Iceland's Bell by Halldór Laxness

Author:Halldór Laxness
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: Travel, Classics, Fiction
ISBN: 9780307426314
Publisher: Vintage
Published: 1943-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

9

The next day Arnas Arnæus went around midday to visit the bishop’s wife in her bower. Sitting there with her was her sister Snæfríður. Both were engaged in needlework and the sun shone in upon them this autumn day.

He greeted them companionably and begged that they excuse his intrusion, but he owed Madam Jórunn an apology for having instigated such frivolous table-chatter the previous evening; his imprudent citation of Luther’s words had most likely given offense to that illustrious man their friend Reverend Sigurður, but he did not fully realize it until his puerile repartee, directed against the respectable servant of God, had excited that pert boy his secretary. He said that cosmopolitans were slow to reach a level of maturity sufficient to enable them to speak properly to those who hold the world in contempt.

The bishop’s wife accepted the assessor’s apology good-naturedly and said that it would certainly be something new to hear kings’ courtiers in Iceland describe themselves as lacking in courtesy, but as far as the baccalaureus was concerned, it had simply been a case of youth’s natural disdain for those who scorn the world—Reverend Sigurður had encountered such disdain before and understood it. Snæfríður, on the other hand, answered that it could hardly come as any surprise to champions of the faith like Reverend Sigurður, who would readily order men’s tongues pulled out of their mouths and cut off, if these weapons struck out at them while they were still attached to their owners.

The assessor said that he was of course quite familiar with Reverend Sigurður’s proposals, reiterated at ecumenical councils and the Alþingi and founded on his brimfully learned interpretations of Scripture and abstruse articles of law, that heretics should be tortured and sorcerers burned, but, he said, the archpriest did not deserve to be treated any less courteously by others on account of this.

Arnæus was still standing in the middle of the room, but now the bishop’s wife bade him humbly honor two helpless females by remaining in their company for a short time.

“. . . and let’s stop talking about our friend the honest inquisitor and erudite tongue-cutter Reverend Sigurður; instead tell us some trifle about the realms of the world”—it was Snæfríður who spoke, casually and insuppressibly, her eyes radiant, a completely different woman than the one to whom they had raised their glasses last evening in the Grand Salon.

He said that although he was actually quite pressed for time, since people who had traveled long distances to meet him were waiting downstairs, he could not conceivably refuse such a noble invitation, and he accepted the easy-chair offered to him by the mistress of the house. After he was seated Snæfríður stood up and placed a footstool at his feet.

“Now then, I am of course unfamiliar with those delightful realms of the world which cause elegant ladies to feel homesick, but from those poor countries with which I am acquainted you may choose as you like,” he said, and he produced little golden snuffboxes and handed them to the women.

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