Εικόνες σελίδας
PDF
Ηλεκτρ. έκδοση

the "old sea captain who dwelt in Heli- Heligoland "waxed fat and kicked;" but

goland :"

Hearty and hale was Othère,
His cheek had the color of oak,
With a kind of laugh in his speech
Like the sea-tide on a beach

With no conception of the caste-idea, the Heligolanders treat comrade and stranger upon a free and equal footing, and believe in the principle as heartily as did the framers of our Declaration of Independence. The Heligolander's love of country is strong. Its customs and legends are dear to his heart. To him no tropic verdure is so fair as the scraggy trees reared in great tribulation on Heligoland. He loves the bare, red rock with a mother's love. No tints compare with the colors of the Heligolandish flag. Even the English government has graciously respected the sentiment of patriotism by employing them on postage-stamps; and local enterprise has produced cards bearing a tiny view of the tiny island, in green and red and white, which only lack a stamp to make them legitimate postal-cards.

There are many theories concerning the derivation of the word Heligoland. The fact that it was a place of pilgrimage to the temple of the goddess Hertha, gives color to the belief that it was originally named Holy Island, for that reason. Professor Hallier traces it directly to its etymology, from Hallig-a sand-island, and Lunn, meaning the land, or rock, thus comprehending both Düne and rock, before their separation. However interesting such speculation may be, we only know that heathenism dominated Heligoland in the reign of King Radbod, the Dane, when St. Willibrod, "the Apostle to the Frisians," began to preach Christianity there. This was in the seventh century; and before and after that it was fought for by sea-rovers, changing hands very often. Sometimes it belonged to Denmark, oftener it was in pawn to the city of Hamburg for the debts of Schleswig or Holstein.

In the fifteenth century, owing to the value of its fisheries, and the influence of its powerful Hanseatic allies, the island acquired a fictitious political importance. As long as the herring stayed

the little fish that had been its making became its undoing. The legend goes that one unhappy spring, according to their custom, the Heligolanders had begun "the procession of the Cross around the island, to insure a successful fishing season, when the fish appeared, and the procession was impiously abandoned; so for penalty the herring left the coast.

For the next two hundred years Heligoland was a shuttlecock between its old masters. In 1807 it happened to belong to Denmark; and as she took the part of France in the Napoleonic war, England seized it as lawful prey. The island was lighted, fortified, and garrisoned. It soon became one vast storehouse for English goods, and for seven years was a half-way house where smugglers carried on a thriving business. In the "Treaty of Peace," however, the commercial prosperity of Heligoland received a death-blow. Once more traders turned their backs upon it. The garrison was recalled, and fortifications dismantled. The people, who had hitherto been too busy to resent the lack of interest manifested by foreign governors unable even to speak the Frisian tongue, now refused to obey laws which they had no hand in making, and which the new government had not the means to enforce. It was natural that after treading such a royal road to wealth, the islanders found their old pursuits irksome; besides, many of their fishing-smacks were gone; so they turned their attention to wrecking. It is said that within the memory of the "oldest inhabitant," a pastor of the little church has been heard to pray that the wind might strew the coast with wrecks, which, by euphemism, were called "Gifts of the Sea."

Unhappy as was this state of affairs, there seemed to be no remedy until a new constitution placed Heligoland on the footing with any other British colony, amenable to a governor and the counsellors whom he chose to appoint. Indeed, the governor has been practically an absolute monarch here, making his own laws, and with his single voice able to annul any act of either council. In the present emergency Sir Henry Maxse proved himself equal to the situation.

Despite opposition, many changes were made and reforms instituted. Lighthouses, both on the island and at the mouth of the Elbe, made navigation less perilous, and the introduction of the life-saving service still further diminished the power to profit by the places where danger lurked. So, by degrees, the trade of wrecking was abandoned.

It was at this crisis that the bathing began to grow in popularity. It is curious to notice that every recurrence of prosperity in this small island has been the result of the development of its own natural resources. The fisheries, the geographical advantage of its position, and finally, its peculiar superiority as a watering-place, have been providentially employed to avert the misfortunes which have threatened its ruin.

The latest English governor, His Excellency Arthur C. G. Barkly, Esq., has had the reputation of being friendly, honest, and conciliatory. The position is not, however, one to be coveted, receiving but half-hearted allegiance from a reluctant people, in a country cut off from the outside world for nine months in the year; for in winter, Heligoland is only accessible when the weather is propitious, twice a week. There are no English residents; few go there even in summer. To an American, it sounded oddly to hear a white-haired English tourist exclaim: "It has been the dream of my life to see Heligoland." We could not understand why he had so long put off the realization of his dream, when to us who had come so far the island seemed very near its foster-mother.

The "Court" language, in which debates in council are carried on, is Heligolandish-Frisian. Every North Sea island has its own peculiar variation of the Frisian dialect, which in this case has also been modified by the English and German languages, and bears a similarity to both.

There were three ancient festivals common to all the Frisian islands-that of Weda, which marked the end of winter and the beginning of the fishing season; of Thor, the god of the harvest; and of Yule, or the new year, sacred to the lovers' goddess, Freia, which was and still is the time for marrying.

December 6th is the festival of St. Nicholas, the patron saint of fishermen ; when presents are universally exchanged among the children.

Once every summer the rocky coast of Heligoland is illuminated. Preceded by the band, and those in authority, the entire available population make the circuit in a procession of open boats. It is a curious voyage by day; by night, it is weird and wonderful. The wave-worn cliffs, now ablaze with lurid fires, are quenched in blackness-only to glow again in ghastly opalescence. If the spectacle chances to fall upon a night when the water is phosphorescent, every drop seems a grain of luminous gold, scintillating at the touch of oar or prow. We approach the North Horn, salute its ghostly sentinel, shuddering at the uncanny shapes that writhe in the agony of their fiery ordeal; and we follow the western shore, past Monk and Nun, back again to the starting-point, where "God Save the Queen" appears in burning letters, and the band plays it with a hearty goodwill.

The national costume is not yet discarded in this Arcadian isle, but it is generally reserved for holidays and Sunday. Women look demure in red petticoats fringed with yellow, dark jackets, aprons of snowy white, and black pokebonnets. As a fact, however, the bonnet is seldom seen except on dowagers, the head-gear of young women being a light colored shawl, worn Spanish fashion.

The men wear top boots, blue trousers, white linen " jumpers," and Sou'wester hats. But even they are seen more often in a quiet, conventional dress of some serviceable stuff. A bride's toilet is surpassingly strange, the chief feature being a tall hat or crown, elaborately ornamented with pins, and from which falls a fringed mantle. Even her personal finery, however, is secondary to the trappings of the bed, which is decked by herself and her friends in the bridegroom's house. The whitest of linen, plenty of lace, and doubtless a mountain of feathers, go to make it sumptuous. Guests are bidden by the lovers together, in person. After the marriage ceremony in the church, the party repair to the new home, and partake of a national cake, eaten with a

sauce of syrup and melted butter. When the merry-making is over, the whole party go in procession over every street on the island. More eating and drinking and dancing, and at last home. Women in Heligoland do not reach their majority until the age of twentyone; while the law recognizes a man at twenty years. A daughter's share in an estate is only one-half the portion of

a son.

When an islander dies, the body is wrapped in white linen embellished with black bows. If the grief of the survivors was not excessive, a grim play used to be enacted, called "The Game of Death." To be invited to carry a coffin or to lend assistance at the grave-digging, is esteemed an honor. When a man has presumably perished at sea, for the space of a month, prayers are of fered for his return; and should he not then appear, the funeral takes place, deprived of none of its mournful accessories. There is a small plot of ground on the Düne reserved for the burial of shipwrecked strangers - a drowned mariner's snug-harbor, "environed with a wilderness of sea."

In connection with the rite of infant baptism, there is a time-honored ceremony peculiar to Heligoland. At the proper point in the morning service, a procession of children enters the church during the singing of a hymn, each bringing a mug of water and pouring it in turn into the ancient font at which the child is to receive admission into Christ's flock. Who shall say that the child who thus takes part in this ordinance is not kept in mind of the solemn vow, promise, and profession, made in his own behalf? Just such little strands as this make the cable which binds this people so closely together.

In Heligoland, exhausted nerves find the most favorable conditions. A week here is like an ocean voyage deprived of every drawback. Nowhere else is it possible to combine such perfection of neatness, such cheeriness and simplicity, such freedom, such quiet, such sweet air, such fresh sea-food, such luxurious salt baths, such vistas of sea and sky, such healthful exercise to those who need it, such a lazy life for those who want repose, such a sense of friendship with Nature, and such nearness to God.

PITY, O GOD!

By Grace Ellery Channing.

I.

PITY thy deaf, O God!-thy helpless deaf,
Only whose ears perceive the music's birth;
The fair, glad, mirthful melodies of earth
Or sea, or wind-kissed trees in forests dim ;
Life's morning anthem, nature's vesper hymn,
The hum of bees about a bursting flower;
The blithe down-patter of a summer shower;
The lull of water and the lisp of wave;
The rush of sea-foam from a sea-bound cave;
The wafted breeze whose airs Eolian
Murmurously rise and murmurous die again;
The tender cry of bird which shuns the light
For joy, not dole!

Or the Belovèd's voice on moonlit night

Whereat dead hearts rise whole!

Who hear these sounds, but only with the ear,

Whose souls are deaf-make them, O God, to hear!

II.

Pity thy blind, O God! thy sightless ones,
Unseeing! whose purblind eyes alone left free
Behold the limitless and changing sea;

The heaven of stars, the power in beauty furled;
The sun-illumined and cloud-shadowed world;
The night adorned and day magnificent;

The meadows with a million flowers besprent ;
The fields all warmed, caressed, and played upon

By the great, glowing, lavish lover-sun

Bathed in drenched clouds, swept by the airs of heaven
Evening to morn and morning unto even;

The dim sweet gardens where the languorous roses
To swoon begin;

Or the Belovèd's face when twilight closes

And shuts sweet Love within!

Who see these only with the eye's dull light,
Whose souls are blind-O God, give them their sight!

III.

Pity thy dumb ones, God! thy speechless ones,
Only whose tongues free and unfettered are!
Whose lips the secret of the morning star
Shall ne'er unlock, no wingèd word of fire,

No fancy and no freedom, no desire

Thrill from the throat in song, steal from the fingers
In subtler speech which burns and glows and lingers
Through thousand forms wherein divinely wrought
Into divinest life divinest thought

Stands fashioned; whom the Pentecostal flame
Hath never touched; in whom nor joy nor shame
Nor Liberty, nor truth's self clearest shown

Hath utterance stirred!

Nor the Belovèd's heart upon their own

Wooed forth one whispered word!

Speechless!-whose tongues speak only-make them whole O God! unseal the dumb lips of their soul!

IV.

Pity thy poor, O God!-thine outcast poor—
Thy poor who only are not poor of gold-
Who have no part in all the stores untold,
The largesse which a liberal past hath lent,
No wealth of power, no riches of content;
No jewelled thoughts riven from the rarest mine;
No pleasure palaces of fancy fine;

No gardens fair where sweet caprice may wander
No lavish hoard of happiness to squander;

No halls of hope; no peaceful green domains;
No brooks of joy and golden-memoried plains;
No holy temple guarding its white portal
For one beloved guest;

No consecrated feast whose cup immortal
Love's lip hath prest;

Who have but gold-dear God, how poor they be!
The beggared souls!-succor their poverty!

[graphic]

M

MILLET AND RECENT CRITICISM.

By Walter Cranston Larned.

ILLET stands forth perhaps more clearly than any other modern artist as an idealist in painting. The power of his pictures is undoubted. Their great influence upon the world of art is not questioned, but they are criticised because this power is said to be of a literary quality, and not what is properly called artistic.

Undoubtedly the subjects chosen by Millet have had much to do with the value and permanence of his works, because they were noble, dignified, and poetic; but choice of a worthy subject seems to be unnecessary according to the teaching of the modern critics. If it be true that the subject has no value which is essentially artistic, then it matters little whether an artist paints a Madonna or a bunch of carrots; for in either case the only question of consequence, from the artist's point of view, is, whether the technique is good or bad in itself. The question is an old, but, after all, a vital one :-is technical facility valuable in itself as an end, or is its worth to be measured by its power of expressing something which appeals to man's mental or emotional side? Is a picture good enough if the eye of an animal would recognize the imitative truth, or is it better if the spirit of man finds in it something congenial?

The need of technical skill is not to be disputed. As well decry the value of style to a poet. But does the art of painting differ from literature just in this way, that ability to paint is enough in the one case, whereas ability to write correct sentences is not enough in the other? If the subject has no part or

lot at all in the artistic value of the picture, the parallel would seem not unfair; but even the most radical realist would hardly take such a position. He would say, perhaps, "paint anything in nature as faithfully as you can-just as the eye sees it, so far as art permits such reproduction. Do this so that beautiful harmonies of color and form result, and you will have achieved all that a true artist can hope to accomplish." But the idealist would go further, and contend that reproduction of surfaces and shapes is not enough, no matter how harmonious or charming to the eye. There must be something in the picture which does more than tickle the sense of sight. It must appeal to the mind, the heart, the soul, besides pleasing the eye, if it is to be called a really great work of art. And if the idealist is right, the choice of subject becomes of an importance akin to what it has in literature.

Millet's choice of subjects was one of the most potent elements, and in a strictly artistic sense, that joined with other and more technical qualities to give his pictures their peculiar charm. Looked at from the stand-point of a technical realist it may be said that the figures in "The Angelus" have not their proper envelope of air, and that the landscape is "laid in heavily and without that observation of the effect of air on distances, and of those delicate photometric phenomena which have occupied the attention of the great landscapists from Claude Lorraine, down to Theodore Rousseau and the moderns." But the idealist would say Millet was

« ΠροηγούμενηΣυνέχεια »