Burial Rites(92)

G. Johnson

SECRETARY TO HIS ROYAL MAJESTY

COPENHAGEN, DENMARK





To the District Officers of Svínavatn,

Thorkelshóll and Thverá Districts


After receiving the Right Honourable Supreme Court sentence from the 25th of June, and His Majesty the King’s most gracious Royal Letter from the 26th of August, I hereby confirm that the criminals, Fridrik Sigurdsson and Agnes Magnúsdóttir will be executed on Tuesday the 12th of January, on a little hill close to the cottage of Ránhóla, between the farms Hólabak and Sveinsstadir.

After the description provided to the District Governor from the 22nd of December, I must ask you to order the farmers in the District of Svínavatn, whom you yourself select, to attend the execution with you at this certain place on this day, at the latest time of noon. This must be done as soon as possible. According to Chapter Seven of Jónsbok, titled Mannhelgisbalk, and Chapter Two, titled Thjófnadarbalk, these farmers are obligated to attend, and if they don’t obey your directions they will be penalised. It is recommended that you warn the men who will have the most difficulties leaving their farms, or travelling, about this. Please also note that you, yourselves, must be present at this event.

If it is such that that the executions are not possible to carry out on this day due to weather, the next day possible will then be selected, and all the people who have been ordered to attend must do so, as stated above. It will be necessary for each and every one of the men to arrange food and sustenance for themselves, as it is quite possible their journey there and back will incur delays due to the weather at this time of year.


DISTRICT COMMISSIONER

Bj?rn Bl?ndal



Thursday, 7th of January 1830


Most respected and deeply beloved friend and brother (B. Bl?ndal).


For what you have done for me, for our many meetings and for your instruction and delivery this morning, I thank you with love and passion, and confirm here that this morning I will meet the people in Vídidalur and warn them about being early enough on Tuesday next. I have told Sigrídur about the conditions of her pardon, and she is praying to God and thanking the King for her kind treatment. Sorry about the hastiness, God be with you and yours, wishing you all well in this new beginning year, as with all coming time, both in this life and in the next one. So say I, your truthful, loving friend,


Br. P. Pétursson of Midhóp





The Icelandic Burial Hymn


I think upon my Saviour,

I trust His power to keep,

His mighty arm enfolds me

Awaking and in sleep.

Christ is my rock, my courage;

Christ is my soul’s true life;

And Christ (my still heart knows it)

Will bear me through the strife.


Thus in Christ’s name I’m living;

Thus in Christ’s name I’ll die;

I’ll fear not though life’s vigour,

From Death’s cold shadow fly.

O Grave, where is thy triumph?

O Death, where is thy sting?

‘Come when thou wilt, and welcome!’

Secure in Christ I sing.





ON THE SIXTH DAY OF January, a sharp rapping on the cottage door woke Tóti. He opened one eye and saw the weak light in the room: he had slept late. The knocking continued. Reluctantly, he dragged his stockinged feet to the floor and got out of bed, wrapping his blankets about him to ward off the sharp bite of cold. His legs trembled, he walked to the front door, one hand against the wall to steady himself.

The visitor was a messenger from Hvammur, blowing on his hands and stamping his boots in the frigid morning air. He nodded and handed Tóti a small folded letter. It was marked with the red seal of Bl?ndal, looking like a drop of blood against the pale paper.

‘Assistant Reverend Thorvardur Jónsson?’

‘Yes.’

The man’s nose was pink from cold. ‘Sorry about the delay. The weather has been so bad, I haven’t been able to come any sooner.’

Tóti wearily invited the man in for a cup of coffee, but the servant looked out towards the northern pass anxiously. ‘If you don’t mind, Reverend, I’ll be on my way again. There’s more snow coming and I don’t have a mind to get caught in it.’

Tóti heaved the door to and staggered into the kitchen to stir up the coals. Where was his father? He set a kettle of water upon the hearth to bring to the boil, and slowly dragged a stool over to the fire. After the dizziness had passed, he broke the seal and opened the letter.

Tóti read the letter three times, then let it rest on his knee as he stared at the fire. It could not be happening. Not like this. Not with so much unsaid and undone, and him not even by her side. He suddenly rose, the blankets slipping off his shoulders, and walked unsteadily into the badstofa. He was opening his trunk, pulling out clothes and dressing, and stuffing a few more into a sack, when his father came in to the croft.

‘Tóti? What has happened? Why are you dressing? You’re not yet recovered.’

Tóti let the lid of his trunk slam shut and shook his head. ‘It’s Agnes. She is to be killed in six days’ time. I only received the letter now.’ He fell onto his bed and tried to force his foot into a boot.