Part 3 (2/2)
Many little out-of-the-way towns.h.i.+ps in insular Scotland contain scholars who would find themselves quite at home among a set of college dons. In the course of my travels in Shetland I came to the tiny village of Scalloway, and while standing on the pier gazing alternately at the confusion of sea and island, and at the grim old ruined castle where Earl Patrick, the wicked viceroy, once resided, I heard a conversation on geology being carried on between a tall and brawny shopman and some sailors. The latter, who were on board a s.h.i.+p, shouted their replies over a few yards of water to the shopman, who was on the pier near me. I was interested in the men's talk, which had to do with the subsidence of the land at this part of the coast. One of the sailors alleged that his grandmother's cabbage-patch was now covered by the water on which his boat was floating. The big shopman, turning to me, quoted the well-known pa.s.sage of Tennyson (everyone can repeat it) of the sea flowing where the tree used to grow. ”O Earth, what changes thou hast seen.” This quotation led to a literary talk in which he remarked that of all poets he preferred Homer. ”What translator do you like best?” I enquired.
”Blackie's,” he replied, ”as being the most faithful to the original.
But I rarely read a translation, '_I prefer Homer in his own Greek._'”
This remark made by one whose fingers were glistening with herring-scales, came to me as a pleasant surprise. Later on in the day, I visited his house and saw his fine library and his splendid selection of cla.s.sical books. Not many teachers of my acquaintance have a better array of the editions of Homer. He was not one of your ignorant collectors who know only the outside of what they buy. He had read over the whole forty-eight books of the text again and again, and could discuss knotty pa.s.sages in most interesting and original fas.h.i.+on. His memory was evidently an excellent one. He informed me that most of his reading was done in the early morning, and that he found five hours'
sleep quite adequate. I have a most agreeable recollection of my interview with this self-taught scholar. I believe there are many like him in not a few outlandish nooks of Scotland,--men who read books not for any material advantages that result from their studies, but simply and solely for the intense pleasure that comes from communion with the masterminds of bygone generations.
Travel in remote districts of Britain reveals the fact that our provincials, whenever they have the chance, are a studious and thoughtful race. The isolation and monotony of life in many parts are bound to drive men to study and reflection if the means for these are at hand. Sisyphus himself had hardly less variety of occupation than some of our shepherds whose work on the hills involves long absences from social intercourse. To such men (whose life is suggestive of a repeating decimal) the access to an ell or two of good books often means mental salvation. Nothing is so melancholy as to find a countryman of brains who has never had the opportunity of cultivating his mind in such a way as to eliminate prejudice and widen the range of interest.
WHEN EDUCATION ENDS.
I am sometimes inclined to think that many of our rural clergymen, intent on s.h.i.+elding their congregations from pestilent doctrine and lat.i.tudinarism, are actuated by much the same spirit as the Sultan Omar when he set fire to the great Library at Alexandria. The Bible is no doubt the best of books, and it may be that the Confession of Faith comes next: but when these have got their share, there still remains the religious duty of educating the intellect by a wide perusal of the inspired apostles of secular literature. A Highland teacher, who presided at one of the lectures in the north, expressed himself very appositely thus on the subject of education: ”The supposition that education is over when a boy leaves school, is far too prevalent,” he said. ”Education properly considered comes to an end when the last breath of life is drawn. Edward Young in his _Night Thoughts_ says: 'Were man to live coeval with the sun, the patriarch-pupil would be learning still.' Young was undoubtedly right: some of the most forceful and penetrating lessons of life are given to us long after we have cast our text-books into some dusty corner, never to be opened more. In our early days, we cannot choose our own teachers, and there is often a good deal of force and constraint. The delightful thing about our education in mature life is that we have the selection of our own masters. There is no compulsion whatever. I am convinced that for everyone of us there is some one author whose works will act as medicine for the mind and be an unfailing tonic in all conditions of the soul.”
OBJECT OF CHAPTER.
I intend to devote this chapter to a description of a few of the speeches delivered by some of the speakers at such literary evenings in various parts of the country. After I had said my say, I sometimes invited an expression of opinion. Almost invariably someone responded to the invitation, with the object of asking a question, expressing dissent, or intimating concurrence. I do not recollect a single meeting out of hundreds that could be called monotonous. It did not in the slightest detract from the interest of a meeting that many of the remarks erred on the score of irrelevancy. The attention never flagged from first to last, and it was no uncommon thing for the proceedings to last for over three hours. In giving typical speeches delivered by crofters, lairds, tradesmen, and clergymen, I mean to indicate to the reader _the subjects that are of interest to our provincial population, their att.i.tude to questions of literature and social life, and incidentally the great amount of humour that still exists in the world_.
MUSIC.
The free and unconventional character of these meetings was perhaps seen best of all in the musical part of the proceedings, which was always arranged locally. Usually the songs were well-known Highland or Lowland airs, in many cases so exquisitely rendered that it was quite evident there had been much previous preparation. When my opinion was asked beforehand, I invariably recommended national melodies. It was always a treat to get a Gaelic song or two well rendered. At Acharacle (a little place at the far end of Lochs.h.i.+el) Mr. Rudd's piper gave some fine Highland tunes, which evoked great enthusiasm. Personally I prefer the pipes to every other instrument, for this reason, that even if I don't understand all the music, I can appreciate the scenic effects. The Acharacle piper was a fine specimen of the Celt, and his get-up was glorious:
”He screwed his pipes and gart them skirl Till roof and rafters a' did dirl.”
Sometimes the phonograph formed part of the musical programme. I do not approve of this demoralising instrument except to a very limited extent.
The cylinders usually gyrate with records of fatuous music-hall songs, unedifying coster-airs and farcical speeches. The _vox humana_ interpreting national melodies is infinitely better. What vigour and ill.u.s.trative expression the islanders can throw into their songs! I have but to shut my eyes to see the policeman of Staffin interpreting ”The Bonnie House o' Airlie.” When his big, manly voice threw out the terrible threat, ”_I'll no' leave a staunin' stane in Airlie_,” his eyes shot fire, his teeth gleamed, and his ponderous fist came thundering down on the table in front of him.
I still remember with infinite pleasure the strains of Mr. Cameron's Poolewe Choir, heard in Gairloch school-house. That energetic and complaisant conductor brought his clear-throated minstrels over to the meeting in a brake. It was a luxury to see them with their white robes and tartan sashes, while in front of them stood their genial leader clad in kilts. The Gaelic _Mod_, which is now a regular inst.i.tution in the land, is bound to do splendid service towards keeping alive the fine old music of the North. The Poolewe Choir, I am happy to say, won much distinction at the _Mods_ of both Inverness and Greenock. _There is great need for choirs, and great need, also, for innocent songs of a secular character._ Before I spoke to the people of Eigg, I requested the teacher to arrange, if possible, for a musical programme. The reply staggered me: ”No man, woman, or child in this island would for a moment even dream of singing a worldly song. We are all converted here, except a few benighted Catholics. The vain, fleeting joys of this world are as dross to us. The missionary has a modulator, and he trains the young men and women in the sol-fa so that they may sing Sankey's hymns in all the parts.” I was dreadfully floored by this answer, and could only mutter mechanically, ”_Dross_,” ”_Missionary_,'” ”_Modulator_,” in a vain effort to seize the situation. Conversion I understood and approved of, but where, in the wee island of Eigg, were the vain, fleeting joys?
There is no public-house in the place, and little temptation of any kind. The most disquieting item of all was the modulator: I have not seen one for a long time, and am not sorry, for there is nothing which so spoils the appearance of a wall nor anything so dismal as practising scales. A compromise was come to, and it was arranged that some Gaelic readings, containing a dash of religion, should take the place of songs, and give some variety to the evening's proceedings.
At some of the meetings there was perhaps an _excess of realism_.
Bottom, in ”A Midsummer Night's Dream,” wis.h.i.+ng to avoid excitement and fear among the ladies when he is acting the part of Pyramus, says: ”Write me a prologue; and let the prologue seem to say, we will do no harm with our swords, and that Pyramus is not killed indeed; and for the more better a.s.surance tell them that I, Pyramus, am not Pyramus, but Bottom the weaver: this will put them out of fear.” I thought of Bottom's extreme delicacy when I was present at a meeting in Tomatin not long ago. An outstanding feature of the evening's proceedings was the vividly dramatic rendering of the song, ”Macpherson swore a feud,” by the local postman. The latter, a big, burly man, was extremely formidable in his Highland attire. When he came to the verse dealing with the untimely decease of Macpherson, he whipped the dagger out of its sheath, flourished it as in act to kill, and terrified some of the lady visitors by his vivid suiting of the action to the word. They were as much astonished at the flash of the _skian dhu_ as the Commons were when Burke threw a dagger on the floor of the House.
A musical treat is sometimes got in the most unexpected places. I was particularly struck with a children's glee-party in Jura (a rough island known chiefly for its sterile Paps). The bairns admirably rendered Ben Jonson's delightful ditty, ”Drink to me only with thine eyes,” and the Shakespearian song, ”Where the bee sucks, there suck I.” In such islands a musical teacher is a valuable a.s.set. Let me add that all the libraries have been gratuitously supplied with fine collections of Scottish music.
At Acha, in the island of Coll, four st.u.r.dy farm-maidens, ruddy with health and robed in white, gave various English and Gaelic airs in admirable style. A divinity student sang a _coster song_ (think of this in an island of craggy sh.o.r.es, gulls, wild-swans, and curlews!), and on being encored, he gave a ”Cradle Lullaby,” and by gently swaying a chair backwards and forwards on the platform, he strove to ill.u.s.trate the movements of childhood's earliest receptacle.
A military gentleman--an ex-major--in proposing a vote of thanks, one evening, to the singers, said he had sung a song but once in his life, the occasion being his admission to the Royal Engineers, thirty years before. It was a standing law in that body that every novice should sing a song or drink a mixture consisting of whisky, ink, and cayenne pepper.
He chose the former alternative, and at the end of the first verse the Royal Engineers had all left the room in a demoralised condition!
M.P.'s.
At one of the meetings in Argyles.h.i.+re, I had the joy of speaking under the chairmans.h.i.+p of the glib and able Mr. Ainsworth, M.P. for that county. Among the votes of thanks was one for the chairman: it made a profound impression upon me, as much by its form as by its substance: ”I hope, Mr. Ainsworth, that you will take better care of your health in future (hear, hear). No, no, you are not taking care of your health at all (laughter). We all expect you to be Prime Minister, and that is the reason we would like you not to roam about so much and undermine your const.i.tution (cheers). You are always travelling. You are like the Wandering Jew. No! you are like a little bird on a bough. To-day, we see you on a tree near the door; to-morrow, we see you on a tree a hundred miles away” (great cheering). Mr. Ainsworth kindly promised that, in view of his destiny, he would cease to range around the country so indiscriminately.
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