A Norseman's Views of Britain and the British

Front matter

A NORSEMAN'S VIEWS

OF

BRITAIN AND THE BRITISH.

Letter I

BRITAIN AND THE BRITISH.

LETTER I.

Edinburgh, 2d February 1863.

Dear Sir,—I came to Britain, as you are aware, with the fixed resolution of examining and studying the institutions of this great commercial land, and the manners, habits, and pursuits of its people. The twelve months which have now nearly elapsed since my arrival, I cannot accuse myself of having entirely misspent. I have wandered far, seen much, and learned something. I have been a dweller in ancient cities and rural villages; inspected iron-works, coal-pits, dockyards, and agricultural operations. I have played the pedestrian for hundreds of miles, backwards and forwards, through the lonely glens and sheep-farms of the Scottish highlands. I have witnessed military displays on Wimbledon Common, and beneath the Crags of Arthur's Seat. I have listened to debates in the Houses of Parliament, and spent weeks in the Great Exhibition. I have even caught a distant glimpse of a foxhunt. Out of all this, I have gleaned and garnered up some facts and reflections which I shall lay before you from time to time. The interest you take in matters of this sort goes far to satisfy me that you will not regard the perusal of my somewhat lengthy epistles altogether in the light of an infliction.

It may appear to you curious that, landing as I did on a foreign shore an utter stranger, I should refrain from using my letters of introduction. Such, however, is the case. I have them still in goodly numbers occupying an honourable place in my writing-desk. And why? Because it is an opinion I hold, that the formal visits, invitations of ceremony, and parties of pleasure, which are the usual results of letters of introduction, teach a man nothing. They are in all nations the same, their character being generally 'much ado about nothing.' They contain, moreover, this element of evil, that they may very easily engender prejudices and prepossessions in the mind of the stranger. I therefore prefer to remain unknown, and from my obscurity study real life. Some of my countrymen, however, at the Great Exhibition, were of a decidedly different frame of mind; and their perseverance in importuning our Secretary of Legation, our Consul, and Commissioner, for tickets of invitations to parties and festivals, made me oftentimes feel pity for these pestered officials, and ashamed for their persecutors. I have no prejudices against parties and festivals, but having seen and tasted much of them in my day, I can afford to do without them. Of course, if a man be anxious to push himself forward in the world, or if he be on the outlook for a rich wife, the case becomes very materially altered. Although how such motives could affect my countrymen attracted to London by the Great Exhibition, I am at a loss to discover.

One evening I followed a different method, and put myself under the guidance of a London detective, whose acquaintance I had purposely made. Among the indescribable haunts of misery and crime, I on that night learned more of modern civilization than was possible in the suffocating crowd of the Guild- hall festival, though in neither society do I think that much is to be got worth the keeping. Extremes are always unsound in the body politic as well as in theories of art, and they always correspond. Given the one, you can easily find the other; 'tis but to solve the equation. For every rich man, there are hundreds, or even thousands of destitutes, just in proportion to the rich man's wealth. But enough of such truisms.

To write much about the Exhibition would be here out of place. I will only make a remark concerning this word Exhibition. The English language has the Gothic word for exhibition. 'Show' is just the same as our sjaa,' German schau,' Danish skue.' The pronunciation of this word does not differ so much in these languages as the spelling, and we and the English give it quite the same sound. But this excellent native word is not, it would seem, fine enough for shows of art and industry. It is, however, thought good enough for shows of pigs and dogs, 'while the Latin word exhibition must take its place on occasions of high festival. We thus see the middle ages at work even in the languages of the present day. The native tongues are thrown to the irrational: Latin is reserved for the rational creation. It is not then to be wondered at if these tongues become corrupt, and in a manner half extinct; and we really find them so, in proportion as the civilization of the middle ages prevails more or less in this or in that land or district. Indeed, many people are of opinion that civilization has not yet got the length of some districts where the good old tongues are spoken in comparative purity. It is much to be regretted that a portion of the veneration which we see bestowed upon 'old families,' is not given to the old languages.

No doubt a good breed or race has always played an portant part in the history of mankind. The kings of the different tribes of Goths always claimed to be descendants of Odin. It was the same in Greece with Hercules, and it is so even now in England with the Conqueror. This taste for pedigree, ancient and modern, is the same thing couched in other words. It is a question of race. It matters little whether Odin was the son of a god or not. To descend from him was not the less to be of a good breed, which was accordingly reckoned as something sublime and aweinspiring. There mingles a good deal of this feeling in the present rage for being of 'good family.' People may not go quite the length of calling a good family something godlike, but there is, at all events, the haze of a halo around it.

In England, as I intend shewing more clearly further on, there yet exists, more strongly perhaps than in any other country, a pious awe for these old breeds. It is very natural and logical, therefore, that England, among the European countries, should be at the head of a scheme for the regeneration of our domestic animals. You must not misunderstand me. I value this step as much as any man. Why, I have even written poems for cattle shows, and so provoked a periodical to declare that my muse would inevitably descend to write odes on manure. It is, indeed, this very predilection of mine for such things which induces me to treat them in a rational manner, and to search for the logical link between them and this prominent idea of breed in the history of mankind. I am seeking for reason and coherence, and, without going so far as some learned men in their disputes about the missing link between the gorilla and the man, I go pretty far. The Yankees, who carry European principles a good length, and, of course, English ones further still, have had even their shows of children, quite in the style of cattle shows. There were prize-judges and inspections, just as of the lower animals. These were classical, and perfectly in the spirit of the Greeks of old, who said, 'We improve the breeds of lower animals, and consequently we ought to do so with the higher ones; and most of all with the human race, which stands on the highest step of the ladder of creation.' To gratify my predilections for cattle shows, I visited the great one at Battersea, and I really assure you that one consequence of my visit has been a disgust for ham. I can never forget the monstrous pigs there exhibited. The animals lose, by crossings and breedings, whatever natural grace they possess. But insulted nature revenges herself; for a great number of the poor creatures are, I am told, choked by feeding, and diseases very often prevail. In spite of my realistic tendencies, therefore, I can never believe in this realm of flesh, and should it ever succeed, I could not enjoy it. Englishmen may be different.

It struck me as curious that you seldom saw, among the visitors to these monstrosities, radiant faces, betokening either self-ridicule, or indeed anything to shew that they were above this realm of flesh. It was positively dreadful to watch the grave, business-like manner in which people waited upon the animals, and went along files of manufactured flesh. Give them their due, they were certainly clever at their business; but I tried in vain to find out something spiritual in their features and behaviour.

The English give very high-sounding names to these fleshy monsters. It seems, indeed, to be the fate of great men to live after their death in the names given to horses, bulls, pigs, and dogs. Even during a man's life- time, his name may be bestowed upon a horse, but you will seldom find any one admitted among dogs till long after death. Cæsar is a very common name for dogs, but Napoleon has not as yet got further than horses. When more hallowed by time, he will certainly rank with dogs. Balder, our old god of innocence and light, is now a dog. Even I myself, not to speak vainly, am already a horse, and with so good a beginning, I may perhaps entertain the bright hope of becoming in time a dog.

The International Exhibition was a show of the world in every sense of the word. It was said of H. Grotius, that his learning could not be written though the firmament were paper and the ocean ink. This saying would certainly be more applicable to the Great Exhibition, which literally beggared all description. I have seen water under hydraulic pressure oozing through thick iron tubes. Impressions something akin to what I then experienced I often felt when sitting under the 'dome,' and gazing on this 'greatest of great sights.' All individuality disappeared. Even the Icelander, Thorvaldsen, with his Mercury before the Danish court, sank into insignificance. So likewise did even Shakespeare, as he sat admiring, as it were, the wealth of England. The whole of mankind appeared in its right place as a single individual. What did it matter that weapons of war and engines of destruction were there to be seen as well? Side by side with them were balsams and remedies to heal all the wounds they inflict. The English press put forth many clever articles concerning the Exhibition; but, when it turned out that the enterprise did not sufficiently pay, most of the newspapers changed their tone, and rated it soundly, just as the Russians do with Saint Nicholas when he will not grant their prayers.

It was very expressive to call this Exhibition 'the World's Fair.' The intention of making money was obvious both in the managers and the exhibitors. There was a jealousy among the latter, which plainly shewed that it was neither more nor less than a market; and some of them who did not get prizes quarrelled and abused the jurors, and on some occasions used even violence. Some exhibitors characteristically enough made out in money the disadvantage they incurred by not getting a prize for their wares. This struck the public mind, and the jurors were execrated. And yet people dream that such exhibitions are the real promoters of peace! They are rivalry, and must as such promote war. Envy and mercantile opposition displayed on so great a scale are not likely to promote peace, whatever else they do. They will drive individuals and nations to loggerheads. They have done so since the creation of mankind. Appropriately enough, then, the models of guns and targets were to be found in the midst of all these works of peace, as they were called. It was only further necessary that specimens of warriors from every land should have been exhibited at the same time, because, as it always has been, it will surely be, that the strongest arm and the stoutest heart will gain the battle in spite of every improvement in the science of war. We need not try to avert it, people will end as they began, and fight tooth and nail. These improvements in the science of war can reasonably lead to nothing else. People, however, may have recourse to the knife instead. It is really a solace to think that sometimes blood is shed to wash away for a time the dirty spots contracted by these 'works of peace,' and that we sometimes see men testing the temper and edge of their weapons, instead of hearing them perpetually asking, 'Do you think it will pay?'—I am, yours very truly,

Letter II

LETTER II

Edinburgh, 9th February 1868.

Sir,—It is a common remark that all people are good when we know them, and that we condemn them because we don't know them. There is undoubtedly some truth in this, as in most popular sayings. I will, however, be a little more concrete, and say, that the great bulk of the people of every nation is good, in the same way as the majority is healthy and well made, and the sick and deformed only exceptions. There is in the world but a percentage of sin and sickness—about as great as the average rate of interest on money. When the moral and physical interest is usurious, social order becomes endangered—bankruptcy is imminent.

Be this as it may, the great body of most nations is kind and good, at all events I have found it so in my wanderings, and Britain is no exception to this cheering experience. Let me, however, bring some facts under your notice, they will better explain my meaning.

When I landed near London Bridge, I addressed a man who had come to meet some acquaintance that he expected to arrive by our steamer from the Continent. I asked him for some hints as to lodging and the like, and he acted as a most excellent friend. He took such a deal of trouble with me during the whole of my stay in London, that I really got ashamed of all the kindness he shewed me. He was a Londoner by birth, and a character such as 'Bob,' in Jerrold's 'Family Disgrace.' He was buoyant and sanguine, and when he met with disappointment in one business, he became inexhaustible in new schemes. He was just about starting a company, and I went with him to some merchants in the city, and to a chemist to whom he shewed his specimens. They all received him kindly, and with the most unsuspecting confidence. No doubt men of business must often run some risk in order to do business, and the prosperity of English merchants sufficiently proves that this mode of procedure is the right one. Too great wariness leads to nothing. It is deeply rooted in our nature to gamble; and I must confess that I like better the English and American passion for companies, horse-racing, and the other amenities of sporting life, than the continental lotteries and gambling-houses. It is the same thing in another, and, if you please, in a national shape. I am, of course, speaking here of unsound companies and speculations, into the machinery of which, I on this occasion got some glimpses. I saw false statements and attestations, from authorities in different sciences and trades. My friend was of course a very honest man, and often complained of the sins of the world. I tried to speak words of comfort, and shewed him the redeeming side of such businesses as he was engaged upon. The fact is, it does no good to preach sermons against such things for many of these business men do not believe in a hell, or if they do, they think it is time enough to reform when they have grown rich and respectable. The best way, therefore, is to treat them as an artist treats his model, or a medical man a corpse. Poor 'Bob!' did not seem to derive much comfort from such consolation, more particularly as he got disappointed in his schemes just by these very sins. But his happy temperament made him soon forget all his disappointments. I one day suggested to him that he should leave London, and go among the Yankees. He stared me full in the face, 'I have been there,' he replied, 'but London is a paradise compared with New York.'

In one of the hotels where I used to dine, I one day made an overture of conversation to a gentleman with a good-humoured face, who sat opposite me. I found him affable, and not a little anxious to learn from me what my impressions of England were. At our parting he strongly advised me not to miss the review at Wimbledon. Finding myself at leisure, I followed his advice. Among the crowds hurrying forward with the same object as myself, it was with real pleasure I again recognised my hotel friend. But on arriving at the ground I found the barrier was impassable, except on payment of a sum which I had not taken into account when reckoning my expenses, and which I was consequently without. My companion saw my embarrassment, and, presenting me with a ticket, bade me, in a jovial tone, to come along. I expressed my astonishment at this act of generosity, bestowed, as it was, upon a foreign stranger, regarding whom he knew nothing. 'All right,' said he, in reply, and thrusting his arm into mine, dragged me within the barrier. I record this fact, one out of many, as an example of the kind open-heartedness of the British people. I have read of such things, but was scarcely prepared to experience them in my own person.

I know not whether my companion meant it as an antithesis or not, but while we were admiring the splendid appearance of the troops, and the regularity and precision of their movements, he suddenly turned upon me and asked, if I had ever heard in my country the saying of Napoleon, 'That the English were a nation of shopkeepers?' I told him that I had, and further added, that I thought Dickens' amendment on the imperial remark, 'That the English were a nation of gamekeepers,' had as much justice in it as its original. Sweeping generalities, when applied to nations, are always absurd. It is quite natural that Britain should be chiefly a trading country, and leave war to France. 'Tis a division of labour at once natural and advantageous. The geographical positions of the two countries, and the different temperaments of their inhabitants, demand an arrangement of this nature; and the world at large, and they themselves, are all the better for it. France withal plays the sacrificing part in the drama. Her wars do not bring her the wealth which commerce brings to Britain. But to sneer at such a constitution of things is certainly out of place.

I got tired of London, its bustle and its din; and in order to make the change as complete as possible, I betook myself to the far-off valley of Glencoe. It is believed that Ossian was born and brought up in this dale. If Ossian be more than a myth, and his poems anything but ballads composed and improved by each succeeding generation, like the songs of our thelemorkish folk, Glencoe would be a cradle worthy such a poet as Ossian, or rather Ossian would be worthy such a birthplace as Glencoe. It is indeed set down as the most romantic dale in the Scottish Highlands. It much resembles, on a small scale, the Vestfiordale, and many of our Norse dales. The very same features and formations of valleys and mountains present themselves to you, and were it not its treeless aspect, you might, standing there, dream that you were at home. I often did so, and almost at the sea level I walked about with the impression that I was among my native hills some three thousand feet above it. Some brushwood appeared to indicate the near neighbourhood of the sea, but the prevailing nakedness told a different tale, and so I dreamed on, in spite even of the softer outlines which told me that the mountains, at a later period, had been washed by the waves. It is, indeed, a beautiful country, and many a dale and mountain-range suggested the idea of a petrified surf. There, you could imagine, were waves and whirlpools, and here windings and topping peaks. The terra firma is everywhere, however, an image of the sea, and I always feel as if I were floating on the swell of the waters, sometimes borne gently along, as in the south of England, at other times tossed wildly about, as in the Scottish Highlands.

There is a small river in Glencoe called Cona, and Ossian was called 'The sweet voice of Cona.' It is an admirable expression borrowed from nature, as all real poetical expressions are. I often sauntered along this river listening to its murmur. It was like the voice that had sounded in my childish ears, and quick as thought I was the child and shepherd-boy again; but alleviated of the load that weighs on the melancholy mind of advanced boyhood. Life becomes lighter as we draw nearer and nearer the top of the mountain, whose steep ascent made our youthful shoulders stoop, and we die, like Moses, on the very summit. Life, in general, is thus; and they are only fools and outcasts who sigh again for childhood.

I was one day strolling along Cona, in the company of a German painter. Suddenly, under our feet, in a deep crevice, we heard the bleating of a poor lamb that had fallen, and could not get up. We tried our best to rescue it, but in vain. We called to a shepherd on the hills for assistance, but neither he nor his dog could get at it. At last I discovered a slope, down which I crept, and plunged into the stream. The painter and the shepherd followed, and we rescued the poor lamb, its only injury being a bleeding nose. I am satisfied that England was not half so well contented, as I was then, when she saved Turkey. We returned in a dripping state to our kind host and hostess. To ward against the evil effects of cold on our- selves, and to celebrate properly the rescue of the lamb, we sat down to some very superior toddy. I insisted upon pledging the poor lamb in the first bumper. Our host acted as chairman, and proposed a vote of thanks to me, as the main deliverer of the lamb, and I thanked them in humble terms for the high honour they had done me. A better or a kinder-hearted people you will meet nowhere, and yet many of them are hunted from their native homes like foxes. But regarding such proceedings and the characteristic saying of one of these human hunters, 'Tenantry will not pay, let me have sheep,' I will say more in a future letter. No doubt the virtues of sheep are many. They furnish wool for the manufacturers, and mutton for the wealthy. Yet even in the rich agricultural counties a very small portion of the people can afford to eat mutton. They live truly like beasts of burden. Animal food they seldom or never taste.

The name of the shepherd whom I have mentioned was Macdonald, a descendant of the old Macdonalds of Glencoe. He now tended sheep on the very ground where his forefathers were murdered, about the beginning of the last century, in the 'Glencoe massacre,' which, by the way, bids fair to 'damn to everlasting fame' the name of William of Orange. This Macdonald was a strong, good-looking youth. What a noble race these Caledonians are! It was regiments of them that stood like a wall against the Imperial Guard at Waterloo. It is all very well to have sheep instead of people in these Highland nurseries for soldiers, but sheep will not repel invasion, or fight England's battles. Perhaps the consumers of mutton in the large cities, tradesmen, operatives, and artists, will fight well. This remains to be seen. England thinks so, but history tells a different tale. Old history, however, may not be trustworthy on this point. Let us then wait for the new one. When men now-a-days are shooting and feeding sheep where the Caledonians lived in days of old, they no doubt think that great progress has been effected. Nous verrons.

The Highlands is a graveyard, and the passing bell seemed ringing in my ears as I saw parish on parish laid out for sheep. How very picturesque! exclaimed some Londoners, as their carriage bowled along through this wilderness. Picturesque! certainly. Come hither, my artist friend, when you design a sketch from Faust, throw me in those Scottish Highlands as a scene for Mephistophiles to gloat over pleasantly. That worthy cursed mankind for being so tenacious of life, and he would exult to see human beings making way for sheep, and grouse, and deer. Some day he may probably see the greater part of Europe in this condition. The Highlands are but the beginning of the end. It is the beginning of a higher civilisation, we are told; but independent people do not like this civilisation. They emigrate to America and Australia, where they can get a spot of ground to cultivate for themselves, leaving Europe with its immense cities, and sheep, and sporting landlords, to become incentives to the derisive smile of Mephistophiles.

Letter III

LETTER III.

Edinburgh, 16th February 1863.

Sir—It is a theory inculcated by ethnographers that the superiority of the British people is due to the cross mixture of races from which it has sprung. Celts, Romans, and different tribes of Goths, have been mingled together, and an admirable compound is the result. My limited knowledge of the workings of nature in this way will not allow me to enter upon such a subject. I can however say, from my own experience, that I have felt unusually well here in Britain. I have grown stronger, and even my rather elderly face has, I think, lost some of its wrinkles. Perhaps the 'roast beef of old England,' renowned in song, and the adulteration of brandy and tobacco, which prevents me over indulging in these luxuries, can account for this well-being. But I prefer to attribute it to the island air, and the delightful temperature. The climate is invigorating, and even the smoke and coal dust are healthy.

Yes, I feel very well here in Britain, be the true reason for this what it may. And from my own case, I infer the healthy state of the inhabitants. The British are really a good race. You cannot be long among them before you see that. In the south of England you can clearly trace the prevalent infusion of Roman blood, but as you go northwards you discover more and more of the Gothic, till you come to Yorkshire, and Scotland, where the relationship to the Scandinavian tribes is obvious. In Scottish cities, more particularly in Edinburgh, I can almost fancy that I am walking in our Norse towns. The Scots are, in general, heavier than the English, and in battle-line they must press on more irresistibly, by the mere weight of body. The Scottish militia is one of the finest I ever saw. It is really hard to exchange such men for sheep! But this blessed mutton for the immense cities, and the wool for the manufacturers, are redeeming considerations to so painful a policy. The Caledonians, with a few exceptions in the middle Highlands, appear to have mingled with the Scandinavian tribes around the sea coast, and in the adja- cent dales. The islands, and some counties, such as Caithness (Katanes), are purely Norse.

A schoolmaster in the western Highlands told me that his forefathers came from Norway; 'because you see,' said he in proof, 'I am red haired.' But if red hair came from Norway, it has surely improved very much since the time of old Thor, because it is generally to be seen here softened down almost to silk, while the red hair of our battle-god stood up like bristles. But Thor has such a family likeness to Jupiter, that his red hair probably indicated something akin to thunderbolts. Perhaps also this softening down of the red hair, may only indicate that people are no longer so warlike as they were. The features of the Caledonians are, however, easily traceable among many of the Scottish people. Walter Scott is a good instance of this. His statue in Princes Street, in Edinburgh, with the head something like a sugar-loaf, indicates a Caledonian. I saw numbers of such heads in the Highlands, and the many names in 'Mac,' tell also of Caledonian origin. Brave fellows all, and not easily beaten, even by the Roman legions.

It would almost seem as if the Caledonians and the Norsemen had divided the Highlands between them, calling the mountains by a Celtic name 'Ben,' and the waters by a Norse name 'Loch,' evidently our log-water. These names would very well agree with the original sway of either people, if this explanation could be relied upon. But I am not so deeply read even in the old Gothic languages, except, perhaps in old Norse, that I venture to set such things down as certain. I shall not therefore bother you with a long enumeration of such names. I will only mention the common Scottish name, a 'firth,' or 'frith.' This is clearly our 'fiord,' the old genitive of which is fiardar,' nom. plural firdir.' The ending 'ir' being thrown away, and the old 'ð,' the same as the English 'th,' the old English pronunciation of which is partly retained in Denmark, the identity of the two words is obvious. It will be an interesting task for modern Gothic philologists to make up such names on which I stumbled at every step in England, but more plentifully far in Scotland.