And Mingling With His Memory Would
Rise The Pale Face Of Thora, - Not The Little Lady Of
The Coffee And Buscuits We Had Just Left, But That Other
Thora, So Tender And True, Who Turned Back King Olaf's
Hell-Hounds From The Hiding-Place Of The Great Jarl Of
Lade.
In order that you may understand why the forlorn barrack
we had just left, and its solitary inmates, should
Have
set me thinking of the men and women "of a thousand
summers back," it is necessary I should tell you a little
about this same Snorro Sturleson, whose memory so haunted
me.
Colonized as Iceland had been, - not, as is generally the
case, when a new land is brought into occupation, by the
poverty-stricken dregs of a redundant population, nor by
a gang of outcasts and ruffians, expelled from the bosom
of a society which they contaminated, - but by men who in
their own land had been both rich and noble, - with
possessions to be taxed, and a spirit too haughty to
endure taxation, - already acquainted with whatever of
refinement and learning the age they lived in was capable
of supplying, it is not surprising that we should find
its inhabitants, even from the first infancy of the
republic, endowed with an amount of intellectual energy
hardly to be expected in so secluded a community.
Perhaps it was this very seclusion which stimulated into
almost miraculous exuberance the mental powers already
innate in the people. Undistracted during several successive
centuries by the bloody wars, and still more bloody
political convulsions, which for too long a period rendered
the sword of the warrior so much more important to European
society than the pen of the scholar, the Icelandic
settlers, devoting the long leisure of their winter nights
to intellectual occupations, became the first of any
European nation to create for themselves a native
literature.
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