HISTORY. — INSTITUTIONS AND SPIRIT OF CHIVALRY UNKNOWN
IN RUSSIA. THE NATURE OF AN AUTOCRACY. POLITICS AND
RELIGION ARE IDENTICAL IN RUSSIA. — FUTURE INFLUENCE Op
RUSSIA.FATE OF PARIS.PRINCE AND PRINCESS D. — THE
COLD-WATER CURE. GOOD MANNERS OF THE HIGHER ORDERS
IN RUSSIA. SOCIETY IN FRANCE BEFORE THE REVOLUTION.
A MODERN FRENCHMAN OF THE MIDDLE CLASSES.HIS MAU-
VAIS TON.— AGREEABLE SOCIETY ON THE STEAM-BOAT.—RUSSIAN
NATIONAL DANCES. — TWO AMERICANS.STEAM-BOAT ACCIDENT.
— ISLE OF DAGO.
I AM writing at midnight, without any lights, on board the steam-boat Nicholas the First, in the gulf of Finland. It is now the close of a day which has nearly the length of a month in these latitudes, beginning about the 8th of June, and ending towards the 4th of July. By degrees the nights will reappear; they are very short at first, but insensibly lengthen as they approach the autumnal ec{uinox. They then increase with the same rapidity as do the days in spring, and soon involve in darkness the north of Russia and Sweden, and all within the vicinity of the arctic circle. To the countries actually within this circle, the year is divided into a day and a night, each of six months'
62MONTESQUIEU AND IIIS SYSTEM.
duration. The tempered darkness of winter continues as long as the dubious and melancholy summer light.
I cannot yet cease from admiring the phenomenon of a polar night, whose clear beam almost equals that of the day. Nothing more interests me than the different degrees in wliich light is distributed to the various portions of the globe. At the end of the year, all the opposite parts of the earth have beheld the same sun diu`ing an equal number of hours; but what a difference between the days ! what a· diversity also of temperature and of hues ! The sun, whose rays strike vertically upon the earth, and the sun whose beams fall obliquely, does not appear the same luminary, at least if we judge by effects.
As for myself, whose existence bears a sympathetic analogy to that of plants, I acknowledge a kind of fatality in climates, and, impelled by the influence the heavens have over my mind, willingly pay respect to the theory of Montesquieu. To such a degree are my temper and faculties subject to the action of the atmosphere, that I cannot doubt of its effects upon politics. But the genius of Montesquieu has exaggerated and carried too far the consequences of this belief. Obstinacy of opinion is the rock on which genius has too often made shipwreck. Powerful minds will only see what they wish to see : the world is within themselves ; they understand every thing but that which is told to them.
About an hour ago I beheld the sun sinking in the ocean between the N.N.AY. and N. He has left behind a long bright track which continues to light me at this midnight hour, and enables me to write upon
SCENERY OF THE NORTH.63
deck while my fellow-passengers are sleeping. As I lay down my pen to look around, I perceive already, towards the N".N.E. the first streaks of morning light. Yesterday is not ended, yet to-morrow is begun. The sublimity of this polar scene I feel as a compensation for all the toils of the journey. In these regions of the globe the day is one continued morning, which never performs the promises of its birth. This singular twilight precedes neither day nor night; for the things which bear those names in southern countries have in reality no existence here. The magic effects of colour, the religious dimness of night, are forgotten ; nature appears no longer a painting, but a sketch; and it is difficult to preserve belief in the wonders of those blest climates where the sun reigns in his full power.
The sun of the north is an alabaster lamp, hung breast-high, and revolving between heaven and earth. This lamp, burning (for weeks and months) without interruption, sheds its melancholy rays over a vault which it scarcely lightens; nothing is bright, but all things are visible. The face of nature, everywhere equally illuminated by this pale light, resembles that of a poet rapt in vision and hoary with years. It is Ossian who remembers his loves no more, and who listens only to the voices of the tombs.
The aspect of these unvaried surfaces — of distances without objects, horizons undefined, and lines half effaced — all this confusion of form and colouring, throws me into a gentle reverie, the peaceful awakening from which is as like death as life. The soid resembles the scene, and rests suspended between day and night — between waking and sleep-
64 FLATNESS OF THE EAl¿TIl's SURFACE.
ing. It is no lively pleasure that it feels; the raptures of passion cease, but the inquietude of violent desires ceases also. If there is not exemption from ennui, there is from sorrow ; a perpetual repose possesses both the mind and the body, the image of which is reflected by this indolent light, that spreads its mortal coldness equally over day and night, over the ocean and the land, blended into one by the icy hand of winter, and the overspreading mantle of the polar snows.
The light of these flat regions near the pole accords well with the bright blue eyes, the inexpressive features, the pale locks, and the timidly romantic imagination of the women of the north. These women are for ever dreaming Avhat others are enacting; of them more especially can it be said, that life is but the vision of a shadow.
In approaching these northerly regions you seem to be climbing the platform of a chain of glaciers: the nearer you advance, the more perfectly is the illusion realised. The globe itself seems to be the mountain you are ascending. The moment yon attain the summit of this large Alp, you experience what is felt less vividly in ascending other Alps : the rocks sink, the precipices crumble away, population recedes, the earth is beneath your feet, you touch the pole. Viewed from such elevation, the earth appears diminished, but the sea rises and forms around you a vaguely defined circle; you continue as though mounting to the summit of a dome — a dome which is the world, and whose architect is God.
From thence the eye extends over frozen seas and crystal fields, in which imagination might picture the
SHORES OF FINLAND.6Õ
abodes of the blest, unchangeable, inhabitants of an immutable heaven.
Such were the feelings I experienced in approach-ins; the Gulf of Bothnia, whose northern limits ex-tend to Toraeo.
The coast of Finland, generally considered mountainous, appears to me but a succession of gentle, imperceptible hills; all is lost in the distance and indistinctness of the misty horizon. This untransparent atmosphere deprives objects of their lively colours ; every thing is dulled and dimmed beneath its heavens of mother-of-pearl. The vessels, just visible in the horizon, quickly disappear again; for the glimmering of the perpetual twilight, to which they here give the name of day, scarcely lights up the waters; it has not powTer to gild the sails of a distant vessel. The canvas of a ship under full sail- in northern seas, in place of shining as it does in other latitudes, is darkly figured against the grey curtain of heaven, which resembles a sheet spread out for the representation of Chinese figures. I am ashamed to confess it, but the view of nature in the north reminds me, in spite of myself, of an enormous magic lantern, whose lamp gives a bad light, and the figures on whose glasses are worn with use. I dislike comparisons which degrade the subject; but we must, at any rate, endeavour to describe our conceptions. It is easier to admire than to disparage ; nevertheless, to describe with truth, the feeling that prompts both sentiments must be suffered to operate.
On entering these whitened deserts, a poetic terror takes possession of the souclass="underline" you pause, affrighted, on the threshold of the palace of winter. As you ad-