There Is Quaint Humour, And Sometimes Wild Humour, On The Middle
Island, But Never This Half-Sensual Ecstasy Of Laughter.
Perhaps a
man must have a sense of intimate misery, not known there, before he
can set himself to jeer and mock at the world.
These strange men
with receding foreheads, high cheekbones, and ungovernable eyes seem
to represent some old type found on these few acres at the extreme
border of Europe, where it is only in wild jests and laughter that
they can express their loneliness and desolation.
The mode of reciting ballads in this island is singularly harsh. I
fell in with a curious man to-day beyond the east village, and we
wandered out on the rocks towards the sea. A wintry shower came on
while we were together, and we crouched down in the bracken, under a
loose wall. When we had gone through the usual topics he asked me if
I was fond of songs, and began singing to show what he could do.
The music was much like what I have heard before on the islands - a
monotonous chant with pauses on the high and low notes to mark the
rhythm; but the harsh nasal tone in which he sang was almost
intolerable. His performance reminded me in general effect of a
chant I once heard from a party of Orientals I was travelling with
in a third-class carriage from Paris to Dieppe, but the islander ran
his voice over a much wider range.
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