Four Hundred Years Ago, When The Islands Were Transferred From
Norway To The British Crown, Their Language Was Norse, But That Tongue,
Although Some Of Its Words Have Been Preserved In The Present Dialect, Has
Become Extinct.
"I have heard," said an intelligent Shetlander to me,
"that there are yet, perhaps, half a dozen persons in one of our remotest
neighborhoods, who are able to speak it, but I never met with one who
could."
In returning from Lerwick to the Orkneys, we had a sample of the weather
which is often encountered in these latitudes. The wind blew a gale in the
night, and our steamer was tossed about on the waves like an egg-shell,
much to the discomfort of the passengers. We had on board a cargo of
ponies, the smallest of which were from the Shetlands, some of them not
much larger than sheep, and nearly as shaggy; the others, of larger size,
had been brought from the Faro Isles. In the morning, when the gale had
blown itself to rest, I went on deck and saw one of the Faro Island
ponies, which had given out during the night, stretched dead upon the
deck. I inquired if the body was to be committed to the deep. "It is to be
skinned first," was the answer.
We stopped at Kirkwall in the Orkneys, long enough to allow us to look at
the old cathedral of St. Magnus, built early in the twelfth century - a
venerable pile, in perfect preservation, and the finest specimen of the
architecture once called Saxon, then Norman, and lately Romanesque, that I
have ever seen. The round arch is everywhere used, except in two or three
windows of later addition. The nave is narrow, and the central groined
arches are lofty; so that an idea of vast extent is given, though the
cathedral is small, compared with the great minsters in England. The work
of completing certain parts of the building which were left unfinished, is
now going on at the expense of the government. All the old flooring, and
the pews, which made it a parish church, have been taken away, and the
original proportions and symmetry of the building are seen as they ought
to be. The general effect of the building is wonderfully grand and solemn.
On our return to Scotland, we stopped for a few hours at Wick. It was late
in the afternoon, and the fishermen, in their vessels, were going out of
the harbor to their nightly toil. Vessel after vessel, each manned with
four stout rowers, came out of the port - and after rowing a short
distance, raised their sails and steered for the open sea, till all the
waters, from the land to the horizon, were full of them. I counted them,
hundreds after hundreds, till I grew tired of the task. A sail of ten or
twelve hours brought us to Aberdeen, with its old cathedral, encumbered
by pews and wooden partitions, and its old college, the tower of which is
surmounted by a cluster of flying buttresses, formed into the resemblance
of a crown.
This letter, you perceive, is dated at Aberdeen. It was begun there, but I
have written portions of it at different times since I left that city, and
I beg that you will imagine it to be of the latest date. It is now long
enough, I fear, to tire your readers, and I therefore lay down my pen.
Letter LII.
Europe under the Bayonet.
Paris, _September_ 13, 1849.
Whoever should visit the principal countries of Europe at the present
moment, might take them for conquered provinces, held in subjection by
their victorious masters, at the point of the sword. Such was the aspect
which France presented when I came to Paris a few weeks since. The city
was then in what is called, by a convenient fiction, a state of siege;
soldiers filled the streets, were posted in every public square and at
every corner, were seen marching before the churches, the cornices of
which bore the inscription of Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity, keeping
their brethren quiet by the bayonet. I have since made a journey to
Bavaria and Switzerland, and on returning I find the siege raised, and
these demonstrations of fraternity less formal, but the show and the
menace of military force are scarcely less apparent. Those who maintain
that France is not fit for liberty, need not afflict themseves with the
idea that there is at present more liberty in France than her people know
how to enjoy.
On my journey, I found the cities along the Rhine crowded with soldiers;
the sound of the drum was heard among the hills covered with vines; women
were trundling loaded wheel-barrows, and carrying panniers like asses, to
earn the taxes which are extorted to support the men who stalk about in
uniform. I entered Heidelberg with anticipations of pleasure; they were
dashed in a moment; the city was in a state of siege, occupied by Prussian
troops which had been sent to take the part of the Grand Duke of Baden
against his people. I could hardly believe that this was the same peaceful
and friendly city which I had known in better times. Every other man in
the streets was a soldier; the beautiful walks about the old castle were
full of soldiers; in the evening they were reeling through the streets.
"This invention," said a German who had been a member of the Diet of the
Confederation lately broken up, "this invention of declaring a city, which
has unconditionally submitted, to be still in a state of siege, is but a
device to practice the most unbounded oppression. Any man who is
suspected, or feared, or disliked, or supposed not to approve of the
proceedings of the victorious party, is arrested and imprisoned at
pleasure. He may be guiltless of any offense which could be made a pretext
for condemning him, but his trial is arbitrarily postponed, and when at
last he is released, he has suffered the penalty of a long confinement,
and is taught how dangerous it is to become obnoxious to the government."
From Heidelberg, thus transformed, I was glad to take my departure as
soon as possible.
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