mcnt party that will extend its rule overrnthe entire state apparatus, including therntelevision news (very important now).rnThe minority will be allowed to grumblern(within bounds), it will keep a newspaperrnor a magazine of its own, but itsrnchances of becoming a majority will fadernmonth by month, year by year; it will bernabout as effective as the American orrnthe British or the French or the Germanrnliberal intelligentsia, a class gradually absorbedrnbv the soft soapy sponges of thernuniversities, irrelevant, on its way to extinction.rnI spend most of the day walking inrnthe old baronial, I lanscatic city of whichrnEstonians are justly proud. Only; it wasrnall built by Germans. It is ajjpealing andrnbeautiful, as the old city melts graduallvrninto the wider streets. Above and betweenrnthe towers the stonv passages, thernstrong and solid Germanic houses, stillrnshowing a sharp hierarchical sense: forrnthe German guildmasters and burgessesrnhere in the east of Europe were somethingrndifferent from hilrgerlich and hourgeois.rnMany I .utheran churches; in somernof them the impressive lodges—morernthan boxes—of the German or Swedishrnnoble families, hang above the churchrnfloor, across the pulpit, crystal-paned. Irncan imagine the women in their tremendousrndark skirts and white ruffs, sittingrnthere bored, stiff, and haughty. Therernwas a small and constricted and humorlessrnbut strong little civilization here inrnthe Middle Ages and later, even at arntime when the words “civilization” andrn”civilized” did not exist. Please keep inrnmind that these verv words and theirrnmeaning arose onlv three or four hundredrnyears ago. “Givilized,” in English,rnappears in 1601: “to make civil; to bringrnout of a state of barbarism; to instruct inrnthe arts of life; to enlighten and refine.”rnA century later (Oxford English Dictionary,rn1704) appears the very word “civilization.”rnHow long will it retain itsrnmeaning? There are already hordes ofrnvoung people—here and in Detroit andrnin New York—to whom not only thernmeaning but the word has become incomprehensible.rnAt night 1 take the secretary of thernAcademy to dinner. There is hope yet: arnprivate restaurant, with the waiters welldressed.rnBut it is in a cellar, and 1 fearrnthat by the 21 st century all good privaternrestaurants may be in cellars. Threerncourses, for both of us, payable in rubles:rnthe total bill comes to something likernone dollar and twenty cents. They pronouncernruble in English as rubble. So itrnis. The wine I must pay in Einnmarks:rnthat costs about twenty dollars, redrnrot gut served in brand}- glasses. No matter.rnBack in the West: Helsinki on anrnemptv, chilly Sunday. I find a GatholicrnGhurch beyond a frozen city park, arnbrownstone building, with a northernrntouch (the vcr- large Russian OrthodoxrnChurch, on another hill, retains somethingrnof a brownstonc-Nordic touch,rntoo). The church is cold, we sit andrnkneel in our overcoats, not too manv ofrnus, about half are serious Vietnamesernwomen and their children. The Mass isrnin Latin, which is more than cold comfort.rnhi the afternoon the boat to Stockholm.rn1 was looking forward to the ship,rnto the pleasure of a seaborne departure,rnwhich is the very best (alas, now so rare)rnof departures (after which comes, on arnlower scale, the pettv pleasure of findingrnone’s single compartment in a sleepingrnear and then leaning out the window inrnan old railway station of a European city;rnbeing uneasily tied down to one’srncramped seat in an airplane is no departurernat all). Ihe rising throb of the boatrnis fine and so is the haunting, beautifulrnwhirl of the dark icy water. Then comesrnthe departure ritual: going for the firstrndrink at the first bar. ‘i’hc pleasancc is,rnhowever, compromised by the poundingrnof ubiquitous rock music and by thernproliferation of cardboard signs on therncounter: Tonight Our Special is an ElvisrnCocktail; everv Thursday in January isrnNew Orleans Night; this month the programrnof the ship is pronounced to be arnHULABALLOO. This in the middlernof a Baltic winter, on a ship where therernarc few Americans.rnThe ship is enormous, laden with allrnkinds of technological conveniences, includingrntelevision with CNN in the cabinsrn(the global equivalent of LISA ‘ioday,rnthe ceaseless pictorial bilge paraded asrninformation for illiterate functionaries).rnLarge, coarse Scandinavian men andrnboys in the sauna, drinking beer. Eourrndifferent restaurants in this ship, all ofrnthem acceptable, though quite expensive.rnAlong one entire deck the insidernof this tremendous ship has been gougedrnout for a shopping mall. The discosrnbeat. I go to bed early and wake up early.rnIhe ship moves fast through lowrnwaves on an inky dark morning. Breakfastrna’ailable onl^ in the Scandinavianrnbuffet manner, as almost everywherernnow in the world. Droves of shufflingrnpeople, sleepy women, unshaven men,rnsidling uneasily with their plates, standingrnin line for the juice pitchers, speechlessrnwith a queasy mix of appetites andrnembarrassments. I’hc waitresses comernand go, whipping away the plates as soonrnas they can. The democratic feeding ofrntravelers. It is all very middle-class. Butrnthat word has already lost its meaning:rnhere, back in the West, there are virtuallyrnno proletarians and no upper classesrnleft. Should one therefore distinguishrnthe upper-middle from the lower-middlernclasses? None of that is important orrnsignificant any longer, which means notrnonly that the Ralph Laurens are ridiculousrnbut also that fine writers such asrnEelyn Waugh will soon be read only asrnperiod pieces. Cold comfort again.rnThe old town of Stockholm is beautifulrnand inviting, too, because it is stillrnlived in. Ihcre is a Stockholm of broadrnavenues, giant department stores, blaringrnelectronics shops, office skvscrapers,rnglass-and-stccl buildings of the 1960’srnand 1970’s, endless traffic; but there is arnsense of carefully protected interior lives,rntoo, an instinctive rediscovery of olderrnvirtues that is more than an interior decorator’srnfad or nostalgia.rnSuch impressions arc reinforced whenrnI talk with Swedish friends in their apartmentrnafter dinner. How different is thisrnfin-de-siede from the one a century ago!rnWe talk about Knut Hamsun, whosernfame burst upon the world 100 vearsrnago. He, even more than Ibsen andrnStrindberg, opened the windows of thernworld in the Scandinavian direction,rnbringing in a fresh strong wind, aboutrnthe same time the fame of the greatrnRussian writers arrived in the West. ButrnHamsun had more to say to the Westrnthan had the Russians. Even secondratersrnsuch as Hemingway were ruffledrnby the I lamsunian wind. Hamsun hatedrneverything about the bourgeois world,rnits erampedness, its stuffiness, its coziness,rnthe intcriority of its lives, its intellectualrnphilistinism, its convenient liberalrncategories of thinking—all of thesernstiflingly prevalent in the Norwegianrntownlets of Hamsun’s time.rnNext night, as I sail out of Stockholm,rnas the large ship wends its way amongrnthe outer islands, 1 see the serried lightsrnof the social-democratic apartmentrnhouses on the low hills, here where thernnightfall in winter means the slowrnbrightening of lights in people’s windows.rnIt is unlike the sharp exterior glit-rn42/CHRONICLESrnrnrn