LETTER XXIV.
My lodgings
at Altona are tolerably comfortable, though not in
any proportion to the price I pay; but, owing to the present circumstances, all
the necessaries of life are here extravagantly dear. Considering it as a
temporary residence, the chief inconvenience of which I am inclined to complain
is the rough streets that must be passed before Marguerite and the child can
reach a level road.
The views of
the Elbe in the vicinity of the town are pleasant, particularly as the
prospects here afford so little variety. I attempted to descend, and walk
close to the water’s edge; but there was no path; and the smell of glue,
hanging to dry, an extensive manufactory of which is carried on close to the
beach, I found extremely disagreeable. But to commerce everything must
give way; profit and profit are the only speculations—“double—double, toil and
trouble.” I have seldom entered a shady walk without being soon obliged
to turn aside to make room for the rope-makers; and the only tree I have seen,
that appeared to be planted by the hand of taste, is in the churchyard, to
shade the tomb of the poet Klopstock’s wife.
Most of the
merchants have country houses to retire to during the summer; and many of them
are situated on the banks of the Elbe, where they have the pleasure of seeing
the packet-boats arrive—the periods of most consequence to divide their week.
The moving
picture, consisting of large vessels and small craft, which are continually
changing their position with the tide, renders this noble river, the vital
stream of Hamburg, very interesting; and the windings have sometimes a very
fine effect, two or three turns being visible at once, intersecting the flat
meadows; a sudden bend often increasing the magnitude of the river; and the
silvery expanse, scarcely gliding, though bearing on its bosom so much
treasure, looks for a moment like a tranquil lake.
Nothing can
be stronger than the contrast which this flat country and strand afford,
compared with the mountains and rocky coast I have lately dwelt so much
among. In fancy I return to a favourite spot,
where I seemed to have retired from man and wretchedness; but the din of trade
drags me back to all the care I left behind, when lost in sublime
emotions. Rocks aspiring towards the heavens, and, as it were, shutting
out sorrow, surrounded me, whilst peace appeared to steal along the lake to
calm my bosom, modulating the wind that agitated the neighbouring
poplars. Now I hear only an account of the tricks of trade, or listen to
the distressful tale of some victim of ambition.
The
hospitality of Hamburg is confined to Sunday invitations to the country houses
I have mentioned, when dish after dish smokes upon the board, and the
conversation ever flowing in the muddy channel of business, it is not easy to
obtain any appropriate information. Had I intended to remain here some
time, or had my mind been more alive to general inquiries, I should have endeavoured to have been introduced to some characters not
so entirely immersed in commercial affairs, though in this whirlpool of gain it
is not very easy to find any but the wretched or supercilious emigrants, who
are not engaged in pursuits which, in my eyes, appear as dishonourable
as gambling. The interests of nations are bartered by speculating
merchants. My God! with what sang froid artful trains of corruption bring lucrative
commissions into particular hands, disregarding the relative situation of
different countries, and can much common honesty be expected in the discharge
of trusts obtained by fraud? But this entre nous.
During my
present journey, and whilst residing in France, I have had an opportunity of
peeping behind the scenes of what are vulgarly termed great affairs, only to
discover the mean machinery which has directed many transactions of
moment. The sword has been merciful, compared with the depredations made
on human life by contractors and by the swarm of locusts who
have battened on the pestilence they spread abroad. These men, like the
owners of negro ships, never smell on their money the blood by which it has
been gained, but sleep quietly in their beds, terming such occupations lawful
callings; yet the lightning marks not their roofs to thunder conviction on them
“and to justify the ways of God to man.”
Why should I
weep for myself? “Take, O world! thy much indebted tear!” Adieu!