention to the writing of plays and poetry than +novels and short stories. Two among his greatest works are the novel +sequences The Light of the World (Heimsljós)--about a poet-genius +who never reaches maturity--, and The Bell of Iceland +(Íslandsklukkan), a historical novel describing a political, +cultural and human struggle. On the whole, the subject-matter of his +stories is extremely varied, equally as regards time, place and +human types. However, the greatest variety will probably be found in +his style, which he constantly adapts to suit the subject. Behind +all this lies a fertile creativeness which rarely leaves the reader +untouched. No matter where in the wide world his stories may be set, +they always stand in some relation to his people--though, at the +same time, he usually succeeds in endowing them with universal +values shared by common humanity. To achieve this has from early on +been Laxness' aim; thus the first printed version of New Iceland +contains the sub-heading: "An international proletarian story." + +When this introduction was being written, a new novel by him, Heaven +Reclaimed (Paradísarheimt) was published (1960), which, like his +early short story, is set partly in America--this time among the +Icelandic Mormons of Utah. Here, the man who goes out across half +the world in quest of the millennium is in the end led back to his +origins. + +Laxness was awarded the Nobel Prize in 1955. + +Tke University of Iceland, Reykjavík. + +Steingrímur J. Þorsteinsson. + + + + + + +ANONYMOUS + +THE STORY OF AUDUNN AND THE BEAR + +EARLY 13TH CENTURY + +I + + +There was a man called Audunn; he came of a family of the Western +Firths, and was not well off. Audunn left Iceland from the Western +Firths with the assistance of Thorsteinn, a substantial farmer, and +of Thorir, a ship's captain, who had stayed with Thorsteinn during +the winter. Audunn had been on the same farm, working for Thorir, +and as his reward he got his passage to Norway under Thorir's care. + +Audunn had set aside the greater part of his property, such as it +was, for his mother, before he took ship, and it was determined that +this should support her for three years. + +Now they sailed to Norway and had a prosperous voyage, and Audunn +spent the following winter with the skipper Thorir, who had a farm +in Moérr. The summer after that, they sailed out to Greenland, +where they stayed for the winter. + +It is told that in Greenland, Audunn bought a white bear, a +magnificent beast, and paid for him all he had. Next summer they +returned to Norway, and their voyage was without mishap. Audunn +brought his bear with him, intending to go south to Denmark to visit +King Sveinn, and to present the beast to him. When he reached die +south of Norway and came to the place where the King was in +residence, Audunn went ashore, leading his bear, and hired lodgings. + +King Haraldr was soon told that a bear had been brought to the +place, a magnificent creature, belonging to an Icelander. The King +immediately sent men to fetch Audunn, and when he entered the King's +presence, Audunn saluted him as was proper. The King acknowledged +the salute suitably and then asked: + +Is it true that you have a great treasure, a white bear? + +Audunn answered and said that he had got a bear of some sort. + +The King said: Will you sell him to us for the price you paid for +him? + +Audunn answered: I would not care to do that, my Lord. + +Will you then, said the King, have me pay twice the price? That +would be fairer if you gave all you had for him. + +I would not care to do that, my Lord, answered Audunn, but the King +said: + +Will you give him to me then? + +No, my Lord, answered Audunn. + +The King asked: What do you mean to do with him then?--and Audunn +answered: I mean to go south to Denmark and give him to King Sveinn. + +Can it be that you are such a fool, said King Haraldr, that you have +not heard about the war between these two countries? Or do you think +your luck so good that you will be able to bring valuable +possessions to Denmark, while others cannot get there unmolested, +even though they have pressing business? + +Audunn answered: My Lord, that is for you to decide, but I shall +agree to nothing other than that which I had already planned. + +Then the King said: Why should we not have it like this, that you go +your own way, just as you choose, and then visit me on your way +back, and tell me how King Sveinn rewards you for the bear? It may +be that luck will go with you. + +I will promise you to do that, said Audunn. + +Audunn now followed the coast southward and eastward into the Vik, +and from there to Denmark, and by that time every penny of his money +had been spent, and he had to beg food for himself as well as for +the bear. He called on one of King Sveinn's stewards, a man named +Aki, and asked him for some provisions, both for himself and for his +bear.--I intend, said he, to give the bear to King Sveinn. + +Aki said that he would sell him some provisions if he liked, but +Audunn answered that he had nothing to pay for them,--but yet, said +he, I would like to carry out my plan, and to take the beast to the +King. + +Aki answered: I will supply such provisions as the two of you need +until you go before the King, but in exchange I will have half the +bear. You can look at it in this way: the beast will die on your +hands, since you need a lot of provisions and your money is spent, +and it will come to this, that you will have nothing out of the +bear. + +When Audunn considered this, it seemed to him that there was some +truth in what the steward had said, and they agreed on these terms: +he gave Aki half the bear, and the King was then to set a value on +the whole. + +Now they were both to visit the King, and so they did. They went +into his presence and stood before his table. The King wondered who +this man could be, whom he did not recognize, and then said to +Audunn: Who are you? + +Audunn answered: I am an Icelander, my Lord, and I came lately from +Greenland, and now from Norway, intending to bring you this white +bear. I gave all I had for him, but I have had a serious setback, so +now I only own half of the beast.--Then Audunn told the King what +had happened between him and the steward, Aki. + +The King asked: Is that true, what he says, Aki? + +True it is, said Aki. + +The King said: And did you think it proper, seeing that I had placed +you in a high position, to let and hinder a man who had taken it on +himself to bring me a precious gift, for which he had given all he +had? King Haraldr saw fit to let him go his way in peace, and he is +no friend of ours. Think, then, how far this was honest on your +part. It would be just to have you put to death, but I will not do +that now; you must rather leave this land at once, and never come +into my sight again. But to you, Audunn, I owe the same gratitude as +if you were giving me the whole of the bear, so now stay here with +me. + +Audunn accepted the invitation and stayed with King Sveinn for a +while. + + + + +II + + +After some time had passed Audunn said to the King: I desire to go +away now, my Lord. + +The King answered rather coldly: What do you want to do then, since +you do not wish to stay with us? + +Audunn answered: I wish to go south on a pilgrimage. + +If you had not such a good end before you, said the King, I should +be vexed at your desire to go away. + +Now the King gave Audunn a large sum of silver, and he travelled +south with pilgrims bound for Rome. The King arranged for his +journey, asking him to visit him when he came + +Audunn went on his way until he reached the city of Rome in the +south. When he had stayed there as long as he wished, he turned +back, and a severe illness attacked him, and he grew terribly +emaciated. All the money which the King had given him for his +pilgrimage was now spent, and so he took up his staff and begged his +food. By now his hair had fallen out and he looked in a bad way. He +got back to Denmark at Easter, and went to the place where the King +was stationed. He dared not let the King see him, but stayed in a +side-aisle of the church, intending to approach the King when he +went to church for Nones. But when Audunn beheld the King and his +courtiers splendidly arrayed, he did not dare to show himself. + +When the King went to drink in his hall, Audunn ate his meal out of +doors, as is the custom of Rome pilgrims, so long as they have not +laid aside their staff and scrip. In the evening, when the King went +to Vespers, Audunn intended to meet him, but shy as he was before, +he was much more so now that the courtiers were merry with drink. As +they were going back, the King noticed a man, and thought he could +see that he had not the confidence to come forward and meet him. But +as the courtiers walked in, the King turned back and said: + +Let the man who wants to meet me come forward; I think there must be +someone who does. + +Then Audunn came forward and fell at the feet of the King, but the +King hardly recognized him. As soon as he knew who he was, he took +Audunn by the hand and welcomed him:--You have changed a lot since +we met last,--he said, and then he led Audunn into the hall after +him. When the courtiers saw Audunn they laughed at him, but the King +said: + +There is no need for you to laugh at this man, for he has provided +better for his soul than you have. + +The King had a bath prepared for Audunn and then gave him clothes, +and now he stayed with the King. + + + + +III + + +It is told that one day in the spring the King invited Audunn to +stay with him for good, and said he would make him his cup-bearer, +and do him great honour. + +Audunn answered: May God reward you, my Lord, for all the favours +you would show me, but my heart is set on sailing out to Iceland. + +The King said: This seems a strange choice to me,--but Audunn +answered: My Lord, I cannot bear to think that I should be enjoying +high honour here with you, while my mother is living the life of a +beggar out in Iceland. For by now, all that I contributed for her +subsistence before I left Iceland, has been used up. + +The King answered: That is well spoken and like a man, and good +fortune will go with you. This was the one reason for your departure +which would not have offended me. So stay with me until the ships +are made ready for sea.--And this Audunn did. + +One day towards the end of spring King Sveinn walked down to the +quay, where men were getting ships ready to sail to various lands, +to the Baltic lands and Germany, to Sweden and Norway. The King and +Audunn came to a fine vessel, and there were some men busy fitting +her out. The King asked: + +How do you like this ship, Audunn? + +Audunn answered: I like her well, my Lord. + +The King said: I will give you this ship and reward you for the +white bear. + +Audunn thanked the King for his gift as well as he knew how. + +After a time, when the ship was quite ready to sail, King Sveinn +said to Audunn: + +If you wish to go now, I shall not hinder you, but I have heard that +you are badly off for harbours in your country, and that there are +many shelterless coasts, dangerous to shipping. Now, supposing you +are wrecked, and lose your ship and your goods, there will be little +to show that you have visited King Sveinn and brought him a precious +gift. + +Then the King handed him a leather purse full of silver: You will +not be altogether penniless, said he, even if you wreck your ship, +so long as you can hold on to this. But yet it may be, said the +King, that you will lose this money, and then it will be of little +use to you that you have been to see King Sveinn and given him a +precious gift. + +Then the King drew a ring from his arm and gave it to Audunn, +saying: Even if it turns out so badly that you wreck your ship and +lose your money, you will still not be a pauper if you reach land, +for many men have gold about them in a shipwreck, and if you keep +this ring there will be something to show that you have been to see +King Sveinn. But I will give you this advice, said the King, do not +give this ring away, unless you should feel yourself so much +indebted to some distinguished man--then give the ring to him, for +it is a fitting gift for a man of rank. And now farewell. + + + + +IV + + +After this Audunn put to sea and made Norway, and had his +merchandise brought ashore, and that was a more laborious task than +it had been last time he was in Norway. Then he went into the +presence of King Haraldr, wishing to fulfil the promise he had given +him before he went to Denmark. Audunn gave the King a friendly +greeting, which he accepted warmly. + +Sit down, said the King, and drink with us, and so Audunn did. Then +King Haraldr asked: What reward did King Sveinn give you for the +bear? + +Audunn answered: This, my Lord, that he accepted him from me. + +I would have given you that, said the King, but what else did he +give you? + +Audunn said: He gave me silver to make a pilgrimage to Rome, but +King Haraldr said: + +King Sveinn gives many people silver for pilgrimages and for other +things, even if they do not bring him valuable gifts. What more did +he do for you? + +He offered to make me his cup-bearer and to give me great honours. + +That was a good offer, said the King, but he must have given you +still more. + +Audunn said: He gave me a merchantman with a cargo of wares most +profitable for the Norway trade. + +That was generous, said the King, but I would have rewarded you as +well as that. Did he give you anything else? + +Audunn said: He gave me a leather purse full of silver, and said +that I would still not be penniless if I kept it, even if my ship +were wrecked off Iceland. + +The King said: That was magnificent, and more than I should have +done. I would have thought my debt discharged if I had given you the +ship. Did he give you anything else? + +Certainly he gave me something else, my Lord, said Audunn; he gave +me this ring which I am wearing on my arm, and said that I might +chance to lose all my property, and yet not be destitute if I had +this ring. But he advised me not to part with it unless I were under +such an obligation to some noble man that I wished to give it to +him. And now I have come to the right man, for it was in your power +to take from me both my bear and my life, but you allowed me to go +to Denmark in peace when others could not go there. + +The King received the gift graciously and gave Audunn fine presents +in exchange before they parted. Audunn laid out his merchandise on +his voyage to Iceland, and sailed out that same summer, and people +thought him the luckiest of men. + +From this man Audunn was descended Thorsteinn Gyduson. [Footnote: +Thorsteinn Gyduson was drowned in the year 1190. Unless +interpolated, the allusion to him shows that the story was written +after that date.] + + + + +EINAR H. KVARAN + +A DRY SPELL + + +It had rained for a fortnight--not all the time heavily, but a fog +had sullenly hung about the mountain tops, clinging to the +atmosphere and rendering the whole of existence a dull gray colour. +Every little while it would discharge a fine drizzle of rain or a +heavy shower down upon the hay and everything else on earth, so that +only the stones would occasionally be dry--but the grass never. + +We were tired of the store--indeed, I should like to know who would +have enjoyed it. It dated back to the beginning of the last century, +a tarred, coal-black, ramshackle hut. The windows were low and +small, the windowpanes diminutive. The ceiling was low. Everything +was arranged in such a way as to exclude the possibility of lofty +flights of thought or vision. + +Just now, not a living soul looked in--not even those thriftless +fellows who lived by chance jobs in the village and met in daily +conclave at the store. We had often cursed their lengthy visits, but +now that they had hired themselves out during the haymaking, we +suddenly realized that they had often been entertaining. They had +made many amusing remarks and brought us news of the neighbourhood. +And now we cursed them for their absence. + +We sat there and smoked, staring vacantly at the half-empty shelves, +and all but shivering in the damp room. There was no heater in the +store at any season, and the one in the office, if used, emitted +spurts of smoke through every aperture except the chimney. It had +not been cleaned since sometime during winter, and we were not +ambitious enough for such an undertaking in the middle of the +summer. + +We tried to transfer our thoughts from the store to the world +outside. We made clever comments to the effect that the farmers were +now getting plenty of moisture for the hay-fields, and that it would +be a pity if rain should set in now, right at the beginning of the +haying season. We had nothing further to say on the subject, but +this we repeated from day to day. In short, we were depressed and at +odds with things in general. Until the dry spell. + +One morning, about nine o'clock, the bank of fog began to move. +First, there appeared an opening about the size of your hand, and +through it the eastern sky showed a bright blue. Then another +opening, and through it shone the sun. + +We knew what this was called, and we said to each other: Merely a +'morning promise'--implying, nothing reliable. But it was more. The +fog began to show thinner and move faster along the mountain ridge +opposite. Then it gathered in a deep pass and lay there heaped up +like newly carded, snowy wool. On either side, the mountains loomed +a lovely blue, and in their triumph ignored the fog almost +completely. When we ventured a look through the doorway of the +store, there was nothing to be seen overhead save the clear, blue +sky and the sunshine. + +On the opposite shore of the fjord, the people looked to us like the +cairns out on the moorlands, only these tiny cairns moved in single +file about the hay-fields. I seemed to smell the sweet hay in the +homefields, but of course this was only my imagination. I also +fancied I could hear the maids laughing, especially one of them. I +would willingly have sacrificed a good deal to be over there helping +her dry the hay. But of this subject no more; I did not intend to +write a love story--at least, not in the ordinary sense of the word. + +The dry spell lasted. We, the clerks, took turns at staying out of +doors as much as possible, and 'drinking deeply of the golden fount +of sunshine'. + +In the afternoon of the third day, I dropped in at the doctor's. I +felt somewhat weary with walking--and idleness--and looked forward +to the doctor's couch and conversation. + +A cigar? asked the doctor. + +Yes, a cigar, I answered. I have smoked only six today. + +Beer or whisky and water? queried the doctor. + +A small whisky, I replied. + +I lit my cigar, inhaling deeply of its fragrance--then exhaling +through mouth and nostrils. I sighed with contentment; the cigar was +excellent. + +Then we began to drink the whisky and water at our leisure. I +reclined against the head of the couch, stretched out my feet, was +conscious of a luxurious sensation--and sent my thoughts for a +moment across the fjord, where they preferred to remain. + +The doctor was in high spirits. He talked about the Japanese and +Russians, the most recently discovered rays, and the latest +disclosures on how is felt to die. + +My favourite pastime is to listen to others speaking. I never seem +able to think of any topics worthy of conversation myself, but I am +almost inclined to say that my ability to listen amounts to an art. +I can remain silent with an air of absorbing interest, and once in a +while offer brief comment, not to set forth an opinion or display +any knowledge--for I have none to spare--but merely to suggest new +channels to the speaker and introduce variety, that he may not tire +of hearing himself speak. + +I felt extremely comfortable on the couch. I thought it particularly +entertaining to hear the doctor tell how it felt to die. There is +always something pleasantly exciting about death--when it is +reasonably far away from you. It seemed so beautifully far away from +the perfume of the tobacco-smoke, the flavour of whisky, and the +restfulness of the couch, and when my mind wandered to her across +the fjord--as wander it would in spite of my studied attention--then +death seemed so far off shore that I could scarcely follow the +description of how it felt to others to die. + +In the midst of this dreamy contentment and deluge of information +from the doctor, the door was somewhat hastily thrown open. I was +looking the other way and thought it must be one of the doctor's +children. + +But it was old man Thordur from the Bend. + +I knew him well. He was over fifty, tall and large-limbed, with a +hoary shock of hair and a snub nose. I knew he had a host of +children--I had been at his door once, and they had run, pattered, +waddled, crept, and rolled through the doorway to gape at me. It had +seemed as hopeless to try to count them as a large flock of sheep. I +knew there was no income except what the old man and woman--and +possibly the elder children--managed to earn from day to day. My +employer in Copenhagen had strictly forbidden us to give credit to +such--and of course he now owed us more than he would ever be able +to pay. + +He does not even knock--the old ruffian, I said to myself. + +From his appearance, something was wrong. His face was unnaturally +purplish, his eyes strangely shiny--yet dull withal. It even seemed +to me that his legs shook under him. + +Can it be that the old devil is tipsy--at the height of the haying +season--and dry weather at that? I mentally queried. + +The doctor evidently could not recall who he was. + +Good-day to you, my man, he said, and what matter have you in hand? + +I merely came to get those four crowns. + +Which four crowns? asked the doctor. + +Thordur raised his voice: The four crowns you owe me. + +It was now evident that it was difficult for him to remain standing. + +I felt assured that the old rascal had been drinking like a fish. I +was surprised. I had never heard he was inclined that way. He lived +out there on the hillside a short distance above the village. I +began to wonder where he had been able to obtain so much liquor-- +certainly not from us at the store. + +What is your name? asked the doctor. + +My name? Don't you know my name? Don't you know me?--Thordur-- +Thordur of the Bend. I should best of all like to get the money at +once. + +Yes, that's so--you are Thordur of the Bend, said the doctor. And +you are up? But listen, my good man, I owe you nothing. You owe me a +small sum--but that does not matter in the least. + +I care nothing about that, but I should best of all like to get the +money at once, repeated Thordur. + +May I feel your hand for a minute? said the doctor. + +Thordur extended his hand, but it seemed to me that he did not know +it. He looked off into space, as if thinking of other things--or +rather as if he had no thoughts whatever. I saw the doctor's fingers +on his wrist. + +You are a sick man, he said. + +Sick?--Yes--of course I am sick. Am I then to pay you four crowns? I +haven't got them now. + +It makes no difference about those four crowns, but why did you get +up like this? Have you forgotten that I ordered you to remain in bed +when I saw you the other day? + +In bed?--How the devil am I to remain in bed? Tell me that! + +You must not get up in this condition. Why, you are delirious! + +What a fool you are--don't you know that there is a dry spell. + +Yes, I AM aware of the dry spell.--It was evidently not quite clear +to him what that had to do with the case.--Have a chair, and we will +talk it over. + +A chair? No!--Who, then, should dry the hay in the homefield? I had +some of it cut when I was taken down--why do you contradict me? And +the youngsters have made some attempts at it--but who is to see +about drying it?--Not Gudrun--she can't do everything. The +youngsters?--what do they know about drying hay?--Who, then, is to +do it?--Are YOU going to do it? + +Something will turn up for you, said the doctor, somewhat at a loss. + +Something will turn up? Nothing has ever turned up for ME. + +Cold shivers passed through me. His remark rang true: I knew that +nothing had ever turned up for him. I felt faint at looking into +such an abyss of hopelessness. Instantly I saw that the truth of +this delirious statement concerned me more than all the wisdom of +the ages. + +Do I get those four crowns you owe me?--Thordur asked. He was now +trembling so that his teeth chattered. + +The doctor produced four crowns from his purse and handed them to +him. Thordur laid them on the table and staggered towards the door.- +-You are leaving your crowns behind, man, said the doctor. + +I haven't got them now, said Thordur, without looking back and still +making his way towards the door.--But I'll pay them as soon as I +can. + +Isn't there a vacant bed upstairs at the store? inquired the doctor. + +Yes, I answered. We will walk with you down to the store, Thordur. + +Walk with me?--Be damned!--I am off for the hay-field. + +We followed him outside and watched him start out. After a short +distance he tumbled down. We got him upstairs in the store. + +A few days later he could have told us, if anyone had been able to +communicate with him, whether they are right or wrong, those latest +theories on how it feels to die. + +--But who dries the hay in his homefield now? + + + + +Guðmundur Friðjónsson + +THE OLD HAY + + +During the latter part of the reign of King Christian the Ninth, +there lived at Holl in the Tunga District a farmer named Brandur. By +the time the events narrated here transpired, Brandur had grown +prosperous and very old--old in years and old in ways. The +neighbours thought he must have money hidden away somewhere. But no +one knew anything definitely, for Brandur had always been reserved +and uncommunicative, and permitted no prying in his house or on his +possessions. There was, however, one thing every settler in those +parts knew: Brandur had accumulated large stores of various kinds. +Anyone passing along the highway could see that. + +Brandur usually had some hay remaining in lofts and yards when +spring came, and, besides, there was the immense stack that stood on +a knoll out in the homefield before the house. It had been there for +many years and was well protected against wind and weather by a +covering of sod. Brandur had replenished the hay, a little at a +time, by using up that from one end only and filling in with fresh +hay the following summer. + +Brandur was hospitable to such guests as had business with him, and +refused to accept payment for food or lodging; but very few people +ever came to see him, and these were mostly old friends with whom he +had financial dealings. Brandur was willing to make loans against +promissory notes and the payment of interest. There were not many to +whom he would entrust his money, however, and he never lost a penny. +Whenever these callers came, he would bring out the brandy bottle. + +The buildings at Holl were all in a tumble-down state; the furniture +was no better. There wasn't a chair in the whole house; even the +baðstofa had only a dirt floor, and it was entirely unsheathed on +the inside except for a few planks nailed on the wall from the bed +up as far as the rafters. The clock was the sole manufactured +article in the room. But friends of the old man knew that underneath +his bed he kept a fairly large carved wooden chest, bearing the +inscription anno 1670. The chest was heavy and was always kept +locked. Only the nearest of kin had ever seen its contents. + +Brandur was not considered obliging; it was very difficult to get to +see him. Yet he was willing to sell food at any time for cash; hay, +too, as long as there was still some remaining in his lofts. He +would also sell hay against promises of lambs, especially wethers, +once it was certain that the cold of winter was past. But his old +haystack he refused to touch for anyone. + +In this way Brandur stumbled down the pathway of life until he lost +his sight. Even then, he was still sound in mind and body. While his +vision remained unimpaired, it had been his habit to walk out to the +old haystack every day and stroll around it slowly, examining it +carefully from top to bottom and patting it with his hands. This +habit he kept up as long as the weather permitted him to be +outdoors, and he did not give it up even after his sight was gone. +He would still take his daily walk out to the haystack on the knoll, +drag himself slowly around it, groping with his hands to feel it, as +if he wished to make sure that it still stood there, firm as a rock +and untouched. He would stretch out his hands and touch its face and +count the strips of turf to himself in a whisper. + +Brandur still tilled the land, though he kept but little help and +was living chiefly on the fruits of his former labours. He had fine +winter pastures, and good meadows quite near the house, from which +the hay could easily be brought in. The old man steadfastly refused +to adopt modern farming methods; he had never levelled off the +hummocks, nor drained or irrigated the land. But he did hire a few +harvest hands in the middle of the season, paying them in butter, +tallow, and the flesh of sheep bellies. The wages he paid were never +high, yet he always paid whatever had been agreed upon. + +Old Brandur had been blessed with only one child, a daughter named +Gudrun. who had married a farmer in the district. Since his +daughter's marriage, Brandur kept a housekeeper and one farm hand, a +young man whom Brandur had reared and who, it was rumoured, was his +natural son. But that has nothing to do with the story. + +When Brandur had reached a ripe old age, there came a winter with +much frost and snow. Time and again, some of the snow and ice would +thaw, but then a hard frost would come, glazing everything in an icy +coating. This went on until late in April. By that time, almost +every farmer in the district had used up his hay; every one of them +was at the end of his store, and nowhere was there a blade of grass +to feed the live-stock, for the land still lay frozen under its +blanket of hard-packed snow and ice. When things had come to this +pass, a general district meeting was called to discuss the situation +and decide what should be done. Brandur's son-in-law Jon was made +chairman of the meeting. + +During the discussion it was brought to light that many of the +flocks would die of hunger unless 'God Almighty vouchsafed a turn in +the weather very soon', or Old Brandur could be induced to part with +his old hay. That stack would help, if properly divided among those +who were in greatest need. The quantity of hay it contained was +estimated, and the general opinion expressed that, if it were +divided, the flocks of every farmer in the district could be fed for +at least two weeks, even if they could not in that time be put out +to pasture. + +Jon being chairman of the District Council, as well as Brandur's +son-in-law, it fell to his lot to go to the old man and ask for the +hay. + +So it came about that, on his way home from the meeting, Jon stopped +at Holl. The day was cold and clear, the afternoon sun shining down +upon the snow-covered landscape. The icy blanket turned back the +rays of warmth as if it would have nothing to do with the sun. But +wherever rocks and gravelly banks protruded, the ice appeared to be +peeled off, for in those spots the sun's rays had melted it, though +only at mid-day and on the south. All streams and waterfalls +slumbered in silence under the snowy blanket. A chill silence +reigned over the whole valley. Not a bird was to be seen, not even a +snow bunting, only two ravens which kept flying from farmhouse to +farmhouse, and even their cawing had a hungry note. + +When Jon rode up to the house at Holl, he found Brandur out by the +haystack. The old man was carefully groping his way around the +stack, feeling it on all sides and counting the strips of turf in so +loud a voice that Jon could hear him: O-n-e, t-w-o, three. + +Jon dismounted and, going over to Brandur, saluted him with a kiss. + +How are you? God bless you, said Brandur. And who may this be? + +Jon of Bakki, replied the visitor.--Gudrun sends greetings. + +Ah, yes. And how is my Gunna? Is she well? + +She was well when I left home this morning. Now I am on my way back +from the meeting that was held to discuss the desperate situation-- +you must have heard about it. + +Yes, certainly. I've heard about it. I should say so! One can't get +away from talk of hay shortage and hard times. That is quite true. +Any other news? + +Nothing worth mentioning, answered Jon. Nothing but the general hard +times and hay shortage. Every farmer at the end of his tether, or +almost there, no one with as much as a wisp of hay to spare, and +only a few likely to make out till Crouchmas without aid. + +Too bad! said Brandur. Too bad! And he blew out his breath, as +though suffocating from strong smoke or bad air. + +For a while there was silence, as if each mistrusted the other and +wondered what was in the air. Brandur stood there with one hand +resting on the haystack, while he thrust the other into his trousers +pocket, or underneath the flap of his trousers. He always wore the +old-fashioned trousers with a flap, in fact had never possessed any +other kind. Meanwhile, holding the reins, Jon stood there gazing at +the hay and making a mental estimate of it. Then he turned to his +father-in-law and spoke: + +The purpose of my visit to you, my dear Brandur, is to ask that you +let us have this hay--this fine old hay that you have here. The +District Council will, of course, pay you; the parish will guarantee +payment. We have discussed that matter fully. + +When Jon ceased speaking, Brandur blew the air from his mouth in +great puffs, as though deeply stabbed by a sharp pain in the heart. +For a while he held his peace. Then he spoke: + +Not another word! Not another word! What's this I hear? My hay for +the district? My hay to supply all the farmers in the district? Do +you think for one moment that this little haystack is enough to feed +all the flocks in the whole district? Do you think this tiny haycock +will be enough for a whole parish? I think not! + +But we have calculated it, protested Jon. We have estimated that the +hay in this stack will be enough to feed the flocks in the district +for about two weeks, if a little grain is used with it, and if the +hay is distributed equally among the farmers who need it most. There +may be enough for three weeks, should it turn to be as much as or +more than I expect. By that time, we surely hope, the season will be +so far advanced that the weather will have changed for the better. + +So! You have already estimated the amount of hay in my stack! said +Brandur. You have already divided this miserable haycock among +yourselves, divided it down to the very last straw. And you have +weighed it almost to a gram. Then why speak to me about it? Why not +take it just as it is and scatter it to the four winds? Why not?-- +The voice of the old man shook with anger. + +No, said Jon. We will not do that. We want to ask your permission +first. We had no intention of doing otherwise; we intended to ask +you for the hay. And we did not mean to vex you, but rather to +honour you in this manner. Is it not an honour to be asked to save a +whole district from ruin? + +Oh, so all this is being done to honour me! said the old man, +roaring with laughter. Perhaps you believe me to be in my second +childhood. Not at all! Old Brandur can still see beyond the tip of +his nose. + +The cold-heartedness shown by the old man's laughter at the distress +of his fellowmen roused Jon's ire. He could see nothing laughable +about the desperate situation in the district. + +Are you then going to refuse to let us have the hay, refuse to sell +it at full price, with the Parish Council guaranteeing payment? he +asked in a tone that was angry, yet under perfect control?--Is that +your final answer? + +Yes, responded Brandur. That is my final answer. I will not let the +tiny mouthful of hay I have here go while there is still life in my +body, even though you mean to insure payment, and even though you +actually do guarantee payment. After all, who among you will be in a +position to guarantee payment if all the flocks die? The cold +weather may not let up until the first of June or even later. In +that case the sheep will all die. It won't go very far, this tiny +haycock, not for so many. It will not, I tell you. + +But what are you going to do with the hay? If everyone else loses +his flocks, everyone but you, what enjoyment will there be in owning +it? And what benefit? asked Jon. + +That does not concern me! replied the old man. That concerns them. +It was they who decided the size of the flocks they undertook to +feed this winter, not I. Besides, they could have cut as much hay as +I did, even more, for they still have their eyesight. Their failure +is due to their own laziness and bad judgment. That's what ails +them! Ruins them! + +But you won't be able to take this great big haystack with you into +the life eternal, said Jon. The time is coming when you will have to +part with it. Then it will be used as the needs require. And what +good will it do you? What are you going to do with it? + +I am going to keep it, answered Brandur. I intend to keep it right +here on the knoll, keep it in case the haying should be poor next +summer. There may be a poor growth of grass and a small hay crop; +there may be a volcanic eruption and the ashes may poison the grass, +as they have done in former years. Now, do you understand me? + +So saying, Brandur tottered off towards the house to indicate that +the conversation was at an end. His countenance was as cold as the +sky in the evening after the sun has set, and the hard lines in it +resembled the streaks in the ice on rocks and ledges where the sun's +rays had shone that day and laid bare the frozen ground. + +Brandur entered the house, while Jon mounted again. They scarcely +said a word of farewell, so angry were they both. + +Jon's horse set off at a brisk pace, eager to reach home, and +galloped swiftly over the hard, frozen ground. After the sun had +gone down, the wind rose and a searing cold settled over the valley, +whitening Jon's moustache where his breath passed over it. + +Jon's anger grew as he sped along. Naturally hightempered, he had +lately had many reasons for anger since he took over his official +duties. The people in his district were like people the world over: +they blamed the Board constantly, accusing it of stupidity and +favouritism. Yet most of them paid their taxes reluctantly and only +when long overdue. Sometimes they were almost a year in arrears. + +Jon reviewed the matter of the hay in his mind, also the other +vexations of the past. He was sick and tired of all the trouble. And +now the life of the whole district hung on a thin thread, the fate +of which depended upon the whims of the weather. Jon's nose and +cheekbones smarted from the cold; his shoes were frozen stiff, and +pinched his feet, and his throat burned with the heat of anger +rising from his breast. + +Jon was rather quiet when he reached home that evening, although he +did tell his wife of his attempt to deal with her father. + +Yes, said Gudrun, papa sets great store by that hay. He cannot bear +to part with it at any price. That is his nature. + +Tomorrow you must go, Jon told her, and try to win the old man over +in some way. I'd hate to be obliged to take the hay from him by +force, but that will be necessary if everything else fails. + +The following day Gudrun went to see her father. The weather still +remained cold. When Gudrun dismounted before the house at Holl, +there was no one outside to greet her or announce her arrival, and +so she entered, going straight into the baðstofa. There she found +her father sitting on his bed, knitting a seaman's mitten, crooning +an old ditty the while: + + Far from out the wilderness + Comes raging the cold wind; + And the bonds of heaven's king + It doth still tighter bind. + +Gudrun leaned over her father and kissed him. + +Is that you, Gunna dear? he asked. + +Yes papa, she said, at the same time slipping a flask of brandy into +the bosom of his shirt. + +This greatly pleased the old man. + +Gunna dear, he said, you always bring me something to cheer me up. +Not many nowadays take the trouble to cheer the old man. No indeed. +Any news? It's so long since you have been to see me, a year or +more. + +No news everyone hasn't heard: hard times, shortage of hay, and +worry everywhere. That is only to be expected. It's been a hard +winter, the stock stall-fed for so long, at least sixteen weeks, on +some farms twenty. + +Quite true, said Brandur. It's been a cold winter, and the end is +not yet. The cold weather may not break up before the first of June, +or even Midsummer Day. The summer will be cold, the hay crop small, +and the cold weather will probably set in again by the end of +August, then another cold hard winter, and ... + +He meant to go on, foretelling yet worse things to come, but Gudrun +broke in: Enough of that, father. Things can't be as bad as that It +would be altogether too much. I hope for a change for the better +with the new moon next week, and mark you, the new moon rises in the +southwest and on a Monday; if I remember right, you always thought a +new moon coming on a Monday brought good weather. + +I did, conceded Brandur. When I was a young man, a new moon coming +on a Monday was generally the very best kind of moon. But like +everything else, that has changed with the times. Now a Monday new +moon is the worst of all, no matter in what quarter of the heavens +it appears, if the weather is like this--raging sad carrying on so; +that is true. + +But things are in a pitiful state, said Gudrun, what with the hay +shortage, almost everyone is badly off, and not a single farmer with +a scrap of hay to spare, except you, papa. + +Yes, I! answered Brandur. I, a poor, blind, decrepit old man! But +what of you? Jon has enough hay, hasn't he? How is that? Doesn't he +have enough? + +Yes, we do have enough for ourselves, admitted Gudrun. But we can't +hold onto it. Jon lends it to those in need until it is all gone and +there is none left for us. He thinks of others as well as of +himself. + +What nonsense! What sense is there in acting like that? Every man +for himself, said the old man. + +That's right. But for us that is not enough. Jon is in a position +where he must think of others; he has to think of all the farmers in +the district--and small thanks he gets for his pains. He is so +upset, almost always on tenterhooks. He didn't sleep a wink last +night--was almost beside himself. He takes it so hard. + +So Jon couldn't sleep a wink last night! repeated Brandur. Why be so +upset? Why lie awake nights worrying about this? That doesn't help +matters any. It isn't his fault that they are all on the brink of +ruin. + +Quite true, answered Gudrun. He is not to blame for that, and lying +awake nights doesn't help matters, but that is Jon's disposition. +He's tired to death of all the work for the Council and the +everlasting fault-finding. He has had to neglect his own farm since +he took up these public duties--and nothing for his time and +trouble. Now this is too much. He is dead tired of it all, and so am +I. In fact, I know it was worry about all this that kept Jon awake +last night. We have been thinking of getting away from it all when +spring comes and going to America. + +Do you side with him in this? asked Brandur, grasping his daughter +by the arm. Do you, too, agree to his giving away the hay you need +for your own flocks, giving it away until you haven't enough for +yourselves? Do you, too, want to go to America, away from your +father who now has one foot in the grave? + +Yes, I do, Gudrun replied. As a matter of fact, the plan was +originally mine. If our flocks die, there will be no alternative; +but if our sheep live and those of the neighbours die, our life will +not be worth living because of the poverty and want round about us. +Yes, papa, it was I suggested our going. I could see no other way +out. + +On hearing this, Brandur's mood softened somewhat. I expected to be +allowed to pass my last days with you and your children, he said. I +cannot go on living in this fashion any longer. + +Pass your last days with us! exclaimed Gudrun. Have you, then, +thought of leaving Holl? Have you planned to come and live with us? +You've never said a word of this to me. + +I have no intention of leaving Holl. That I have never meant to do. +But that is not necessary. I thought you might perhaps be willing to +move over here and live with me. I could then let you have what +miserable little property I have left, Gunna, my dear. + +And what about the hay, papa? Will you turn the hay over to us, the +hay in the old stack? Everything depends on that. + +The hay! The hay! the old man said. Still harping on the hay--the +hay which doesn't amount to anything and cannot be of any real help. +It's sheer nonsense to think that the hay in that stack is enough to +feed the flocks of a whole district. There is no use talking about +it I will not throw that tiny mouthful to all the four winds. It +will do no good if divided among so many, but it is a comfort to me, +to me alone. No, I will not part with it as long as there is a spark +of life in me. That I will not, my love. + +Brandur turned pale and the lines in his face became hard and rigid. +Looking at him, Gudrun knew from experience that he was not to be +shaken in his determination when in this mood. His face was like a +sky over the wilderness streaked with threatening storm clouds. + +Gudrun gave up. The tears rushed to her eyes, as she twined her arms +around her father's neck and said: Goodbye, papa. Forgive me if I +have angered you. I shall not come here again. + +The old man felt the teardrops on his face, the heavy woman's tears, +hot with anger and sorrow. + +Gudrun dashed out of the room and mounted. Brandur was left alone in +the darkness at mid-day. Yet in his mind's eye he could see the +haystack out on the knoll. He rose and went out to feel it. It was +still there. Gudrun had not ridden away with it. Brandur could hear +the horseshoes crunching the hard, frozen ground as Gudrun rode off. +He stood motionless for a long time, listening to the hoof beats. +Then he went into the house. + +Brandur felt restless. He paced the floor awhile, stopped for a +moment to raise to his lips the flask his daughter had brought him, +and drained it at one gulp. All that day he walked the floor, +fighting with himself until night fell. + +Then he sent his foster-son with a message to his daughter. Jon, he +said, had his permission to haul the hay away the very next day, but +it was all to be removed in one day; there was not to be a scrap of +hay or a lump of sod left by evening. + +But the weather changes quickly, says an old Icelandic adage. By +morning, the weather had turned its spindle and the wind shifted to +the south. Jon sent no message to anyone, nor did he proclaim that +the old hay was available. He first wished to see what the thaw +would amount to. By the following day, the whole valley was +impassable because of slush and water, and the patches of earth +appearing through the snowy blanket grew larger almost hourly. + +Meanwhile, Brandur roamed through the house all day long, asking if +anyone had come.--Aren't they going to take away these miserable hay +scraps? About time they came and got them!--He seemed eager that the +hay be removed at once. + +That day he did not take his usual walk out to the stack to feel the +hay. In fact, after that no one ever saw him show attachment to the +old hay. His love of it seemed to have died the moment he granted +his son-in-law permission to take it away. + +That spring Brandur gave up housekeeping and of his own volition +turned over the farm to his daughter and son-in-law. With them he +lived to enjoy many years of good health. Never again did he take +his daily walk out to the haystack to feel the hay. But he was able +to take his sip of brandy to his dying day and repeat to himself the +word of God--hymns and verses from the Bible. + +Now he has passed on to eternity. But his memory lives like a stone- +-a large, moss-covered stone by the wayside. + + + + +Jón TRAUSTI + +WHEN I WAS ON THE FRIGATE + + +I was stormbound in the fishing village. I had come there by +steamer, but now the steamer was gone and I was left behind there, a +stranger, at a loss what to do. + +My idea was to continue my journey overland, and my route lay for +the most part through the mountainous country on the other side of +the fjord. I hadn't managed to hire horses or a guide, and it was no +easy matter to find one's own way in such stormy weather when the +rivers were running in full flood. This was in the spring-time, +round about the beginning of May. + +I was staying at the home of the local doctor, who had given me +shelter and who was now trying to help me in every way he could. He +was in my room with me, and we were both sitting there, smoking +cigars and chatting together. I had given up all hope of continuing +my journey that day and was making myself comfortable on the +doctor's sofa. But when we least expected it, we heard the sound of +heavy sea-boots clumping along the corridor, and there was a knock +at the door. + +Come in, said the doctor. The door opened slowly, and a young man in +seamen's clothes stood in the doorway. + +I was asked to tell you that old Hrolfur from Weir will take that +chap over there across in his boat, if he likes, said the man, +addressing himself to the doctor. + +We both stood up, the doctor and I, and walked towards the door. +That possibility hadn't occurred to either of us. + +Is old Hrolfur going fishing then? asked the doctor. + +Yes, he's going out to the islands and staying there about a week. +It won't make any difference to him to slip ashore at Muladalir, if +it would be any help. + +That's fine, said the doctor, turning to me. It's worth thinking +over, unless you really need to go round the end of the fjord. It'll +save you at least a day on your journey, and it'll be easier to get +horses and a man in Muladalir than it is here. + +This was all so unexpected that I didn't quite know what to say. I +looked at the doctor and the stranger in turn, and my first thought +was that the doctor was trying to get rid of me. Then it occurred to +me what a fine thing it would be to avoid having to cross all those +rivers which flow into the head of the fjord. Finally I decided that +the doctor had no ulterior motive and that his advice was prompted +by sheer goodwill. + +Is old Hrolfur all right at the moment? the doctor asked the man in +the doorway. + +Yes, of course he is, said the man. + +All right? I said, looking at them questioningly. I thought that was +a funny thing to ask. + +The doctor smiled. + +He's just a bit queer--up here, he said, pointing to his forehead. + +The thought of having to set out on a long sea journey with a man +who was half crazy made me shudder. I am certain, too, that the +doctor could see what I was thinking, for he smiled good-naturedly. + +Is it safe to go with him then? I asked. + +Oh yes, quite safe. He's not mad, far from it. He's just a bit +queer--he's got 'bats in the belfry', as men say. He gets these +attacks when he's at home in the dark winter days and has nothing to +occupy him. But there's little sign of it in the summer. And he's a +first-class seaman. + +Yes, a first-class seaman who never fails, said the man in the +doorway. It's quite safe to go on board with him now. You can take +my word for that. + +Are you going with him? asked the doctor. + +Yes, there's a crew of three with him. There'll be four of us in the +boat altogether. + +I looked at the man in the doorway--he was a young man of about +twenty, promising and assured. I liked the look of him, very much. + +Secretly I began to be ashamed of not daring to cross the fjord with +three men such as he, even though the skipper was 'a bit queer in +the head'. + +Are you going to-day? said the doctor. Don't you think it's blowing +a bit hard? + +I don't think old Hrolfur'll let that bother him, said the man and +smiled. + +Can you use your sails? + +Yes, I think so--there's a fair wind. + +It was decided that I should go with them. I went to get ready as +quickly as possible, and my luggage, saddle and bridle, were carried +down to the boat. + +The doctor walked to the jetty with us. + +There, in the shelter of the breakwater, was old Hrolfur's boat, its +mast already stepped, with the sail wrapped round it. It was a four- +oared boat, rather bigger than usual, tarred all over except for the +top plank, which was painted light blue. In the boat were the +various bits of equipment needed for shark-fishing, including a +thick wooden beam to which were attached four hooks of wrought iron, +a keg of shark-bait which stank vilely, and barrels for the shark's +liver. There were shark knives under the thwarts and huge gaffs +hooked under the rib-boards. The crew had put the boxes containing +their food and provisions in the prow. + +In the stern could be seen the back of a man bending down. He was +arranging stones in the well of the boat. He was dressed in overalls +made of skin, which reached up to his armpits and which were +fastened by pieces of thin rope crossing over his shoulders. Further +forward there was a second man, and a third was up on the jetty. + +Good day to you, Hrolfur, said the doctor. + +Good day to you, grunted Hrolfur as he straightened himself up and +spat a stream of yellowish-brown liquid from his mouth. Hand me that +stone over there. + +These last words were addressed not to the doctor or me, but to the +man on the jetty. Hrolfur vouchsafed me one quick, unfriendly +glance, but apart from that scarcely seemed to notice me. The look +in those sharp, haunting eyes went through me like a knife. Never +before had anyone looked at me with a glance so piercing and so full +of misgiving. + +He was a small man, and lively, though ageing fast. The face was +thin, rather wrinkled, dark and weather-beaten, with light untidy +wisps of hair round the mouth. I was immediately struck by a curious +twitching in his features, perhaps a relic of former bouts of +drinking. Otherwise his expression was harsh and melancholy. His +hands were red, swollen and calloused as if by years of rowing. + +Don't you think it's blowing rather hard, Hrolfur? asked the doctor +after a long silence. + +Oh, so-so, answered Hrolfur, without looking up. + +Again there was silence. It was as if Hrolfur had neither time nor +inclination for gossiping, even though it was the district medical +officer talking to him. + +The doctor looked at me and smiled. I was meant to understand that +this was exactly what he had expected. + +After another interval the doctor said: You are going to do this +traveller a favour then, Hrolfur? + +Oh, well, the boat won't mind taking him. + +In other words, I was to be nothing but so much ballast. + +Don't you think it's going to be tricky landing there in Mular +Creek? + +Hrolfur straightened up, putting his hand to his back. + +Oh, no, damn it, he said. There's an offshore wind and the sea's not +bad, and anyway we'll probably get there with the incoming tide. + +It isn't going to take you out of your way? I asked. + +We won't argue about that. We'll get there all the same. We often +give ourselves a rest in the old creek when we have to row. + +Immediately afterwards I said good-bye to the doctor and slid down +into the boat. The man on the jetty cast off, threw the rope down +into the boat and jumped in after it. + +One of the crew thrust the handle of an oar against the breakwater +and pushed off. Then they rowed for a short spell to get into the +wind, whilst old Hrolfur fixed the rudder. + +The sail filled out; the boat heeled gently over and ran in a long +curve. The islets at the harbour mouth rushed past us. We were +making straight for the open bay. + +On the horizon before us the mountainous cliffs, dark blue with a +thick, ragged patch of mist at the top, towered steeply over the +waves. In between, the sea stretched out, seemingly for miles. + +Hrolfur was at the rudder. He sat back in the stern on a crossbeam +flush with the gunwale, his feet braced against the ribs on either +side and in his hands the rudder lines, one on each side, close to +his thighs. + +I was up with the crew near the mast. We all knew from experience +that Icelandic boats sailed better when well-loaded forward. All +four of us were lying down on the windward side, but to leeward the +foam still bubbled up over the rowlocks. + +If you think we're not going fast enough, lads, you'd better start +rowing--but no extra pay, said old Hrolfur, grinning. + +We all took his joke well, and I felt that it brought me nearer to +the old man; up to then I'd been just a little scared of him. A joke +is always like an outstretched hand. + +For a long time we hardly spoke. In front of the mast we lay in +silence, whilst old Hrolfur was at the stern with the whole length +of the boat between us. + +The crew did all they could to make me comfortable. I lay on some +soft sacking just in front of the thwart and kept my head under the +gunwale for protection. The spray from the sea went right over me +and splashed down into the boat on the far side. + +The boy who had come for me to the doctor's settled himself down in +the bows in front of me. His name was Eric Ericsson, and the more I +saw of him the more I liked him. + +The second member of the crew sat crosswise over the thwart with his +back to the mast. He too was young, his beard just beginning to +grow, red-faced, quiet and rather indolent-looking. He seemed +completely indifferent, even though showers of spray blew, one after +another, straight into his face. + +The third member of the crew lay down across the boat behind the +thwart; he put a folded oilskin jacket under his head and fell +asleep. + +For a long time, almost an hour, I lay in silence, thinking only of +what I saw and heard around me. There was more than enough to keep +me awake. + +I noticed how the sail billowed out, full of wind, pulling hard at +the clew-line, which was made fast to the gunwhale beside Hrolfur. +The fore-sail resembled a beautifully curved sheet of steel, stiff +and unyielding. Both sails were snow-white, semi-transparent and +supple in movement, like the ivory sails on the model ships in +Rosenborg Palace. The mast seemed to bend slightly and the stays +were as taut as fiddle-strings. The boat quivered like a leaf. The +waves pounded hard against the thin strakes of the boat's side. I +could feel them on my cheek, though their dampness never penetrated; +but in between these hammer blows their little pats were wonderfully +friendly. Every now and then I could see the white frothing of the +wave-crests above the gunwale, and sometimes under the sail the +horizon was visible but, more often, there was nothing to be seen +but the broad back of a wave, on which, for a time, the boat tossed +before sinking down once more. The roll was scarcely noticeable, for +the boat kept at the same angle all the time and cleft her way +through the waves. The motion was comfortable and soothing to the +mind; quite unlike the violent lunging of bigger ships. + +Gradually the conversation came to life again. It was Eric who +proved to be the most talkative, though the man on the thwart also +threw in a word here and there. + +We began to talk about old Hrolfur. + +We spoke in a low voice so that he shouldn't hear what we said. +There was, indeed, little danger of his doing so--the distance was +too great and the storm was bound to carry our words away; but men +always lower their voices when they speak of those they can see, +even though they are speaking well of them. + +My eyes scarcely left old Hrolfur, and as the men told me more, my +picture of him became clearer and clearer. + +He sat there silent, holding on to the steering ropes and staring +straight ahead, not deigning us a single glance. + +The crew's story was roughly this. + +He was born and bred in the village, and he had never left it. The +croft which he lived in was just opposite the weir in the river +which flowed through the village, and was named after it. + +He went to sea whenever possible; fished for shark in the spring and +for cod and haddock in the other seasons. He never felt so happy as +when he was on the sea; and if he couldn't go to sea, he sat alone +at home in the croft mending his gear. He never went down to the +harbour for work like the other fishermen and never worked on the +land. Humming away and talking to himself he fiddled about in his +shed, around his boat-house or his croft, his hands all grubby with +tar and grease. If addressed, he was abrupt and curt in his answers, +sometimes even abusive. Hardly anyone dared go near him. + +Yet everyone liked him really. Everyone who got to know him said +that he improved on acquaintance. His eccentricity increased as he +grew older, but particularly after he had lost his son. + +His son was already grown-up and had been a most promising young +fellow. He was thought to be the most daring of all the skippers in +the village and always went furthest out to sea; he was also the +most successful fisherman of them all. But one day a sudden storm +had caught them far out to sea, well outside the mouth of the fjord. +Rowing hard, in the teeth of wind and tide, they managed to reach +the cliffs, but by that time they were quite exhausted. Their idea +had been to land at Mular Creek, but unfortunately their boat +overturned as they tried to enter. Hrolfur's son and one other on +board had been drowned, though the rest were saved. + +After the disaster Hrolfur ignored everybody for a long time. It +wasn't that he wept or lost heart. Perhaps he had done so for the +first few days, but not afterwards. He just kept to himself. He took +not the slightest notice of his wife and his other children, just as +if they were no longer his concern. It was as though he felt he'd +lost everything. He lived all alone with his sorrow and talked of it +to no one. Nobody tried to question him; no one dared try to comfort +him. Then, one winter, he started talking to himself. + +Day and night, for a long time, he talked to himself, talked as +though two or more men were chatting together, changing his tone of +voice and acting in every way as though he were taking part in a +lively and interesting conversation. There was nothing silly in what +he said, although the subject matter was often difficult to follow. +He would always answer if anyone spoke to him, slowly to be sure, +but always sensibly and agreeably. Often, before he could answer, it +was as though he had to wake up as from a sleep, and yet his work +never suffered from these bouts of absentmindedness. + +He never talked about his son. The conversations he held with +himself were mostly concerned with various adventures he thought had +befallen him; some were exaggerated, others pure invention. +Sometimes he would talk of things he was going to do in the future, +or things he would have done or ought to have in the past, but never +about the present. + +It wasn't long before the rumour spread that old Hrolfur was crazy, +and for a long time hardly anyone dared to go to sea with him. + +Now, that's all a thing of the past, said Eric and smiled. Nowadays +there are always more who would like to go with him than he can +take. + +And does he catch plenty of fish? + +Yes, he rarely fails. + +Isn't he quite well-off then? + +I don't know. At any rate he's not dependent on anyone else, and +he's the sole owner of his boat and tackle. + +He's rolling in money, the old devil, said the man at the mast, +wiping the spray from his face with his hand. + +Then they began to tell me about Mular Island and the life they +would lead there in the coming week. + +The island was a barren rock beyond the cliffs, and, in the autumn +storms, was almost covered by the waves. The first thing they'd have +to do, when they arrived, was to rebuild their refuge from the year +before, roof it over with bits of driftwood and cover them with +seaweed. That was to be their shelter at night, no matter what the +weather. Nature had provided a landing-place, so that they'd no +trouble with that, though the spot was so treacherous that one of +them would have to stand watch over the boat every night. + +Each evening they would row off from the island with their lines to +some well-known fishing bank, for it was after midnight that the +shark was most eager to take the bait. Savouring in his nostrils the +smell of horse flesh soaked in rum and of rotten seal blubber, he +would rush on the scent and greedily swallow whatever was offered. +When he realised the sad truth that a huge hook with a strong barb +was hidden inside this tempting dish and that it was no easy matter +to disgorge the tasty morsel, he would try to gnaw through the shaft +of the hook with his teeth. Very occasionally he might succeed, but +usually his efforts failed. Attached to the hook was a length of +strong iron chain; and sometimes, though defeated by the hook, he +would manage to snip through the chain. Then, in his joy at being +free, this creature with the magnificent appetite would immediately +rush to the next hook, only to be caught there when the lines were +drawn in. If the shark failed in his efforts to gnaw himself free, +he would try, by twisting and turning, to break either the hook or +the chain; but man had foreseen this possibility and had made the +hook to turn with him. With exemplary patience 'the grey one' would +continue his twisting until he had been drawn right up to the side +of the boat and a second hook made fast in him. His sea-green, +light-shy, pig-like eyes would glare malevolently up at his +tormentors, and in his maddened fury he would bite, snap and fight +until he almost capsized the boat. + +For centuries our forefathers had hunted the shark like this in open +boats, but nowadays men preferred to use decked vessels. No one in +the district still used the old method, apart from old Hrolfur. + +He had dragged in many a 'grey one'. From the bottom of the boat +Eric picked up one of the hooks and passed it to me; it was of +wrought iron, half an inch thick, with a point of cast steel. But +the spinning joint was almost chewed through and the hook shaft +bitten and gnawed--the 'grey one' had fought hard that time. + +The crew told me so much about their fishing adventures that I +longed to go to the island with them. + +Suddenly Eric gave me a nudge. + +The conversation stopped, and we all looked back at old Hrolfur. + +Now he's talking to himself. + +We all held our breath and listened. + +Hrolfur sat like a statue, holding the rudder-lines. His eyes wore a +far-away look and a curious smile of happiness played over his face. + +After a short silence, he spoke again--in a perfectly normal voice. + +When I was on the frigate-- + +For the time being that was all. + +There was a touch of vanity in his smile, as though in memory of +some old, half-ludicrous story from the past. + +Yes, when I was on the frigate, my lad-- + +It was just as if there were someone sitting next to him beside the +rudder, to whom he was relating his adventures. + +Has he ever been on a warship? I whispered. + +Never in his life, said Eric. + +Our eyes never left him. I can still remember the curious twitching +and working of his features. The eyes themselves were invisible; it +was as though the man were asleep. But his forehead and temples were +forever on the move, as if in mimicry of what he said. + +I couldn't utter a sound. Everything was blurred before my eyes, for +it was only then that the full realisation came upon me that the man +at the rudder--the man who held all our lives in his hands--was +half-crazed. + +The crew nudged each other and chortled. They'd seen all this +before. + +She was running aground--heading straight for the reef,--a total +loss, said Hrolfur, a total loss, I tell you. She was a beautiful +craft, shining black and diced with white along the sides--ten +fighting mouths on either side and a carved figure on her prow. I +think the king would have been sorry to lose her. She was far too +lovely to be ground to pieces there--they were glad when I turned +up. + +The crew did their best to smother their laughter. + +'Top-sails up,' I shouted.--'Top-sails up, my lad.' The officer, for +all his gold braid, went as pale as death. 'Top-sails up, in the +devil's name.' The blue-jackets on the deck fell over themselves in +fear. Yes, my lad, even though I hadn't a sword dangling by my side, +I said, 'Top-sails up, in the devil's name.' And they obeyed me-- +they obeyed me. They didn't dart not to. 'Top-sails up, in the +devil's name.' + +Hrolfur raised himself up on the crossbeam, his fists clenched round +the steering-ropes. + +Eric was almost bursting with laughter and trying hard not to let it +be heard; but the man at the mast made little attempt to stifle his. + +She's made it, said Hrolfur, his face all smiles and nodding his +head.--Out to sea. Straight out to sea. Let her lie down a bit, if +she wants to. It'll do her no harm to ship a drop or two. Let it +'bubble up over her rowlocks,' as we Icelanders say. Even though she +creaks a bit, it's all to the good. Her planks aren't rotten when +they make that noise. All right, we'll sail the bottom out of her-- +but forward she'll go--forward, forward she shall go! + +Hrolfur let his voice drop and drew out his jet words slowly. + +By now we were far out in the fjord. The sea was rising and becoming +more choppy because of tide currents. Good steering became more and more +difficult. Hrolfur seemed to do it instinctively. He never once looked +up and yet seemed to see all around him. He seemed to sense the approach +of those bigger waves which had to be avoided or passed by. The general +direction was never lost, but the boat ran wonderfully smoothly in and +out of the waves--over them, before them and through them, as though she +were possessed with human understanding. Not a single wave fell on her; +they towered high above, advanced on her foaming and raging, but +somehow--at the last moment--she turned aside. She was as sensitive as a +frightened hind, quick to answer the rudder, as supple in her movements +as a willing racehorse. Over her reigned the spirit of Hrolfur. + +But Hrolfur himself was no longer there. He was 'on the frigate'. It +was not his own boat he was steering in that hour, but a huge three- +master with a whole cloud of sails above her and ten cannon on +either side--a miracle of the shipwright's craft. The mainstays were +of many-stranded steelwire, the halyards, all clustered together, +struck at the mast and stays; they seemed inextricably tangled, and +yet were in fact all ship-shape, taut and true, like the nerves in a +human body. There was no need to steer her enormous bulk to avoid +the waves or pass them by; it was enough to let her crush them with +all her weight, let her grind them down and push them before her +like drifts of snow. Groaning and creaking she ploughed straight on +through all that came against her, heeling before the wind right +down to her gunwale and leaving behind her a long furrow in the sea. +High above the deck of this magnificent vessel, between two curved +iron pillars, Hrolfur's boat hung like a tiny mussel shell. + +Once upon a time this had been a dream of the future. But now that +all hope of its fulfilment had been lost, the dream had long since +become a reality. Hrolfur's adventure 'on the frigate' was a thing +of the past. + +For a long time he continued talking to himself, talked of how he +had brought 'the frigate' safely to harbour, and how he had been +awarded a 'gold medal' by the king. We could hear only anppets of +this long rigmarole, but we never lost the drift of it. He spoke +alternately in Danish and Icelandic, in many different tones of +voice, and one could always tell, by the way he spoke, where he was +in 'the frigate': whether he was addressing the crew on the deck, or +the officers on the bridge, and when, his fantastic feat +accomplished, he clinked glasses with them in the cabin on the poop. + +The wind had slackened somewhat, but now that we had reached so far +out into the bay the waves were higher; they were the remains of the +huge ocean waves which raged on the high seas, remains which, +despite the adverse wind, made their way far up the fjord. + +Hrolfur no longer talked aloud, but he continued to hum quietly to +himself. The crew around me began to doze off, and I think even I +was almost asleep for a time. To tell the truth I wasn't very far +from feeling seasick. + +Soon afterwards the man who had been asleep in the space behind the +mast rose to his feet, yawned once or twice, shook himself to +restore his circulation and looked around. + +It won't be long now before we get to Mular Creek, he said with his +mouth still wide-open. + +I was wide awake at once when I heard this, and raised myself up on +my elbow. The mountain I had seen from the village--which then had +been wrapped in a dark haze--now towered directly above us, rocky +and enormous, with black sea-crags at its feet. The rocks were +drenched with spray from the breakers, and the booming of the sea as +it crashed into the basalt caves resounded like the roar of cannon. + +There'll be no landing in the creek today, Hrolfur, the man said and +yawned again. The breakers are too heavy. + +Hrolfur pretended he hadn't heard. + +Everybody aboard was awake now and watching the shore; and I think +he was not the only one amongst us to shudder at the thought of +landing. + +On the mountain in front of us it was as though a panel was slowly +moved to one side: the valleys of Muladalir opened up before us. +Soon we glimpsed the roofs of the farms up on the hill-side. The +beach itself was covered with rocks. + +The boat turned into the inlet. It was quieter there than outside, +and the sea was just a little another. + +Loosen the foresail, Hrolfur ordered. It was Eric who obeyed and +held on to the sheet Hrolfur himself untied the mainsail, whilst at +the same time keeping hold of the sheet. I imagined Hrolfur must be +thinking it safer to have the sails loose as it was likely to be +gusty in the inlet. + +Are you going to sail in? said the man who'd been asleep. His voice +came through a nose filled with snuff. + +Shut up, said Hrolfur savagely. + +The man took the hint and asked no more questions. No one asked a +question, though every moment now was one of suspense. + +We all gazed in silence at the cliffs, which were lathered in white +foam. + +One wave after another passed under the boat. They lifted her high +up, as if to show us the surf. As the boat sank slowly down into the +trough of the wave, the surf disappeared and with it much of the +shore. The wave had shut it out. + +I was surprised how little the boat moved, but an explanation of the +mystery was soon forthcoming: the boat and all she carried were +still subject to Hrolfur's will. + +He let the wind out of the mainsail and, by careful manipulation of +the rudder, kept the boat wonderfully still. He was standing up now +in front of the crossbeam and staring fixedly out in front of the +boat. He was no longer talking to himself, he was no longer 'on the +frigate', but in his own boat; he knew well how much depended on +him. + +After waiting for a while, watching his opportunity, Hrolfur +suddenly let her go at full speed once more. + +Now the moment had come--a moment I shall never forget--nor probably +any of us who were in the boat with him. It was not fear that +gripped us but something more like excitement before a battle. Yet, +if the choice had been mine, we should have turned back from the +creek that day. + +Hrolfur stood at the rudder, immovable, his eyes shifting from side +to side, now under the sail, now past it. He chewed vigorously on +his quid of tobacco and spat. There was much less sign now of the +twitchings round his eyes than there'd been earlier in the day, and +his very calmness had a soothing effect on us all. + +As we approached the creek, a huge wave rose up behind us. Hrolfur +glanced at it with the corner of his eye. He spat and bared his +teeth. The wave rose and rose, and it reached us just at the mouth +of the creek, its overhanging peak so sharp as to be almost +transparent. It seemed to be making straight for the boat. + +As I watched, I felt the boat plummet down, as if the sea was +snatched from under her; it was the undertow--the wave was drawing +the waters back beneath it. By the gunwale the blue-green sea +frothed white as it poured back from the skerries near the entrance +to the creek. + +The boat almost stood on end; it was as if the sea was boiling +around us--boiling until the very seaweed on the rocks was turned to +broth. + +Suddenly an ice-cold lash, as of a whip, seemed to strike me in the +face. I staggered forwards under the blow and grasped at one of the +mainstays. + +Let go the foresail, shouted Hrolfur. + +When I was able to look up, the sails were flapping idly over the +gunwale. The boat floated gently into the creek, thwart-deep in +water. + +We all felt fine. + +It's true, I could feel the cold sea water dripping down my bare +back, underneath my shirt, but I didn't mind. All that had happened +to me was but a kiss, given me in token of farewell by the youngest +daughter of the goddess of the waves. + +The boat floated slowly in on the unaccustomed calm of the waters +and stopped at the landing-place. + +Standing there watching were two men from the farm. + +I thought as much, it had to be old Hrolfur, one of them called out +as we landed. It's no ordinary man's job to get into the creek on a +day like this. + +Hrolfur's face was wreathed in smiles: he made no answer, but +slipping off the rudder in case it should touch bottom he laid it +down across the stern. + +We were given a royal welcome by the fanners from Mular, and all +that I needed to further me on my journey was readily available and +willingly granted. Nowhere does Iceland's hospitality flourish so +well as in her outlying stations and in the remotest of her valleys, +where travellers are few. + +We all got out of the boat and pulled her clear of the waves. Every +one of us was only too glad to get the opportunity of stretching his +legs after sitting cramped up on the hard boards for nearly four +hours. + +I walked up to where old Hrolfur stood apart, on the low, flat +rocks, thanked him for the trip and asked him what it cost. + +Cost? he said, scarce looking at me. What does it cost? Just a +minute now, my lad,--just a minute. + +He answered me with the complete lack of formality one accords an +old friend, though we had met for the first time that day. His whole +face was scowling now, as he answered me brusquely--indeed, almost +curtly; and yet there was something attractive about him, something +that aroused both trust and respect and which made it impossible for +me to resent his familiarity. + +How much the trip costs? Just a minute now. + +It seemed that his thoughts were elsewhere. He unloosened the brace +of his overalls, reached down into the pocket of his patched +garments beneath and, drawing out a fine length of chewing tobacco, +took a bite. Then, breaking off a smallish length, he dropped it +into the crown of his seaman's hat. Finally, slowly and very +deliberately, he refastened the top of his overalls. + +I expect you got a bit wet out there coming into the creek. + +Oh, not really. + +Sometimes one gets unpleasantly damp out there. + +Hrolfur stood still, chewing his quid of tobacco and staring out at +the entrance to the creek. He seemed to have forgotten all about +answering my question. + +Sometimes one gets unpleasantly damp out there, he repeated, laying +great emphasis on every word. I looked straight at him and saw there +were tears in his eyes. Now his features were all working again and +twitching as they had done earlier. + +There's many a boat filled up there, he added, and some have got no +further. But I've floated in and out so far. Oh well, 'The silver +cup sinks, but the wooden bowl floats on', as the proverb says. +There was a time when I had to drag out of the water here a man who +was better than me in every way--that's when I really got to know +the old creek. + +For a time he continued to stand there, staring out at the creek +without saying a word. But, at last, after wiping the tears from his +face with the back of his glove, he seemed to come to himself once +more. + +You were asking, my lad, what the journey costs--it costs nothing. + +Nothing? What nonsense! + +Not since you got wet, said Hrolfur and smiled, though you could +still see the tears in his eyes. It's an old law of ours that if the +ferry-man lets his passengers get wet, even though it's only their +big toe, then he forfeits his toll. + +I repeatedly begged Hrolfur to let me pay him for the journey, but +it was no use. At last he became serious again and said: + +The journey costs nothing, as I said to you. I've brought many a +traveller over here to the creek and never taken a penny in return. +But if you ever come back to our village again, and old Hrolfur +should happen to be on land, come over to Weir and drink a cup of +coffee with him--black coffee with brown rock-sugar and a drop of +brandy in it; that is, if you can bring yourself to do such a thing. + +This I promised him, and old Hrolfur shook me firmly and +meaningfully by the hand as we parted. + +As they prepared to leave, we all three, the farmers from Mular and +I, stood there on the rocks to see how Hrolfur would manage. The +crew had furled the sails and sat down to the oars, whilst old +Hrolfur stood in front of the crossbeam, holding the rudder-line. + +They weren't rowing though, but held their oars up, waiting for +their opportunity. All this while, wave after wave came riding +through the entrance to the creek, pouring their white cascades of +foam over the reefs. + +Hrolfur watched them steadily and waited, like an animal ready to +pounce on its prey. + +Now, my lads, cried Hrolfur suddenly. The oars crashed into the sea, +and the boat shot forward. + +Just so, I thought, must the vikings in olden time have rowed to the +attack. + +Hrolfur's voice was lost to us in the roaring of the surf, but he +seemed to be urging the men on to row their utmost. They rowed, +indeed, like things possessed, and the boat hurtled forward. + +At the mouth of the creek a surf-topped wave rose against them, +sharp and concave, as it rushed on its way to the reefs. We held our +breath. It was a terrifying but magnificent sight. + +Hrolfur shouted something loudly, and at the same moment every oar +hugged the side of the boat, like the fins of a salmon as it hurls +itself at a waterfall. The boat plunged straight into the wave. For +a moment we lost sight of her in the swirling spray; only the mast +was visible. When we saw her again, she was well out past the +breakers. She'd been moving fast and was well steered. + +Hrolfur took his place on the crossbeam as if nothing had happened, +just as he had sat there earlier in the day, whilst he was 'on the +frigate'. + +Two of the crew began to set the sails, whilst one started to bail +out. Soon the boat was once more on the move. + +I felt a strange lump in my throat as I watched old Hrolfur sailing +away. + +God bless you, old salt, I thought. You thoroughly deserved to +cleave through the cold waters of Iceland in a shapely frigate. + +The boat heeled over gracefully and floated over the waves like a +gull with its wings outstretched. We stood there watching, without a +move, until she disappeared behind the headland. + + + + +GUNNAR GUNNARSSON + +FATHER AND SON + + +The two of them lived just outside the They were both called +Snjolfur, and they usually distinguished as old Snjolfur and little +Snjolfur. They themselves, however, addressed each other only as +Snjolfur. This was a habit of long standing: it may be that, having +the same name, they felt themselves bound still more firmly together +by using it unqualified in this way. Old Snjolfur was something over +fifty, little Snjolfur only just over twelve. + +They were close together, the pair of them--each felt lost without +the other. It had been like that ever since little Snjolfur could +remember. His father could look further back. He remembered that +thirteen years ago he had lived on his farm within easy riding +distance of the village; he had a good wife and three sturdy and +hopeful children. + +Then his luck turned and one disaster after struck him. His sheep +went down with pest, his cattle died of anthrax and other diseases. +Then the children got whooping-cough and all three died, close +enough together to lie in one grave. To pay his debts Snjolfur had +to give up his farm and sell the land. Then he bought the land on +the Point just outside the village, knocked up a cabin divided into +two by a partition, and a fish-drying shed. When that was done, +there was enough left to buy a cockle-shell of a boat. This was the +sum of his possessions. + +It was a poor and dismal life they led there, Snjolfur and his wife. +They were both used to hard work, but they had had no experience of +privation and constant care for the morrow. Most days it meant +putting to sea if they were to eat, and it was not every night they +went to bed with a full stomach. There was little enough left over +for clothing and comfort. + +Snjolfur's wife worked at fish-drying for the factor in the summer +months, but good drying-days could not be counted on and the money +was not much. She lived just long enough to bring little Snjolfur +into the world, and the last thing she did was to decide his name. +From then on, father and son lived alone in the cabin. + +Little Snjolfur had vague memories of times of desperate misery. He +had to stay at home through days of unrelieved torment and agony. +There had been no one to look after him while he was too small to go +off in the boat with his father, and old Snjolfur was forced to tie +the boy to the bed-post to keep him out of danger in his absence. +Old Snjolfur could not sit at home all the time: he had to get +something to put in the pot. + +The boy had more vivid memories of happier times, smiling summer +days on a sea glittering in the sunshine. He remembered sitting in +the stern and watching his father pulling in the gleaming fish. But +even those times were mingled with bitterness, for there were days +when the sky wept and old Snjolfur rowed out alone. + +But in time little Snjolfur grew big enough to go off with his +father, whatever the weather. From then on they contentedly shared +most days and every night: neither could be without the other for +more than a minute. If one of them stirred in his sleep, the other +was awake on the instant; and if one could not get to sleep, the +other did not close his eyes either. + +One might think that it was because they had a lot to talk about +that they were so wrapped up in each other. But that was not so. +They knew each other so well and their mutual confidence was so +complete that words were unnecessary. For days on end no more than +scattered phrases fell between them; they were as well content to be +silent together as to be talking together. The one need only look at +the other to make himself understood. + +Among the few words that passed between them, however, was one +sentence that came up again and again--when old Snjolfur was talking +to his son. His words were: + +The point is to pay your debts to everybody, not owe anybody +anything, trust in Providence. + +In fact, father and son together preferred to live on the edge of +starvation rather than buy anything for which they could not pay on +the spot. And they tacked together bits of old sacking and patched +and patched them so as to cover their nakedness, unburdened by debt. + +Most of their neighbours were in debt to some extent; some of them +only repaid the factor at odd times, and they never repaid the whole +amount. But as far as little Snjolfur knew, he and his father had +never owed a penny to anyone. Before his time, his father had been +on the factor's books like everyone else, but that was not a thing +he spoke much about and little Snjolfur knew nothing of those +dealings. + +It was essential for the two of them to see they had supplies to +last them through the winter, when for many days gales or heavy seas +made fishing impossible. The fish that had to last them through the +winter was either dried or salted; what they felt they could spare +was sold, so that there might be a little ready money in the house +against the arrival of winter. There was rarely anything left, and +sometimes the cupboard was bare before the end of the winter; +whatever was eatable had been eaten by the tune spring came on, and +most often father and son knew what it was like to go hungry. +Whenever the weather was fit, they put off in their boat but often +rowed back empty-handed or with one skinny flat-fish in the bottom. +This did not affect their outlook. They never complained; they bore +their burden of distress, heavy as it was, with the same even temper +as they showed in the face of good fortune on the rare occasions it +smiled on them; in this, as in everything else, they were in +harmony. For them there was always comfort enough in the hope that, +if they ate nothing today, God would send them a meal tomorrow--or +the next day. The advancing spring found them pale and hollow- +cheeked, plagued by bad dreams, so that night after night they lay +awake together.--And one such spring, a spring moreover that had +been colder and stormier than usual, with hardly a single day of +decent weather, evil chance paid another visit to old Snjolfur's +home. + +Early one morning a snow-slip landed on the cabin on the Point, +burying both father and son. By some inexplicable means little +Snjolfur managed to scratch his way out of the drift. As soon as he +realised that for all his efforts he could not dig his father out +single-handed, he raced off to the village and got people out of +their beds. Help came too late--the old man was suffocated when they +finally reached him through the snow. + +For the time being his body was laid on a flat boulder in the +shelter of a shallow cave in the cliffside nearby--later they would +bring a sledge to fetch him into the village. For a long time little +Snjolfur stood by old Snjolfur and stroked his white hair; he +murmured something as he did it, but no one heard what he said. But +he did not cry and he showed no dismay. The men with the snow- +shovels agreed that he was a strange lad, with not a tear for his +father's death, and they were half-inclined to dislike him for it.-- +He's a hard one! they said, but not in admiration.--You can carry +things too far. + +It was perhaps because of this that no one paid any further +attention to little Snjolfur. When the rescue-party and the people +who had come out of mere curiosity made their way back for a bite of +breakfast and a sledge for the body, the boy was left alone on the +Point. + +The snow-slip had shifted the cabin and it was all twisted and +smashed; posts missing their laths stuck up out of the snow, tools +and household gear were visible here and there--when he laid hold of +them, they were as if bonded the snow. Snjolfur wandered down to the +shore with the idea of seeing what had become of the boat. When he +saw with what cold glee the waves were playing with its shattered +fragments amongst the lumpy masses of snow below highwatermark, his +frown deepened, but he did not say anything. + +He did not stay long on the shore this time. When he got back to the +cave, he sat down wearily on the rock beside his dead father. It's a +poor look-out, he thought; he might have sold the boat if it hadn't +been smashed--somewhere he had to get enough to pay for the funeral. +Snjolfur had always said it was essential to have enough to cover +your own funeral--there was no greater or more irredeemable disgrace +than to be slipped into the ground at the expense of the parish. +Fortunately his prospects weren't so bad, he had said. They could +both die peacefully whenever the time came--there was the cabin, the +boat, the tools and other gear, and finally the land itself--these +would surely fetch enough to meet the cost of coffin and funeral +service, as well as a cup of coffee for anyone who would put himself +out so far as to accept their hospitality on that occasion. But now, +contrary to custom, his father had not proved an oracle--he was dead +and everything else had gone with him--except the land on the Point. +And how was that to be turned into cash when there was no cabin on +it? He would probably have to starve to death himself. Wouldn't it +be simplest to run down to the shore and throw himself in the sea? +But--then both he and his father would have to be buried by the +parish. There were only his shoulders to carry the burden. If they +both rested in a shameful grave, it would be his fault--he hadn't +the heart to do it. + +Little Snjolfur's head hurt with all this hard thinking. He felt he +wanted to give up and let things slide. But how can a man give up +when he has nowhere to live? It would be cold spending the night out +here in the open. + +The boy thought this out. Then he began to drag posts, pieces of +rafter and other wreckage over to the cave. He laid the longest +pieces sloping against the cave-mouth--he badly wanted his father to +be within four walls,--covered them over and filled the gaps with +bits of sail-cloth and anything else handy, and finished by +shovelling snow up over the whole structure. Before long it was +rather better in the cave than out-of-doors, though the most +important thing was to have Snjolfur with him for his last days +above ground--it might be a week or more. It was no easy matter to +make a coffin and dig out frozen ground. It would certainly be a +poor coffin if he had to make it himself. + +When little Snjolfur had finished making his shelter, he crept +inside and sat down with outstretched legs close to his father. By +this time the boy was tired out and sleepy. He was on the point of +dropping off, when he remembered that he had still not decided how +to pay for the funeral. He was wide awake again at once. That +problem had to be solved without more ado--and suddenly he saw a +gleam of hope--is wasn't so unattainable after all--he might meet +the cost of the funeral and maintain himself into the bargain, at +any rate for a start. His drowsiness fell from him, he slipped out +of the cave and strode off towards the village. + +He went straight along the street in the direction of the store, +looking neither to right nor left, heedless of the unfriendly +glances of the villagers.--Wretched boy--he didn't even cry when his +father died! were the words of those respectable, generous-hearted +and high-minded folk. + +When little Snjolfur got to the factor's house, he went straight +into the store and asked if he might speak to the master. The +storeman stared and lingered before finally shuffling to the door of +the office and knocking. In a moment the door was half opened by the +factor himself, who, when he caught sight of little Snjolfur and +heard that he wanted to speak to him, turned to him again and, after +looking him up and down, invited him in. + +Little Snjolfur put his cap on the counter and did not wait to be +asked twice. + +Well, young man? said the factor. + +The youngster nearly lost heart completely, but he screwed himself +up and inquired diffidently whether the factor knew that there were +unusually good landing-facilities out on the Point. + +It is much worse in your landing-place than it is in ours out there. + +The factor had to smile at the gravity and spirit of the boy--he +confessed that he had heard it spoken of. + +Then little Snjolfur came to the heart of the--if he let out the use +of the landing-place on the Point to the factor for the coming +summer--how much would he be willing to pay to have his Faroese +crews land their catches there?--Only for the coming summer, mind! + +Wouldn't it be more straightforward if I bought the Point from you? +asked the factor, doing his best to conceal his amusement. + +Little Snjolfur stoutly rejected this suggestion--he didn't want +that.--Then I have no home--if I sell the Point, I mean. + +The factor tried to get him to see that he could not live there in +any case, by himself, destitute, in the open. + +They will not allow it, my boy. + +The lad steadfastly refused to accept the notion that he would be in +the open out there--he had already built himself a shelter where he +could lie snug. + +And as soon as spring comes, I shall build another cabin--it needn't +be big and there's a good bit of wood out there. But, as I expect +you know, I've lost Snjolfur--and the boat. I don't think there's +any hope of putting the bits of her together again. Now that I've no +boat, I thought I might let out the landing-place, if I could make +something out of it. The Faroese would be sure to give me something +for the pot if I gave them a hand with launching and unloading. They +could row most ways from there--I'm not exaggerating--they had to +stay at home time and time again last summer, when it was easy for +Snjolfur and me to put off. There's a world of difference between a +deep-water landing-place and a shallow-water one--that's what +Snjolfur said many a time. + +The factor asked his visitor what price he had thought of putting on +it for the summer. I don't know what the funeral will cost yet, +replied the orphan in worried tones. At any rate I should need +enough to pay for Snjolfur's funeral. Then I should count myself +lucky. + +Then let's say that, struck in the factor, and went on to say that +he would see about the coffin and everything--there was no need for +little Snjolfur to fret about it any more. Without thinking, he +found himself opening the door for his guest, diminutive though he +was,--but the boy stood there as if he had not seen him do it, and +it was written clear on his face that he had not yet finished the +business that brought him; the anxious look was still strong on his +ruddy face, firm-featured beyond his years. + +When are you expecting the ship with your stores? + +The factor replied that it would hardly come tomorrow, perhaps the +day after. It was a puzzle to know why the boy had asked--the pair +of them, father and son, did not usually ask about his stores until +they brought the cash to buy them. + +Little Snjolfur did not take his eyes from the factor's face. The +words stuck in his throat, but at last he managed to get his +question out: In that case, wouldn't the factor be needing a boy to +help in the store? + +The factor did not deny it. + +But he ought to be past his confirmation for preference, he added +with a smile. + +It looked as if little Snjolfur was ready for this answer, and +indeed his errand was now at an end, but he asked the factor to come +out with him round the corner of the store. They went out, the boy +in front, and onto the pebble-bank nearby. The boy stopped at a +stone lying there, got a grip of it, lifted it without any obvious +exertion and heaved it away from him. Then he turned to the factor. + +We call this stone the Weakling. The boy you had last summer +couldn't lift it high enough to let the damp in underneath--much +less any further! + +Oh, well then, seeing you are stronger than he was, it ought to be +possible to make use of you in some way, even though you are on the +wrong side of confirmation, replied the factor in a milder tone. + +Do I get my keep while I'm with you? And the same wages as he had? +continued the youngster, who was the sort that likes to know where +he stands in good time. + +But of course, answered the factor, who for once was in no mood to +drive a hard bargain. + +That's good--then I shan't go on the parish, said little Snjolfur, +and was easier in his mind. The man who has got something to pot in +himself and on himself isn't a pauper,--Snjolfur often used to say +that, he added, and he straightened himself up proudly and offered +his hand to the factor, just as he had seen his father do. Good-bye, +he said. I shall come then--not tomorrow but the day after. + +The factor told him to come in again for a minute and leading the +way to the kitchen-door he ushered little Snjolfur into the warmth. +He asked the cook if she couldn't give this nipper here a bite of +something to eat, preferably something warm--he could do with it. + +Little Snjolfur would not accept any food. + +Aren't you hungry? asked the astonished factor. + +The boy could not deny that he was--and for the rest he could hardly +get his words out with the sharpness of his hunger whetted still +keener by the blessed smell of cooking. But he resisted the +temptation: + +I am not a beggar, he said. + +The factor was upset and he saw that he had set about it clumsily. +He went over to the dogged youngster, patted his head and, with a +nod to the cook, led little Snjolfur into the dining-room. + +Have you never seen your father give his visitors a drink or offer +them a cup of coffee when they came to see him? he asked, and he +gave his words a resentful tone. + +Little Snjolfur had to confess that his father had sometimes offered +hospitality to a visitor. + +There you are then, said the factor. It's just ordinary good manners +to offer hospitality--and to accept it. Refusing a well-meant +invitation for no reason can mean the end of a friendship. You are a +visitor here, so naturally I offer you something to eat: we have +made an important deal and, what's more, we have come to terms over +a job. If you won't accept ordinary hospitality, it's hard to see +how the rest is going to work out. + +The boy sighed: of course, it must be as the factor said. But he was +in a hurry. Snjolfur was by himself out on the Point. His eyes +wandered round the room--then he added, very seriously: The point is +to pay your debts, not owe anybody anything, and trust in +Providence. + +There was never a truer word spoken, agreed the factor, and as he +said it he pulled his handkerchief out of his pocket. He's a chip of +the old block, he muttered, and putting his hand on little +Snjolfur's shoulder, he blessed him. + +The boy was astonished to see a grown man with tears in his eyes. + +Snjolfur never cried, he said, and went on: I haven't cried either +since I was little--I nearly did when I knew Snjolfur was dead. But +I was afraid he wouldn't like it, and I stopped myself. + +A moment later and tears overwhelmed little Snjolfur.--It is a +consolation, albeit a poor one, to lean for a while on the bosom of +a companion. + + + + +GUDMUNDUR G. HAGALIN + +THE FOX SKIN + + +No need to take care now about fastening the door, Arni of Bali said +to himself as he wrapped the string around the nail driven into the +door-post of the outlying sheepcote. Then he turned around, took out +his handkerchief, and, putting it to his nose, blew vigorously. This +done, he folded the handkerchief together again, wiped his mouth and +nose, and took out his snuff horn. + +What fine balmy weather, thought Arni. That miserable fox won't come +near sheepcotes or houses now. Blast its hide! Yes, it had caused +him many a wakeful night. All the neighbouring farmers would have +the fool's luck to catch a fox every single winter. All but him. He +couldn't even wound a vixen, and had in all his life never caught +any kind of fox. Wouldn't it be fun to bring home a dark brown pelt, +one with fine overhair? Yes, wouldn't that be fun? Arni shook his +head in delight, cleared his throat vigorously, and took a pinch of +snuff. + +Bending his steps homeward, he tottered along with his body half +stooped, as was his habit, and his hands behind his back. When he +looked up, he did not straighten out, but bent his neck back so his +head lay between his shoulder blades. Then his red-rimmed eyes +looked as if they were about to pop out of his head, his dark red +beard rose up as though striving to free itself from its roots, and +his empurpled nose and scarlet cheek-bones protruded. + +Pretty good under foot, thought Arni. At least it was easy to go +between the sheepcotes and the house. Everything pretty quiet just +now. The sheep took care of themselves during the day, and grazing +was plentiful along the seashore and on the hillsides. No reason why +he might not now and then lie in wait somewhat into the night in the +hope of catching a fox; he wasn't too tired for that. But he had +given up all that sort of thing. It brought only vexation and +trouble. Besides, he had told everybody that he did not think it +worth his while to waste his time on such things and perhaps catch +his death to boot. The Lord knew that was mere pretence. Eighty +crowns for a beautiful, dark brown fox skin was a tidy sum! But a +man had to think up something to say for himself, the way they all +harped on fox-hunting: Bjarni of Fell caught a white vixen night +before last, or Einar of Brekka caught a brown dog-fox yesterday. Or +if a man stepped over to a neighbour's for a moment: Any hunting? +Anyone shot a fox? Our Gisli here caught a grayish brown one last +evening. Such incessant twaddle! + +Arni's breath came short. Wasn't it enough if a man made an honest +living? Yet, work or achievement which brought no joy was unblessed. +At this point Samur darted up. Arni thought the dog had deserted him +and rushed off home. Now, what in the world ailed the creature? +Shame on you for a pesky cur! Can't you be still a minute, you +brute? Must I beat you? asked Arni, making threatening gestures at +Samur, a large, black-spotted dog with ugly, shaggy hair. But Samur +darted away, ran off whimpering; he would pause now and then and +look back at his master, until finally he disappeared behind a big +boulder. + +What's got into the beast? He can't have found a fox trail, can he? + +Arni walked straight to the rock where Samur had disappeared; then +slowing down his pace, he tiptoed as if he expected to find a fox +hidden there. Yes, there was Samur. There he lay in front of a hole, +whimpering and wagging his tail. + +Shame on you, Samur! + +Arni lay down prone on the snow and stretched his arm into the hole. +But all of a sudden he jerked his hand back, his heart beating as if +it would tear itself out of his breast. He had so plainly felt +something furry inside the hole, and he was badly mistaken if a +strong fox odour did not come out of it. Was the fox alive, or was +it dead? Might it bite him fatally? But that made no difference. Now +that he had a good chance of taking a fox, it was do or die. He +stood up straight and stretched every muscle, and pulled the mitten +on his right hand carefully up over his wrist. Then he knelt down, +thrust his hand in the hole, set his teeth, and screwed up his face. +Yes, now he had caught hold of it and was pulling it carefully out. +Well, well, well, well! Not so bad! A dark brown tail, a glossy +body, and what fine over-hair! For once Arni of Bali had some luck! +The fox was dead; it had been shot in the belly and just crept in +there to die. Sly devil! Poor beast! Blessed creature! Arni ended by +feeling quite tenderly towards the fox. He hardly knew how to give +utterance to his joy. + +Good old Samur, my own precious dog, let me pat you, said Arni, +rubbing the dog's cheek with his own. They could shout themselves +blue in the face. It was no trick to kill all you wanted of these +little devils if you just had the powder and shot and were willing +to waste your time on it. But here Arni's face fell. He did not even +have his gun with him. It stood, all covered with rust, at home out +in the shed. Just his luck! And how could he claim to have shot a +fox without a gun?--Get out of here, Samur. Shame on you, you +rascal!--And Arni booted Samur so hard that the dog yelped. + +But, in direst need, help is at hand. He could wait for the cover of +darkness. Not even his wife should know but that he had shot the +fox. Wouldn't she stare at him? She had always defied him and tried +to belittle him. No, she should not learn the truth, she least of +all. He would not tell a soul. Now Samur, he knew how to hold his +tongue, faithful creature! Arni sat down on the rock, with the fox +on his knees, and started singing to pass the time, allowing his +good cheer to ring out as far as his voice would carry: + + My fine Sunday cap has been carried away + By a furious gale; + And I'll wear it no more to the chapel to pray + In the wind and the hail. + +He chanted this ballad over and over again until he was tired, then +sat still, smiling and stroking the fox skin. He had learned the +song when he was a child from his mother, who had sung it all day +long one spring while she was shearing the sheep. And he could not +think of any other for the moment. It wasn't, in fact, a bad song. +There were many good rhymesters in Iceland. He began singing again, +rocking his body back and forth vehemently, and stroking the fox +skin the while. And Samur, who sat in front of him, cocked his head +first on one side, then on the other, and gave him a knowing look. +At last the dog stretched out his neck, raised his muzzle into the +air and howled, using every variation of key known to him. At this +Arni stopped short and stared at him, then bending his head slightly +to one side to study him, he roared with laughter. + +What an extraordinary dog! Yes, really extraordinary. + +In the little kitchen at Bali, Groa, the mistress, crouched before +the stove and poked the fire with such vigour that both ashes and +embers flew out on the floor. She was preparing to heat a mouthful +of porridge for supper for her old man and the brats. She stood up, +rubbed her eyes and swore. The horrid smoke that always came from +that rattletrap of a stove! And that wretched old fool of a husband +was not man enough to fix it! Oh, no, he wasn't handy enough for +that; he went at every blessed thing as if his fingers were all +thumbs. And where could he be loafing tonight? Not home yet! Serve +him right if she locked the house and allowed him to stay in the +sheepcotes, or wherever it was he was dawdling. There now, those +infernal brats were at the spinning wheel. Groa jumped up, darted +into the passage, and went to the stairs. + +Will you leave that spinning wheel be, you young devils? If you +break the flier or the upright, your little old mother will be after +you. + +A dead calm ensued. So Groa returned to the kitchen, and taking a +loaf of pot-bread from the cupboard, cut a few slices and spread +them with dripping. + +Now a scratching sound was heard at the door, and Arni entered. + +Good evening to all, said he with urbanity, as he set down the gun +behind the kitchen door. Here's that gun. It has certainly paid for +itself, poor old thing. + +His wife did not reply to his greeting, but she eyed him askance +with a look that was anything but loving. + +Been fooling around with that gun! Why the blazes couldn't you have +come home and brought me a bit of peat from the pit? A fine hunter +you are! I might as well have married the devil.--And his wife +turned from him with a sneer. + +You're in a nice temper now, my dear. But just take a look at this, +said Arni, throwing down the brown fox on the kitchen floor. + +At first Groa stared at her husband as if she had never seen him +before. Then she shook her head and smiled sarcastically. + +You found it dead, I'll wager! + +Arni started. His face turned red and his eyes protruded. + +You would say that! You don't let me forget what a superior woman I +married! Found it dead!--And Arni plumped down on the woodbox. + +His wife laughed. + +I'll wager I hit the nail on the head that time! + +Arni jumped to his feet. That confounded old witch should not spoil +his pleasure. + +You're as stark, raving mad as you always have been. But I don't +care what you say. Kids, come and look at the fox your father has +shot. + +Three days later they had a visitor. Arni stood outside and stared +at him. For a wonder, somebody had at last found his way to Arni's. +Days and nights had passed, but nobody had come. They always came +when they weren't wanted. And now came Jon of Lon, that overbearing +fellow! But now he could see that Arni of Bali was also a man among +men. + +Howdy, Arni, you poor fish! said Jon, fixing his steely gray eyes on +Arni. + +How are you, you old snake! answered Arni, smiling contemptuously. +What monstrous eyes Jon had when he looked at a person! + +Has something special happened? You're somehow so puffed up today, +said Jon with a sarcastic smile. + +Darn him! muttered Arni. Was he going to act just like Groa? In that +case, Arni had at least a trump card in reserve. + +Did you say something? inquired Jon, sticking a quid of tobacco into +his mouth. Or wasn't it meant for my ears? Oh, well, I don't care +for your mutterings, you poor wretch. But now, go ask your wife to +give me a little drink of sour whey. + +Arni turned round slowly and lazily. Wasn't the old fellow going to +notice the skin? It wasn't so small that it couldn't be seen. There +it hung on the wall, right in the sunlight, combed and beautifully +glossy. + +That's quite a nice fox skin. Whose is it? asked Jon, walking over +to the wall. + +Arni turned round. He could feel his heart beating fast. + +Mine, he said, with what calm he could muster. + +What is the idea of you buying a fox skin, you poor beggar? + +Buying? Arni sighed. You think I can't shoot me a fox? + +You! Jon laughed. That's a downright lie, my dear Arni. + +A lie! You'd best not tell people they lie unless you know more +about it. A scoundrel like you, I say, a scoundrel like you! replied +Arni, swelling. I think you'd better be getting in and see her. You +know her pretty well, I believe. + +Jon looked at the farmer of Bali with his steely eyes. + +For whom are you keeping the skin, Arni? + +No one, said Arni, crossly; then after some hesitation: The Lord +gave it to me. + +All right, Arni. Miracles never cease. That is plain enough after +this, and no question about it. That's an eighty-crown skin, however +you came by it. But now let's go in and see Groa. As you say, I know +her pretty well. She was a smart girl, you poor wretch. Too bad I +was married and had to throw her to a creature like you. + +Arni grinned and, trotting to the door of the house, called: Groa, a +visitor to see you. + +The woman came to the door. A smile played about her lips, +smouldering embers glowed in her blue eyes, and the sunlight lighted +up the unkempt braids of golden hair which fell down about her pale +cheeks. + +But Arni for once was satisfied. At last Jon was properly impressed. +The affair between Groa and Jon was something that could not be +helped. Jon surely regretted having lost that girl! Yes, indeed! And +she had her good points. She was smart, and a hundred crowns a year, +besides everything else that was brought them from Lon, was pretty +good compensation. Yes, many a man had married less well than Arni +of Bali. And the children were his, most of them, anyway. Nobody +need tell him anything else. + + * + +The fox skin became Arni of Bali's most cherished possession. Every +day, when the weather was clear, he would hang it, well smoothed and +combed, on the outside wall, and when he left home he carefully put +it away in a safe place. The skin became famous throughout the +district, and many of the younger men made special trips to Bali to +examine it. Arni would beam with joy and strut around with a +knowing, self-satisfied expression on his face, and would tell of +the patience, the agility, and the marksmanship he had to put into +killing this monstrously clever fox. It certainly wasn't hard to +kill all you wanted of these devils, if you just had the powder and +shot and were willing to give your time to it, he would say, as he +turned the skin so that the sunlight shone full on the glossy pelt. + +Then one day that fall, Arni came home from tending the sheep, which +had just been brought down from the mountain pastures. He hung the +skin out and went into the kitchen, where Groa was busy washing, sat +down on a box by the wall on the other side of the room, let his +head rest on his hands, and looked wise. For a while there was +silence. At last Groa looked up from her washtub and gave Arni a +piercing glance. + +Have you got your eye on a cow to replace the greyspotted one we +killed last spring? + +Cow? asked Arni, scratching his head. Cow? Yes, so you say, my good +woman. + +So I say? Do you think the milk from Dumba alone goes very far in +feeding such a flock of children as we have? You haven't gone and +squandered the money we got for Skjalda? asked Groa, looking harder +still at her husband. + +Don't be foolish, woman! The money lies untouched at the factor's. +But he wouldn't pay much for the meat and hide of Skjalda, not +anywhere near enough to buy a good milking cow. He said the English +on the trawlers don't set much store by cow's meat. The summer has +been only so-so, and I'm sure we'll have plenty of uses for what +money I've been able to scrape together. Of course, a cow is a good +thing to buy, an enjoyable luxury, if only you have plenty of money. + +If you can't scrape together the money for a cow, we must cut +expenses somehow. Perhaps you could stop stuffing your nostrils with +that dirty snuff? And you ought at any rate to be able to sell that +fancy fox skin you play with so childishly. + +Is that so! + +Yes, you play with that wretched fox skin just exactly like any +crazy youngster. + +Wretched is it? Take care what you say, woman! Wretched skin! A fine +judge of such matters you are!--And standing up, Arni paced the +kitchen floor.--An eighty-crown skin! And you call it wretched! Jon +of Lon didn't call it any names. You'll believe at least what he +says. + +Now, don't get puffed up. You ought to be thankful to get what you +can for the skin. It will help in buying the cow. + +The cow? Let me tell you, woman, that I am not going to buy a cow +for the skin. You can take it from me that you will never get a cow +for that skin. Or anything else, in fact. The farmer at Lon can +shell out whatever is needed for buying the cow. That's the least he +can do for you. + +Groa stopped her washing, stared for a few seconds at Arni, and then +with a quick movement walked up to him, brandishing a bit of wet +linen. + +Will you tell me what you're going to do with the skin? she asked, +almost in a whisper. + +Arni shrank back. The way to the door was cut off. He raised his arm +in self-defence and retreated as far as possible into the corner. + +I'm going to sell it. Now be reasonable, Groa. I'm going to sell it. + +And what are you going to buy for it? his wife hissed, boring into +him with her eyes. + +A cow. I'm going to buy a cow for it. + +You lie! You know you're not going to sell it. You're going to play +with it. Know your children hungering for milk and play with the +skin! + +My children? + +No, God be praised, they're--not--yours, said Groa, allowing the +blows to rain on Arni.--But now I'll keep the skin for you.--And +like an arrow she shot out of the door, all out of breath and +trembling. + +For a few seconds Arni stood still. His eyes seemed bursting out of +their sockets, and the hair in his beard stood on end. In a flash he +rushed over the kitchen floor and out of the house. + +Groa had just taken the skin down off the nail on the wall. Now she +brandished it and looked at Arni with fury in her gaze. But he did +not wait. He rushed at her, gave her such a shove that she fell, +and, snatching the skin from her, ran. A safe distance away, he +turned and stood panting for several seconds. At last, exhausted and +trembling with rage, he hissed: + +I tell you, Groa. I'll have my way about this. The skin is the only +thing that is all my own, and no one shall take it from me. + +Arni fled then. He took to his heels, and ran away as fast as he +could up the slopes. + +--- + +Far in the innermost corner of the outlying sheepcote at Bali, to +which the sun's rays never reach, Arni built himself a little +cupboard. This cupboard is kept carefully locked, and Arni carries +the key on a string which hangs around his neck. Arni now has become +quite prosperous. For a long time it was thought that he must keep +money in the cupboard, but last spring an acquaintance of his +stopped at the outlying sheepcote on his way from the village. The +man had some liquor with him and gave Arni a taste. At last the +visitor was allowed to see what the cupboard contained--a carefully +combed and smoothed dark brown fox skin. Arni was visibly moved by +the unveiling of his secret. Staring at the ceiling, he licked his +whiskers and sighed deeply. + +It seems to me, Gisli, he said to his friend, that I'd rather lose +all my ewes than this skin, for it was the thing which once made me +say, 'Thus far and no farther!' And since then I seem to own +something right here in my breast which not even Jon of Lon can take +away from me. I think I am now beginning to understand what is meant +in the Scriptures by 'the treasure which neither moth nor rust can +currupt.' + +Arni's red-rimmed eyes were moist. For a while he stood there +thinking. But all of a sudden he shook his head and, turning to his +acquaintance, said: Let's see the bottle. A man seems to feel warmer +inside if he gets a little drop.--And Arni shook himself as if the +mental strain of his philosophizing had occasioned in him a slight +chill. + + + + +HALLDOR KILJAN LAXNESS + +NEW ICELAND + + +The road leads from Old Iceland to New Iceland. It is the way of men +from the old to the new in the hope that the new will be better than +the old. So Torfi Torfason has sold his sheep and his cows and his +horses, torn himself away from his land, and journeyed to America-- +where the raisins grow all over the place and where a much brighter +future awaits us and our children. And he took his ewes by the horn +for the last time, led them to the highest bidder, and said: Now +this one is my good Goldbrow who brings back her two lambs from +Mulata every fall. And what do you say to the coat of wool on Bobbin +here? She's a fine sturdy lass, Bobbin, isn't she? + +And thus he sold them one after another, holding them himself by the +horn. And he pressed their horns against the callouses on his palm +for the last time. These were his ewes, who had crowded around the +manger in the dead of winter and stuck their noses into the fragrant +hay. And when he came home from the long trip to the market town +after having wrangled with some of the rascals there, he marvelled +at how snow-white they were in the fleece. They were like a special +kind of people and yet better than people in general. And yonder +were his cows being led off the place like large and foolish women, +who are nevertheless kindness itself, and you are fond of them +because you have known them since you were young. They were led out +through the lanes, and strange boys urged them on with bits of +strap. And he patted his horses on the rump for the last time and +sold them to the highest bidder, these fine old fellows who were +perhaps the only beings in the world that understood him and knew +him and esteemed him. He had known them since they were boys full of +pomp and show. Now he sold them for money because the way of man +leads from the old to the new, from Old Iceland to New Iceland, and, +the evening after this sale, he no more thought of saying his +prayers than would a man who had taken God Almighty by the horn, +patted Him on the rump, and sold Him, and let some strange boy urge +Him on with a bit of strap. He felt that he was an evil man, a +downright ungodly man, and he asked his wife what the devil she was +sniffling about. + +In the middle of July a new settler put up a log cabin on a grassy +plot in the swamps along Icelandic River, a short distance from what +is now called Riverton in New Iceland. Torfi hung the picture of Jon +Sigurdsson on one wall, and on another his wife hung a calendar with +a picture of a girl in a wide-brimmed hat. The neighbours were +helpful to them in building their cabin, making ditches, and in +other ways. All that summer Torfi stood up to his hips in mud +digging ditches, and when the bottom was worn out of his shoes and +the soles of his feet began to get sore from the shovel, he hit on a +plan: he cut the bottom out of a tin can and stuck his toe into the +cylinder. And the first evening when he came home from the ditch- +digging. and was struggling to remove from himself that sticky clay +which is peculiar to the soil of Manitoba, he could not help saying +to his wife: It's really remarkable how filthy the mud is here in +New Iceland. + +But that summer there was an epidemic among the children, and Torfi +Torfason lost two of his four, a six-year old girl and a three-year +old boy. Their names were Jon and Maria. The neighbours helped him +to make a coffin. A clergyman was brought from a distance, and he +buried Jon and Maria, and Torfi Torfason paid what was asked. A few +not very well washed Icelanders, their old hats in their toil-worn +hands, stood over the grave and droned sadly. Torfi Torfason had +seen to it that every body would get coffee and fritters and +Christmas cakes. But when autumn came, the weather grew cold and the +snow fell, and then his wife had a new baby who filled the log cabin +with fresh crying. This was a Canadian Icelander. After that came +Indian Summer with the multi-coloured forests. + +And the Indians came down from the North by their winding trails +along the river and wanted to buy themselves mittens. They took +things very calmly and did not fuss about trifles, but bought a +single pair of mittens for a whole haunch of venison together with +the shoulder. Then they bought a scarf and socks for a whole +carcass. After that they trudged off again with their mittens and +scarfs like any other improvident wretches. + +Then came the winter, and what was to be done now? Torfi christened +his farm Riverbank. There was only one cow at Riverbank, three +children, and very little in the cupboard. The cow's name was +Mulley, in spite of the fact that she had very long horns, and she +was known as Riverbank Mulley. And she had big eyes and stared like +a foreigner at the farmer's wife and mooed every time anybody walked +past the door. + +I don't think poor Mulley will be able to feed us all this winter, +said Torfi Torfason. + +Have you thought of anything? asked Torfi Torfason's wife. + +Nothing unless to go north and fish in the lake. It's said that +those who go there often do well for themselves. + +I was thinking that if you went somewhere, I might just as well go +somewhere too for the winter. Sigridur of New Farm says there's lots +of work for washerwomen in Winnipeg in the winter. Some of the women +from this district are going south the beginning of next week. I +could pack up my old clothes on a sled like them and go too. I'd +just leave little Tota here with the youngsters. She's going on +fourteen now, Tota is. + +I could perhaps manage to send home a mess of fish once in a while, +said Torfi Torfason. + +This was an evening early in November, snow had fallen on the woods, +the swamps were frozen over. They spoke no more of their parting. +Jon Sigurdsson grinned out into the room, and the calendar girl with +the wide-brimmed hat laid her blessing upon the sleeping children. + +The tiny kerosene lamp burned in the window, but the frost flowers +bloomed on the window-panes. + +It seems to me it can get cold here, no less than at home, said +Torfi Torfason presently. + +Do you remember what fun it often was when guests came in the +evening? There would be sure to be talk about the sheep at this time +of the autumn on our farm. + +Oh, it's not much of a sheep country here in the west, said Torfi +Torfason. But there's fishing in the lake ... And if you have +decided to go south and get yourself a 'job', as they say here, then +... + +If you write to Iceland, be sure to ask about our old cow Skjalda, +how she is getting along. Our old Skjalda. Good old cow. + +Silence. + +Then Torfi Torfason's wife spoke again: + +By the way, what do you think of the cows here in America, Torfi? +Don't you think they're awfully poor milkers? Somehow or other I +feel as if I could never get fond of Mulley. It seems to me as if it +would be impossible to let yourself get fond of a foreign cow. + +Oh, that's just a notion, said Torfi Torfason, spitting through his +teeth, although he had long since given up chewing. Why shouldn't +the cows here be up and down just the same as other cows? But +there's one thing sure. I'll never get so attached to another horse +again, since I sold my Skjoni ... There was a fine fellow. + +They never referred in any other way than this to what they had +owned or what they had lost, but sat long silent, and the tiny lamp +cast a glow on the frost flowers like a garden--two poor Icelanders, +man and wife, who put out their light and go to sleep. Then begins +the great, soundless, Canadian winter night.-- + +The women started off for Winnipeg a few days later, walking through +the snow-white woods, over the frozen fields, a good three days' +journey. They tied their belongings on to sleds. Each one drew her +own sled. This was known as going washing in Winnipeg. Torfi +Torfason remained at home one night longer. + +He stood in the front yard outside of the cabin and looked after the +women as they disappeared into the woods with their sleds. The +November forests listened in the frost to the speech of these +foreign women, echoed it, without understanding it. Ahead of them, +walked an old man to lead the way. They wore Icelandic homespun +skirts, and had them tucked up at the waist. Around their heads, +they had tied Icelandic woollen shawls. They say they are such good +walkers. They intend to take lodging somewhere for the night for +their pennies. + +When the women had disappeared, Torfi Torfason looked into the cabin +where they had drunk their last drop of coffee, and the mugs were +still standing unwashed on the ledge. Tota was taking care of the +little boy, but little Imba was sitting silent beside the stove. +Mamma had gone away. Torfi Torfason patched up the door, patched up +the walls, all that day, and carried in wood. In the evening, the +little girls bring him porridge, bread, and a slice of meat. The +little boy frets and cries. And his sister, big Tota with her big +red hands, takes him up in her arms and rocks him: Little brother +must be good, little brother mustn't cry, little brother's going to +get a drop of milk from his good old Mulley.--But the boy keeps on +crying. + + My Mulley cow, moo, moo, moo + Mulley in the byre, + What great big horns she has. + What great big eyes she has! + Blessings on my Mulley cow, my good old + Mulley cow. + + Our Mamma went away, 'way, 'way, + Away went our Mamma. + Our Mamma's gone but where, where, where. + Where has she gone, our Mamma? + She'll come back after Christmas and + Christmas and Christmas, + Back with a new dress for me, a new dress, + a new dress. + + We mustn't be a-crying, a-crying, a-crying, + For surely she'll be coming, our Mamma, + our Mamma, + + For she is our good Mamma, our Mamma, + our Mamma. + God bless our Mamma and our little brother's + Mamma. + +But the boy still kept on crying. And Torfi Torfason ate his meal +like a man who is trying to eat something in a hurry at a concert. + +The day after, Torfi Torfason started off. A Canadian winter day, +blue, vast, and calm, with ravens hovering over the snow-covered +woods. He threaded his way along the trails northward to the lake, +carrying his pack on his back. This was through unsettled country, +nowhere a soul, nowhere the smoke from a cabin mile after mile, only +those ravens, flying above the white woods and alighting on the +branches as on a clay statue of Pallas. 'Nevermore.' And Torfi +Torfason thinks of his ewes and his cows and his horses and all that +he has lost. + +Then all of a sudden a wretched bitch waddled out from the woods +into his path. It was a vagrant bitch, as thin as a skeleton, and so +big in the belly that she walked with difficulty. Her dugs dragged +along the snow, for she was in pup. They came from opposite +directions, two lonely creatures, who are paddling their own canoes +in America, and meet one cold winter day out in the snow. At first +she pricked up her ears and stared at the man with brown mistrustful +eyes. Then she crouched down in the snow and began to tremble, and +he understood that she was telling him she wasn't feeling well, that +she had lost her master, that she had often been beaten, beaten, +beaten, and never in her life had enough to eat, and that nobody had +ever been kind to her, never; nobody knew, she was sure, how all +this would end for her. She was very poor, she said. + +Well, it takes all kinds to make a world, said Torfi Torfason. And +he took off his pack and sat down in the snow with his legs +stretched out in front of him. In the mouth of the pack there was +something that little Tota had scraped together for her papa on the +trip. And then the bitch began to wag her tail back and forth in the +snow and gaze with lustful eyes at the mouth of the pack. + +Well, well, poor doggie, so you have lost your master and have had +nothing to eat since God knows when, and I've just chased out my +wife, yes, yes, and she went away yesterday. Yes, yes, she's going +to try to shift for herself as a washerwoman down in Winnipeg this +winter, yes, yes, that's how it is now. Yes, yes, we packed up and +left a fairly decent living there at home and came here into this +damnable log-cabin existence, yes, yes. ... Well, try that in your +chops, you miserable cur, you can gobble that up, I tell you. Oh, +this is nothing but damned scraps and hardly fit to offer a dog, not +even a stray dog, oh, no. Well, I can't bring myself to chase you +away, poor wretch--we're all stray dogs in the eyes of the Lord in +any case, that's what we all are.... + +Time passed on and Torfi Torfason fished in the lake and lived in a +hut on some outlying island with his boss, a red-bearded man, who +made money out of his fishing fleet as well as by selling other +fishermen tobacco, liquor, and twine. The fisherman vehemently +disliked the dog and said every day that that damned bitch ought to +be killed. He had built this cabin on the island himself. It was +divided into two parts, a hall and a room. They slept in the room, +and in the hall they kept fishing tackle, food, and other supplies, +but the bitch slept on the step outside the cabin door. The +fisherman was not a generous man and gave Torfi the smaller share of +the food. He absolutely forbade giving the dog the tiniest morsel +and said that bitch ought to be killed. To this Torfi made no +answer, but always stole a bite for the dog when the fisherman had +gone to bed. Now the time came when the bitch was to pup. The bitch +pupped. And when she had finished pupping, he gave her a fine chunk +of meat, which he stole from the fisherman, for he knew that bitter +is the hunger of the woman in child-bed, and let her lie on an old +sack in the hall, directly against the will of the fisherman. Then +he lay down to sleep. + +But he had not lain long when he is aroused by someone walking about +and he cannot figure out why. But it turns out to be the fisherman, +who gets up out of bed, walks out into the hall. lights the lamp, +takes the bitch by the scruff of the neck, and throws her out in the +snow. Then he closes the outer door, puts out the light, and lies +down on his bunk. Now it is quiet for a while, until the bitch +begins to howl outside and the pups to whine piteously in the hall. +Then Torfi Torfason gets up, gropes his way out through the hall, +lets the bitch in, and she crawls at once over her pups. After that +he lies down to sleep. But he has not lain long when he is aroused +by somebody walking about and he can not figure out why. But it +turns out to be the fisherman, who gets up out of bed, walks out +into the hall, lights the lamp, takes the bitch by the scruff of her +neck for the second time and throws her out into the snow. Then he +lies down to sleep again. Again the bitch begins to howl outside and +the pups to whine, and Torfi Torfason gets up out of bed, lets the +bitch in to the pups again, and again lies down. After a little +while the fisherman gets up again, lights the lantern, and fares +forth. But even soft iron can be whetted sharp, and now Torfi +Torfason springs out of bed a third time and out into the hall after +the fisherman. + +Either you leave the dog alone or both of us will go, I and the dog, +says Torfi Torfason, and it was only a matter of seconds till he +laid hands on his master. A hard scuffle began and the cabin shook +with it, and everything fell over and broke that was in the way. +They gave each other many and heavy blows, but the fisherman was the +more warlike, until Torfi tackled low, grasped him round the waist, +and did not let up in the attack until he had the fisherman doubled +up with his chin against his knees. Then he opened the door of the +cabin and threw him out somewhere into the wide world. + +Outside, the weather was calm, the stars were shining, it was +extremely cold, and there was snow over everything. Torfi was all +black and blue and bleeding, hot and panting after the struggle. So +this was what had to happen to Torfi Torfason, renowned as a man of +peace, who had never harmed a living creature--to throw a man out of +his own house, hurl him out on the frozen ground in the middle of +the night, and all for one she-dog. Perhaps I have even killed him, +Torfi thought, but that's the end of that--that's how it had to be. +To think that I ever moved to New Iceland! + +And he sauntered out of the cabin, coatless as he stood, sauntered +out on to the icy ground and headed for the woods. And he had hardly +walked twenty feet when he had forgotten both his rage and the +fisherman and started to think about what he had owned and what he +had lost. Nobody knows what he has owned until he has lost it. He +began to think about his sheep, which were as white as snow in the +fleece, about his horses, fine old fellows, who were the only ones +who understood him and knew him and esteemed him, and about his +cows, which were led out the lanes one evening last spring and +strange boys ran after them with bits of strap. And he began to +think about Jon and Maria, whom God Almighty had taken to Himself up +in yon great, foreign heaven, which vaults over New Iceland and is +something altogether different from the heaven at home. And he saw +still in his mind those Icelandic pioneers who had stood over the +grave with their old hats in their sorely tired hands and droned. + +And he threw himself down on the frozen ground among the trees and +cried bitterly in the frosty night--this big strong man who had gone +all the way from Old Iceland to New Iceland--this proletarian who +had brought his children as a sacrifice to the hope of a much +worthier future, a more perfect life. His tears fell on the ice. + + + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Seven Icelandic Short Stories, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SEVEN ICELANDIC SHORT STORIES *** + +***** This file should be named 5603-8.txt or 5603-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/5/6/0/5603/ + +Produced by Nicole Apostola, Charles Franks and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team. + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/5603-8.zip b/5603-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..9193755 --- /dev/null +++ b/5603-8.zip diff --git a/5603.txt b/5603.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..efc753d --- /dev/null +++ b/5603.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3986 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Seven Icelandic Short Stories, by Various + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Seven Icelandic Short Stories + +Author: Various + +Posting Date: February 3, 2011 [EBook #5603] +Release Date: May, 2004 +[This file was first posted on July 19, 2002] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SEVEN ICELANDIC SHORT STORIES *** + + + + +Produced by Nicole Apostola, Charles Franks and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team. + + + + + + + +SEVEN ICELANDIC SHORT STORIES + +REYKJAVIK + +THE MINISTRY OF EDUCATION + + + + +CONTENTS + +INTRODUCTION BY STEINGRIMUR J. PORSTEINSSON + +ANONYMOUS (13TH CENTURY) +THE STORY OF AUDUNN AND THE BEAR +TRANSLATED BY G. TURVILLE-PEIRE + +EINAR H. KVARAN +A DRY SPELL (1905) +TRANSLATED BY JAKOBINA JOHNSON + +GUEthMUNDUR FRIEthJONSSON +THE OLD HAY (1909) +TRANSLATED BY MEKKIN SVEINSON PERKINS + +JON TRAUSTI +WHEN I WAS ON THE FRIGATE (1910) +TRANSLATED BY ARNOLD R. TAYLOR + +GUNNAR GUNNARSSON +FATHER AND SON (1916) +TRANSLATED BY PETER FOOTE + +GUEthMUNDUR G. HAGALIN +THE FOX SKIN (1923) +TRANSLATED BY MEKKIN SVEINSON PERKINS + +HALLDOR KILJAN LAXNESS +NEW ICELAND (1927) +TRANSLATED BY AXEL EYBERG AND JOHN WATKINS + + + + +INTRODUCTION + +I + + +Of the seven Icelandic short stories which appear here, the first +was probably written early in the thirteenth century, while the rest +all date from the early twentieth century. It might therefore be +supposed that the earliest of these stories was written in a +language more or less unintelligible to modern Icelanders, and that +there was a gap of many centuries in the literary production of the +nation. This, however, is not the case. + +The Norsemen who colonized Iceland in the last quarter of the ninth +century brought with than the language then spoken throughout the +whole of Scandinavia. This ancestor of the modern Scandinavian +tongues has been preserved in Iceland so little changed that every +Icelander still understands, without the aid of explanatory +commentaries, the oldest preserved prose written in their country +850 years ago. The principal reasons for this were probably limited +communications between Iceland and other countries, frequent +migrations inside the island, and, not least important, a long and +uninterrupted literary tradition. As a consequence, Icelandic has +not developed any dialects in the ordinary sense. + +It is to their language and literature, as well as to the island +separateness of their country, that the 175 thousand inhabitants of +this North-Atlantic state of a little more than a hundred thousand +square kilometres owe their existence as an independent and separate +nation. + +The Icelanders established a democratic legislative assembly, the +Althingi (Alþingi) in 930 A.D., and in the year 1000 embraced +Christianity. Hence there soon arose the necessity of writing down +the law and translations of sacred works. Such matter, along with +historical knowledge, may well have constituted the earliest +writings in Icelandic, probably dating as far back as the eleventh +century, while the oldest preserved texts were composed early in the +twelfth century. This was the beginning of the so-called saga- +writing. The important thing was that most of what was written down +was in the vernacular, Latin being used but sparingly. Thus a +literary style was evolved which soon reached a high standard. This +style, so forceful in its perspicuity, was effectively simple, yet +rich in the variety of its classical structure. + +There were different categories of sagas. Among the most important +were the sagas of the Norwegian kings and the family sagas. The +latter tell us about the first generations of native Icelanders. +They are all anonymous and the majority of them were written in the +thirteenth century. Most of them contain a more or less historical +core. Above all, however, they are fine literature, at times +realistic, whose excellence is clearly seen in their descriptions of +events and character, their dialogue and structure. Most of them are +in fact in the nature of historical novels. The Viking view of life +pervading them is characteristically heroic, but with frequent +traces of the influence of Christian writing. + +Besides these there were short stories (þaettir) about Icelanders, +of which THE STORY OF AUDUNN AND THE BEAR (Auethunar þattr vestfirzka) +is one of the best known. [Footnote: In this edition, the specially- +Icelandic consonants þ and eth are printed as th and d respectively, +and the superstressed vowels a,i,o, and u, are given without the +acute accent, when they occur in proper names in the stories, e. g. +Porethur: Thordur.] + +These may be regarded as a preliminary stage in the development of +the longer family saga, simpler, yet having essentially the same +characteristics. Both types then continued to be written side by +side. Although the geographical isolation of the country was stated +above as one of the reasons for the preservation of the language, +too great a stress should not be laid on this factor, especially not +during the early centuries of the settlement. The Icelanders were +great and active navigators who discovered Greenland (shortly after +980) and North America (Leifr Eiriksson, about 1000). Thus THE STORY +OF AUDUNN AND THE BEAR recounts travels to Greenland, Norway, +Denmark and Italy. It was then fashionable for young Icelanders to +go abroad and spend some time at the courts of the Norwegian kings, +where the skalds recited poems of praise dedicated to the king. In +this story the occasion of the voyage is a less common one, the +bringing of a polar bear as a gift to the Danish king. In several +other Icelandic stories, and in some of other countries, we read of +such gifts, and of how European potentates prized these rare +creatures from Greenland. + +In Scandinavia, Germany, and elsewhere, there have been legends +similar to the story of Audunn, where a man, after having been to +the Norwegian king with a tame bear, decides to present it to the +king of Denmark. However, we know of no earlier source for this +motif than the story of Audunn. Whatever its value as historical +fact, it could well be the model to which the other versions might +be traced. This story is preserved in the Morkinskinna, an Icelandic +manuscript written in the second half of the thirteenth century, as +well as in several later manuscripts. [Footnote: The most valuable +edition of THE STORY OF ADUNN AND THE BEAR is that of Guethni Jonsson +in the series Islenzk fornrit (vol. VI. Reykjavik 1943). The text of +this edition is followed in the present translation, except in a few +cases where reference has been made to the texts of Fornmannasoegur +VI, Copenhagen 1831, and Flateyjarbok III, Oslo 1868.] The story had +probably been written down by 1220, if not earlier. It is given a +historical background in so far as it is set in the time of Haraldr +the Hard-ruler, King of Norway (1046-66), and Sveinn Ulfsson, King +of Denmark (1047-76), when the two countries were at war (c. 1062- +64). Both monarchs are depicted as generous, magnanimous men, but +Audunn was shrewd enough to see which would give the greater reward +for his precious bear. For all his generosity, King Haraldr was +known to be ruthless and grasping. What the writer had in mind may +have been a character-comparison of the two kings and the +description of "one of the luckiest of men", about whom the +translator, G. Turville-Petre says: "Audunn himself, in spite of his +shrewd and purposeful character, is shown as a pious man, thoughtful +of salvation, and richly endowed with human qualities, affection for +his patron and especially for his mother. The story is an optimistic +one, suggesting that good luck may attend those who have good +morals." + + + + +II + + +The Icelanders have never waged war against any nation. But in the +thirteenth century they were engaged in a civil war which ended in +their submitting to the authority of the Norwegian king in the +sixties (this authority was transferred to the King of the Danes in +1380). It is interesting that, during the next few decades after +this capitulation, saga-writing seems to reach a climax as an art, +in family sagas like Njals saga, "one of the great prose works of +the world" (W. P. Ker). It is as if the dangers of civil war and the +experiences gained in times of surrender had created in the authors +a kind of inner tension--as if their maturity had found full +expression in the security of peace. However, with the first +generation born in Iceland in subjection, the decline of saga- +writing seems to begin. This can hardly be a mere coincidence. On +the contrary it was brought about by a number of different factors. + +Subsequently, in the fourteenth century, saga-writing becomes for +the most part extinct. From c. 1400-1800 there is hardly any prose +fiction at all. Hence the fact that several centuries remain +unrepresented in this work (though the gap might have been reduced +to four or five centuries had literary-historical considerations +alone been allowed to influence the present selection). + +But the sagas continued to be copied and read. After the setting up +of the first printing press (c. 1530), and after the Reformation (c. +1550), religious literature grew much in bulk, both translations +(that of the Bible was printed in 1584) and original works, and a +new kind of historical writing came into being. Side by side with +scholars, we have self-educated commoners who wrote both prose and, +especially, poetry. + +In Iceland, being a "poet" has never been considered out of the +ordinary. On the contrary, a person unable to make up a verse or two +would almost be considered exceptional. Yet, this requires +considerable skill as the Icelanders are the only nation that has +preserved the ancient common Germanic alliteration (found in all +Germanic poetry till late medieval times). We frequently find this +device accompanied by highly complicated rhyme schemes. Despite this +rather rigid form, restrictive perhaps, yet disciplinary in its +effect, exquisite poetry has nevertheless been produced. This +poetry, however, is not within the scope of this introduction. +Suffice it to say that from what exists of their verse it is clear +that poets have been active at all times since the colonization of +the country. It is this uninterrupted flow of poetry that above all +has helped to preserve the language and the continuity of the +literary tradition. + +During the centuries we have been discussing--especially, however, +the seventeenth--the Icelanders probably wrote more verse than any +other nation has ever done--ranging in quality, to be sure, from the +lowest to the highest. When, in the sixteenth century, they had got +paper to take the place of the more expensive parchment, they could +universally indulge in copying old literature and writing new, an +opportunity which they certainly made use of. It was their only +luxury--and, at the same time, a vital need. + +We have said that the Icelanders had never waged war against any +other people. But they have had to struggle against foreign rulers, +and against hardships caused by the nature of their country. After +the Reformation, the intervention of the Crown greatly increased, +and, at the same time, its revenues from the country. A Crown +monopoly of all trade was imposed (in 1602). Nature joined forces +with mismanagement by the authorities; on the seas surrounding the +island pack-ice frequently became a menace to shipping, and there +also occurred unusually long and vicious series of volcanic +eruptions. These culminated in the late eighteenth century (1783), +when the world's most extensive lava fields of historical times were +formed, and the mist from the eruption was carried all over Europe +and far into the continent of Asia. Directly or indirectly as a +consequence of this eruption, the greater part of the live-stock, +and a fifth of the human population of the country perished. + +Still the people continued to tell stories and to compose poems. No +doubt the Icelanders have thus wasted on poetical fantasies and +visionary daydreams much of the energy that they might otherwise +have used in life's real battle. But the greyness of commonplace +existence became more bearable when they listened to tales of the +heroic deeds of the past. In the evening, the living-room +(baethstofa), built of turf and stone, became a little more cheerful, +and hunger was forgotten, while a member of the household read, or +sang, about far-away knights and heroes, and the banquets they gave +in splendid halls. In their imagination people thus tended to make +their environment seem larger, and better, than life, as did Hrolfur +with his fishing-boat in the story When I was on the Frigate. + + + + +III + + +About 1800, things began to improve. The monopoly of trade, which +had been relaxed in 1787, was finally abolished in 1854. In the year +1874 Iceland got self-government in its internal affairs, and in +1904 its first minister of state with residence in the country. It +became a sovereign kingdom in union with Denmark in 1918, and an +independent republic in 1944. + +The climate of the country has improved during the last hundred and +fifty years, though there were a number of severe years in the +eighteen eighties. It was at this time that emigration to the North- +American Continent reached a peak, especially to Canada, where one +of the settlements came to be called New Iceland--the title given to +the last story in this book. Many of these emigrants suffered great +hardships, and, as the story tells, several of them became +disillusioned with the land of promise. Their descendants, however, +have on the whole done well in the New World. + +Until recently, the Icelanders were almost entirely a nation of +farmers, and the majority of the stories in this collection contain +sketches of country life. A certain amount of perseverance and even +obstinacy was needed for a farmer's life on an island skirting the +Arctic Circle (The Old Hay). Only about a quarter of the country is +fit for human habitation, mainly the districts along the coast. The +uplands, for the most part made up of mountains, glaciers, sand- +deserts, and lava, are often awe-inspiring in their grandeur. + +Nevertheless it would be wrong to exaggerate the severity of the +land. In many places the soil is fertile, as is often the case in +volcanic countries, and--thanks to the Gulf Stream, which flows up +to the shores of the island--the climate is a good deal more +temperate than one might suppose (the average annual temperatures in +Reykjavik are 4-5 deg. Centigrade). + +Besides, the surrounding sea makes up for the barrenness of the +country by having some of the richest fishing banks in the world. +Hence, in addition to being farmers, the Icelanders have always been +fishermen who brought means of sustenance from the sea--usually in +primitive open boats like those described in When I was on the +Frigate and Father and Son. In the late nineteenth century decked +vessels came into use besides the open boats, succeeded by steam +trawlers at the beginning of the present century. For the last few +decades, the Icelanders have been employing a modern fishing fleet, +and, at the time of writing, fishery products constitute more than +ninety per cent of the country's exports. + +With the growth of the fisheries and commerce there began to spring +up towards the end of the nineteenth century a number of trading +villages in different parts of the country. Reykjavik, the only +municipality of fairly long standing and by far the biggest one, had +at the turn of the present century a population of only between six +and seven thousand--now about eleven times that number. We catch +glimpses of these small trading stations at the beginning of the +twentieth century in A Dry Spell and Father and Son. + +Nowadays, four fifths of the population live in villages and +townships--where some light industry has sprung up--and, in +Reykjavik alone, more than two fifths of the population are +concentrated. + +In the last fifty years, the occupations of the people and their +culture have changed from being in many respects medieval, and have +assumed modern forms. The earlier turfbuilt farmhouses have now been +replaced by comfortable concrete buildings which get their +electricity from a source of water power virtually inexhaustible. +Many of these,--e. g. the majority of houses in Reykjavik--are +heated by water from hot springs, so that the purity of the northern +air is seldom spoilt by smoke from coal-fires. The reliable +Icelandic pony--so dear to the farmer in New Iceland, and for long +known as "a man's best friend"--has now for the most part come to +serve the well-to-do who can afford to use it for their joy-rides, +its place in farmwork being taken by modern agricultural machinery. +As a means of travel it has been replaced by a host of motorcars, +and by aeroplanes, which in Iceland are as commonly used in going +from one part of the country to another as railway trains in other +countries. In fact, it has not been found feasible to build railways +in Iceland. Besides this, a large number of airliners make daily use +of Icelandic airfields on transatlantic flights. What with most +other nations has been a slow and gradual process lasting several +centuries, has in Iceland come about in more or less a revolutionary +way. It is therefore not to be wondered at that there should have +been a certain instability in the development of the urban and +economic life of the country. In this field, however, there appear +to be signs of consolidation. + +Foreigners who come to this country in search of the old saga-island +are sometimes a little disappointed at finding here, in place of +saga-tellers and bards, a modern community, with its own university, +a national theatre, and a symphony orchestra. Be this as it may, +literature still holds first place among the arts and cultures. A +collection of books is indeed considered as essential a part of a +home as the furniture itself. For such visitors, there may be some +consolation in the fact that in some places they may have quite a +job in spotting the grocer's among the bookshops. + + + + +IV + + +In literature there had, especially in poetry, been a continuity +from the very beginnings. Yet, in the field also, the early +nineteenth century saw the dawn of a new age. The Romantic Movement +was here, as elsewhere, accompanied by a national awakening, so that +literature became the herald and the principal motive force of +social improvement. There was at the same time a new drive for an +increased beauty of language and refinement of style, where the +classical, cultivated, literary language and the living speech of +the time merged. With Romanticism there also emerged poets of so +great merit that only a few such had come forward since the end of +the saga period. But henceforward--let's take as our point of +departure the second quarter of the nineteenth century--each +generation in the country has indeed produced some outstanding +literary works, comparable in quality with the accomplishments of +the ancient classical Edda and saga periods. + +During this new golden age, several literary tendencies and genres +may be observed. But Romanticism remained the most lasting and +potent literary force for about a century. However, one of the +characteristics of the Icelandic literature of later ages is the +infrequent manifestation of literary trends in their purest and most +extreme forms. Here the stabilizing and moderating influence of the +ancient sagas has, without doubt, been at work. In most cases this +middle course may be said to have been beneficial to the literature. + +But the saga-literature may also well have had a restraining +influence on later authors in so far as it set a difficult standard +to be emulated. It is probably here that the principal explanation +of the late re-emergence of prose fiction is to be sought. It was +not until about the middle of the nineteenth century that modern +short stories, novels and plays began to be written on anything like +a scale worthy of note. The earliest of these were romantic in +spirit, though most of them had a realistic tinge. With Realism, the +short story came into its own in the eighties and nineties of the +last century. This trend came like a fresh current to take its place +side by side with Romanticism, without, however, ousting it from the +literary scene. But owing to the realistic technique and the tragic +endings of much in the ancient literature--Eddaic poetry and sagas +alike--Realism was never the novel force it generally was felt to be +elsewhere. Still, it brought social criticism into our literature. +This was introduced through the activity of young literary-minded +students who, while studying at the University of Copenhagen, had +become full of enthusiasm for Georg Brandes and his school. + +One of these young men was Einar H. Kvaran (1859-1938), a +clergyman's son from the North, who, after beginning as a student of +politics, soon turned his attention to literature and journalism. He +became editor of Icelandic newspapers in Canada (1885-95), and, +later, in Iceland, mainly in Reykjavik. His chief preoccupation, +however, became the composition of short stories and novels, and +besides these he also wrote some plays and poetry. The delicacy and +the religious bent of his nature could not for long remain the soil +for the satirical asperity and materialism of the realist school, +though his art was always marked by its technique. As he advanced in +years, brotherhood and forgiveness became an evergrowing element in +his idealism, and he became the first bearer of the spiritualist +message in this country. With his stories he had a humanizing +influence on his times, especially in the education of children, and +in the field of culture he remained actively interested right up to +a ripe old age. If somewhat lacking in creative fervour and +colourful raciness of style, he made up for it by the abundance of +his intelligence, his humanity and culture. + +He wrote A Dry Spell (Ethurrkur) at the beginning of the present +century, when he had disengaged himself from the strongest influence +of Realism, but before moral preaching and the belief in the life +hereafter had become the leading elements in his stories. He had +then, for a few years, been living in the north-country town of +Akureyri, which obviously provides the model for the setting of the +story. It was first printed in the 1905 issue of the periodical +Skirnir. + +In addition to the travelled, academic realists, there appeared a +group of self-educated popular writers, some of whom had come into +direct contact with this foreign school. They were farmers, even in +the more remote country districts, who had read the latest +Scandinavian literature in the original, and who wrote stories +containing radical social satire. Guethmundur Friethjonsson, for +instance, had begun his career in this way. In many of these +authors, however, we find rather a sort of native realism, where +there is not necessarily a question of the influence of any +particular literary tendency. Their works sprang out of the native +environment of the authors, whose vision, despite a limited horizon, +was often vivid. They convey true impressions of real life. + +Of this kind are most of the works of Guethmundur Friethjonsson +(1869-1944), a radical who later turned to conservatism--and the +best works of Jon Trausti (1873-1918). These, who had their debut as +writers about the turn of the century, are the authors of the next +two stories in our collection. Both were North-countrymen. The +former, a farmer's son from a district enjoying a high standard of +culture, himself settled down as a farmer in his native locality in +order to earn a living for his large family. In his youth he had +attended a secondary school in the neighbourhood for a couple of +winters, but he never had his experiences enriched by foreign travel +and was during the whole of his life anchored to his native region. +Jon Trausti, the son of a farm labourer and his wife, who had been +born on one of the northernmost farms in Iceland in a barren and +outlying district, was brought up in dire poverty. From an early age +he had had to fend for himself as a farmhand and fisherman, finally +settling in Reykjavik as a printer. Apart from his apprenticeship +with the printers, he never went to any sort of school (school +education was first made compulsory by law in Iceland in 1907); but +on two occasions he had travelled abroad. + +These energetic persons became widely read, especially in Icelandic +literature, and wrote extensively under difficult circumstances:--in +fact all the modern authors represented in the present book may be +said to have been prolific as writers. Guethmundur Friethjonsson was +equally versatile as a writer of short stories and poems. He has a +rich command of imagery and diction, and his style, at times a +little pompous, is often powerful though slightly archaic in +flavour. The ancient heroic literature doubtless fostered his manly +ideas, which, however, sprang from his own experience in life. One +must, he felt, be hard on oneself, and on one's guard against the +vanity of newfangled ideas and against the enervating effect of +civilization. It is in the nature of things that with this farmer +and father of a family of twelve, assiduity, prudence, and self- +discipline should be among the highest virtues. This is notably +apparent in The Old Hay (Gamla heyieth), which he wrote in 1909, and +which was published in Tolf soegur (Twelve stories) in 1915. + +Jon Trausti (pseudonym of Guethmundur Magnusson) is best known as +the author of novels and short stories on contemporary and +historical themes, but he also wrote plays and poems. He was endowed +with fertile creative powers and the ability to draw vivid sketches +of environment and character. At times, however, he lacks restraint, +especially in his longer novels. Still, his principal work, The +Mountain Cot (Heietharbylieth)--one of the longest cycles in +Icelandic fiction--is his greatest. The little outlying mountain cot +becomes a separate world in its own right, a coign of vantage +affording a clear view of the surrounding countryside where we get +profound insight into human nature. Like the bulk of his best work, +this novel has a foundation in his own experiences. In reading the +story by him included in this volume, the reader may find it helpful +to bear in mind Trausti's early life as a fisherman. What he +attempts to show us there is a kind of inner reality--an offset to +reality. When I was on the Frigate (Þegar eg var a fregatunni) +first published in Skirnir for 1910. + +Jon Trausti and Einar H. Kvaran--who between them form an +interesting contrast--were the most prolific novelists at the +beginning of the present century. By that time prose was becoming an +increasingly important part of Icelandic literature. It would be +more or less true to say that in the first thirty years of the +century it had gained an equal footing with poetry. For the last +thirty years, however, prose has taken first place, after poetry had +constituted the backbone of Icelandic literature for six hundred +years, or since the end of saga-writing. + +But there were several writers who felt that the small reading +public at home in Iceland gave them too little scope. So they +emigrated, mostly to Denmark, and in the early decades of the +century began to write in foreign languages, though the majority +continued simultaneously to write in the vernacular. Pioneers in +this field were the dramatist Johann Sigurjonsson (1880-1919), and +the novelist Gunnar Gunnarsson (b. 1889). Both of these wrote in +Danish as well as in Icelandic. Early in the second decade of the +century three of this overseas group produced works that were +accorded immediate acclaim, and which have since become classics, +being widely translated into foreign languages. These were Eyvind of +the Hills (Fjalla-Eyvindur) by Johann Sigurjonsson; The Borg Family +(Borgaraettin, in English Guest the One-eyed) by Gunnar Gunnarsson; +and Nonni, Erlebnisse eines jungen Islaenders, the first of the +famous children's books by the Jesuit monk Jon Sveinsson (Jon +Svensson, 1857-1944). With these works modern Icelandic literature +won for the first time a place for itself among the living +contemporary literatures of the world. Since then, Iceland's +contribution has been steady, not only in the works of those who +wrote in foreign languages, but equally--and during the last couple +of decades exclusively--in vernacular writing. In fact, with the +return to his native country of Gunnar Gunnarsson in 1939, the vogue +of writing in foreign languages virtually came to an end. + +On his arrival in Iceland Gunnarsson had settled in his native east- +country district though he afterwards moved to Reykjavik, where he +now lives. Indeed he possesses many of the best qualities of the +gentleman-farmer--firmness, tenacity of purpose, and a craving for +freedom in his domain,--combined with a writer's imaginative and +narrative powers and understanding of humanity. He often describes +human determination and man's struggle with destiny, especially in +his historical novels, which are set in most periods of Icelandic +history. More moving, perhaps, are his novels on contemporary +themes. The greatest among these is the cycle The Church on the +Mountain (Fjallkirkjan; of the five novels making up this sequence, +three have been translated into English under two titles, Ships in +the Sky and The Night and the Dream). This is one of the major works +of Icelandic literature--containing a fascinating world of fancy, +invention, and reality. It is the story of the development of a +writer who leaves home in order to seek the world. One of the best +known stories in all Icelandic literature is his masterly short +novel Advent or The good Shepherd (Aethventa).--Father and Sam +Feethgarnir) was first published in the periodical Eimreiethin in +1916. The present version, with slight changes, is that found in the +author's collected works, Rit XI, 1951. + +Most Icelandic writers have, of course, written in the vernacular +only, in spite of longer or shorter stay abroad. This applies to the +last two authors represented here, both of whom appeared on the +literary scene about 1920. + +Guethmundur G. Hagalin (b. 1898) comes from the sea-girt Western +Fiords, where he was a fisherman before attending secondary school. +Later, he lectured on Iceland in Norway for a few years (1924-27), +and is now a superintendent of public libraries. His home is in the +neighbourhood of Reykjavik. In his novels, and more particularly in +his short stories, he is at his best in his portrayals of the simple +sturdy seamen and countryfolk of his native region, which are often +refreshingly arch in manner. Hagalin, who is a talented narrator, +frequently succeeds in catching the living speech and characteristic +mode of expression of his characters. The Fox Skin (Tofuskinnieth) +first appeared in 1923, in one of his collections of short stories +(Strandbuar).--He has also been successful as a recorder and editor +of the biographies of greatly different people, based on first-hand +accounts of their own lives. He is at present continuing with the +writing of his autobiography--a long and interesting work. + +Halldor Kiljan Laxness was born in 1902 in Reykjavik. Shortly +afterwards his parents established themselves on a farm in the +neighbourhood where he was brought up, and where he has now built +himself a home. He is a patriot and, at the same time, a +cosmopolitan who has probably travelled more extensively abroad than +any other of his fellow-countrymen. After becoming a Catholic at the +age of twenty, he spent a year in monasteries abroad, but had +already begun to waver in his Catholicism when he first visited +America, where he stayed from 1927 to 1930. During those years he +became more and more radical in his social beliefs. Already in his +first year there, he wrote the short story New Iceland (Nyja +Island), which was immediately published in Heimskringla, an +Icelandic weekly in Winnipeg. The story thus dates from an early +period, when his art was in process of great development. + +Indeed, the nineteen twenties saw important changes in our +literature. The last of the great nineteenth century poets were +vanishing from the literary scene, their places being taken by +others, whose poetry, though hardly as profound and lofty in +conception, was more lyrical and simple in manner, with greater +delicacy and refinement of form. Especially in the prose-writing of +the period, there were signs of flourishing growth. Gunnar +Gunnarsson wrote The Church on the Mountain, and Laxness was +becoming known. In the early thirties he appears as a fully mature +writer in Salka Valka, a political love story from a fishing +village, and Independent People (Sjalfstaett folk), a heroic novel +about the stubbornness and the lot of the Icelandic mountain farmer, +both of which have appeared in English translations. Laxness has +devoted less attention to the writing of plays and poetry than +novels and short stories. Two among his greatest works are the novel +sequences The Light of the World (Heimsljos)--about a poet-genius +who never reaches maturity--, and The Bell of Iceland +(Islandsklukkan), a historical novel describing a political, +cultural and human struggle. On the whole, the subject-matter of his +stories is extremely varied, equally as regards time, place and +human types. However, the greatest variety will probably be found in +his style, which he constantly adapts to suit the subject. Behind +all this lies a fertile creativeness which rarely leaves the reader +untouched. No matter where in the wide world his stories may be set, +they always stand in some relation to his people--though, at the +same time, he usually succeeds in endowing them with universal +values shared by common humanity. To achieve this has from early on +been Laxness' aim; thus the first printed version of New Iceland +contains the sub-heading: "An international proletarian story." + +When this introduction was being written, a new novel by him, Heaven +Reclaimed (Paradisarheimt) was published (1960), which, like his +early short story, is set partly in America--this time among the +Icelandic Mormons of Utah. Here, the man who goes out across half +the world in quest of the millennium is in the end led back to his +origins. + +Laxness was awarded the Nobel Prize in 1955. + +Tke University of Iceland, Reykjavik. + +Steingrimur J. Þorsteinsson. + + + + + + +ANONYMOUS + +THE STORY OF AUDUNN AND THE BEAR + +EARLY 13TH CENTURY + +I + + +There was a man called Audunn; he came of a family of the Western +Firths, and was not well off. Audunn left Iceland from the Western +Firths with the assistance of Thorsteinn, a substantial farmer, and +of Thorir, a ship's captain, who had stayed with Thorsteinn during +the winter. Audunn had been on the same farm, working for Thorir, +and as his reward he got his passage to Norway under Thorir's care. + +Audunn had set aside the greater part of his property, such as it +was, for his mother, before he took ship, and it was determined that +this should support her for three years. + +Now they sailed to Norway and had a prosperous voyage, and Audunn +spent the following winter with the skipper Thorir, who had a farm +in Moerr. The summer after that, they sailed out to Greenland, +where they stayed for the winter. + +It is told that in Greenland, Audunn bought a white bear, a +magnificent beast, and paid for him all he had. Next summer they +returned to Norway, and their voyage was without mishap. Audunn +brought his bear with him, intending to go south to Denmark to visit +King Sveinn, and to present the beast to him. When he reached die +south of Norway and came to the place where the King was in +residence, Audunn went ashore, leading his bear, and hired lodgings. + +King Haraldr was soon told that a bear had been brought to the +place, a magnificent creature, belonging to an Icelander. The King +immediately sent men to fetch Audunn, and when he entered the King's +presence, Audunn saluted him as was proper. The King acknowledged +the salute suitably and then asked: + +Is it true that you have a great treasure, a white bear? + +Audunn answered and said that he had got a bear of some sort. + +The King said: Will you sell him to us for the price you paid for +him? + +Audunn answered: I would not care to do that, my Lord. + +Will you then, said the King, have me pay twice the price? That +would be fairer if you gave all you had for him. + +I would not care to do that, my Lord, answered Audunn, but the King +said: + +Will you give him to me then? + +No, my Lord, answered Audunn. + +The King asked: What do you mean to do with him then?--and Audunn +answered: I mean to go south to Denmark and give him to King Sveinn. + +Can it be that you are such a fool, said King Haraldr, that you have +not heard about the war between these two countries? Or do you think +your luck so good that you will be able to bring valuable +possessions to Denmark, while others cannot get there unmolested, +even though they have pressing business? + +Audunn answered: My Lord, that is for you to decide, but I shall +agree to nothing other than that which I had already planned. + +Then the King said: Why should we not have it like this, that you go +your own way, just as you choose, and then visit me on your way +back, and tell me how King Sveinn rewards you for the bear? It may +be that luck will go with you. + +I will promise you to do that, said Audunn. + +Audunn now followed the coast southward and eastward into the Vik, +and from there to Denmark, and by that time every penny of his money +had been spent, and he had to beg food for himself as well as for +the bear. He called on one of King Sveinn's stewards, a man named +Aki, and asked him for some provisions, both for himself and for his +bear.--I intend, said he, to give the bear to King Sveinn. + +Aki said that he would sell him some provisions if he liked, but +Audunn answered that he had nothing to pay for them,--but yet, said +he, I would like to carry out my plan, and to take the beast to the +King. + +Aki answered: I will supply such provisions as the two of you need +until you go before the King, but in exchange I will have half the +bear. You can look at it in this way: the beast will die on your +hands, since you need a lot of provisions and your money is spent, +and it will come to this, that you will have nothing out of the +bear. + +When Audunn considered this, it seemed to him that there was some +truth in what the steward had said, and they agreed on these terms: +he gave Aki half the bear, and the King was then to set a value on +the whole. + +Now they were both to visit the King, and so they did. They went +into his presence and stood before his table. The King wondered who +this man could be, whom he did not recognize, and then said to +Audunn: Who are you? + +Audunn answered: I am an Icelander, my Lord, and I came lately from +Greenland, and now from Norway, intending to bring you this white +bear. I gave all I had for him, but I have had a serious setback, so +now I only own half of the beast.--Then Audunn told the King what +had happened between him and the steward, Aki. + +The King asked: Is that true, what he says, Aki? + +True it is, said Aki. + +The King said: And did you think it proper, seeing that I had placed +you in a high position, to let and hinder a man who had taken it on +himself to bring me a precious gift, for which he had given all he +had? King Haraldr saw fit to let him go his way in peace, and he is +no friend of ours. Think, then, how far this was honest on your +part. It would be just to have you put to death, but I will not do +that now; you must rather leave this land at once, and never come +into my sight again. But to you, Audunn, I owe the same gratitude as +if you were giving me the whole of the bear, so now stay here with +me. + +Audunn accepted the invitation and stayed with King Sveinn for a +while. + + + + +II + + +After some time had passed Audunn said to the King: I desire to go +away now, my Lord. + +The King answered rather coldly: What do you want to do then, since +you do not wish to stay with us? + +Audunn answered: I wish to go south on a pilgrimage. + +If you had not such a good end before you, said the King, I should +be vexed at your desire to go away. + +Now the King gave Audunn a large sum of silver, and he travelled +south with pilgrims bound for Rome. The King arranged for his +journey, asking him to visit him when he came + +Audunn went on his way until he reached the city of Rome in the +south. When he had stayed there as long as he wished, he turned +back, and a severe illness attacked him, and he grew terribly +emaciated. All the money which the King had given him for his +pilgrimage was now spent, and so he took up his staff and begged his +food. By now his hair had fallen out and he looked in a bad way. He +got back to Denmark at Easter, and went to the place where the King +was stationed. He dared not let the King see him, but stayed in a +side-aisle of the church, intending to approach the King when he +went to church for Nones. But when Audunn beheld the King and his +courtiers splendidly arrayed, he did not dare to show himself. + +When the King went to drink in his hall, Audunn ate his meal out of +doors, as is the custom of Rome pilgrims, so long as they have not +laid aside their staff and scrip. In the evening, when the King went +to Vespers, Audunn intended to meet him, but shy as he was before, +he was much more so now that the courtiers were merry with drink. As +they were going back, the King noticed a man, and thought he could +see that he had not the confidence to come forward and meet him. But +as the courtiers walked in, the King turned back and said: + +Let the man who wants to meet me come forward; I think there must be +someone who does. + +Then Audunn came forward and fell at the feet of the King, but the +King hardly recognized him. As soon as he knew who he was, he took +Audunn by the hand and welcomed him:--You have changed a lot since +we met last,--he said, and then he led Audunn into the hall after +him. When the courtiers saw Audunn they laughed at him, but the King +said: + +There is no need for you to laugh at this man, for he has provided +better for his soul than you have. + +The King had a bath prepared for Audunn and then gave him clothes, +and now he stayed with the King. + + + + +III + + +It is told that one day in the spring the King invited Audunn to +stay with him for good, and said he would make him his cup-bearer, +and do him great honour. + +Audunn answered: May God reward you, my Lord, for all the favours +you would show me, but my heart is set on sailing out to Iceland. + +The King said: This seems a strange choice to me,--but Audunn +answered: My Lord, I cannot bear to think that I should be enjoying +high honour here with you, while my mother is living the life of a +beggar out in Iceland. For by now, all that I contributed for her +subsistence before I left Iceland, has been used up. + +The King answered: That is well spoken and like a man, and good +fortune will go with you. This was the one reason for your departure +which would not have offended me. So stay with me until the ships +are made ready for sea.--And this Audunn did. + +One day towards the end of spring King Sveinn walked down to the +quay, where men were getting ships ready to sail to various lands, +to the Baltic lands and Germany, to Sweden and Norway. The King and +Audunn came to a fine vessel, and there were some men busy fitting +her out. The King asked: + +How do you like this ship, Audunn? + +Audunn answered: I like her well, my Lord. + +The King said: I will give you this ship and reward you for the +white bear. + +Audunn thanked the King for his gift as well as he knew how. + +After a time, when the ship was quite ready to sail, King Sveinn +said to Audunn: + +If you wish to go now, I shall not hinder you, but I have heard that +you are badly off for harbours in your country, and that there are +many shelterless coasts, dangerous to shipping. Now, supposing you +are wrecked, and lose your ship and your goods, there will be little +to show that you have visited King Sveinn and brought him a precious +gift. + +Then the King handed him a leather purse full of silver: You will +not be altogether penniless, said he, even if you wreck your ship, +so long as you can hold on to this. But yet it may be, said the +King, that you will lose this money, and then it will be of little +use to you that you have been to see King Sveinn and given him a +precious gift. + +Then the King drew a ring from his arm and gave it to Audunn, +saying: Even if it turns out so badly that you wreck your ship and +lose your money, you will still not be a pauper if you reach land, +for many men have gold about them in a shipwreck, and if you keep +this ring there will be something to show that you have been to see +King Sveinn. But I will give you this advice, said the King, do not +give this ring away, unless you should feel yourself so much +indebted to some distinguished man--then give the ring to him, for +it is a fitting gift for a man of rank. And now farewell. + + + + +IV + + +After this Audunn put to sea and made Norway, and had his +merchandise brought ashore, and that was a more laborious task than +it had been last time he was in Norway. Then he went into the +presence of King Haraldr, wishing to fulfil the promise he had given +him before he went to Denmark. Audunn gave the King a friendly +greeting, which he accepted warmly. + +Sit down, said the King, and drink with us, and so Audunn did. Then +King Haraldr asked: What reward did King Sveinn give you for the +bear? + +Audunn answered: This, my Lord, that he accepted him from me. + +I would have given you that, said the King, but what else did he +give you? + +Audunn said: He gave me silver to make a pilgrimage to Rome, but +King Haraldr said: + +King Sveinn gives many people silver for pilgrimages and for other +things, even if they do not bring him valuable gifts. What more did +he do for you? + +He offered to make me his cup-bearer and to give me great honours. + +That was a good offer, said the King, but he must have given you +still more. + +Audunn said: He gave me a merchantman with a cargo of wares most +profitable for the Norway trade. + +That was generous, said the King, but I would have rewarded you as +well as that. Did he give you anything else? + +Audunn said: He gave me a leather purse full of silver, and said +that I would still not be penniless if I kept it, even if my ship +were wrecked off Iceland. + +The King said: That was magnificent, and more than I should have +done. I would have thought my debt discharged if I had given you the +ship. Did he give you anything else? + +Certainly he gave me something else, my Lord, said Audunn; he gave +me this ring which I am wearing on my arm, and said that I might +chance to lose all my property, and yet not be destitute if I had +this ring. But he advised me not to part with it unless I were under +such an obligation to some noble man that I wished to give it to +him. And now I have come to the right man, for it was in your power +to take from me both my bear and my life, but you allowed me to go +to Denmark in peace when others could not go there. + +The King received the gift graciously and gave Audunn fine presents +in exchange before they parted. Audunn laid out his merchandise on +his voyage to Iceland, and sailed out that same summer, and people +thought him the luckiest of men. + +From this man Audunn was descended Thorsteinn Gyduson. [Footnote: +Thorsteinn Gyduson was drowned in the year 1190. Unless +interpolated, the allusion to him shows that the story was written +after that date.] + + + + +EINAR H. KVARAN + +A DRY SPELL + + +It had rained for a fortnight--not all the time heavily, but a fog +had sullenly hung about the mountain tops, clinging to the +atmosphere and rendering the whole of existence a dull gray colour. +Every little while it would discharge a fine drizzle of rain or a +heavy shower down upon the hay and everything else on earth, so that +only the stones would occasionally be dry--but the grass never. + +We were tired of the store--indeed, I should like to know who would +have enjoyed it. It dated back to the beginning of the last century, +a tarred, coal-black, ramshackle hut. The windows were low and +small, the windowpanes diminutive. The ceiling was low. Everything +was arranged in such a way as to exclude the possibility of lofty +flights of thought or vision. + +Just now, not a living soul looked in--not even those thriftless +fellows who lived by chance jobs in the village and met in daily +conclave at the store. We had often cursed their lengthy visits, but +now that they had hired themselves out during the haymaking, we +suddenly realized that they had often been entertaining. They had +made many amusing remarks and brought us news of the neighbourhood. +And now we cursed them for their absence. + +We sat there and smoked, staring vacantly at the half-empty shelves, +and all but shivering in the damp room. There was no heater in the +store at any season, and the one in the office, if used, emitted +spurts of smoke through every aperture except the chimney. It had +not been cleaned since sometime during winter, and we were not +ambitious enough for such an undertaking in the middle of the +summer. + +We tried to transfer our thoughts from the store to the world +outside. We made clever comments to the effect that the farmers were +now getting plenty of moisture for the hay-fields, and that it would +be a pity if rain should set in now, right at the beginning of the +haying season. We had nothing further to say on the subject, but +this we repeated from day to day. In short, we were depressed and at +odds with things in general. Until the dry spell. + +One morning, about nine o'clock, the bank of fog began to move. +First, there appeared an opening about the size of your hand, and +through it the eastern sky showed a bright blue. Then another +opening, and through it shone the sun. + +We knew what this was called, and we said to each other: Merely a +'morning promise'--implying, nothing reliable. But it was more. The +fog began to show thinner and move faster along the mountain ridge +opposite. Then it gathered in a deep pass and lay there heaped up +like newly carded, snowy wool. On either side, the mountains loomed +a lovely blue, and in their triumph ignored the fog almost +completely. When we ventured a look through the doorway of the +store, there was nothing to be seen overhead save the clear, blue +sky and the sunshine. + +On the opposite shore of the fjord, the people looked to us like the +cairns out on the moorlands, only these tiny cairns moved in single +file about the hay-fields. I seemed to smell the sweet hay in the +homefields, but of course this was only my imagination. I also +fancied I could hear the maids laughing, especially one of them. I +would willingly have sacrificed a good deal to be over there helping +her dry the hay. But of this subject no more; I did not intend to +write a love story--at least, not in the ordinary sense of the word. + +The dry spell lasted. We, the clerks, took turns at staying out of +doors as much as possible, and 'drinking deeply of the golden fount +of sunshine'. + +In the afternoon of the third day, I dropped in at the doctor's. I +felt somewhat weary with walking--and idleness--and looked forward +to the doctor's couch and conversation. + +A cigar? asked the doctor. + +Yes, a cigar, I answered. I have smoked only six today. + +Beer or whisky and water? queried the doctor. + +A small whisky, I replied. + +I lit my cigar, inhaling deeply of its fragrance--then exhaling +through mouth and nostrils. I sighed with contentment; the cigar was +excellent. + +Then we began to drink the whisky and water at our leisure. I +reclined against the head of the couch, stretched out my feet, was +conscious of a luxurious sensation--and sent my thoughts for a +moment across the fjord, where they preferred to remain. + +The doctor was in high spirits. He talked about the Japanese and +Russians, the most recently discovered rays, and the latest +disclosures on how is felt to die. + +My favourite pastime is to listen to others speaking. I never seem +able to think of any topics worthy of conversation myself, but I am +almost inclined to say that my ability to listen amounts to an art. +I can remain silent with an air of absorbing interest, and once in a +while offer brief comment, not to set forth an opinion or display +any knowledge--for I have none to spare--but merely to suggest new +channels to the speaker and introduce variety, that he may not tire +of hearing himself speak. + +I felt extremely comfortable on the couch. I thought it particularly +entertaining to hear the doctor tell how it felt to die. There is +always something pleasantly exciting about death--when it is +reasonably far away from you. It seemed so beautifully far away from +the perfume of the tobacco-smoke, the flavour of whisky, and the +restfulness of the couch, and when my mind wandered to her across +the fjord--as wander it would in spite of my studied attention--then +death seemed so far off shore that I could scarcely follow the +description of how it felt to others to die. + +In the midst of this dreamy contentment and deluge of information +from the doctor, the door was somewhat hastily thrown open. I was +looking the other way and thought it must be one of the doctor's +children. + +But it was old man Thordur from the Bend. + +I knew him well. He was over fifty, tall and large-limbed, with a +hoary shock of hair and a snub nose. I knew he had a host of +children--I had been at his door once, and they had run, pattered, +waddled, crept, and rolled through the doorway to gape at me. It had +seemed as hopeless to try to count them as a large flock of sheep. I +knew there was no income except what the old man and woman--and +possibly the elder children--managed to earn from day to day. My +employer in Copenhagen had strictly forbidden us to give credit to +such--and of course he now owed us more than he would ever be able +to pay. + +He does not even knock--the old ruffian, I said to myself. + +From his appearance, something was wrong. His face was unnaturally +purplish, his eyes strangely shiny--yet dull withal. It even seemed +to me that his legs shook under him. + +Can it be that the old devil is tipsy--at the height of the haying +season--and dry weather at that? I mentally queried. + +The doctor evidently could not recall who he was. + +Good-day to you, my man, he said, and what matter have you in hand? + +I merely came to get those four crowns. + +Which four crowns? asked the doctor. + +Thordur raised his voice: The four crowns you owe me. + +It was now evident that it was difficult for him to remain standing. + +I felt assured that the old rascal had been drinking like a fish. I +was surprised. I had never heard he was inclined that way. He lived +out there on the hillside a short distance above the village. I +began to wonder where he had been able to obtain so much liquor-- +certainly not from us at the store. + +What is your name? asked the doctor. + +My name? Don't you know my name? Don't you know me?--Thordur-- +Thordur of the Bend. I should best of all like to get the money at +once. + +Yes, that's so--you are Thordur of the Bend, said the doctor. And +you are up? But listen, my good man, I owe you nothing. You owe me a +small sum--but that does not matter in the least. + +I care nothing about that, but I should best of all like to get the +money at once, repeated Thordur. + +May I feel your hand for a minute? said the doctor. + +Thordur extended his hand, but it seemed to me that he did not know +it. He looked off into space, as if thinking of other things--or +rather as if he had no thoughts whatever. I saw the doctor's fingers +on his wrist. + +You are a sick man, he said. + +Sick?--Yes--of course I am sick. Am I then to pay you four crowns? I +haven't got them now. + +It makes no difference about those four crowns, but why did you get +up like this? Have you forgotten that I ordered you to remain in bed +when I saw you the other day? + +In bed?--How the devil am I to remain in bed? Tell me that! + +You must not get up in this condition. Why, you are delirious! + +What a fool you are--don't you know that there is a dry spell. + +Yes, I AM aware of the dry spell.--It was evidently not quite clear +to him what that had to do with the case.--Have a chair, and we will +talk it over. + +A chair? No!--Who, then, should dry the hay in the homefield? I had +some of it cut when I was taken down--why do you contradict me? And +the youngsters have made some attempts at it--but who is to see +about drying it?--Not Gudrun--she can't do everything. The +youngsters?--what do they know about drying hay?--Who, then, is to +do it?--Are YOU going to do it? + +Something will turn up for you, said the doctor, somewhat at a loss. + +Something will turn up? Nothing has ever turned up for ME. + +Cold shivers passed through me. His remark rang true: I knew that +nothing had ever turned up for him. I felt faint at looking into +such an abyss of hopelessness. Instantly I saw that the truth of +this delirious statement concerned me more than all the wisdom of +the ages. + +Do I get those four crowns you owe me?--Thordur asked. He was now +trembling so that his teeth chattered. + +The doctor produced four crowns from his purse and handed them to +him. Thordur laid them on the table and staggered towards the door.- +-You are leaving your crowns behind, man, said the doctor. + +I haven't got them now, said Thordur, without looking back and still +making his way towards the door.--But I'll pay them as soon as I +can. + +Isn't there a vacant bed upstairs at the store? inquired the doctor. + +Yes, I answered. We will walk with you down to the store, Thordur. + +Walk with me?--Be damned!--I am off for the hay-field. + +We followed him outside and watched him start out. After a short +distance he tumbled down. We got him upstairs in the store. + +A few days later he could have told us, if anyone had been able to +communicate with him, whether they are right or wrong, those latest +theories on how it feels to die. + +--But who dries the hay in his homefield now? + + + + +Guethmundur Friethjonsson + +THE OLD HAY + + +During the latter part of the reign of King Christian the Ninth, +there lived at Holl in the Tunga District a farmer named Brandur. By +the time the events narrated here transpired, Brandur had grown +prosperous and very old--old in years and old in ways. The +neighbours thought he must have money hidden away somewhere. But no +one knew anything definitely, for Brandur had always been reserved +and uncommunicative, and permitted no prying in his house or on his +possessions. There was, however, one thing every settler in those +parts knew: Brandur had accumulated large stores of various kinds. +Anyone passing along the highway could see that. + +Brandur usually had some hay remaining in lofts and yards when +spring came, and, besides, there was the immense stack that stood on +a knoll out in the homefield before the house. It had been there for +many years and was well protected against wind and weather by a +covering of sod. Brandur had replenished the hay, a little at a +time, by using up that from one end only and filling in with fresh +hay the following summer. + +Brandur was hospitable to such guests as had business with him, and +refused to accept payment for food or lodging; but very few people +ever came to see him, and these were mostly old friends with whom he +had financial dealings. Brandur was willing to make loans against +promissory notes and the payment of interest. There were not many to +whom he would entrust his money, however, and he never lost a penny. +Whenever these callers came, he would bring out the brandy bottle. + +The buildings at Holl were all in a tumble-down state; the furniture +was no better. There wasn't a chair in the whole house; even the +baethstofa had only a dirt floor, and it was entirely unsheathed on +the inside except for a few planks nailed on the wall from the bed +up as far as the rafters. The clock was the sole manufactured +article in the room. But friends of the old man knew that underneath +his bed he kept a fairly large carved wooden chest, bearing the +inscription anno 1670. The chest was heavy and was always kept +locked. Only the nearest of kin had ever seen its contents. + +Brandur was not considered obliging; it was very difficult to get to +see him. Yet he was willing to sell food at any time for cash; hay, +too, as long as there was still some remaining in his lofts. He +would also sell hay against promises of lambs, especially wethers, +once it was certain that the cold of winter was past. But his old +haystack he refused to touch for anyone. + +In this way Brandur stumbled down the pathway of life until he lost +his sight. Even then, he was still sound in mind and body. While his +vision remained unimpaired, it had been his habit to walk out to the +old haystack every day and stroll around it slowly, examining it +carefully from top to bottom and patting it with his hands. This +habit he kept up as long as the weather permitted him to be +outdoors, and he did not give it up even after his sight was gone. +He would still take his daily walk out to the haystack on the knoll, +drag himself slowly around it, groping with his hands to feel it, as +if he wished to make sure that it still stood there, firm as a rock +and untouched. He would stretch out his hands and touch its face and +count the strips of turf to himself in a whisper. + +Brandur still tilled the land, though he kept but little help and +was living chiefly on the fruits of his former labours. He had fine +winter pastures, and good meadows quite near the house, from which +the hay could easily be brought in. The old man steadfastly refused +to adopt modern farming methods; he had never levelled off the +hummocks, nor drained or irrigated the land. But he did hire a few +harvest hands in the middle of the season, paying them in butter, +tallow, and the flesh of sheep bellies. The wages he paid were never +high, yet he always paid whatever had been agreed upon. + +Old Brandur had been blessed with only one child, a daughter named +Gudrun. who had married a farmer in the district. Since his +daughter's marriage, Brandur kept a housekeeper and one farm hand, a +young man whom Brandur had reared and who, it was rumoured, was his +natural son. But that has nothing to do with the story. + +When Brandur had reached a ripe old age, there came a winter with +much frost and snow. Time and again, some of the snow and ice would +thaw, but then a hard frost would come, glazing everything in an icy +coating. This went on until late in April. By that time, almost +every farmer in the district had used up his hay; every one of them +was at the end of his store, and nowhere was there a blade of grass +to feed the live-stock, for the land still lay frozen under its +blanket of hard-packed snow and ice. When things had come to this +pass, a general district meeting was called to discuss the situation +and decide what should be done. Brandur's son-in-law Jon was made +chairman of the meeting. + +During the discussion it was brought to light that many of the +flocks would die of hunger unless 'God Almighty vouchsafed a turn in +the weather very soon', or Old Brandur could be induced to part with +his old hay. That stack would help, if properly divided among those +who were in greatest need. The quantity of hay it contained was +estimated, and the general opinion expressed that, if it were +divided, the flocks of every farmer in the district could be fed for +at least two weeks, even if they could not in that time be put out +to pasture. + +Jon being chairman of the District Council, as well as Brandur's +son-in-law, it fell to his lot to go to the old man and ask for the +hay. + +So it came about that, on his way home from the meeting, Jon stopped +at Holl. The day was cold and clear, the afternoon sun shining down +upon the snow-covered landscape. The icy blanket turned back the +rays of warmth as if it would have nothing to do with the sun. But +wherever rocks and gravelly banks protruded, the ice appeared to be +peeled off, for in those spots the sun's rays had melted it, though +only at mid-day and on the south. All streams and waterfalls +slumbered in silence under the snowy blanket. A chill silence +reigned over the whole valley. Not a bird was to be seen, not even a +snow bunting, only two ravens which kept flying from farmhouse to +farmhouse, and even their cawing had a hungry note. + +When Jon rode up to the house at Holl, he found Brandur out by the +haystack. The old man was carefully groping his way around the +stack, feeling it on all sides and counting the strips of turf in so +loud a voice that Jon could hear him: O-n-e, t-w-o, three. + +Jon dismounted and, going over to Brandur, saluted him with a kiss. + +How are you? God bless you, said Brandur. And who may this be? + +Jon of Bakki, replied the visitor.--Gudrun sends greetings. + +Ah, yes. And how is my Gunna? Is she well? + +She was well when I left home this morning. Now I am on my way back +from the meeting that was held to discuss the desperate situation-- +you must have heard about it. + +Yes, certainly. I've heard about it. I should say so! One can't get +away from talk of hay shortage and hard times. That is quite true. +Any other news? + +Nothing worth mentioning, answered Jon. Nothing but the general hard +times and hay shortage. Every farmer at the end of his tether, or +almost there, no one with as much as a wisp of hay to spare, and +only a few likely to make out till Crouchmas without aid. + +Too bad! said Brandur. Too bad! And he blew out his breath, as +though suffocating from strong smoke or bad air. + +For a while there was silence, as if each mistrusted the other and +wondered what was in the air. Brandur stood there with one hand +resting on the haystack, while he thrust the other into his trousers +pocket, or underneath the flap of his trousers. He always wore the +old-fashioned trousers with a flap, in fact had never possessed any +other kind. Meanwhile, holding the reins, Jon stood there gazing at +the hay and making a mental estimate of it. Then he turned to his +father-in-law and spoke: + +The purpose of my visit to you, my dear Brandur, is to ask that you +let us have this hay--this fine old hay that you have here. The +District Council will, of course, pay you; the parish will guarantee +payment. We have discussed that matter fully. + +When Jon ceased speaking, Brandur blew the air from his mouth in +great puffs, as though deeply stabbed by a sharp pain in the heart. +For a while he held his peace. Then he spoke: + +Not another word! Not another word! What's this I hear? My hay for +the district? My hay to supply all the farmers in the district? Do +you think for one moment that this little haystack is enough to feed +all the flocks in the whole district? Do you think this tiny haycock +will be enough for a whole parish? I think not! + +But we have calculated it, protested Jon. We have estimated that the +hay in this stack will be enough to feed the flocks in the district +for about two weeks, if a little grain is used with it, and if the +hay is distributed equally among the farmers who need it most. There +may be enough for three weeks, should it turn to be as much as or +more than I expect. By that time, we surely hope, the season will be +so far advanced that the weather will have changed for the better. + +So! You have already estimated the amount of hay in my stack! said +Brandur. You have already divided this miserable haycock among +yourselves, divided it down to the very last straw. And you have +weighed it almost to a gram. Then why speak to me about it? Why not +take it just as it is and scatter it to the four winds? Why not?-- +The voice of the old man shook with anger. + +No, said Jon. We will not do that. We want to ask your permission +first. We had no intention of doing otherwise; we intended to ask +you for the hay. And we did not mean to vex you, but rather to +honour you in this manner. Is it not an honour to be asked to save a +whole district from ruin? + +Oh, so all this is being done to honour me! said the old man, +roaring with laughter. Perhaps you believe me to be in my second +childhood. Not at all! Old Brandur can still see beyond the tip of +his nose. + +The cold-heartedness shown by the old man's laughter at the distress +of his fellowmen roused Jon's ire. He could see nothing laughable +about the desperate situation in the district. + +Are you then going to refuse to let us have the hay, refuse to sell +it at full price, with the Parish Council guaranteeing payment? he +asked in a tone that was angry, yet under perfect control?--Is that +your final answer? + +Yes, responded Brandur. That is my final answer. I will not let the +tiny mouthful of hay I have here go while there is still life in my +body, even though you mean to insure payment, and even though you +actually do guarantee payment. After all, who among you will be in a +position to guarantee payment if all the flocks die? The cold +weather may not let up until the first of June or even later. In +that case the sheep will all die. It won't go very far, this tiny +haycock, not for so many. It will not, I tell you. + +But what are you going to do with the hay? If everyone else loses +his flocks, everyone but you, what enjoyment will there be in owning +it? And what benefit? asked Jon. + +That does not concern me! replied the old man. That concerns them. +It was they who decided the size of the flocks they undertook to +feed this winter, not I. Besides, they could have cut as much hay as +I did, even more, for they still have their eyesight. Their failure +is due to their own laziness and bad judgment. That's what ails +them! Ruins them! + +But you won't be able to take this great big haystack with you into +the life eternal, said Jon. The time is coming when you will have to +part with it. Then it will be used as the needs require. And what +good will it do you? What are you going to do with it? + +I am going to keep it, answered Brandur. I intend to keep it right +here on the knoll, keep it in case the haying should be poor next +summer. There may be a poor growth of grass and a small hay crop; +there may be a volcanic eruption and the ashes may poison the grass, +as they have done in former years. Now, do you understand me? + +So saying, Brandur tottered off towards the house to indicate that +the conversation was at an end. His countenance was as cold as the +sky in the evening after the sun has set, and the hard lines in it +resembled the streaks in the ice on rocks and ledges where the sun's +rays had shone that day and laid bare the frozen ground. + +Brandur entered the house, while Jon mounted again. They scarcely +said a word of farewell, so angry were they both. + +Jon's horse set off at a brisk pace, eager to reach home, and +galloped swiftly over the hard, frozen ground. After the sun had +gone down, the wind rose and a searing cold settled over the valley, +whitening Jon's moustache where his breath passed over it. + +Jon's anger grew as he sped along. Naturally hightempered, he had +lately had many reasons for anger since he took over his official +duties. The people in his district were like people the world over: +they blamed the Board constantly, accusing it of stupidity and +favouritism. Yet most of them paid their taxes reluctantly and only +when long overdue. Sometimes they were almost a year in arrears. + +Jon reviewed the matter of the hay in his mind, also the other +vexations of the past. He was sick and tired of all the trouble. And +now the life of the whole district hung on a thin thread, the fate +of which depended upon the whims of the weather. Jon's nose and +cheekbones smarted from the cold; his shoes were frozen stiff, and +pinched his feet, and his throat burned with the heat of anger +rising from his breast. + +Jon was rather quiet when he reached home that evening, although he +did tell his wife of his attempt to deal with her father. + +Yes, said Gudrun, papa sets great store by that hay. He cannot bear +to part with it at any price. That is his nature. + +Tomorrow you must go, Jon told her, and try to win the old man over +in some way. I'd hate to be obliged to take the hay from him by +force, but that will be necessary if everything else fails. + +The following day Gudrun went to see her father. The weather still +remained cold. When Gudrun dismounted before the house at Holl, +there was no one outside to greet her or announce her arrival, and +so she entered, going straight into the baethstofa. There she found +her father sitting on his bed, knitting a seaman's mitten, crooning +an old ditty the while: + + Far from out the wilderness + Comes raging the cold wind; + And the bonds of heaven's king + It doth still tighter bind. + +Gudrun leaned over her father and kissed him. + +Is that you, Gunna dear? he asked. + +Yes papa, she said, at the same time slipping a flask of brandy into +the bosom of his shirt. + +This greatly pleased the old man. + +Gunna dear, he said, you always bring me something to cheer me up. +Not many nowadays take the trouble to cheer the old man. No indeed. +Any news? It's so long since you have been to see me, a year or +more. + +No news everyone hasn't heard: hard times, shortage of hay, and +worry everywhere. That is only to be expected. It's been a hard +winter, the stock stall-fed for so long, at least sixteen weeks, on +some farms twenty. + +Quite true, said Brandur. It's been a cold winter, and the end is +not yet. The cold weather may not break up before the first of June, +or even Midsummer Day. The summer will be cold, the hay crop small, +and the cold weather will probably set in again by the end of +August, then another cold hard winter, and ... + +He meant to go on, foretelling yet worse things to come, but Gudrun +broke in: Enough of that, father. Things can't be as bad as that It +would be altogether too much. I hope for a change for the better +with the new moon next week, and mark you, the new moon rises in the +southwest and on a Monday; if I remember right, you always thought a +new moon coming on a Monday brought good weather. + +I did, conceded Brandur. When I was a young man, a new moon coming +on a Monday was generally the very best kind of moon. But like +everything else, that has changed with the times. Now a Monday new +moon is the worst of all, no matter in what quarter of the heavens +it appears, if the weather is like this--raging sad carrying on so; +that is true. + +But things are in a pitiful state, said Gudrun, what with the hay +shortage, almost everyone is badly off, and not a single farmer with +a scrap of hay to spare, except you, papa. + +Yes, I! answered Brandur. I, a poor, blind, decrepit old man! But +what of you? Jon has enough hay, hasn't he? How is that? Doesn't he +have enough? + +Yes, we do have enough for ourselves, admitted Gudrun. But we can't +hold onto it. Jon lends it to those in need until it is all gone and +there is none left for us. He thinks of others as well as of +himself. + +What nonsense! What sense is there in acting like that? Every man +for himself, said the old man. + +That's right. But for us that is not enough. Jon is in a position +where he must think of others; he has to think of all the farmers in +the district--and small thanks he gets for his pains. He is so +upset, almost always on tenterhooks. He didn't sleep a wink last +night--was almost beside himself. He takes it so hard. + +So Jon couldn't sleep a wink last night! repeated Brandur. Why be so +upset? Why lie awake nights worrying about this? That doesn't help +matters any. It isn't his fault that they are all on the brink of +ruin. + +Quite true, answered Gudrun. He is not to blame for that, and lying +awake nights doesn't help matters, but that is Jon's disposition. +He's tired to death of all the work for the Council and the +everlasting fault-finding. He has had to neglect his own farm since +he took up these public duties--and nothing for his time and +trouble. Now this is too much. He is dead tired of it all, and so am +I. In fact, I know it was worry about all this that kept Jon awake +last night. We have been thinking of getting away from it all when +spring comes and going to America. + +Do you side with him in this? asked Brandur, grasping his daughter +by the arm. Do you, too, agree to his giving away the hay you need +for your own flocks, giving it away until you haven't enough for +yourselves? Do you, too, want to go to America, away from your +father who now has one foot in the grave? + +Yes, I do, Gudrun replied. As a matter of fact, the plan was +originally mine. If our flocks die, there will be no alternative; +but if our sheep live and those of the neighbours die, our life will +not be worth living because of the poverty and want round about us. +Yes, papa, it was I suggested our going. I could see no other way +out. + +On hearing this, Brandur's mood softened somewhat. I expected to be +allowed to pass my last days with you and your children, he said. I +cannot go on living in this fashion any longer. + +Pass your last days with us! exclaimed Gudrun. Have you, then, +thought of leaving Holl? Have you planned to come and live with us? +You've never said a word of this to me. + +I have no intention of leaving Holl. That I have never meant to do. +But that is not necessary. I thought you might perhaps be willing to +move over here and live with me. I could then let you have what +miserable little property I have left, Gunna, my dear. + +And what about the hay, papa? Will you turn the hay over to us, the +hay in the old stack? Everything depends on that. + +The hay! The hay! the old man said. Still harping on the hay--the +hay which doesn't amount to anything and cannot be of any real help. +It's sheer nonsense to think that the hay in that stack is enough to +feed the flocks of a whole district. There is no use talking about +it I will not throw that tiny mouthful to all the four winds. It +will do no good if divided among so many, but it is a comfort to me, +to me alone. No, I will not part with it as long as there is a spark +of life in me. That I will not, my love. + +Brandur turned pale and the lines in his face became hard and rigid. +Looking at him, Gudrun knew from experience that he was not to be +shaken in his determination when in this mood. His face was like a +sky over the wilderness streaked with threatening storm clouds. + +Gudrun gave up. The tears rushed to her eyes, as she twined her arms +around her father's neck and said: Goodbye, papa. Forgive me if I +have angered you. I shall not come here again. + +The old man felt the teardrops on his face, the heavy woman's tears, +hot with anger and sorrow. + +Gudrun dashed out of the room and mounted. Brandur was left alone in +the darkness at mid-day. Yet in his mind's eye he could see the +haystack out on the knoll. He rose and went out to feel it. It was +still there. Gudrun had not ridden away with it. Brandur could hear +the horseshoes crunching the hard, frozen ground as Gudrun rode off. +He stood motionless for a long time, listening to the hoof beats. +Then he went into the house. + +Brandur felt restless. He paced the floor awhile, stopped for a +moment to raise to his lips the flask his daughter had brought him, +and drained it at one gulp. All that day he walked the floor, +fighting with himself until night fell. + +Then he sent his foster-son with a message to his daughter. Jon, he +said, had his permission to haul the hay away the very next day, but +it was all to be removed in one day; there was not to be a scrap of +hay or a lump of sod left by evening. + +But the weather changes quickly, says an old Icelandic adage. By +morning, the weather had turned its spindle and the wind shifted to +the south. Jon sent no message to anyone, nor did he proclaim that +the old hay was available. He first wished to see what the thaw +would amount to. By the following day, the whole valley was +impassable because of slush and water, and the patches of earth +appearing through the snowy blanket grew larger almost hourly. + +Meanwhile, Brandur roamed through the house all day long, asking if +anyone had come.--Aren't they going to take away these miserable hay +scraps? About time they came and got them!--He seemed eager that the +hay be removed at once. + +That day he did not take his usual walk out to the stack to feel the +hay. In fact, after that no one ever saw him show attachment to the +old hay. His love of it seemed to have died the moment he granted +his son-in-law permission to take it away. + +That spring Brandur gave up housekeeping and of his own volition +turned over the farm to his daughter and son-in-law. With them he +lived to enjoy many years of good health. Never again did he take +his daily walk out to the haystack to feel the hay. But he was able +to take his sip of brandy to his dying day and repeat to himself the +word of God--hymns and verses from the Bible. + +Now he has passed on to eternity. But his memory lives like a stone- +-a large, moss-covered stone by the wayside. + + + + +Jon TRAUSTI + +WHEN I WAS ON THE FRIGATE + + +I was stormbound in the fishing village. I had come there by +steamer, but now the steamer was gone and I was left behind there, a +stranger, at a loss what to do. + +My idea was to continue my journey overland, and my route lay for +the most part through the mountainous country on the other side of +the fjord. I hadn't managed to hire horses or a guide, and it was no +easy matter to find one's own way in such stormy weather when the +rivers were running in full flood. This was in the spring-time, +round about the beginning of May. + +I was staying at the home of the local doctor, who had given me +shelter and who was now trying to help me in every way he could. He +was in my room with me, and we were both sitting there, smoking +cigars and chatting together. I had given up all hope of continuing +my journey that day and was making myself comfortable on the +doctor's sofa. But when we least expected it, we heard the sound of +heavy sea-boots clumping along the corridor, and there was a knock +at the door. + +Come in, said the doctor. The door opened slowly, and a young man in +seamen's clothes stood in the doorway. + +I was asked to tell you that old Hrolfur from Weir will take that +chap over there across in his boat, if he likes, said the man, +addressing himself to the doctor. + +We both stood up, the doctor and I, and walked towards the door. +That possibility hadn't occurred to either of us. + +Is old Hrolfur going fishing then? asked the doctor. + +Yes, he's going out to the islands and staying there about a week. +It won't make any difference to him to slip ashore at Muladalir, if +it would be any help. + +That's fine, said the doctor, turning to me. It's worth thinking +over, unless you really need to go round the end of the fjord. It'll +save you at least a day on your journey, and it'll be easier to get +horses and a man in Muladalir than it is here. + +This was all so unexpected that I didn't quite know what to say. I +looked at the doctor and the stranger in turn, and my first thought +was that the doctor was trying to get rid of me. Then it occurred to +me what a fine thing it would be to avoid having to cross all those +rivers which flow into the head of the fjord. Finally I decided that +the doctor had no ulterior motive and that his advice was prompted +by sheer goodwill. + +Is old Hrolfur all right at the moment? the doctor asked the man in +the doorway. + +Yes, of course he is, said the man. + +All right? I said, looking at them questioningly. I thought that was +a funny thing to ask. + +The doctor smiled. + +He's just a bit queer--up here, he said, pointing to his forehead. + +The thought of having to set out on a long sea journey with a man +who was half crazy made me shudder. I am certain, too, that the +doctor could see what I was thinking, for he smiled good-naturedly. + +Is it safe to go with him then? I asked. + +Oh yes, quite safe. He's not mad, far from it. He's just a bit +queer--he's got 'bats in the belfry', as men say. He gets these +attacks when he's at home in the dark winter days and has nothing to +occupy him. But there's little sign of it in the summer. And he's a +first-class seaman. + +Yes, a first-class seaman who never fails, said the man in the +doorway. It's quite safe to go on board with him now. You can take +my word for that. + +Are you going with him? asked the doctor. + +Yes, there's a crew of three with him. There'll be four of us in the +boat altogether. + +I looked at the man in the doorway--he was a young man of about +twenty, promising and assured. I liked the look of him, very much. + +Secretly I began to be ashamed of not daring to cross the fjord with +three men such as he, even though the skipper was 'a bit queer in +the head'. + +Are you going to-day? said the doctor. Don't you think it's blowing +a bit hard? + +I don't think old Hrolfur'll let that bother him, said the man and +smiled. + +Can you use your sails? + +Yes, I think so--there's a fair wind. + +It was decided that I should go with them. I went to get ready as +quickly as possible, and my luggage, saddle and bridle, were carried +down to the boat. + +The doctor walked to the jetty with us. + +There, in the shelter of the breakwater, was old Hrolfur's boat, its +mast already stepped, with the sail wrapped round it. It was a four- +oared boat, rather bigger than usual, tarred all over except for the +top plank, which was painted light blue. In the boat were the +various bits of equipment needed for shark-fishing, including a +thick wooden beam to which were attached four hooks of wrought iron, +a keg of shark-bait which stank vilely, and barrels for the shark's +liver. There were shark knives under the thwarts and huge gaffs +hooked under the rib-boards. The crew had put the boxes containing +their food and provisions in the prow. + +In the stern could be seen the back of a man bending down. He was +arranging stones in the well of the boat. He was dressed in overalls +made of skin, which reached up to his armpits and which were +fastened by pieces of thin rope crossing over his shoulders. Further +forward there was a second man, and a third was up on the jetty. + +Good day to you, Hrolfur, said the doctor. + +Good day to you, grunted Hrolfur as he straightened himself up and +spat a stream of yellowish-brown liquid from his mouth. Hand me that +stone over there. + +These last words were addressed not to the doctor or me, but to the +man on the jetty. Hrolfur vouchsafed me one quick, unfriendly +glance, but apart from that scarcely seemed to notice me. The look +in those sharp, haunting eyes went through me like a knife. Never +before had anyone looked at me with a glance so piercing and so full +of misgiving. + +He was a small man, and lively, though ageing fast. The face was +thin, rather wrinkled, dark and weather-beaten, with light untidy +wisps of hair round the mouth. I was immediately struck by a curious +twitching in his features, perhaps a relic of former bouts of +drinking. Otherwise his expression was harsh and melancholy. His +hands were red, swollen and calloused as if by years of rowing. + +Don't you think it's blowing rather hard, Hrolfur? asked the doctor +after a long silence. + +Oh, so-so, answered Hrolfur, without looking up. + +Again there was silence. It was as if Hrolfur had neither time nor +inclination for gossiping, even though it was the district medical +officer talking to him. + +The doctor looked at me and smiled. I was meant to understand that +this was exactly what he had expected. + +After another interval the doctor said: You are going to do this +traveller a favour then, Hrolfur? + +Oh, well, the boat won't mind taking him. + +In other words, I was to be nothing but so much ballast. + +Don't you think it's going to be tricky landing there in Mular +Creek? + +Hrolfur straightened up, putting his hand to his back. + +Oh, no, damn it, he said. There's an offshore wind and the sea's not +bad, and anyway we'll probably get there with the incoming tide. + +It isn't going to take you out of your way? I asked. + +We won't argue about that. We'll get there all the same. We often +give ourselves a rest in the old creek when we have to row. + +Immediately afterwards I said good-bye to the doctor and slid down +into the boat. The man on the jetty cast off, threw the rope down +into the boat and jumped in after it. + +One of the crew thrust the handle of an oar against the breakwater +and pushed off. Then they rowed for a short spell to get into the +wind, whilst old Hrolfur fixed the rudder. + +The sail filled out; the boat heeled gently over and ran in a long +curve. The islets at the harbour mouth rushed past us. We were +making straight for the open bay. + +On the horizon before us the mountainous cliffs, dark blue with a +thick, ragged patch of mist at the top, towered steeply over the +waves. In between, the sea stretched out, seemingly for miles. + +Hrolfur was at the rudder. He sat back in the stern on a crossbeam +flush with the gunwale, his feet braced against the ribs on either +side and in his hands the rudder lines, one on each side, close to +his thighs. + +I was up with the crew near the mast. We all knew from experience +that Icelandic boats sailed better when well-loaded forward. All +four of us were lying down on the windward side, but to leeward the +foam still bubbled up over the rowlocks. + +If you think we're not going fast enough, lads, you'd better start +rowing--but no extra pay, said old Hrolfur, grinning. + +We all took his joke well, and I felt that it brought me nearer to +the old man; up to then I'd been just a little scared of him. A joke +is always like an outstretched hand. + +For a long time we hardly spoke. In front of the mast we lay in +silence, whilst old Hrolfur was at the stern with the whole length +of the boat between us. + +The crew did all they could to make me comfortable. I lay on some +soft sacking just in front of the thwart and kept my head under the +gunwale for protection. The spray from the sea went right over me +and splashed down into the boat on the far side. + +The boy who had come for me to the doctor's settled himself down in +the bows in front of me. His name was Eric Ericsson, and the more I +saw of him the more I liked him. + +The second member of the crew sat crosswise over the thwart with his +back to the mast. He too was young, his beard just beginning to +grow, red-faced, quiet and rather indolent-looking. He seemed +completely indifferent, even though showers of spray blew, one after +another, straight into his face. + +The third member of the crew lay down across the boat behind the +thwart; he put a folded oilskin jacket under his head and fell +asleep. + +For a long time, almost an hour, I lay in silence, thinking only of +what I saw and heard around me. There was more than enough to keep +me awake. + +I noticed how the sail billowed out, full of wind, pulling hard at +the clew-line, which was made fast to the gunwhale beside Hrolfur. +The fore-sail resembled a beautifully curved sheet of steel, stiff +and unyielding. Both sails were snow-white, semi-transparent and +supple in movement, like the ivory sails on the model ships in +Rosenborg Palace. The mast seemed to bend slightly and the stays +were as taut as fiddle-strings. The boat quivered like a leaf. The +waves pounded hard against the thin strakes of the boat's side. I +could feel them on my cheek, though their dampness never penetrated; +but in between these hammer blows their little pats were wonderfully +friendly. Every now and then I could see the white frothing of the +wave-crests above the gunwale, and sometimes under the sail the +horizon was visible but, more often, there was nothing to be seen +but the broad back of a wave, on which, for a time, the boat tossed +before sinking down once more. The roll was scarcely noticeable, for +the boat kept at the same angle all the time and cleft her way +through the waves. The motion was comfortable and soothing to the +mind; quite unlike the violent lunging of bigger ships. + +Gradually the conversation came to life again. It was Eric who +proved to be the most talkative, though the man on the thwart also +threw in a word here and there. + +We began to talk about old Hrolfur. + +We spoke in a low voice so that he shouldn't hear what we said. +There was, indeed, little danger of his doing so--the distance was +too great and the storm was bound to carry our words away; but men +always lower their voices when they speak of those they can see, +even though they are speaking well of them. + +My eyes scarcely left old Hrolfur, and as the men told me more, my +picture of him became clearer and clearer. + +He sat there silent, holding on to the steering ropes and staring +straight ahead, not deigning us a single glance. + +The crew's story was roughly this. + +He was born and bred in the village, and he had never left it. The +croft which he lived in was just opposite the weir in the river +which flowed through the village, and was named after it. + +He went to sea whenever possible; fished for shark in the spring and +for cod and haddock in the other seasons. He never felt so happy as +when he was on the sea; and if he couldn't go to sea, he sat alone +at home in the croft mending his gear. He never went down to the +harbour for work like the other fishermen and never worked on the +land. Humming away and talking to himself he fiddled about in his +shed, around his boat-house or his croft, his hands all grubby with +tar and grease. If addressed, he was abrupt and curt in his answers, +sometimes even abusive. Hardly anyone dared go near him. + +Yet everyone liked him really. Everyone who got to know him said +that he improved on acquaintance. His eccentricity increased as he +grew older, but particularly after he had lost his son. + +His son was already grown-up and had been a most promising young +fellow. He was thought to be the most daring of all the skippers in +the village and always went furthest out to sea; he was also the +most successful fisherman of them all. But one day a sudden storm +had caught them far out to sea, well outside the mouth of the fjord. +Rowing hard, in the teeth of wind and tide, they managed to reach +the cliffs, but by that time they were quite exhausted. Their idea +had been to land at Mular Creek, but unfortunately their boat +overturned as they tried to enter. Hrolfur's son and one other on +board had been drowned, though the rest were saved. + +After the disaster Hrolfur ignored everybody for a long time. It +wasn't that he wept or lost heart. Perhaps he had done so for the +first few days, but not afterwards. He just kept to himself. He took +not the slightest notice of his wife and his other children, just as +if they were no longer his concern. It was as though he felt he'd +lost everything. He lived all alone with his sorrow and talked of it +to no one. Nobody tried to question him; no one dared try to comfort +him. Then, one winter, he started talking to himself. + +Day and night, for a long time, he talked to himself, talked as +though two or more men were chatting together, changing his tone of +voice and acting in every way as though he were taking part in a +lively and interesting conversation. There was nothing silly in what +he said, although the subject matter was often difficult to follow. +He would always answer if anyone spoke to him, slowly to be sure, +but always sensibly and agreeably. Often, before he could answer, it +was as though he had to wake up as from a sleep, and yet his work +never suffered from these bouts of absentmindedness. + +He never talked about his son. The conversations he held with +himself were mostly concerned with various adventures he thought had +befallen him; some were exaggerated, others pure invention. +Sometimes he would talk of things he was going to do in the future, +or things he would have done or ought to have in the past, but never +about the present. + +It wasn't long before the rumour spread that old Hrolfur was crazy, +and for a long time hardly anyone dared to go to sea with him. + +Now, that's all a thing of the past, said Eric and smiled. Nowadays +there are always more who would like to go with him than he can +take. + +And does he catch plenty of fish? + +Yes, he rarely fails. + +Isn't he quite well-off then? + +I don't know. At any rate he's not dependent on anyone else, and +he's the sole owner of his boat and tackle. + +He's rolling in money, the old devil, said the man at the mast, +wiping the spray from his face with his hand. + +Then they began to tell me about Mular Island and the life they +would lead there in the coming week. + +The island was a barren rock beyond the cliffs, and, in the autumn +storms, was almost covered by the waves. The first thing they'd have +to do, when they arrived, was to rebuild their refuge from the year +before, roof it over with bits of driftwood and cover them with +seaweed. That was to be their shelter at night, no matter what the +weather. Nature had provided a landing-place, so that they'd no +trouble with that, though the spot was so treacherous that one of +them would have to stand watch over the boat every night. + +Each evening they would row off from the island with their lines to +some well-known fishing bank, for it was after midnight that the +shark was most eager to take the bait. Savouring in his nostrils the +smell of horse flesh soaked in rum and of rotten seal blubber, he +would rush on the scent and greedily swallow whatever was offered. +When he realised the sad truth that a huge hook with a strong barb +was hidden inside this tempting dish and that it was no easy matter +to disgorge the tasty morsel, he would try to gnaw through the shaft +of the hook with his teeth. Very occasionally he might succeed, but +usually his efforts failed. Attached to the hook was a length of +strong iron chain; and sometimes, though defeated by the hook, he +would manage to snip through the chain. Then, in his joy at being +free, this creature with the magnificent appetite would immediately +rush to the next hook, only to be caught there when the lines were +drawn in. If the shark failed in his efforts to gnaw himself free, +he would try, by twisting and turning, to break either the hook or +the chain; but man had foreseen this possibility and had made the +hook to turn with him. With exemplary patience 'the grey one' would +continue his twisting until he had been drawn right up to the side +of the boat and a second hook made fast in him. His sea-green, +light-shy, pig-like eyes would glare malevolently up at his +tormentors, and in his maddened fury he would bite, snap and fight +until he almost capsized the boat. + +For centuries our forefathers had hunted the shark like this in open +boats, but nowadays men preferred to use decked vessels. No one in +the district still used the old method, apart from old Hrolfur. + +He had dragged in many a 'grey one'. From the bottom of the boat +Eric picked up one of the hooks and passed it to me; it was of +wrought iron, half an inch thick, with a point of cast steel. But +the spinning joint was almost chewed through and the hook shaft +bitten and gnawed--the 'grey one' had fought hard that time. + +The crew told me so much about their fishing adventures that I +longed to go to the island with them. + +Suddenly Eric gave me a nudge. + +The conversation stopped, and we all looked back at old Hrolfur. + +Now he's talking to himself. + +We all held our breath and listened. + +Hrolfur sat like a statue, holding the rudder-lines. His eyes wore a +far-away look and a curious smile of happiness played over his face. + +After a short silence, he spoke again--in a perfectly normal voice. + +When I was on the frigate-- + +For the time being that was all. + +There was a touch of vanity in his smile, as though in memory of +some old, half-ludicrous story from the past. + +Yes, when I was on the frigate, my lad-- + +It was just as if there were someone sitting next to him beside the +rudder, to whom he was relating his adventures. + +Has he ever been on a warship? I whispered. + +Never in his life, said Eric. + +Our eyes never left him. I can still remember the curious twitching +and working of his features. The eyes themselves were invisible; it +was as though the man were asleep. But his forehead and temples were +forever on the move, as if in mimicry of what he said. + +I couldn't utter a sound. Everything was blurred before my eyes, for +it was only then that the full realisation came upon me that the man +at the rudder--the man who held all our lives in his hands--was +half-crazed. + +The crew nudged each other and chortled. They'd seen all this +before. + +She was running aground--heading straight for the reef,--a total +loss, said Hrolfur, a total loss, I tell you. She was a beautiful +craft, shining black and diced with white along the sides--ten +fighting mouths on either side and a carved figure on her prow. I +think the king would have been sorry to lose her. She was far too +lovely to be ground to pieces there--they were glad when I turned +up. + +The crew did their best to smother their laughter. + +'Top-sails up,' I shouted.--'Top-sails up, my lad.' The officer, for +all his gold braid, went as pale as death. 'Top-sails up, in the +devil's name.' The blue-jackets on the deck fell over themselves in +fear. Yes, my lad, even though I hadn't a sword dangling by my side, +I said, 'Top-sails up, in the devil's name.' And they obeyed me-- +they obeyed me. They didn't dart not to. 'Top-sails up, in the +devil's name.' + +Hrolfur raised himself up on the crossbeam, his fists clenched round +the steering-ropes. + +Eric was almost bursting with laughter and trying hard not to let it +be heard; but the man at the mast made little attempt to stifle his. + +She's made it, said Hrolfur, his face all smiles and nodding his +head.--Out to sea. Straight out to sea. Let her lie down a bit, if +she wants to. It'll do her no harm to ship a drop or two. Let it +'bubble up over her rowlocks,' as we Icelanders say. Even though she +creaks a bit, it's all to the good. Her planks aren't rotten when +they make that noise. All right, we'll sail the bottom out of her-- +but forward she'll go--forward, forward she shall go! + +Hrolfur let his voice drop and drew out his jet words slowly. + +By now we were far out in the fjord. The sea was rising and becoming +more choppy because of tide currents. Good steering became more and more +difficult. Hrolfur seemed to do it instinctively. He never once looked +up and yet seemed to see all around him. He seemed to sense the approach +of those bigger waves which had to be avoided or passed by. The general +direction was never lost, but the boat ran wonderfully smoothly in and +out of the waves--over them, before them and through them, as though she +were possessed with human understanding. Not a single wave fell on her; +they towered high above, advanced on her foaming and raging, but +somehow--at the last moment--she turned aside. She was as sensitive as a +frightened hind, quick to answer the rudder, as supple in her movements +as a willing racehorse. Over her reigned the spirit of Hrolfur. + +But Hrolfur himself was no longer there. He was 'on the frigate'. It +was not his own boat he was steering in that hour, but a huge three- +master with a whole cloud of sails above her and ten cannon on +either side--a miracle of the shipwright's craft. The mainstays were +of many-stranded steelwire, the halyards, all clustered together, +struck at the mast and stays; they seemed inextricably tangled, and +yet were in fact all ship-shape, taut and true, like the nerves in a +human body. There was no need to steer her enormous bulk to avoid +the waves or pass them by; it was enough to let her crush them with +all her weight, let her grind them down and push them before her +like drifts of snow. Groaning and creaking she ploughed straight on +through all that came against her, heeling before the wind right +down to her gunwale and leaving behind her a long furrow in the sea. +High above the deck of this magnificent vessel, between two curved +iron pillars, Hrolfur's boat hung like a tiny mussel shell. + +Once upon a time this had been a dream of the future. But now that +all hope of its fulfilment had been lost, the dream had long since +become a reality. Hrolfur's adventure 'on the frigate' was a thing +of the past. + +For a long time he continued talking to himself, talked of how he +had brought 'the frigate' safely to harbour, and how he had been +awarded a 'gold medal' by the king. We could hear only anppets of +this long rigmarole, but we never lost the drift of it. He spoke +alternately in Danish and Icelandic, in many different tones of +voice, and one could always tell, by the way he spoke, where he was +in 'the frigate': whether he was addressing the crew on the deck, or +the officers on the bridge, and when, his fantastic feat +accomplished, he clinked glasses with them in the cabin on the poop. + +The wind had slackened somewhat, but now that we had reached so far +out into the bay the waves were higher; they were the remains of the +huge ocean waves which raged on the high seas, remains which, +despite the adverse wind, made their way far up the fjord. + +Hrolfur no longer talked aloud, but he continued to hum quietly to +himself. The crew around me began to doze off, and I think even I +was almost asleep for a time. To tell the truth I wasn't very far +from feeling seasick. + +Soon afterwards the man who had been asleep in the space behind the +mast rose to his feet, yawned once or twice, shook himself to +restore his circulation and looked around. + +It won't be long now before we get to Mular Creek, he said with his +mouth still wide-open. + +I was wide awake at once when I heard this, and raised myself up on +my elbow. The mountain I had seen from the village--which then had +been wrapped in a dark haze--now towered directly above us, rocky +and enormous, with black sea-crags at its feet. The rocks were +drenched with spray from the breakers, and the booming of the sea as +it crashed into the basalt caves resounded like the roar of cannon. + +There'll be no landing in the creek today, Hrolfur, the man said and +yawned again. The breakers are too heavy. + +Hrolfur pretended he hadn't heard. + +Everybody aboard was awake now and watching the shore; and I think +he was not the only one amongst us to shudder at the thought of +landing. + +On the mountain in front of us it was as though a panel was slowly +moved to one side: the valleys of Muladalir opened up before us. +Soon we glimpsed the roofs of the farms up on the hill-side. The +beach itself was covered with rocks. + +The boat turned into the inlet. It was quieter there than outside, +and the sea was just a little another. + +Loosen the foresail, Hrolfur ordered. It was Eric who obeyed and +held on to the sheet Hrolfur himself untied the mainsail, whilst at +the same time keeping hold of the sheet. I imagined Hrolfur must be +thinking it safer to have the sails loose as it was likely to be +gusty in the inlet. + +Are you going to sail in? said the man who'd been asleep. His voice +came through a nose filled with snuff. + +Shut up, said Hrolfur savagely. + +The man took the hint and asked no more questions. No one asked a +question, though every moment now was one of suspense. + +We all gazed in silence at the cliffs, which were lathered in white +foam. + +One wave after another passed under the boat. They lifted her high +up, as if to show us the surf. As the boat sank slowly down into the +trough of the wave, the surf disappeared and with it much of the +shore. The wave had shut it out. + +I was surprised how little the boat moved, but an explanation of the +mystery was soon forthcoming: the boat and all she carried were +still subject to Hrolfur's will. + +He let the wind out of the mainsail and, by careful manipulation of +the rudder, kept the boat wonderfully still. He was standing up now +in front of the crossbeam and staring fixedly out in front of the +boat. He was no longer talking to himself, he was no longer 'on the +frigate', but in his own boat; he knew well how much depended on +him. + +After waiting for a while, watching his opportunity, Hrolfur +suddenly let her go at full speed once more. + +Now the moment had come--a moment I shall never forget--nor probably +any of us who were in the boat with him. It was not fear that +gripped us but something more like excitement before a battle. Yet, +if the choice had been mine, we should have turned back from the +creek that day. + +Hrolfur stood at the rudder, immovable, his eyes shifting from side +to side, now under the sail, now past it. He chewed vigorously on +his quid of tobacco and spat. There was much less sign now of the +twitchings round his eyes than there'd been earlier in the day, and +his very calmness had a soothing effect on us all. + +As we approached the creek, a huge wave rose up behind us. Hrolfur +glanced at it with the corner of his eye. He spat and bared his +teeth. The wave rose and rose, and it reached us just at the mouth +of the creek, its overhanging peak so sharp as to be almost +transparent. It seemed to be making straight for the boat. + +As I watched, I felt the boat plummet down, as if the sea was +snatched from under her; it was the undertow--the wave was drawing +the waters back beneath it. By the gunwale the blue-green sea +frothed white as it poured back from the skerries near the entrance +to the creek. + +The boat almost stood on end; it was as if the sea was boiling +around us--boiling until the very seaweed on the rocks was turned to +broth. + +Suddenly an ice-cold lash, as of a whip, seemed to strike me in the +face. I staggered forwards under the blow and grasped at one of the +mainstays. + +Let go the foresail, shouted Hrolfur. + +When I was able to look up, the sails were flapping idly over the +gunwale. The boat floated gently into the creek, thwart-deep in +water. + +We all felt fine. + +It's true, I could feel the cold sea water dripping down my bare +back, underneath my shirt, but I didn't mind. All that had happened +to me was but a kiss, given me in token of farewell by the youngest +daughter of the goddess of the waves. + +The boat floated slowly in on the unaccustomed calm of the waters +and stopped at the landing-place. + +Standing there watching were two men from the farm. + +I thought as much, it had to be old Hrolfur, one of them called out +as we landed. It's no ordinary man's job to get into the creek on a +day like this. + +Hrolfur's face was wreathed in smiles: he made no answer, but +slipping off the rudder in case it should touch bottom he laid it +down across the stern. + +We were given a royal welcome by the fanners from Mular, and all +that I needed to further me on my journey was readily available and +willingly granted. Nowhere does Iceland's hospitality flourish so +well as in her outlying stations and in the remotest of her valleys, +where travellers are few. + +We all got out of the boat and pulled her clear of the waves. Every +one of us was only too glad to get the opportunity of stretching his +legs after sitting cramped up on the hard boards for nearly four +hours. + +I walked up to where old Hrolfur stood apart, on the low, flat +rocks, thanked him for the trip and asked him what it cost. + +Cost? he said, scarce looking at me. What does it cost? Just a +minute now, my lad,--just a minute. + +He answered me with the complete lack of formality one accords an +old friend, though we had met for the first time that day. His whole +face was scowling now, as he answered me brusquely--indeed, almost +curtly; and yet there was something attractive about him, something +that aroused both trust and respect and which made it impossible for +me to resent his familiarity. + +How much the trip costs? Just a minute now. + +It seemed that his thoughts were elsewhere. He unloosened the brace +of his overalls, reached down into the pocket of his patched +garments beneath and, drawing out a fine length of chewing tobacco, +took a bite. Then, breaking off a smallish length, he dropped it +into the crown of his seaman's hat. Finally, slowly and very +deliberately, he refastened the top of his overalls. + +I expect you got a bit wet out there coming into the creek. + +Oh, not really. + +Sometimes one gets unpleasantly damp out there. + +Hrolfur stood still, chewing his quid of tobacco and staring out at +the entrance to the creek. He seemed to have forgotten all about +answering my question. + +Sometimes one gets unpleasantly damp out there, he repeated, laying +great emphasis on every word. I looked straight at him and saw there +were tears in his eyes. Now his features were all working again and +twitching as they had done earlier. + +There's many a boat filled up there, he added, and some have got no +further. But I've floated in and out so far. Oh well, 'The silver +cup sinks, but the wooden bowl floats on', as the proverb says. +There was a time when I had to drag out of the water here a man who +was better than me in every way--that's when I really got to know +the old creek. + +For a time he continued to stand there, staring out at the creek +without saying a word. But, at last, after wiping the tears from his +face with the back of his glove, he seemed to come to himself once +more. + +You were asking, my lad, what the journey costs--it costs nothing. + +Nothing? What nonsense! + +Not since you got wet, said Hrolfur and smiled, though you could +still see the tears in his eyes. It's an old law of ours that if the +ferry-man lets his passengers get wet, even though it's only their +big toe, then he forfeits his toll. + +I repeatedly begged Hrolfur to let me pay him for the journey, but +it was no use. At last he became serious again and said: + +The journey costs nothing, as I said to you. I've brought many a +traveller over here to the creek and never taken a penny in return. +But if you ever come back to our village again, and old Hrolfur +should happen to be on land, come over to Weir and drink a cup of +coffee with him--black coffee with brown rock-sugar and a drop of +brandy in it; that is, if you can bring yourself to do such a thing. + +This I promised him, and old Hrolfur shook me firmly and +meaningfully by the hand as we parted. + +As they prepared to leave, we all three, the farmers from Mular and +I, stood there on the rocks to see how Hrolfur would manage. The +crew had furled the sails and sat down to the oars, whilst old +Hrolfur stood in front of the crossbeam, holding the rudder-line. + +They weren't rowing though, but held their oars up, waiting for +their opportunity. All this while, wave after wave came riding +through the entrance to the creek, pouring their white cascades of +foam over the reefs. + +Hrolfur watched them steadily and waited, like an animal ready to +pounce on its prey. + +Now, my lads, cried Hrolfur suddenly. The oars crashed into the sea, +and the boat shot forward. + +Just so, I thought, must the vikings in olden time have rowed to the +attack. + +Hrolfur's voice was lost to us in the roaring of the surf, but he +seemed to be urging the men on to row their utmost. They rowed, +indeed, like things possessed, and the boat hurtled forward. + +At the mouth of the creek a surf-topped wave rose against them, +sharp and concave, as it rushed on its way to the reefs. We held our +breath. It was a terrifying but magnificent sight. + +Hrolfur shouted something loudly, and at the same moment every oar +hugged the side of the boat, like the fins of a salmon as it hurls +itself at a waterfall. The boat plunged straight into the wave. For +a moment we lost sight of her in the swirling spray; only the mast +was visible. When we saw her again, she was well out past the +breakers. She'd been moving fast and was well steered. + +Hrolfur took his place on the crossbeam as if nothing had happened, +just as he had sat there earlier in the day, whilst he was 'on the +frigate'. + +Two of the crew began to set the sails, whilst one started to bail +out. Soon the boat was once more on the move. + +I felt a strange lump in my throat as I watched old Hrolfur sailing +away. + +God bless you, old salt, I thought. You thoroughly deserved to +cleave through the cold waters of Iceland in a shapely frigate. + +The boat heeled over gracefully and floated over the waves like a +gull with its wings outstretched. We stood there watching, without a +move, until she disappeared behind the headland. + + + + +GUNNAR GUNNARSSON + +FATHER AND SON + + +The two of them lived just outside the They were both called +Snjolfur, and they usually distinguished as old Snjolfur and little +Snjolfur. They themselves, however, addressed each other only as +Snjolfur. This was a habit of long standing: it may be that, having +the same name, they felt themselves bound still more firmly together +by using it unqualified in this way. Old Snjolfur was something over +fifty, little Snjolfur only just over twelve. + +They were close together, the pair of them--each felt lost without +the other. It had been like that ever since little Snjolfur could +remember. His father could look further back. He remembered that +thirteen years ago he had lived on his farm within easy riding +distance of the village; he had a good wife and three sturdy and +hopeful children. + +Then his luck turned and one disaster after struck him. His sheep +went down with pest, his cattle died of anthrax and other diseases. +Then the children got whooping-cough and all three died, close +enough together to lie in one grave. To pay his debts Snjolfur had +to give up his farm and sell the land. Then he bought the land on +the Point just outside the village, knocked up a cabin divided into +two by a partition, and a fish-drying shed. When that was done, +there was enough left to buy a cockle-shell of a boat. This was the +sum of his possessions. + +It was a poor and dismal life they led there, Snjolfur and his wife. +They were both used to hard work, but they had had no experience of +privation and constant care for the morrow. Most days it meant +putting to sea if they were to eat, and it was not every night they +went to bed with a full stomach. There was little enough left over +for clothing and comfort. + +Snjolfur's wife worked at fish-drying for the factor in the summer +months, but good drying-days could not be counted on and the money +was not much. She lived just long enough to bring little Snjolfur +into the world, and the last thing she did was to decide his name. +From then on, father and son lived alone in the cabin. + +Little Snjolfur had vague memories of times of desperate misery. He +had to stay at home through days of unrelieved torment and agony. +There had been no one to look after him while he was too small to go +off in the boat with his father, and old Snjolfur was forced to tie +the boy to the bed-post to keep him out of danger in his absence. +Old Snjolfur could not sit at home all the time: he had to get +something to put in the pot. + +The boy had more vivid memories of happier times, smiling summer +days on a sea glittering in the sunshine. He remembered sitting in +the stern and watching his father pulling in the gleaming fish. But +even those times were mingled with bitterness, for there were days +when the sky wept and old Snjolfur rowed out alone. + +But in time little Snjolfur grew big enough to go off with his +father, whatever the weather. From then on they contentedly shared +most days and every night: neither could be without the other for +more than a minute. If one of them stirred in his sleep, the other +was awake on the instant; and if one could not get to sleep, the +other did not close his eyes either. + +One might think that it was because they had a lot to talk about +that they were so wrapped up in each other. But that was not so. +They knew each other so well and their mutual confidence was so +complete that words were unnecessary. For days on end no more than +scattered phrases fell between them; they were as well content to be +silent together as to be talking together. The one need only look at +the other to make himself understood. + +Among the few words that passed between them, however, was one +sentence that came up again and again--when old Snjolfur was talking +to his son. His words were: + +The point is to pay your debts to everybody, not owe anybody +anything, trust in Providence. + +In fact, father and son together preferred to live on the edge of +starvation rather than buy anything for which they could not pay on +the spot. And they tacked together bits of old sacking and patched +and patched them so as to cover their nakedness, unburdened by debt. + +Most of their neighbours were in debt to some extent; some of them +only repaid the factor at odd times, and they never repaid the whole +amount. But as far as little Snjolfur knew, he and his father had +never owed a penny to anyone. Before his time, his father had been +on the factor's books like everyone else, but that was not a thing +he spoke much about and little Snjolfur knew nothing of those +dealings. + +It was essential for the two of them to see they had supplies to +last them through the winter, when for many days gales or heavy seas +made fishing impossible. The fish that had to last them through the +winter was either dried or salted; what they felt they could spare +was sold, so that there might be a little ready money in the house +against the arrival of winter. There was rarely anything left, and +sometimes the cupboard was bare before the end of the winter; +whatever was eatable had been eaten by the tune spring came on, and +most often father and son knew what it was like to go hungry. +Whenever the weather was fit, they put off in their boat but often +rowed back empty-handed or with one skinny flat-fish in the bottom. +This did not affect their outlook. They never complained; they bore +their burden of distress, heavy as it was, with the same even temper +as they showed in the face of good fortune on the rare occasions it +smiled on them; in this, as in everything else, they were in +harmony. For them there was always comfort enough in the hope that, +if they ate nothing today, God would send them a meal tomorrow--or +the next day. The advancing spring found them pale and hollow- +cheeked, plagued by bad dreams, so that night after night they lay +awake together.--And one such spring, a spring moreover that had +been colder and stormier than usual, with hardly a single day of +decent weather, evil chance paid another visit to old Snjolfur's +home. + +Early one morning a snow-slip landed on the cabin on the Point, +burying both father and son. By some inexplicable means little +Snjolfur managed to scratch his way out of the drift. As soon as he +realised that for all his efforts he could not dig his father out +single-handed, he raced off to the village and got people out of +their beds. Help came too late--the old man was suffocated when they +finally reached him through the snow. + +For the time being his body was laid on a flat boulder in the +shelter of a shallow cave in the cliffside nearby--later they would +bring a sledge to fetch him into the village. For a long time little +Snjolfur stood by old Snjolfur and stroked his white hair; he +murmured something as he did it, but no one heard what he said. But +he did not cry and he showed no dismay. The men with the snow- +shovels agreed that he was a strange lad, with not a tear for his +father's death, and they were half-inclined to dislike him for it.-- +He's a hard one! they said, but not in admiration.--You can carry +things too far. + +It was perhaps because of this that no one paid any further +attention to little Snjolfur. When the rescue-party and the people +who had come out of mere curiosity made their way back for a bite of +breakfast and a sledge for the body, the boy was left alone on the +Point. + +The snow-slip had shifted the cabin and it was all twisted and +smashed; posts missing their laths stuck up out of the snow, tools +and household gear were visible here and there--when he laid hold of +them, they were as if bonded the snow. Snjolfur wandered down to the +shore with the idea of seeing what had become of the boat. When he +saw with what cold glee the waves were playing with its shattered +fragments amongst the lumpy masses of snow below highwatermark, his +frown deepened, but he did not say anything. + +He did not stay long on the shore this time. When he got back to the +cave, he sat down wearily on the rock beside his dead father. It's a +poor look-out, he thought; he might have sold the boat if it hadn't +been smashed--somewhere he had to get enough to pay for the funeral. +Snjolfur had always said it was essential to have enough to cover +your own funeral--there was no greater or more irredeemable disgrace +than to be slipped into the ground at the expense of the parish. +Fortunately his prospects weren't so bad, he had said. They could +both die peacefully whenever the time came--there was the cabin, the +boat, the tools and other gear, and finally the land itself--these +would surely fetch enough to meet the cost of coffin and funeral +service, as well as a cup of coffee for anyone who would put himself +out so far as to accept their hospitality on that occasion. But now, +contrary to custom, his father had not proved an oracle--he was dead +and everything else had gone with him--except the land on the Point. +And how was that to be turned into cash when there was no cabin on +it? He would probably have to starve to death himself. Wouldn't it +be simplest to run down to the shore and throw himself in the sea? +But--then both he and his father would have to be buried by the +parish. There were only his shoulders to carry the burden. If they +both rested in a shameful grave, it would be his fault--he hadn't +the heart to do it. + +Little Snjolfur's head hurt with all this hard thinking. He felt he +wanted to give up and let things slide. But how can a man give up +when he has nowhere to live? It would be cold spending the night out +here in the open. + +The boy thought this out. Then he began to drag posts, pieces of +rafter and other wreckage over to the cave. He laid the longest +pieces sloping against the cave-mouth--he badly wanted his father to +be within four walls,--covered them over and filled the gaps with +bits of sail-cloth and anything else handy, and finished by +shovelling snow up over the whole structure. Before long it was +rather better in the cave than out-of-doors, though the most +important thing was to have Snjolfur with him for his last days +above ground--it might be a week or more. It was no easy matter to +make a coffin and dig out frozen ground. It would certainly be a +poor coffin if he had to make it himself. + +When little Snjolfur had finished making his shelter, he crept +inside and sat down with outstretched legs close to his father. By +this time the boy was tired out and sleepy. He was on the point of +dropping off, when he remembered that he had still not decided how +to pay for the funeral. He was wide awake again at once. That +problem had to be solved without more ado--and suddenly he saw a +gleam of hope--is wasn't so unattainable after all--he might meet +the cost of the funeral and maintain himself into the bargain, at +any rate for a start. His drowsiness fell from him, he slipped out +of the cave and strode off towards the village. + +He went straight along the street in the direction of the store, +looking neither to right nor left, heedless of the unfriendly +glances of the villagers.--Wretched boy--he didn't even cry when his +father died! were the words of those respectable, generous-hearted +and high-minded folk. + +When little Snjolfur got to the factor's house, he went straight +into the store and asked if he might speak to the master. The +storeman stared and lingered before finally shuffling to the door of +the office and knocking. In a moment the door was half opened by the +factor himself, who, when he caught sight of little Snjolfur and +heard that he wanted to speak to him, turned to him again and, after +looking him up and down, invited him in. + +Little Snjolfur put his cap on the counter and did not wait to be +asked twice. + +Well, young man? said the factor. + +The youngster nearly lost heart completely, but he screwed himself +up and inquired diffidently whether the factor knew that there were +unusually good landing-facilities out on the Point. + +It is much worse in your landing-place than it is in ours out there. + +The factor had to smile at the gravity and spirit of the boy--he +confessed that he had heard it spoken of. + +Then little Snjolfur came to the heart of the--if he let out the use +of the landing-place on the Point to the factor for the coming +summer--how much would he be willing to pay to have his Faroese +crews land their catches there?--Only for the coming summer, mind! + +Wouldn't it be more straightforward if I bought the Point from you? +asked the factor, doing his best to conceal his amusement. + +Little Snjolfur stoutly rejected this suggestion--he didn't want +that.--Then I have no home--if I sell the Point, I mean. + +The factor tried to get him to see that he could not live there in +any case, by himself, destitute, in the open. + +They will not allow it, my boy. + +The lad steadfastly refused to accept the notion that he would be in +the open out there--he had already built himself a shelter where he +could lie snug. + +And as soon as spring comes, I shall build another cabin--it needn't +be big and there's a good bit of wood out there. But, as I expect +you know, I've lost Snjolfur--and the boat. I don't think there's +any hope of putting the bits of her together again. Now that I've no +boat, I thought I might let out the landing-place, if I could make +something out of it. The Faroese would be sure to give me something +for the pot if I gave them a hand with launching and unloading. They +could row most ways from there--I'm not exaggerating--they had to +stay at home time and time again last summer, when it was easy for +Snjolfur and me to put off. There's a world of difference between a +deep-water landing-place and a shallow-water one--that's what +Snjolfur said many a time. + +The factor asked his visitor what price he had thought of putting on +it for the summer. I don't know what the funeral will cost yet, +replied the orphan in worried tones. At any rate I should need +enough to pay for Snjolfur's funeral. Then I should count myself +lucky. + +Then let's say that, struck in the factor, and went on to say that +he would see about the coffin and everything--there was no need for +little Snjolfur to fret about it any more. Without thinking, he +found himself opening the door for his guest, diminutive though he +was,--but the boy stood there as if he had not seen him do it, and +it was written clear on his face that he had not yet finished the +business that brought him; the anxious look was still strong on his +ruddy face, firm-featured beyond his years. + +When are you expecting the ship with your stores? + +The factor replied that it would hardly come tomorrow, perhaps the +day after. It was a puzzle to know why the boy had asked--the pair +of them, father and son, did not usually ask about his stores until +they brought the cash to buy them. + +Little Snjolfur did not take his eyes from the factor's face. The +words stuck in his throat, but at last he managed to get his +question out: In that case, wouldn't the factor be needing a boy to +help in the store? + +The factor did not deny it. + +But he ought to be past his confirmation for preference, he added +with a smile. + +It looked as if little Snjolfur was ready for this answer, and +indeed his errand was now at an end, but he asked the factor to come +out with him round the corner of the store. They went out, the boy +in front, and onto the pebble-bank nearby. The boy stopped at a +stone lying there, got a grip of it, lifted it without any obvious +exertion and heaved it away from him. Then he turned to the factor. + +We call this stone the Weakling. The boy you had last summer +couldn't lift it high enough to let the damp in underneath--much +less any further! + +Oh, well then, seeing you are stronger than he was, it ought to be +possible to make use of you in some way, even though you are on the +wrong side of confirmation, replied the factor in a milder tone. + +Do I get my keep while I'm with you? And the same wages as he had? +continued the youngster, who was the sort that likes to know where +he stands in good time. + +But of course, answered the factor, who for once was in no mood to +drive a hard bargain. + +That's good--then I shan't go on the parish, said little Snjolfur, +and was easier in his mind. The man who has got something to pot in +himself and on himself isn't a pauper,--Snjolfur often used to say +that, he added, and he straightened himself up proudly and offered +his hand to the factor, just as he had seen his father do. Good-bye, +he said. I shall come then--not tomorrow but the day after. + +The factor told him to come in again for a minute and leading the +way to the kitchen-door he ushered little Snjolfur into the warmth. +He asked the cook if she couldn't give this nipper here a bite of +something to eat, preferably something warm--he could do with it. + +Little Snjolfur would not accept any food. + +Aren't you hungry? asked the astonished factor. + +The boy could not deny that he was--and for the rest he could hardly +get his words out with the sharpness of his hunger whetted still +keener by the blessed smell of cooking. But he resisted the +temptation: + +I am not a beggar, he said. + +The factor was upset and he saw that he had set about it clumsily. +He went over to the dogged youngster, patted his head and, with a +nod to the cook, led little Snjolfur into the dining-room. + +Have you never seen your father give his visitors a drink or offer +them a cup of coffee when they came to see him? he asked, and he +gave his words a resentful tone. + +Little Snjolfur had to confess that his father had sometimes offered +hospitality to a visitor. + +There you are then, said the factor. It's just ordinary good manners +to offer hospitality--and to accept it. Refusing a well-meant +invitation for no reason can mean the end of a friendship. You are a +visitor here, so naturally I offer you something to eat: we have +made an important deal and, what's more, we have come to terms over +a job. If you won't accept ordinary hospitality, it's hard to see +how the rest is going to work out. + +The boy sighed: of course, it must be as the factor said. But he was +in a hurry. Snjolfur was by himself out on the Point. His eyes +wandered round the room--then he added, very seriously: The point is +to pay your debts, not owe anybody anything, and trust in +Providence. + +There was never a truer word spoken, agreed the factor, and as he +said it he pulled his handkerchief out of his pocket. He's a chip of +the old block, he muttered, and putting his hand on little +Snjolfur's shoulder, he blessed him. + +The boy was astonished to see a grown man with tears in his eyes. + +Snjolfur never cried, he said, and went on: I haven't cried either +since I was little--I nearly did when I knew Snjolfur was dead. But +I was afraid he wouldn't like it, and I stopped myself. + +A moment later and tears overwhelmed little Snjolfur.--It is a +consolation, albeit a poor one, to lean for a while on the bosom of +a companion. + + + + +GUDMUNDUR G. HAGALIN + +THE FOX SKIN + + +No need to take care now about fastening the door, Arni of Bali said +to himself as he wrapped the string around the nail driven into the +door-post of the outlying sheepcote. Then he turned around, took out +his handkerchief, and, putting it to his nose, blew vigorously. This +done, he folded the handkerchief together again, wiped his mouth and +nose, and took out his snuff horn. + +What fine balmy weather, thought Arni. That miserable fox won't come +near sheepcotes or houses now. Blast its hide! Yes, it had caused +him many a wakeful night. All the neighbouring farmers would have +the fool's luck to catch a fox every single winter. All but him. He +couldn't even wound a vixen, and had in all his life never caught +any kind of fox. Wouldn't it be fun to bring home a dark brown pelt, +one with fine overhair? Yes, wouldn't that be fun? Arni shook his +head in delight, cleared his throat vigorously, and took a pinch of +snuff. + +Bending his steps homeward, he tottered along with his body half +stooped, as was his habit, and his hands behind his back. When he +looked up, he did not straighten out, but bent his neck back so his +head lay between his shoulder blades. Then his red-rimmed eyes +looked as if they were about to pop out of his head, his dark red +beard rose up as though striving to free itself from its roots, and +his empurpled nose and scarlet cheek-bones protruded. + +Pretty good under foot, thought Arni. At least it was easy to go +between the sheepcotes and the house. Everything pretty quiet just +now. The sheep took care of themselves during the day, and grazing +was plentiful along the seashore and on the hillsides. No reason why +he might not now and then lie in wait somewhat into the night in the +hope of catching a fox; he wasn't too tired for that. But he had +given up all that sort of thing. It brought only vexation and +trouble. Besides, he had told everybody that he did not think it +worth his while to waste his time on such things and perhaps catch +his death to boot. The Lord knew that was mere pretence. Eighty +crowns for a beautiful, dark brown fox skin was a tidy sum! But a +man had to think up something to say for himself, the way they all +harped on fox-hunting: Bjarni of Fell caught a white vixen night +before last, or Einar of Brekka caught a brown dog-fox yesterday. Or +if a man stepped over to a neighbour's for a moment: Any hunting? +Anyone shot a fox? Our Gisli here caught a grayish brown one last +evening. Such incessant twaddle! + +Arni's breath came short. Wasn't it enough if a man made an honest +living? Yet, work or achievement which brought no joy was unblessed. +At this point Samur darted up. Arni thought the dog had deserted him +and rushed off home. Now, what in the world ailed the creature? +Shame on you for a pesky cur! Can't you be still a minute, you +brute? Must I beat you? asked Arni, making threatening gestures at +Samur, a large, black-spotted dog with ugly, shaggy hair. But Samur +darted away, ran off whimpering; he would pause now and then and +look back at his master, until finally he disappeared behind a big +boulder. + +What's got into the beast? He can't have found a fox trail, can he? + +Arni walked straight to the rock where Samur had disappeared; then +slowing down his pace, he tiptoed as if he expected to find a fox +hidden there. Yes, there was Samur. There he lay in front of a hole, +whimpering and wagging his tail. + +Shame on you, Samur! + +Arni lay down prone on the snow and stretched his arm into the hole. +But all of a sudden he jerked his hand back, his heart beating as if +it would tear itself out of his breast. He had so plainly felt +something furry inside the hole, and he was badly mistaken if a +strong fox odour did not come out of it. Was the fox alive, or was +it dead? Might it bite him fatally? But that made no difference. Now +that he had a good chance of taking a fox, it was do or die. He +stood up straight and stretched every muscle, and pulled the mitten +on his right hand carefully up over his wrist. Then he knelt down, +thrust his hand in the hole, set his teeth, and screwed up his face. +Yes, now he had caught hold of it and was pulling it carefully out. +Well, well, well, well! Not so bad! A dark brown tail, a glossy +body, and what fine over-hair! For once Arni of Bali had some luck! +The fox was dead; it had been shot in the belly and just crept in +there to die. Sly devil! Poor beast! Blessed creature! Arni ended by +feeling quite tenderly towards the fox. He hardly knew how to give +utterance to his joy. + +Good old Samur, my own precious dog, let me pat you, said Arni, +rubbing the dog's cheek with his own. They could shout themselves +blue in the face. It was no trick to kill all you wanted of these +little devils if you just had the powder and shot and were willing +to waste your time on it. But here Arni's face fell. He did not even +have his gun with him. It stood, all covered with rust, at home out +in the shed. Just his luck! And how could he claim to have shot a +fox without a gun?--Get out of here, Samur. Shame on you, you +rascal!--And Arni booted Samur so hard that the dog yelped. + +But, in direst need, help is at hand. He could wait for the cover of +darkness. Not even his wife should know but that he had shot the +fox. Wouldn't she stare at him? She had always defied him and tried +to belittle him. No, she should not learn the truth, she least of +all. He would not tell a soul. Now Samur, he knew how to hold his +tongue, faithful creature! Arni sat down on the rock, with the fox +on his knees, and started singing to pass the time, allowing his +good cheer to ring out as far as his voice would carry: + + My fine Sunday cap has been carried away + By a furious gale; + And I'll wear it no more to the chapel to pray + In the wind and the hail. + +He chanted this ballad over and over again until he was tired, then +sat still, smiling and stroking the fox skin. He had learned the +song when he was a child from his mother, who had sung it all day +long one spring while she was shearing the sheep. And he could not +think of any other for the moment. It wasn't, in fact, a bad song. +There were many good rhymesters in Iceland. He began singing again, +rocking his body back and forth vehemently, and stroking the fox +skin the while. And Samur, who sat in front of him, cocked his head +first on one side, then on the other, and gave him a knowing look. +At last the dog stretched out his neck, raised his muzzle into the +air and howled, using every variation of key known to him. At this +Arni stopped short and stared at him, then bending his head slightly +to one side to study him, he roared with laughter. + +What an extraordinary dog! Yes, really extraordinary. + +In the little kitchen at Bali, Groa, the mistress, crouched before +the stove and poked the fire with such vigour that both ashes and +embers flew out on the floor. She was preparing to heat a mouthful +of porridge for supper for her old man and the brats. She stood up, +rubbed her eyes and swore. The horrid smoke that always came from +that rattletrap of a stove! And that wretched old fool of a husband +was not man enough to fix it! Oh, no, he wasn't handy enough for +that; he went at every blessed thing as if his fingers were all +thumbs. And where could he be loafing tonight? Not home yet! Serve +him right if she locked the house and allowed him to stay in the +sheepcotes, or wherever it was he was dawdling. There now, those +infernal brats were at the spinning wheel. Groa jumped up, darted +into the passage, and went to the stairs. + +Will you leave that spinning wheel be, you young devils? If you +break the flier or the upright, your little old mother will be after +you. + +A dead calm ensued. So Groa returned to the kitchen, and taking a +loaf of pot-bread from the cupboard, cut a few slices and spread +them with dripping. + +Now a scratching sound was heard at the door, and Arni entered. + +Good evening to all, said he with urbanity, as he set down the gun +behind the kitchen door. Here's that gun. It has certainly paid for +itself, poor old thing. + +His wife did not reply to his greeting, but she eyed him askance +with a look that was anything but loving. + +Been fooling around with that gun! Why the blazes couldn't you have +come home and brought me a bit of peat from the pit? A fine hunter +you are! I might as well have married the devil.--And his wife +turned from him with a sneer. + +You're in a nice temper now, my dear. But just take a look at this, +said Arni, throwing down the brown fox on the kitchen floor. + +At first Groa stared at her husband as if she had never seen him +before. Then she shook her head and smiled sarcastically. + +You found it dead, I'll wager! + +Arni started. His face turned red and his eyes protruded. + +You would say that! You don't let me forget what a superior woman I +married! Found it dead!--And Arni plumped down on the woodbox. + +His wife laughed. + +I'll wager I hit the nail on the head that time! + +Arni jumped to his feet. That confounded old witch should not spoil +his pleasure. + +You're as stark, raving mad as you always have been. But I don't +care what you say. Kids, come and look at the fox your father has +shot. + +Three days later they had a visitor. Arni stood outside and stared +at him. For a wonder, somebody had at last found his way to Arni's. +Days and nights had passed, but nobody had come. They always came +when they weren't wanted. And now came Jon of Lon, that overbearing +fellow! But now he could see that Arni of Bali was also a man among +men. + +Howdy, Arni, you poor fish! said Jon, fixing his steely gray eyes on +Arni. + +How are you, you old snake! answered Arni, smiling contemptuously. +What monstrous eyes Jon had when he looked at a person! + +Has something special happened? You're somehow so puffed up today, +said Jon with a sarcastic smile. + +Darn him! muttered Arni. Was he going to act just like Groa? In that +case, Arni had at least a trump card in reserve. + +Did you say something? inquired Jon, sticking a quid of tobacco into +his mouth. Or wasn't it meant for my ears? Oh, well, I don't care +for your mutterings, you poor wretch. But now, go ask your wife to +give me a little drink of sour whey. + +Arni turned round slowly and lazily. Wasn't the old fellow going to +notice the skin? It wasn't so small that it couldn't be seen. There +it hung on the wall, right in the sunlight, combed and beautifully +glossy. + +That's quite a nice fox skin. Whose is it? asked Jon, walking over +to the wall. + +Arni turned round. He could feel his heart beating fast. + +Mine, he said, with what calm he could muster. + +What is the idea of you buying a fox skin, you poor beggar? + +Buying? Arni sighed. You think I can't shoot me a fox? + +You! Jon laughed. That's a downright lie, my dear Arni. + +A lie! You'd best not tell people they lie unless you know more +about it. A scoundrel like you, I say, a scoundrel like you! replied +Arni, swelling. I think you'd better be getting in and see her. You +know her pretty well, I believe. + +Jon looked at the farmer of Bali with his steely eyes. + +For whom are you keeping the skin, Arni? + +No one, said Arni, crossly; then after some hesitation: The Lord +gave it to me. + +All right, Arni. Miracles never cease. That is plain enough after +this, and no question about it. That's an eighty-crown skin, however +you came by it. But now let's go in and see Groa. As you say, I know +her pretty well. She was a smart girl, you poor wretch. Too bad I +was married and had to throw her to a creature like you. + +Arni grinned and, trotting to the door of the house, called: Groa, a +visitor to see you. + +The woman came to the door. A smile played about her lips, +smouldering embers glowed in her blue eyes, and the sunlight lighted +up the unkempt braids of golden hair which fell down about her pale +cheeks. + +But Arni for once was satisfied. At last Jon was properly impressed. +The affair between Groa and Jon was something that could not be +helped. Jon surely regretted having lost that girl! Yes, indeed! And +she had her good points. She was smart, and a hundred crowns a year, +besides everything else that was brought them from Lon, was pretty +good compensation. Yes, many a man had married less well than Arni +of Bali. And the children were his, most of them, anyway. Nobody +need tell him anything else. + + * + +The fox skin became Arni of Bali's most cherished possession. Every +day, when the weather was clear, he would hang it, well smoothed and +combed, on the outside wall, and when he left home he carefully put +it away in a safe place. The skin became famous throughout the +district, and many of the younger men made special trips to Bali to +examine it. Arni would beam with joy and strut around with a +knowing, self-satisfied expression on his face, and would tell of +the patience, the agility, and the marksmanship he had to put into +killing this monstrously clever fox. It certainly wasn't hard to +kill all you wanted of these devils, if you just had the powder and +shot and were willing to give your time to it, he would say, as he +turned the skin so that the sunlight shone full on the glossy pelt. + +Then one day that fall, Arni came home from tending the sheep, which +had just been brought down from the mountain pastures. He hung the +skin out and went into the kitchen, where Groa was busy washing, sat +down on a box by the wall on the other side of the room, let his +head rest on his hands, and looked wise. For a while there was +silence. At last Groa looked up from her washtub and gave Arni a +piercing glance. + +Have you got your eye on a cow to replace the greyspotted one we +killed last spring? + +Cow? asked Arni, scratching his head. Cow? Yes, so you say, my good +woman. + +So I say? Do you think the milk from Dumba alone goes very far in +feeding such a flock of children as we have? You haven't gone and +squandered the money we got for Skjalda? asked Groa, looking harder +still at her husband. + +Don't be foolish, woman! The money lies untouched at the factor's. +But he wouldn't pay much for the meat and hide of Skjalda, not +anywhere near enough to buy a good milking cow. He said the English +on the trawlers don't set much store by cow's meat. The summer has +been only so-so, and I'm sure we'll have plenty of uses for what +money I've been able to scrape together. Of course, a cow is a good +thing to buy, an enjoyable luxury, if only you have plenty of money. + +If you can't scrape together the money for a cow, we must cut +expenses somehow. Perhaps you could stop stuffing your nostrils with +that dirty snuff? And you ought at any rate to be able to sell that +fancy fox skin you play with so childishly. + +Is that so! + +Yes, you play with that wretched fox skin just exactly like any +crazy youngster. + +Wretched is it? Take care what you say, woman! Wretched skin! A fine +judge of such matters you are!--And standing up, Arni paced the +kitchen floor.--An eighty-crown skin! And you call it wretched! Jon +of Lon didn't call it any names. You'll believe at least what he +says. + +Now, don't get puffed up. You ought to be thankful to get what you +can for the skin. It will help in buying the cow. + +The cow? Let me tell you, woman, that I am not going to buy a cow +for the skin. You can take it from me that you will never get a cow +for that skin. Or anything else, in fact. The farmer at Lon can +shell out whatever is needed for buying the cow. That's the least he +can do for you. + +Groa stopped her washing, stared for a few seconds at Arni, and then +with a quick movement walked up to him, brandishing a bit of wet +linen. + +Will you tell me what you're going to do with the skin? she asked, +almost in a whisper. + +Arni shrank back. The way to the door was cut off. He raised his arm +in self-defence and retreated as far as possible into the corner. + +I'm going to sell it. Now be reasonable, Groa. I'm going to sell it. + +And what are you going to buy for it? his wife hissed, boring into +him with her eyes. + +A cow. I'm going to buy a cow for it. + +You lie! You know you're not going to sell it. You're going to play +with it. Know your children hungering for milk and play with the +skin! + +My children? + +No, God be praised, they're--not--yours, said Groa, allowing the +blows to rain on Arni.--But now I'll keep the skin for you.--And +like an arrow she shot out of the door, all out of breath and +trembling. + +For a few seconds Arni stood still. His eyes seemed bursting out of +their sockets, and the hair in his beard stood on end. In a flash he +rushed over the kitchen floor and out of the house. + +Groa had just taken the skin down off the nail on the wall. Now she +brandished it and looked at Arni with fury in her gaze. But he did +not wait. He rushed at her, gave her such a shove that she fell, +and, snatching the skin from her, ran. A safe distance away, he +turned and stood panting for several seconds. At last, exhausted and +trembling with rage, he hissed: + +I tell you, Groa. I'll have my way about this. The skin is the only +thing that is all my own, and no one shall take it from me. + +Arni fled then. He took to his heels, and ran away as fast as he +could up the slopes. + +--- + +Far in the innermost corner of the outlying sheepcote at Bali, to +which the sun's rays never reach, Arni built himself a little +cupboard. This cupboard is kept carefully locked, and Arni carries +the key on a string which hangs around his neck. Arni now has become +quite prosperous. For a long time it was thought that he must keep +money in the cupboard, but last spring an acquaintance of his +stopped at the outlying sheepcote on his way from the village. The +man had some liquor with him and gave Arni a taste. At last the +visitor was allowed to see what the cupboard contained--a carefully +combed and smoothed dark brown fox skin. Arni was visibly moved by +the unveiling of his secret. Staring at the ceiling, he licked his +whiskers and sighed deeply. + +It seems to me, Gisli, he said to his friend, that I'd rather lose +all my ewes than this skin, for it was the thing which once made me +say, 'Thus far and no farther!' And since then I seem to own +something right here in my breast which not even Jon of Lon can take +away from me. I think I am now beginning to understand what is meant +in the Scriptures by 'the treasure which neither moth nor rust can +currupt.' + +Arni's red-rimmed eyes were moist. For a while he stood there +thinking. But all of a sudden he shook his head and, turning to his +acquaintance, said: Let's see the bottle. A man seems to feel warmer +inside if he gets a little drop.--And Arni shook himself as if the +mental strain of his philosophizing had occasioned in him a slight +chill. + + + + +HALLDOR KILJAN LAXNESS + +NEW ICELAND + + +The road leads from Old Iceland to New Iceland. It is the way of men +from the old to the new in the hope that the new will be better than +the old. So Torfi Torfason has sold his sheep and his cows and his +horses, torn himself away from his land, and journeyed to America-- +where the raisins grow all over the place and where a much brighter +future awaits us and our children. And he took his ewes by the horn +for the last time, led them to the highest bidder, and said: Now +this one is my good Goldbrow who brings back her two lambs from +Mulata every fall. And what do you say to the coat of wool on Bobbin +here? She's a fine sturdy lass, Bobbin, isn't she? + +And thus he sold them one after another, holding them himself by the +horn. And he pressed their horns against the callouses on his palm +for the last time. These were his ewes, who had crowded around the +manger in the dead of winter and stuck their noses into the fragrant +hay. And when he came home from the long trip to the market town +after having wrangled with some of the rascals there, he marvelled +at how snow-white they were in the fleece. They were like a special +kind of people and yet better than people in general. And yonder +were his cows being led off the place like large and foolish women, +who are nevertheless kindness itself, and you are fond of them +because you have known them since you were young. They were led out +through the lanes, and strange boys urged them on with bits of +strap. And he patted his horses on the rump for the last time and +sold them to the highest bidder, these fine old fellows who were +perhaps the only beings in the world that understood him and knew +him and esteemed him. He had known them since they were boys full of +pomp and show. Now he sold them for money because the way of man +leads from the old to the new, from Old Iceland to New Iceland, and, +the evening after this sale, he no more thought of saying his +prayers than would a man who had taken God Almighty by the horn, +patted Him on the rump, and sold Him, and let some strange boy urge +Him on with a bit of strap. He felt that he was an evil man, a +downright ungodly man, and he asked his wife what the devil she was +sniffling about. + +In the middle of July a new settler put up a log cabin on a grassy +plot in the swamps along Icelandic River, a short distance from what +is now called Riverton in New Iceland. Torfi hung the picture of Jon +Sigurdsson on one wall, and on another his wife hung a calendar with +a picture of a girl in a wide-brimmed hat. The neighbours were +helpful to them in building their cabin, making ditches, and in +other ways. All that summer Torfi stood up to his hips in mud +digging ditches, and when the bottom was worn out of his shoes and +the soles of his feet began to get sore from the shovel, he hit on a +plan: he cut the bottom out of a tin can and stuck his toe into the +cylinder. And the first evening when he came home from the ditch- +digging. and was struggling to remove from himself that sticky clay +which is peculiar to the soil of Manitoba, he could not help saying +to his wife: It's really remarkable how filthy the mud is here in +New Iceland. + +But that summer there was an epidemic among the children, and Torfi +Torfason lost two of his four, a six-year old girl and a three-year +old boy. Their names were Jon and Maria. The neighbours helped him +to make a coffin. A clergyman was brought from a distance, and he +buried Jon and Maria, and Torfi Torfason paid what was asked. A few +not very well washed Icelanders, their old hats in their toil-worn +hands, stood over the grave and droned sadly. Torfi Torfason had +seen to it that every body would get coffee and fritters and +Christmas cakes. But when autumn came, the weather grew cold and the +snow fell, and then his wife had a new baby who filled the log cabin +with fresh crying. This was a Canadian Icelander. After that came +Indian Summer with the multi-coloured forests. + +And the Indians came down from the North by their winding trails +along the river and wanted to buy themselves mittens. They took +things very calmly and did not fuss about trifles, but bought a +single pair of mittens for a whole haunch of venison together with +the shoulder. Then they bought a scarf and socks for a whole +carcass. After that they trudged off again with their mittens and +scarfs like any other improvident wretches. + +Then came the winter, and what was to be done now? Torfi christened +his farm Riverbank. There was only one cow at Riverbank, three +children, and very little in the cupboard. The cow's name was +Mulley, in spite of the fact that she had very long horns, and she +was known as Riverbank Mulley. And she had big eyes and stared like +a foreigner at the farmer's wife and mooed every time anybody walked +past the door. + +I don't think poor Mulley will be able to feed us all this winter, +said Torfi Torfason. + +Have you thought of anything? asked Torfi Torfason's wife. + +Nothing unless to go north and fish in the lake. It's said that +those who go there often do well for themselves. + +I was thinking that if you went somewhere, I might just as well go +somewhere too for the winter. Sigridur of New Farm says there's lots +of work for washerwomen in Winnipeg in the winter. Some of the women +from this district are going south the beginning of next week. I +could pack up my old clothes on a sled like them and go too. I'd +just leave little Tota here with the youngsters. She's going on +fourteen now, Tota is. + +I could perhaps manage to send home a mess of fish once in a while, +said Torfi Torfason. + +This was an evening early in November, snow had fallen on the woods, +the swamps were frozen over. They spoke no more of their parting. +Jon Sigurdsson grinned out into the room, and the calendar girl with +the wide-brimmed hat laid her blessing upon the sleeping children. + +The tiny kerosene lamp burned in the window, but the frost flowers +bloomed on the window-panes. + +It seems to me it can get cold here, no less than at home, said +Torfi Torfason presently. + +Do you remember what fun it often was when guests came in the +evening? There would be sure to be talk about the sheep at this time +of the autumn on our farm. + +Oh, it's not much of a sheep country here in the west, said Torfi +Torfason. But there's fishing in the lake ... And if you have +decided to go south and get yourself a 'job', as they say here, then +... + +If you write to Iceland, be sure to ask about our old cow Skjalda, +how she is getting along. Our old Skjalda. Good old cow. + +Silence. + +Then Torfi Torfason's wife spoke again: + +By the way, what do you think of the cows here in America, Torfi? +Don't you think they're awfully poor milkers? Somehow or other I +feel as if I could never get fond of Mulley. It seems to me as if it +would be impossible to let yourself get fond of a foreign cow. + +Oh, that's just a notion, said Torfi Torfason, spitting through his +teeth, although he had long since given up chewing. Why shouldn't +the cows here be up and down just the same as other cows? But +there's one thing sure. I'll never get so attached to another horse +again, since I sold my Skjoni ... There was a fine fellow. + +They never referred in any other way than this to what they had +owned or what they had lost, but sat long silent, and the tiny lamp +cast a glow on the frost flowers like a garden--two poor Icelanders, +man and wife, who put out their light and go to sleep. Then begins +the great, soundless, Canadian winter night.-- + +The women started off for Winnipeg a few days later, walking through +the snow-white woods, over the frozen fields, a good three days' +journey. They tied their belongings on to sleds. Each one drew her +own sled. This was known as going washing in Winnipeg. Torfi +Torfason remained at home one night longer. + +He stood in the front yard outside of the cabin and looked after the +women as they disappeared into the woods with their sleds. The +November forests listened in the frost to the speech of these +foreign women, echoed it, without understanding it. Ahead of them, +walked an old man to lead the way. They wore Icelandic homespun +skirts, and had them tucked up at the waist. Around their heads, +they had tied Icelandic woollen shawls. They say they are such good +walkers. They intend to take lodging somewhere for the night for +their pennies. + +When the women had disappeared, Torfi Torfason looked into the cabin +where they had drunk their last drop of coffee, and the mugs were +still standing unwashed on the ledge. Tota was taking care of the +little boy, but little Imba was sitting silent beside the stove. +Mamma had gone away. Torfi Torfason patched up the door, patched up +the walls, all that day, and carried in wood. In the evening, the +little girls bring him porridge, bread, and a slice of meat. The +little boy frets and cries. And his sister, big Tota with her big +red hands, takes him up in her arms and rocks him: Little brother +must be good, little brother mustn't cry, little brother's going to +get a drop of milk from his good old Mulley.--But the boy keeps on +crying. + + My Mulley cow, moo, moo, moo + Mulley in the byre, + What great big horns she has. + What great big eyes she has! + Blessings on my Mulley cow, my good old + Mulley cow. + + Our Mamma went away, 'way, 'way, + Away went our Mamma. + Our Mamma's gone but where, where, where. + Where has she gone, our Mamma? + She'll come back after Christmas and + Christmas and Christmas, + Back with a new dress for me, a new dress, + a new dress. + + We mustn't be a-crying, a-crying, a-crying, + For surely she'll be coming, our Mamma, + our Mamma, + + For she is our good Mamma, our Mamma, + our Mamma. + God bless our Mamma and our little brother's + Mamma. + +But the boy still kept on crying. And Torfi Torfason ate his meal +like a man who is trying to eat something in a hurry at a concert. + +The day after, Torfi Torfason started off. A Canadian winter day, +blue, vast, and calm, with ravens hovering over the snow-covered +woods. He threaded his way along the trails northward to the lake, +carrying his pack on his back. This was through unsettled country, +nowhere a soul, nowhere the smoke from a cabin mile after mile, only +those ravens, flying above the white woods and alighting on the +branches as on a clay statue of Pallas. 'Nevermore.' And Torfi +Torfason thinks of his ewes and his cows and his horses and all that +he has lost. + +Then all of a sudden a wretched bitch waddled out from the woods +into his path. It was a vagrant bitch, as thin as a skeleton, and so +big in the belly that she walked with difficulty. Her dugs dragged +along the snow, for she was in pup. They came from opposite +directions, two lonely creatures, who are paddling their own canoes +in America, and meet one cold winter day out in the snow. At first +she pricked up her ears and stared at the man with brown mistrustful +eyes. Then she crouched down in the snow and began to tremble, and +he understood that she was telling him she wasn't feeling well, that +she had lost her master, that she had often been beaten, beaten, +beaten, and never in her life had enough to eat, and that nobody had +ever been kind to her, never; nobody knew, she was sure, how all +this would end for her. She was very poor, she said. + +Well, it takes all kinds to make a world, said Torfi Torfason. And +he took off his pack and sat down in the snow with his legs +stretched out in front of him. In the mouth of the pack there was +something that little Tota had scraped together for her papa on the +trip. And then the bitch began to wag her tail back and forth in the +snow and gaze with lustful eyes at the mouth of the pack. + +Well, well, poor doggie, so you have lost your master and have had +nothing to eat since God knows when, and I've just chased out my +wife, yes, yes, and she went away yesterday. Yes, yes, she's going +to try to shift for herself as a washerwoman down in Winnipeg this +winter, yes, yes, that's how it is now. Yes, yes, we packed up and +left a fairly decent living there at home and came here into this +damnable log-cabin existence, yes, yes. ... Well, try that in your +chops, you miserable cur, you can gobble that up, I tell you. Oh, +this is nothing but damned scraps and hardly fit to offer a dog, not +even a stray dog, oh, no. Well, I can't bring myself to chase you +away, poor wretch--we're all stray dogs in the eyes of the Lord in +any case, that's what we all are.... + +Time passed on and Torfi Torfason fished in the lake and lived in a +hut on some outlying island with his boss, a red-bearded man, who +made money out of his fishing fleet as well as by selling other +fishermen tobacco, liquor, and twine. The fisherman vehemently +disliked the dog and said every day that that damned bitch ought to +be killed. He had built this cabin on the island himself. It was +divided into two parts, a hall and a room. They slept in the room, +and in the hall they kept fishing tackle, food, and other supplies, +but the bitch slept on the step outside the cabin door. The +fisherman was not a generous man and gave Torfi the smaller share of +the food. He absolutely forbade giving the dog the tiniest morsel +and said that bitch ought to be killed. To this Torfi made no +answer, but always stole a bite for the dog when the fisherman had +gone to bed. Now the time came when the bitch was to pup. The bitch +pupped. And when she had finished pupping, he gave her a fine chunk +of meat, which he stole from the fisherman, for he knew that bitter +is the hunger of the woman in child-bed, and let her lie on an old +sack in the hall, directly against the will of the fisherman. Then +he lay down to sleep. + +But he had not lain long when he is aroused by someone walking about +and he cannot figure out why. But it turns out to be the fisherman, +who gets up out of bed, walks out into the hall. lights the lamp, +takes the bitch by the scruff of the neck, and throws her out in the +snow. Then he closes the outer door, puts out the light, and lies +down on his bunk. Now it is quiet for a while, until the bitch +begins to howl outside and the pups to whine piteously in the hall. +Then Torfi Torfason gets up, gropes his way out through the hall, +lets the bitch in, and she crawls at once over her pups. After that +he lies down to sleep. But he has not lain long when he is aroused +by somebody walking about and he can not figure out why. But it +turns out to be the fisherman, who gets up out of bed, walks out +into the hall, lights the lamp, takes the bitch by the scruff of her +neck for the second time and throws her out into the snow. Then he +lies down to sleep again. Again the bitch begins to howl outside and +the pups to whine, and Torfi Torfason gets up out of bed, lets the +bitch in to the pups again, and again lies down. After a little +while the fisherman gets up again, lights the lantern, and fares +forth. But even soft iron can be whetted sharp, and now Torfi +Torfason springs out of bed a third time and out into the hall after +the fisherman. + +Either you leave the dog alone or both of us will go, I and the dog, +says Torfi Torfason, and it was only a matter of seconds till he +laid hands on his master. A hard scuffle began and the cabin shook +with it, and everything fell over and broke that was in the way. +They gave each other many and heavy blows, but the fisherman was the +more warlike, until Torfi tackled low, grasped him round the waist, +and did not let up in the attack until he had the fisherman doubled +up with his chin against his knees. Then he opened the door of the +cabin and threw him out somewhere into the wide world. + +Outside, the weather was calm, the stars were shining, it was +extremely cold, and there was snow over everything. Torfi was all +black and blue and bleeding, hot and panting after the struggle. So +this was what had to happen to Torfi Torfason, renowned as a man of +peace, who had never harmed a living creature--to throw a man out of +his own house, hurl him out on the frozen ground in the middle of +the night, and all for one she-dog. Perhaps I have even killed him, +Torfi thought, but that's the end of that--that's how it had to be. +To think that I ever moved to New Iceland! + +And he sauntered out of the cabin, coatless as he stood, sauntered +out on to the icy ground and headed for the woods. And he had hardly +walked twenty feet when he had forgotten both his rage and the +fisherman and started to think about what he had owned and what he +had lost. Nobody knows what he has owned until he has lost it. He +began to think about his sheep, which were as white as snow in the +fleece, about his horses, fine old fellows, who were the only ones +who understood him and knew him and esteemed him, and about his +cows, which were led out the lanes one evening last spring and +strange boys ran after them with bits of strap. And he began to +think about Jon and Maria, whom God Almighty had taken to Himself up +in yon great, foreign heaven, which vaults over New Iceland and is +something altogether different from the heaven at home. And he saw +still in his mind those Icelandic pioneers who had stood over the +grave with their old hats in their sorely tired hands and droned. + +And he threw himself down on the frozen ground among the trees and +cried bitterly in the frosty night--this big strong man who had gone +all the way from Old Iceland to New Iceland--this proletarian who +had brought his children as a sacrifice to the hope of a much +worthier future, a more perfect life. His tears fell on the ice. + + + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Seven Icelandic Short Stories, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SEVEN ICELANDIC SHORT STORIES *** + +***** This file should be named 5603.txt or 5603.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/5/6/0/5603/ + +Produced by Nicole Apostola, Charles Franks and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team. + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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