Letters Written During a Short Residence in Sweden, Norway, and Denmark

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Wollstonecraft Mary. Letters Written During a Short Residence in Sweden, Norway, and Denmark

INTRODUCTION

LETTER I

LETTER II

LETTER III

LETTER IV

LETTER V

LETTER VI

LETTER VII

LETTER VIII

LETTER IX

LETTER X

LETTER XI

LETTER XII

LETTER XIII

LETTER XIV

LETTER XV

LETTER XVI

LETTER XVII

LETTER XVIII.—COPENHAGEN

LETTER XIX

LETTER XX

LETTER XXI

LETTER XXII

LETTER XXIII

LETTER XXIV

LETTER XXV

APPENDIX

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Eleven days of weariness on board a vessel not intended for the accommodation of passengers have so exhausted my spirits, to say nothing of the other causes, with which you are already sufficiently acquainted, that it is with some difficulty I adhere to my determination of giving you my observations, as I travel through new scenes, whilst warmed with the impression they have made on me.

The captain, as I mentioned to you, promised to put me on shore at Arendall or Gothenburg in his way to Elsineur, but contrary winds obliged us to pass both places during the night.  In the morning, however, after we had lost sight of the entrance of the latter bay, the vessel was becalmed; and the captain, to oblige me, hanging out a signal for a pilot, bore down towards the shore.

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Though my host amused me with an account of himself, which gave me aim idea of the manners of the people I was about to visit, I was eager to climb the rocks to view the country, and see whether the honest tars had regained their ship.  With the help of the lieutenant’s telescope, I saw the vessel under way with a fair though gentle gale.  The sea was calm, playful even as the most shallow stream, and on the vast basin I did not see a dark speck to indicate the boat.  My conductors were consequently arrived.

Straying further, my eye was attracted by the sight of some heartsease that peeped through the rocks.  I caught at it as a good omen, and going to preserve it in a letter that had not conveyed balm to my heart, a cruel remembrance suffused my eyes; but it passed away like an April shower.  If you are deep read in Shakespeare, you will recollect that this was the little western flower tinged by love’s dart, which “maidens call love in idleness.”  The gaiety of my babe was unmixed; regardless of omens or sentiments, she found a few wild strawberries more grateful than flowers or fancies.

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