terrific ocean beautiful. The fishermen were calmly casting their nets; whilst the seagulls hovered over the unruffled deep. Every thing seemed to harmonize into tranquillity?even the mournful call of the bittern was in cadence with the tinkling bells on the necks of the cows, that, pacing slowly one after the other, along an inviting path in the vale below, were repairing to the cottages to be milked. With what ineffable pleasure have I not gazed?and gazed again, losing my breath through my eyes?my very soul diffused itself in the scene?and, seeming to become all senses, glided in the scarcely-agitated waves, melted in the freshening breeze, or, taking its flight with fairy wing, to the misty mountains which bounded the prospect, fancy tript over new lawns, more beautiful even than the lovely slopes on the winding shore before me.?I pause, again breathless, to trace, with renewed delight, sentiments which entranced me, when, turning my humid eyes from the expanse below to the vault above, my sight pierced the fleecy clouds that softened the azure brightness; and, imperceptibly recalling the reveries of childhood, I bowed before the awful throne of my Creator, whilst I rested on its footstool.
You have sometimes wondered, my dear friend, at the extreme affection of my nature?But such is the temperature of my soul?It is not the vivacity of youth, the hey-day of existence. For years have I endeavored to calm an impetuous tide?laboring to make my feelings take an orderly course.?It was striving against the stream.?I must love and admire with warmth, or I sink into sadness. Tokens of love which I have received have rapt me in elysium? purifying the heart they enchanted..?My bosom still glows.?Do not saucily ask, repeating Sterne's question, 'Maria, is it still so warm?'1 Sufficiently, O my God! has it been chilled by sorrow and unkindness?still nature will pre- vail?and if I blush at recollecting past enjoyment, it is the rosy hue of pleasure
8. An echo of Milton's Paradise Lost 3.44 and bility, drenches his handkerchief with tears at possibly of William Blake's 'The Divine Image' hearing of the beautiful Maria's romantic misad( p. 85 above). ventures. When Maria offers to wash the handker9. Tonsberg, Norway. chief in the stream, then dry it in her bosom, Yorick 1. In Laurence Sterne's novel A Sentimental Jour-asks flirtatiously, 'And is your heart still so warm, ney (1768), Parson Yorick, a man of acute sensi-Maria?'
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LETTERS WRITTEN IN SWEDEN, NORWAY, AND DENMARK / 20 5
heightened by modesty; for the blush of modesty and shame are as distinct as the emotions by which they are produced.
I need scarcely inform you, after telling you of my walks, that my constitution has been renovated here; and that I have recovered my activity, even whilst attaining a little embonpoint.2 My imprudence last winter, and some untoward accidents just at the time I was weaning my child, had reduced me to a state of weakness which I never before experienced.3 A slow fever preyed on me every night, during my residence in Sweden, and after I arrived at Tonsberg. By chance I found a fine rivulet filtered through the rocks, and confined in a bason for the cattle. It tasted to me like a chaly-beat;4 at any rate it was pure; and the good effect of the various waters which invalids are sent to drink, depends, I believe, more on the air, exercise and change of scene, than on their medicinal qualities. I therefore determined to turn my morning walks towards it, and seek for health from the nymph of the fountain; partaking of the beverage offered to the tenants of the shade.
Chance likewise led me to discover a new pleasure, equally beneficial to my health. I wished to avail myself of my vicinity to the sea, and bathe; but it was not possible near the town; there was no convenience. The young woman whom I mentioned to you, proposed rowing me across the water, amongst the rocks; but as she was pregnant, I insisted on taking one of the oars, and learning to row. It was not difficult; and I do not know a pleasanter exercise. I soon became expert, and my train of thinking kept time, as it were, with the oars, or I suffered the boat to be carried along by the current, indulging a pleasing forgetfulness, or fallacious hopes.?How fallacious! yet, without hope, what is to sustain life, but the fear of annihilation?the only thing of which I have ever felt a dread?I cannot bear to think of being no more?of losing myself?though existence is often but a painful consciousness of misery; nay, it appears to me impossible that I should cease to exist, or that this active, restless spirit, equally alive to joy and sorrow, should only be organized dust?ready to fly abroad the moment the spring snaps, or the spark goes out, which kept it together. Surely something resides in this heart that is not perishable?and life is more than a dream.
Sometimes, to take up my oar, once more, when the sea was calm, I was amused by disturbing the innumerable young star fish which floated just below the surface: I had never observed them before; for they have not a hard shell, like those which I have seen on the seashore. They look like thickened water, with a white edge; and four purple circles, of different forms, were in the middle, over an incredible number of fibers, or white lines. Touching them, the cloudy substance would turn or close, first on one side, then on the other, very gracefully; but when I took one of them up in the ladle with which I heaved the water out of the boat, it appeared only a colorless jelly.
I did not see any of the seals, numbers of which followed our boat when we landed in Sweden; for though I like to sport in the water, I should have had no desire to join in their gambols.
Enough, you will say, of inanimate nature, and of brutes, to use the lordly phrase of man; let me hear something of the inhabitants. The gentleman with whom I had business, is the mayor of Tonsberg; he
2. Plumpness (French). 4. Mineral water containing salts of iron, taken as 3. Wollstonecraft tells of these events in letters to a tonic. Gilbert Imlay, January 1795.
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20 6 / MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT
speaks English intelligibly; and, having a sound understanding, I was sorry that his numerous occupations prevented my gaining as much information from him as I could have drawn forth, had we frequently conversed. The people of the town, as far as I had an opportunity of knowing their sentiments, are extremely well satisfied with his manner of discharging his office. He has a degree of information and good sense which excites respect, whilst a cheerfulness, almost amounting to gaiety, enables him to reconcile differences, and keep his neighbors in good humor.?'I lost my horse,' said a woman to me; 'but ever since, when I want to send to the mill, or go out, the mayor lends me one.?He scolds if I do not come for it.'
A criminal was branded, during my stay here, for the third offense; but the relief he received made him declare that the judge was one of the best men in the world.
I sent this wretch a trifle, at different times, to take with him into slavery. As it was more than he expected, he wished very much to see me; and this wish brought to my remembrance an anecdote I heard when I was in Lisbon.5
A wretch who had been imprisoned several years, during which period lamps had been put up, was at last condemned to a cruel death; yet, in his way to execution, he only wished for one night's respite, to see the city lighted.
Having dined in company at the mayor's, I was invited with his family to spend the day at one of the richest merchant's houses.?Though I could not speak Danish, I knew that I could see a great deal: yes; I am persuaded
