I left Portoer, the little haven I mentioned, soon after I
finished my last letter. The sea was rough, and I perceived that our
pilot was right not to venture farther during a hazy night. We had agreed
to pay four dollars for a boat from Helgeraac.
I mention the sum, because they would demand twice as much from a
stranger. I was obliged to pay fifteen for the one I hired at Stromstad. When we were ready to set out, our boatman
offered to return a dollar and let us go in one of the boats of the place, the
pilot who lived there being better acquainted with the coast. He only
demanded a dollar and a half, which was reasonable. I found him a civil
and rather intelligent man; he was in the American service several years,
during the Revolution.
I soon perceived that
an experienced mariner was necessary to guide us, for we were continually
obliged to tack about, to avoid the rocks, which, scarcely reaching to the
surface of the water, could only be discovered by the breaking of the waves
over them.
The view of this wild
coast, as we sailed along it, afforded me a continual subject for
meditation. I anticipated the future improvement of the world, and
observed how much man has still to do to obtain of the earth all it could
yield. I even carried my speculations so far as to advance a million or
two of years to the moment when the earth would perhaps be so perfectly
cultivated, and so completely peopled, as to render it necessary to inhabit
every spot—yes, these bleak shores. Imagination went still farther, and
pictured the state of man when the earth could no longer support him.
Whither was he to flee from universal famine? Do not smile; I really
became distressed for these fellow creatures yet unborn. The images fastened
on me, and the world appeared a vast prison. I was soon to be in a
smaller one—for no other name can I give to Rusoer.
It would be difficult to form an idea of the place, if you have never seen one
of these rocky coasts.
We were a
considerable time entering amongst the islands, before we saw about two hundred
houses crowded together under a very high rock—still higher appearing
above. Talk not of Bastilles! To be born here was to be bastilled by nature—shut out from all that opens the
understanding, or enlarges the heart. Huddled one
behind another, not more than a quarter of the dwellings even had a prospect of
the sea. A few planks formed passages from house to house, which
you must often scale, mounting steps like a ladder to enter.
The only road across
the rocks leads to a habitation sterile enough, you may suppose, when I tell
you that the little earth on the adjacent ones was carried there by the late
inhabitant. A path, almost impracticable for a horse, goes on to Arendall, still further to the westward.
I inquired for a
walk, and, mounting near two hundred steps made round a rock, walked up and
down for about a hundred yards viewing the sea, to which I quickly descended by
steps that cheated the declivity. The ocean and these tremendous bulwarks
enclosed me on every side. I felt the confinement, and wished for wings
to reach still loftier cliffs, whose slippery sides no foot was so hardy as to
tread. Yet what was it to see?—only a boundless waste of water—not a
glimpse of smiling nature—not a patch of lively green to relieve the aching
sight, or vary the objects of meditation.
I felt my breath
oppressed, though nothing could be clearer than the atmosphere. Wandering
there alone, I found the solitude desirable; my mind was stored with ideas,
which this new scene associated with astonishing rapidity. But I
shuddered at the thought of receiving existence, and remaining here, in the
solitude of ignorance, till forced to leave a world of which I had seen so
little, for the character of the inhabitants is as uncultivated, if not as
picturesquely wild, as their abode.
Having no employment
but traffic, of which a contraband trade makes the basis of their profit, the
coarsest feelings of honesty are quickly blunted. You may suppose that I
speak in general terms; and that, with all the disadvantages of nature and
circumstances, there are still some respectable exceptions, the more
praiseworthy, as tricking is a very contagious mental disease, that dries up
all the generous juices of the heart. Nothing genial, in fact, appears
around this place, or within the circle of its rocks. And, now I
recollect, it seems to me that the most genial and humane characters I have met
with in life were most alive to the sentiments inspired by tranquil country
scenes. What, indeed, is to humanise these
beings, who rest shut up (for they seldom even open their windows), smoking,
drinking brandy, and driving bargains? I have been almost stifled by
these smokers. They begin in the morning, and are rarely without their
pipe till they go to bed. Nothing can be more disgusting than the rooms
and men towards the evening—breath, teeth, clothes, and furniture, all are
spoilt. It is well that the women are not very delicate, or they would
only love their husbands because they were their husbands. Perhaps, you
may add, that the remark need not be confined to so small a part of the world;
and, entre nous, I am of the same opinion. You must not term this
innuendo saucy, for it does not come home.
If I had not
determined to write I should have found my confinement here, even for three or
four days, tedious. I have no books; and to pace up and down a small
room, looking at tiles overhung by rocks, soon becomes wearisome. I
cannot mount two hundred steps to walk a hundred yards many times in the
day. Besides, the rocks, retaining the heat of the sun, are intolerably
warm. I am, nevertheless, very well; for though there is a shrewdness in the character of these people, depraved by a
sordid love of money which repels me, still the comparisons they force me to
make keep my heart calm by exercising my understanding.
Everywhere wealth
commands too much respect, but here almost exclusively; and it is the only
object pursued, not through brake and briar, but over rocks and waves; yet of
what use would riches be to me, I have sometimes asked myself, were I confined
to live in such in a spot? I could only relieve a few distressed objects, perhaps render them idle, and all the rest of life
would be a blank.
My present journey
has given fresh force to my opinion that no place is so
disagreeable and unimproving as a country town.
I should like to divide my time between the town and country; in a lone house,
with the business of farming and planting, where my mind would gain strength by
solitary musing, and in a metropolis to rub off the rust of thought, and polish
the taste which the contemplation of nature had rendered just. Thus do we
wish as we float down the stream of life, whilst chance does more to gratify a
desire of knowledge than our best laid plans. A
degree of exertion, produced by some want, more or less painful, is probably
the price we must all pay for knowledge. How few authors or artists have
arrived at eminence who have not lived by their
employment?
I was interrupted yesterday
by business, and was prevailed upon to dine with the English vice-consul.
His house being open to the sea, I was more at large; and the hospitality of
the table pleased me, though the bottle was rather too freely pushed
about. Their manner of entertaining was such as I have frequently
remarked when I have been thrown in the way of people without education, who
have more money than wit—that is, than they know what to do with. The
women were unaffected, but had not the natural grace which was often
conspicuous at Tonsberg. There was even a
striking difference in their dress, these having loaded themselves with finery
in the style of the sailors’ girls of Hull or Portsmouth. Taste has not
yet taught them to make any but an ostentatious display of wealth. Yet I
could perceive even here the first steps of the improvement which I am
persuaded will make a very obvious progress in the course of half a century, and it ought not to be sooner, to keep pace with
the cultivation of the earth. Improving manners will introduce finer
moral feelings. They begin to read translations of some of the most
useful German productions lately published, and one of our party sung a song
ridiculing the powers coalesced against France, and the company drank confusion
to those who had dismembered Poland.
The evening was
extremely calm and beautiful. Not being able to walk, I requested a boat
as the only means of enjoying free air.
The view of the town
was now extremely fine. A huge rocky mountain stood up behind it, and a vast
cliff stretched on each side, forming a semicircle. In a recess of the
rocks was a clump of pines, amongst which a steeple rose picturesquely
beautiful.
The churchyard is
almost the only verdant spot in the place. Here, indeed, friendship
extends beyond the grave, and to grant a sod of earth is to accord a favour. I should rather choose, did it admit of a
choice, to sleep in some of the caves of the rocks, for I am become better
reconciled to them since I climbed their craggy sides last night, listening to
the finest echoes I ever heard. We had a French horn with us, and there
was an enchanting wildness in the dying away of the reverberation that quickly
transported me to Shakespeare’s magic island. Spirits unseen seemed to
walk abroad, and flit from cliff to cliff to soothe my soul to peace.
I reluctantly
returned to supper, to be shut up in a warm room, only to view the vast shadows
of the rocks extending on the slumbering waves. I stood at the window
some time before a buzz filled the drawing-room, and now and then the dashing
of a solitary oar rendered the scene still more solemn.
Before I came here I
could scarcely have imagined that a simple object (rocks) could have admitted
of so many interesting combinations, always grand and often sublime. Good
night! God bless you!