German races we look for complexion and piquancy to take the place of that classical beauty which is exceptional beyond the lovely Mediterranean shores. The congregation showed many a pretty girl, but not a single face that would be remarked farther south. The hair is admirable, and requires no chignon—the invention which conceals the Englishwoman’s chief defect, her capigliatura. It is either blond-cendré, dark red, or light chestnut-brown, as in older Denmark; farther south, but not here, brown-black is by no means a rarity. Plaited in two large queues, which hang down the back at home, it is gathered up when abroad under
ICELAND WOMAN—MONDAY WEAR.
the Hufa or cap. This article is a caricature of the Fez, as the Skór are of the Mizz, and it has every defect except that of ugliness. The material is elastic black web woven by the women. The old style is to wear it large, like the night-cap of former days: the juniors prefer a mere apology for head-covering, much smaller than the thing now called a hat in England. It is provided with a Tuskana, a long tassel of black spun silk brought from Copenhagen; and the latter is ornamented at the base by a short cylinder (Hólkr) of silver, gilt-silver, or brass made in the country. This tassel serves for not a little by-play; usually it depends upon the right or left shoulder indifferently, but when bending, for instance, it may be held under the chin for coquettish contrast of colours. The whole affair, which costs some six rixdollars, is kept in position by hair-pins, and, as it gives no protection against cold, it is covered out of doors with a shawl, mostly grey, striped white or chocolate; in fact, women rarely leave the house, even in what we consider warm weather, without being muffled to the ears; and the men are not less effeminate. There is only one specimen of the old Falldr or Skott Falldr (galeated cap), which seems to be growing obsolete; the day is windy, and this curved and
“High-peaked head-dress of snowy white,”
which corresponds with the “Roide Cornette” of ancient Holland, and of which modifications may still be seen in Normandy, could hardly be worn. I shall reserve a description of the crested and helmet-like affair which strangers compare with a flattened cornucopia, with a cap of liberty, or with a dragoon casque, ultra Amazonian: here let me merely premise that it is a larger edition of the Lapp head-dress; that, within the memory of man, it was worn in the Orkneys; and that the whole costume somewhat resembles that of the Oberland Bernois. The few hats and bonnets accompany more modern attire, and even the crinoline and the Dolly Varden are not wholly unknown. In Iceland dress denotes the station; in Europe it is only the most advanced society that escapes from this outward show. The sensible Yankee travels in his “Sunday best,” because it procures him respect and attention where he is unknown; we reverse the rule, and notably so on “the Continent”—which is uncivil and breeds incivility. Most of the elderly women are in black Wadmal; the juniors prefer fine, dark bottle-green stuff, with plaid or rainbow-coloured aprons. I at once remark the absence of the γυνή πυγοστόλος, called “bussle-wearer” by our grandmothers. Those in the island-costume wear a narrow band of gold embroidery round the skirt, which resembles the costume of the Slav women about Trieste. The bosom is no longer flattened as much as possible—was this the result of a savage decency which, taught the sex to mask nature? On the contrary, about the middle of the jacket a soupçon of white chemisette is now allowed to peep forth. But these coy dames have still to borrow a hint from the young Irish person who wore
“every beauty free
To sink or swell as heaven pleases.”
“Sabbath” in the “moral north” passed away as usual. The respectables, masculine as well as feminine, sat at the windows opposite one another, the former smoking vile Hamburg cigars, the latter devoting themselves to the serious and exhaustive study of street scenery. The German mirror placed to reflect the thoroughfare is still a rarity, and therefore the prospector must display herself as chez nous. The commonalty leaned against the walls and railings, much like the Irish peasantry of the present day, whose poetry, wit, and humour, once so famous, appear, like art in Italy, to have been crushed out of life by a generation-long course of “patriotism,” politics, and polemics. There was a little more apparent drunkenness than usual, men staggering about, peasants supporting one another, and all jostling whatever they met in the streets. This unpleasant process of “rubbing up” seems to be here the rule, and we can hardly complain of it when we remember the lower orders, and not only the lower orders, of the Lowland Scotch: as the Yankee is the Englishman with the weight taken off him, so here the people, like the scenery, are Caledonian intensified. In the evening, thus to speak, when the dissolute sun, instead of keeping the regular hours of the tropics, does not turn in before eleven P.M., the sexes paired, and one gentleman accompanied his “lady” in carpet slippers. The day ended without a brawl. On St Monday, however, there was a tavern quarrel, when one of the strongest men in the town had his face cut open by a stone. We were assured by all that such things are very rare. Yet on the following Wednesday one of the couthless Calibans from the country, whom tangle-leg had made “drunk as an auk,” thinking that he was derided by a party of Englishmen, slipped up behind one of them and hit him a rounder, in popular parlance a “regular slogdolager.” The Briton, thus unexpectedly assaulted, soon recovered himself,