Even that Englishman who knew Alfred, Bede, Caedmon, as well as
he knew Plato, Caesar, Cicero, or Pericles, would be hard bestead
were he asked about the great peoples from whom we sprang; the
warring of Harold Fairhair or Saint Olaf; the Viking (1) kingdoms
in these (the British) Western Isles; the settlement of Iceland,
or even of Normandy. The knowledge of all these things would now
be even smaller than it is among us were it not that there was
one land left where the olden learning found refuge and was kept
in being. In England, Germany, and the rest of Europe, what is
left of the traditions of pagan times has been altered in a
thousand ways by foreign influence, even as the peoples and their
speech have been by the influx of foreign blood; but Iceland held
to the old tongue that was once the universal speech of northern
folk, and held also the great stores of tale and poem that are
slowly becoming once more the common heritage of their
descendants. The truth, care, and literary beauty of its
records; the varied and strong life shown alike in tale and
history; and the preservation of the old speech, character, and
tradition -- a people placed apart as the Icelanders have been --
combine to make valuable what Iceland holds for us.
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