A retelling of the Grettis saga.

It is now just thirty years since I first began to read the “Saga of Grettir the Strong” in Icelandic. At that time I had only a Danish grammar of Icelandic and an Icelandic-Danish dictionary, and I did not know a word of Danish. So I had to learn Danish in order to learn Icelandic. It was laborious work making out the Saga, and every line when I began took me some time to understand. Moreover, I had not much time at my disposal, for then I was a master in a school. Now, after I had worked a little way into the Saga, I became intensely interested in it myself, and it struck me that my boys whom I taught might like to hear about Grettir. So I tried every day to translate, after school hours, a chapter, hardly ever more at first, and sometimes not even as much as that. Then, when on half-holidays I proposed a walk to some of my scholars, they were keen to hear the story of Grettir. Well, Grettir went on for some months in this way, a fresh instalment of the tale coming every half-holiday, and it was really wonderful how interested and delighted the boys were with the story. Nor was I less so; the labour of translation which was so great at first became rapidly lighter, and I was as much interested in the adventures of the hero as were the boys. The other day I met an old pupil of mine, and almost the first thing he said to me was: “Oh! do you remember Grettir? Thirty years ago! Fancy! I am a married man and have boys of my own, and I have often tried to tell them the story which made such an impression on me, but I cannot remember all the incidents nor their order. I do wish you would write it as a story for boys. I should like to read it myself again, and my boys would love it.” “Very well,” I said, “I will do so.” Now my boy readers must understand that I have told them the story in my own words and in my own way. I went to Iceland in 1861, and went over nearly every bit of the ground made famous by the adventures of Grettir. Consequently, I am able to help out and illustrate the tale by what I actually saw. In the original book there is a great deal more than I have attempted to retell, but much has to do with the ancestors of Grettir, and there are other incidents introduced of no great importance and very confusing to the memory. So I have taken the leading points in the story, and given them...FROM THE BOOKS.

Excerpt from Grettir the Outlaw: A Story of Iceland It was laborious Work making out the Saga, and every line when I began took me some time to understand. Moreover, I hadn'ot much time at my disposal, for then I was a master in a school. About the Publisher Forgotten Books publishes hundreds of thousands of rare and classic books. Find more at www.forgottenbooks.com This book is a reproduction of an important historical work. Forgotten Books uses state-of-the-art technology to digitally reconstruct the work, preserving the original format whilst repairing imperfections present in the aged copy. In rare cases, an imperfection in the original, such as a blemish or missing page, may be replicated in our edition. We do, however, repair the vast majority of imperfections successfully; any imperfections that remain are intentionally left to preserve the state of such historical works.

It was night-drawing on to midnight-in summer, that I who write this book arrived at the littlelonely farm of Biarg, on the Middle River, in the north of Iceland. It was night, near on midnight, and yet I could hardly call it night, for the sky overhead was full of light of the clearest amethyst, andevery stock and stone was distinctly visible. Across the valley rose a rugged moor, and above itsshoulder a snow-clad mountain, turned to rosy gold by the night sun. As I stood there watching themist form on the cold river in the vale below, all at once I heard a strange sound like horns blowingfar away in the sky, and looking up, I saw a train of swans flying from west to east, bathed insunlight, their wings of silver, and their feathers as gold.I had come all the way from England to see Biarg, for there was born, about the year A.D. 997, a man called Grettir, whose history I had read, and which interested me so much that I was resolvedto see his native home, and the principal scenes where his stormy life was passed.The landscape was the same as that on which Grettir's childish eyes had looked more thaneight hundred and fifty years ago. The same outline of dreary moor, the same snowy ridge ofmountain standing above it, catching the midnight summer sun, the same mist forming over theriver; but the house was altogether different. Now there stood only a poor heap of farm-buildings, erected of turf and wood, where had once been a noble hall of wood, with carved gable-ends, surrounded by many out-hou

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