The population of
Sweden has been estimated from two millions and a half to three millions; a
small number for such an immense tract of country, of which only so much is
cultivated—and that in the simplest manner—as is absolutely requisite to supply
the necessaries of life; and near the seashore, whence herrings are easily
procured, there scarcely appears a vestige of cultivation. The scattered
huts that stand shivering on the naked rocks, braving the pitiless elements,
are formed of logs of wood rudely hewn; and so little pains are taken with the
craggy foundation that nothing hike a pathway points
out the door.
Gathered into himself by the cold, lowering his visage to avoid the
cutting blast, is it surprising that the churlish pleasure of drinking drams
takes place of social enjoyments amongst the poor, especially if we take into
the account that they mostly live on high-seasoned provision and rye
bread? Hard enough, you may imagine, as it is baked only once a year.
The servants also, in most families, eat this kind of bread, and have a
different kind of food from their masters, which, in spite of all the arguments
I have heard to vindicate the custom, appears to me a remnant of barbarism.
In fact, the
situation of the servants in every respect, particularly that of the women,
shows how far the Swedes are from having a just conception of rational
equality. They are not termed slaves; yet a man may strike a man with
impunity because he pays him wages, though these wages are so low that
necessity must teach them to pilfer, whilst servility renders them false and
boorish. Still the men stand up for the dignity of man by oppressing the
women. The most menial, and even laborious offices, are therefore left to
these poor drudges. Much of this I have seen. In the winter, I am
told, they take the linen down to the river to wash it in the cold water, and
though their hands, cut by the ice, are cracked and bleeding, the men, their
fellow-servants, will not disgrace their manhood by carrying a tub to lighten
their burden.
You will not be
surprised to hear that they do not wear shoes or stockings, when I inform you
that their wages are seldom more than twenty or thirty shillings per
annum. It is the custom, I know, to give them a new year’s gift and a
present at some other period, but can it all amount to
a just indemnity for their labour? The
treatment of servants in most countries, I grant, is very unjust, and in
England, that boasted land of freedom, it is often extremely tyrannical.
I have frequently, with indignation, heard gentlemen declare that they would
never allow a servant to answer them; and ladies of the most exquisite
sensibility, who were continually exclaiming against the cruelty of the vulgar
to the brute creation, have in my presence forgot that their attendants had
human feelings as well as forms. I do not know a more agreeable sight
than to see servants part of a family. By taking an interest, generally
speaking, in their concerns you inspire them with one for yours. We must
love our servants, or we shall never be sufficiently attentive to their
happiness; and how can those masters be attentive to their happiness who, living above their fortunes, are more anxious to
outshine their neighbours than to allow their
household the innocent enjoyments they earn?
It is, in fact, much
more difficult for servants, who are tantalised by
seeing and preparing the dainties of which they are not to partake, to remain
honest, than the poor, whose thoughts are not led from their homely fare; so
that, though the servants here are commonly thieves, you seldom hear of
housebreaking, or robbery on the highway. The country is, perhaps, too
thinly inhabited to produce many of that description of thieves termed
footpads, or highwaymen. They are usually the spawn of great cities—the
effect of the spurious desires generated by wealth, rather than the desperate
struggles of poverty to escape from misery.
The enjoyment of the
peasantry was drinking brandy and coffee, before the latter was prohibited, and
the former not allowed to be privately distilled, the wars carried on by the
late king rendering it necessary to increase the revenue, and retain the specie
in the country by every possible means.
The taxes before the
reign of Charles XII. were inconsiderable. Since then the
burden has continually been growing heavier, and the price of provisions has
proportionately increased—nay, the advantage accruing from the exportation of
corn to France and rye to Germany will probably produce a scarcity in both
Sweden and Norway, should not a peace put a stop to it this autumn, for
speculations of various kinds have already almost doubled the price.
Such are the effects
of war, that it saps the vitals even of the neutral countries, who, obtaining a sudden influx of wealth, appear to be
rendered flourishing by the destruction which ravages the hapless nations who
are sacrificed to the ambition of their governors. I shall not, however,
dwell on the vices, though they be of the most
contemptible and embruting cast, to which a sudden
accession of fortune gives birth, because I believe it may be delivered as an
axiom, that it is only in proportion to the industry necessary to acquire
wealth that a nation is really benefited by it.
The prohibition of
drinking coffee under a penalty, and the encouragement given to public
distilleries, tend to impoverish the poor, who are not affected by the
sumptuary laws; for the regent has lately laid very severe restraints on the
articles of dress, which the middling class of people found grievous, because
it obliged them to throw aside finery that might have lasted them for their
lives.
These may be termed
vexatious; still the death of the king, by saving them from the consequences
his ambition would naturally have entailed on them, may be reckoned a blessing.
Besides, the French
Revolution has not only rendered all the crowned heads more cautious, but has
so decreased everywhere (excepting amongst themselves) a respect for nobility,
that the peasantry have not only lost their blind reverence for their
seigniors, but complain in a manly style of oppressions which before they did
not think of denominating such, because they were taught to consider themselves
as a different order of beings. And, perhaps, the efforts which the
aristocrats are making here, as well as in every other part of Europe, to
secure their sway, will be the most effectual mode of undermining it, taking
into the calculation that the King of Sweden, like most of the potentates of
Europe, has continually been augmenting his power by encroaching on the
privileges of the nobles.
The well-bred Swedes
of the capital are formed on the ancient French model, and they in general
speak that language; for they have a knack at acquiring languages with
tolerable fluency. This may be reckoned an advantage in some respects;
but it prevents the cultivation of their own, and any considerable advance in
literary pursuits.
A sensible writer has
lately observed (I have not his work by me, therefore cannot quote his exact
words), “That the Americans very wisely let the Europeans make their books and
fashions for them.” But I cannot coincide with him in this opinion.
The reflection necessary to produce a certain number even of tolerable
productions augments more than he is aware of the mass of knowledge in the
community. Desultory reading is commonly a mere pastime. But we
must have an object to refer our reflections to, or they will seldom go below
the surface. As in travelling, the keeping of a journal excites to many useful inquiries that would not have been thought of
had the traveller only determined to see all he could
see, without ever asking himself for what purpose. Besides, the very
dabbling in literature furnishes harmless topics of conversation; for the not
having such subjects at hand, though they are often insupportably fatiguing,
renders the inhabitants of little towns prying and censorious. Idleness,
rather than ill-nature, gives birth to scandal, and to the observation of
little incidents which narrows the mind. It is frequently only the fear
of being talked of which produces that puerile scrupulosity about trifles
incompatible with an enlarged plan of usefulness, and with the basis of all
moral principles—respect for the virtues which are not merely the virtues of
convention.
I am, my friend, more
and more convinced that a metropolis, or an abode absolutely solitary, is the
best calculated for the improvement of the heart, as well as the understanding;
whether we desire to become acquainted with man, nature, or ourselves.
Mixing with mankind, we are obliged to examine our prejudices, and often
imperceptibly lose, as we analyse them. And in
the country, growing intimate with nature, a thousand little circumstances, unseen by vulgar eyes, give birth to sentiments dear to the
imagination, and inquiries which expand the soul, particularly when cultivation
has not smoothed into insipidity all its originality of character.
I love the country,
yet whenever I see a picturesque situation chosen on which to erect a dwelling
I am always afraid of the improvements. It requires uncommon taste to
form a whole, and to introduce accommodations and ornaments analogous with the
surrounding-scene.
It visited, near
Gothenburg, a house with improved land about it, with which I was particularly
delighted. It was close to a lake embosomed in pine-clad rocks. In
one part of the meadows your eye was directed to the broad expanse, in another
you were led into a shade, to see a part of it, in the form of a river, rush
amongst the fragments of rocks and roots of trees; nothing seemed forced.
One recess, particularly grand and solemn amongst the towering cliffs, had a
rude stone table and seat placed in it, that might
have served for a Druid’s haunt, whilst a placid stream below enlivened the
flowers on its margin, where light-footed elves would gladly have danced their
airy rounds.
Here the hand of
taste was conspicuous though not obtrusive, and formed a contrast with another
abode in the same neighbourhood, on which much money
had been lavished; where Italian colonnades were placed to excite the wonder of
the rude crags, and a stone staircase, to threaten with destruction a wooden
house. Venuses and Apollos condemned to lie hid in snow three parts of the year seemed equally
displaced, and called the attention off from the surrounding sublimity, without
inspiring any voluptuous sensations. Yet even these abortions of vanity
have been useful. Numberless workmen have been employed, and the
superintending artist has improved the labourers,
whose unskilfulness tormented him, by obliging them
to submit to the discipline of rules. Adieu!
Yours affectionately.