I have already
informed you that there are only two noblemen who have estates of any magnitude
in Norway. One of these has a house near Tonsberg,
at which he has not resided for some years, having been at court, or on
embassies. He is now the Danish Ambassador in London. The house is
pleasantly situated, and the grounds about it fine; but their neglected
appearance plainly tells that there is nobody at home.
A stupid kind of
sadness, to my eye, always reigns in a huge habitation where only servants live
to put cases on the furniture and open the windows. I enter as I would
into the tomb of the Capulets, to look at the family
pictures that here frown in armour, or smile in
ermine. The mildew respects not the lordly robe, and the worm riots
unchecked on the cheek of beauty.
There was nothing in
the architecture of the building, or the form of the furniture, to detain me
from the avenue where the aged pines stretched along majestically. Time
had given a greyish cast to their ever-green foliage;
and they stood, like sires of the forest, sheltered on all sides by a rising
progeny. I had not ever seen so many oaks together in Norway as in these
woods, nor such large aspens as here were agitated by the breeze, rendering the
wind audible—nay musical; for melody seemed on the wing around me. How
different was the fresh odour that reanimated me in the avenue, from the damp chillness of the
apartments; and as little did the gloomy thoughtfulness excited by the dusty
hangings, and worm-eaten pictures, resemble the reveries inspired by the
soothing melancholy of their shade. In the winter, these august pines,
towering above the snow, must relieve the eye beyond measure and give life to
the white waste.
The continual
recurrence of pine and fir groves in the day sometimes wearies the sight, but
in the evening, nothing can be more picturesque, or, more properly speaking,
better calculated to produce poetical images. Passing through them, I
have been struck with a mystic kind of reverence, and I did, as it were, homage
to their venerable shadows. Not nymphs, but philosophers, seemed to
inhabit them—ever musing; I could scarcely conceive that they were without some
consciousness of existence—without a calm enjoyment of the pleasure they diffused.
How often do my
feelings produce ideas that remind me of the origin of many poetical fictions. In solitude, the imagination bodies forth
its conceptions unrestrained, and stops enraptured to
adore the beings of its own creation. These are moments of bliss; and the
memory recalls them with delight.
But I have almost
forgotten the matters of fact I meant to relate, respecting the counts.
They have the presentation of the livings on their estates,
appoint the judges, and different civil officers, the Crown reserving to itself
the privilege of sanctioning them. But though they appoint, they cannot
dismiss. Their tenants also occupy their farms for life, and are obliged
to obey any summons to work on the part he reserves for himself; but they are
paid for their labour. In short, I have seldom
heard of any noblemen so innoxious.
Observing that the
gardens round the count’s estate were better cultivated than any I had before
seen, I was led to reflect on the advantages which naturally accrue from the
feudal tenures. The tenants of the count are obliged to work at a stated
price, in his grounds and garden; and the instruction which they imperceptibly
receive from the head gardener tends to render them useful, and makes them, in
the common course of things, better husbandmen and gardeners on their own
little farms. Thus the great, who alone travel in this period of society,
for the observation of manners and customs made by sailors is very confined,
bring home improvement to promote their own comfort, which is gradually spread
abroad amongst the people, till they are stimulated to think for themselves.
The bishops have not
large revenues, and the priests are appointed by the king before they come to
them to be ordained. There is commonly some little farm annexed to the
parsonage, and the inhabitants subscribe voluntarily, three times a year, in
addition to the church fees, for the support of the clergyman. The church
lands were seized when Lutheranism was introduced, the desire of obtaining them
being probably the real stimulus of reformation. The tithes, which are
never required in kind, are divided into three parts—one to the king, another
to the incumbent, and the third to repair the dilapidations of the
parsonage. They do not amount to much. And the stipend allowed to
the different civil officers is also too small, scarcely deserving to be termed
an independence; that of the custom-house officers is not sufficient to procure
the necessaries of life—no wonder, then, if necessity leads them to knavery.
Much public virtue cannot be expected till every employment, putting
perquisites out of the question, has a salary sufficient to reward
industry;—whilst none are so great as to permit the possessor to remain
idle. It is this want of proportion between profit and labour which debases men, producing the sycophantic
appellations of patron and client, and that pernicious esprit du corps,
proverbially vicious.
The farmers are
hospitable as well as independent. Offering once to pay for some coffee I
drank when taking shelter from the rain, I was asked, rather angrily, if a
little coffee was worth paying for. They smoke, and drink drams, but not
so much as formerly. Drunkenness, often the attendant disgrace of
hospitality, will here, as well as everywhere else, give place to gallantry and
refinement of manners; but the change will not be suddenly produced.
The people of every
class are constant in their attendance at church; they are very fond of
dancing, and the Sunday evenings in Norway, as in Catholic countries, are spent
in exercises which exhilarate the spirits without vitiating the heart.
The rest of labour ought to be gay; and the gladness
I have felt in France on a Sunday, or Decadi, which I
caught from the faces around me, was a sentiment more truly religious than all
the stupid stillness which the streets of London ever inspired where the
Sabbath is so decorously observed. I recollect, in the country parts of
England, the churchwardens used to go out during the service to see if they
could catch any luckless wight playing at bowls or
skittles; yet what could be more harmless? It would even, I think, be a
great advantage to the English, if feats of activity (I do not include boxing
matches) were encouraged on a Sunday, as it might stop the progress of Methodism,
and of that fanatical spirit which appears to be gaining ground. I was
surprised when I visited Yorkshire, on my way to Sweden, to find that sullen
narrowness of thinking had made such a progress since I was an inhabitant of
the country. I could hardly have supposed that sixteen or seventeen years
could have produced such an alteration for the worse in the morals of a
place—yes, I say morals; for observance of forms, and avoiding of practices,
indifferent in themselves, often supply the place of that regular attention to
duties which are so natural, that they seldom are vauntingly
exercised, though they are worth all the precepts of the law and the
prophets. Besides, many of these deluded people, with the best meaning,
actually lose their reason, and become miserable, the dread of damnation
throwing them into a state which merits the term; and still more, in running
after their preachers, expecting to promote their salvation, they disregard
their welfare in this world, and neglect the interest and comfort of their
families; so that, in proportion as they attain a reputation for piety, they
become idle.
Aristocracy and
fanaticism seem equally to be gaining ground in England, particularly in the
place I have mentioned; I saw very little of either in Norway. The people
are regular in their attendance on public worship, but religion does not
interfere with their employments.
As the farmers cut
away the wood they clear the ground. Every year, therefore, the country
is becoming fitter to support the inhabitants. Half a century ago the
Dutch, I am told, only paid for the cutting down of the wood, and the farmers
were glad to get rid of it without giving themselves any trouble. At
present they form a just estimate of its value; nay, I was surprised to find even
firewood so dear when it appears to be in such plenty. The destruction,
or gradual reduction, of their forests will probably ameliorate the climate,
and their manners will naturally improve in the same ratio as industry requires
ingenuity. It is very fortunate that men are a long time but just above
the brute creation, or the greater part of the earth would never have been
rendered habitable, because it is the patient labour
of men, who are only seeking for a subsistence, which produces whatever embellishes
existence, affording leisure for the cultivation of the arts and sciences that
lift man so far above his first state. I never, my friend, thought so
deeply of the advantages obtained by human industry as since I have been in
Norway. The world requires, I see, the hand of man to perfect it, and as
this task naturally unfolds the faculties he exercises, it is physically
impossible that he should have remained in Rousseau’s golden age of
stupidity. And, considering the question of human happiness, where, oh
where does it reside? Has it taken up its abode with unconscious
ignorance or with the high-wrought mind? Is it the offspring of
thoughtless animal spirits or the dye of fancy continually flitting round the
expected pleasure?
The increasing population
of the earth must necessarily tend to its improvement, as the means of
existence are multiplied by invention.
You have probably
made similar reflections in America, where the face of the country, I suppose,
resembles the wilds of Norway. I am delighted with the romantic views I
daily contemplate, animated by the purest air; and I am interested by the
simplicity of manners which reigns around me. Still nothing so soon
wearies out the feelings as unmarked simplicity. I am therefore half convinced
that I could not live very comfortably exiled from the countries where mankind
are so much further advanced in knowledge, imperfect as it is, and
unsatisfactory to the thinking mind. Even now I begin to long to hear
what you are doing in England and France. My thoughts fly from this
wilderness to the polished circles of the world, till recollecting its vices
and follies, I bury myself in the woods, but find it
necessary to emerge again, that I may not lose sight of the wisdom and virtue
which exalts my nature.
What a long time it
requires to know ourselves; and yet almost every one has more of this knowledge
than he is willing to own, even to himself. I cannot immediately
determine whether I ought to rejoice at having turned over in this solitude a
new page in the history of my own heart, though I may venture to assure you
that a further acquaintance with mankind only tends to increase my respect for
your judgment and esteem for your character. Farewell!