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Title: Aristocracy in America, vol. II (of 2) : from the sketch-book of a German nobleman
Author: Grund, Francis J. (Francis Joseph)
Language: English
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*** Start of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Aristocracy in America, vol. II (of 2) : from the sketch-book of a German nobleman" ***
II (OF 2) ***
[Illustration: MARTIN VAN BUREN.
_President of the United States._
London. Published by Richard Bentley. 1839.]
ARISTOCRACY IN AMERICA.
FROM THE
SKETCH-BOOK OF A GERMAN NOBLEMAN.
EDITED BY
FRANCIS J. GRUND.
AUTHOR OF “THE AMERICANS IN THEIR MORAL, SOCIAL,
AND POLITICAL RELATIONS.”
“Why should the poor be flattered?
No: let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp,
And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee,
Where thrift may follow fawning.”
SHAKSPEARE’s _Hamlet_, Act iii. Scene 2.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
LONDON:
RICHARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET.
Publisher in Ordinary to Her Majesty.
1839.
LONDON:
PRINTED BY SAMUEL BENTLEY,
Bangor House, Shoe Lane.
CONTENTS
OF
THE SECOND VOLUME.
PART II.
CONTAINING A SHORT STAY IN BOSTON AND PHILADELPHIA.
CHAPTER I.
Arrival in Boston.--The Tremont House.--The Boston
Common.--Aristocratic Exclusiveness of the Higher Classes.--The
Massachusetts State-House.--Pathetic Elegy of a
Boston Lawyer.--An Independent Gentleman, not a Speculator.--American
Aristocracy contrasted with that of England.--The
Aristocracy of America continually in contact
with the Lower Orders.--Anecdote illustrating the Opposition
of the Lower Classes to Aristocracy.--An Aristocratic Patron.--Economy
of the American Aristocracy.--Northern and
Southern Aristocracy contrasted Page 3
CHAPTER II.
Cross-examination of Foreigners in the United States.--Definition
of Common Sense--its high Value in America.--Aversion
to Genius.--Sensible reply of a Boston Aristocrat
with regard to a Parvenu from the Country.--Ladies buying
themselves a Professor.--Boys at school learning for Money.--A
Boston fashionable Concert--Description of the Musicians
and the Audience.--High Value of Morality in a Cantatrice.--Dangers
of differing in matters of Taste from the leading
Coteries.--Secret Police in Boston.--Reflections. 28
CHAPTER III.
Maternal Affections of American Ladies--their Cause.--Want
of Romance in the Lives of American Gentlemen.--Moral
and Religious Cant.--Daniel Webster’s Principle of
resisting arrogant Innovation.--Reflections on the Democratic,
Aristocratic, and Monarchical Forms of Government.--The
Bunker’s Hill Monument.--Want of Patriotism in the Higher
Classes of Americans.--The English Feeling in Boston.--Americans
passing for Englishmen in Europe.--Anecdotes.--The
American Aristocracy take the House of Lords under their
Protection.--Their Contempt for the Western Settlers.--The
American Character not understood in Europe 54
CHAPTER IV.
A party of English Gentlemen at Dinner--their Patriotism.--Character
of John Bull in America.--The Englishman’s
Speech.--The American Answer.--Modesty of British Commercial
Agents in the United States.--Anecdote characteristic
of the Second Society 85
CHAPTER V.
A Literary Party.--The American Press.--Character of
Editors--their Rise and Progress.--Influence of Advertisements.--Old
and New Federalists.--Mode of operating on the
People 109
CHAPTER VI.
Unitarian Preaching.--Dr. Channing.--Character of his
Audience.--Religious Party on the Sabbath.--Discussion of
Dr. Channing’s Merits.--Moral Cant.--General Characteristic
of New England Society.--Women the only Aristocracy 132
CHAPTER VII.
The Nobleman’s Journal becomes more and more Aristocratic.--Wistar
Parties in Philadelphia.--Literary Gentlemen
in Philadelphia.--The Girard College.--Character of the late
Stephen Girard.--The Quakers--their Aristocratic Sentiments.--Quaker
Dress.--Philadelphia Ladies.--Good Living
in Philadelphia.--The Mansion House in Third Street.--Apostrophe
to the Fashionable Young Men and to the Men
of Family 156
PART III.
CONTAINING A TRIP TO WASHINGTON, AND A SHORT STAY
IN THE METROPOLIS.
CHAPTER I.
Journey to Baltimore.--Arrival in the City.--Barnum’s
Hotel.--The Washington Letter-writer--his Views of Politics.--Arrival
in Washington.--Street Manners of the People.--Hotels
and Boarding-houses.--High Life in the Metropolis.--The
Epicure House 173
CHAPTER II.
Corps Diplomatique in Washington.--What a Fashionable Lady thinks of
an Ambassador.--The Secretary of the Treasury.--Popularity-hunting
of American Statesmen--its Influence
on National Politics.--Mr. Woodbury’s Hospitality
to Literary Men.--Henry Clay.--Thomas H. Benton.--Salis
Wright.--James Buchanan.--Extraordinary Dinner-bell.--Office-hunters
in Washington.--State of Finance of the City.--Anecdote
of General Jackson and the Office-seeker.--General
Character of Washington Society compared with that
of other American Cities 201
CHAPTER III.
The Library of Congress.--Conversation with several Members
of Congress.--Practice of Public Speakers in Washington.--Van
Buren’s Method of parrying an Invective.--Discussion
of General Jackson’s Character.--Jackson and
Wellington’s Similarity of Character.--Mr. Van Buren’s
Character.--Instability of American Institutions.--Insecurity
of Property the Consequence of it.--Want of Enthusiasm in
the Higher Classes.--Their Toad-eating in Europe.--Cooper’s
last Publication.--Vanity of boasting of the Natural Resources
of the Country.--Thin-skinnedness of the Americans when
attacked by European Critics.--Toad-eating to the People.--Necessity
of establishing a Moral Quarantine for all Americans
returning from Europe.--Americans being ashamed of their
Institutions.--Anecdote of a vulgar rich American and the
Grand Duke of Tuscany.--Democratic Twaddlers.--Advantages
of a poor Capital 234
CHAPTER IV.
A Fashionable young American at Gadsby’s Hotel.--A Washington
Party.--Description of the Parlour and the Refectory.--Apple
Toddy.--Introduction to the Lady of the
House and to a Fashionable Belle.--The young Lady’s Literary
Taste.--Mr. Wise.--Grand Distinction between American
and English Conservatism.--American Literati.--A regular
American Tory--his Rise and Progress.--Mr. Rives.--Mr.
Preston.--Mr. Webster.--Pendant to the Old Bailey Speech
quoted by Miss Martineau.--Calhoun’s Remarks on the
Money-mania of his Countrymen.--Webster’s Answer and
pathetic Conclusion--his giving into Poetry and sinking the
Bathos.--John Quincy Adams.--Mr. Forsyth.--Anecdote of
an American Anchorite.--A Mazurka danced by four Fashionable
Ladies, a Polish Count, and three Members of the
_Corps Diplomatique_ 261
CHAPTER V.
Drive to the White-house.--Anecdote of Mr. Jefferson and
the British Ambassador.--Reception at General Jackson’s.--The
General’s Conversation and Character.--The President’s
Prayer.--Anecdotes of General Jackson.--Reception by
Mr. Van Buren.--Anecdote illustrative of Mr. Van Buren’s
Tact--his Character.--Character of the American Opposition.--Political
Hypocrisy.--Mr. Calhoun.--Mr. Kendall.--Conclusion 302
PART II.
CONTAINING A SHORT STAY IN BOSTON AND
PHILADELPHIA.
CHAPTER I.
Arrival in Boston.--The Tremont House.--The Boston
Common.--Aristocratic Exclusiveness of the Higher Classes.--The
Massachusetts State-House.--Pathetic Elegy of a Boston Lawyer.--An
Independent Gentleman, not a Speculator.--American Aristocracy
contrasted with that of England.--The Aristocracy of America
continually in contact with the Lower Orders.--Anecdote illustrating
the opposition of the Lower Classes to Aristocracy.--An Aristocratic
Patron.--Economy of the American Aristocracy.--Northern and Southern
Aristocracy contrasted.
“If there’s a hole in a’ your coats,
I rede you tent it;
A chiel’s amang ye takin’ notes,
And faith he’ll prent it.”
BURNS.
The city of Boston, as may be known to many of my readers, is only
approachable by water and a long narrow isthmus, called “the neck.”
For this reason it is said to be “the head of New England;” but the
people in the country, who are extremely jealous of the prerogatives of
“the townsfolks,” merely call it “the great metropolis.” When it was
first settled, which is more than two hundred years ago,--for which
reason it is termed “an ancient and honourable city,” and the families
descended from those settlers “ancient and honourable families,”--it
contained, somewhere in the neighbourhood of what is now called
“Beacon-street,” three large promising bumps, which however, entirely
disappeared as the baby grew older, and are now smoothed down almost to
a flat.
The neck forms a large well-paved causeway, lined chiefly with wooden
houses, (in the principal streets the buildings are of stone or brick,)
and connects the city with the borough of Roxbury, which contains
alone above ten thousand inhabitants. Coming from New York, this is
the regular entrance to the town; and through it therefore I arrived,
driving straight up to the Tremont House. This is a large, massive
building with a granite front and a brick back, situated in the most
eligible part of the city, and considered as the crack house of the
place.
I found the interior very comfortable, and could have procured a
parlour and chamber for the modicum of thirty-six dollars (about seven
guineas) a week, if an acquaintance of mine, whom I accidentally met
at the bar, had not advised me to content myself with a bedchamber,
and dine at the ordinary; which, he said, would reduce my expenses to
about one-third, without diminishing very materially my respectability.
“Our _first_ people,” said he, “are satisfied with similar
accommodations: they little care how and where they sleep, provided
they live in a fashionable quarter; and prefer dining at an ordinary,
because at a public table they get more to eat for less money. We are
_republicans_,” added he, “especially in this city, which is called the
_cradle_ of liberty.”
Not knowing whether he meant this as a satire, I proposed to take a
walk with him before dinner, in order that I might have a _cicerone_ to
direct my first impressions of so classical a place; and accordingly
we sallied forth, taking the direction down Tremont-street towards the
Common.
“You see here at once the finest place in the whole city,” said my
cicerone; “one which might be enjoyed by all classes, if we had not
already outgrown the _cradle_. The people who live in these houses,
and who, with very few exceptions, have all been to England, do not
like to be seen in public. They hate the arrogance of our grocers and
mechanics, who would be apt to stare them out of countenance if they
were to show themselves at a public walk. ‘Humility,’ they say, ‘is not
the besetting sin of the American people: on the contrary, the lower
classes think themselves just as good as we are; and, what is worse,
they _know_ that they are our political masters.’ This, they argue,
is absolute madness, as a man may learn by a single trip to Europe.
‘There _must_ be a heaven’s aristocracy of talent and knowledge, ‘as
one of our great men[1] used to say,’ and consequently also a h--ll’s
democracy of ignorance and prejudice. The latter must not be encouraged
in any way, and, least of all, by suffering ourselves to be confounded
with it in private or public.’
“It was with the greatest difficulty,” continued he, “that our
aristocratic inhabitants of Beacon and Park streets[2] could be
prevailed upon to suffer benches to be placed in the Mall. They had two
reasons for opposing this popular measure: first, because it encouraged
idleness, inducing people who ought to be at work or at home to come
here and bask themselves in the sun; and, secondly, because it was
possible from those benches either to see the people at the windows of
the houses, which would be inconvenient,--or from the windows of those
houses to see the people on the benches, which, as the sight of poverty
and idleness does not particularly enhance the beauty of a landscape,
would be ‘shocking.’ Malicious persons say that there are yet other
reasons for opposing the benches; but I could never bring myself to
believe them.”
As we were ascending the little eminence on which stands the
State-house, we were met by a lawyer, who, learning that I was a
stranger come on purpose to see the capital of New England,--the
_ideal_ capital, namely, because New England is divided into six
States, each of which has its own metropolis,--accompanied us, in order
probably to become acquainted with my opinions, and in the evening
report them to his friends.
For the information of my readers I must observe, that the Boston
State-house is a heavy, clumsy piece of architecture, the style and
arrangement of which are neither striking nor convenient. I was told
that the building was originally intended to be erected on a much
larger scale; but that, from motives of republican economy, its wings
were afterwards clipped to their present dimensions,--the main body,
for which there were sufficient funds on hand, remaining full as large
as in the first design. The whole is crowned by a wooden cupola,
of such enormous height as not even to leave the possibility of an
illusion of its being made of stone, as in this case the walls would
not be strong enough to support it. These are confessions which, in
Boston, would not only render me unpopular, but actually expose me to
being mobbed; but, at a distance of two hundred miles, (I write this
in the city of New York,) one does feel less afraid of expressing
one’s opinions and sentiments. The interior of the house contains a
statue of Washington, by Chantrey; a broad staircase; a large hall of
representatives; and a number of smaller rooms for committees, and the
several offices of the departments of state.
“This house,” said the lawyer, after heaving a deep sigh, “once the
receptacle of a _noble_ body of men, is now open to every gingerbread
man from the country; or you would see it built in a different style,
worthy of the legislative assembly hall of a powerful republic, like
that of Massachusetts! But the fact is, instead of great men, our house
of representatives is now composed of members who advocate ‘mackerel
inspection,’ cider-presses, fences, raising potatoes, and brewing small
beer. Having no general ticket, each town or village must send its
quota of advocates of its own particular industry; who, moreover, come
here for no other purpose than to oppose the more elevated measures
proposed by the more enlightened members for Boston.”
“That is a fact,” observed my cicerone; “our city representatives wish
them all to ‘_where they don’t rake up fire o’ nights_.’ They have
so far degraded their station, that it is now a disgrace, and not an
honour, to be delegated by the people.”
“And what have they done to disgrace themselves?” demanded I.
“That is soon told,” replied the lawyer; “every country member comes
here with the determined purpose of opposing _us_, and, above all
things, to let the Bostonians contribute largely to the expenses of the
State. We pay nearly one-third of all the taxes; and yet we call this
_a republican government_!”
“One of equal justice, you ought to have said,” interrupted the
cicerone.
“As if justice could co-exist with universal suffrage!” ejaculated the
lawyer.
“I would pardon all,” resumed the cicerone, with a sarcastic smile,
“if our country members were to spend the money, which we pay them for
lounging about town, in a liberal and gentlemanly manner: but, instead
of that, they select the worst boarding-houses, from which they expel
our journeymen mechanics, in order to live cheap; and, instead of wine
and other liquors, which our merchants and grocers could make a profit
of, consume immense quantities of that dreadful stuff which, under the
name of ‘New England cider,’ is sometimes placed on our tables, and for
which even our _sharpest_ landlords dare not make a charge.”
“The positive fact is,” exclaimed the lawyer, “that few of our
representatives are gentlemen.”
“And that very few gentlemen will now-a-days consent to become
representatives,” added my cicerone, “except it be for Congress; and
even that will not last long, if things go on much longer in the way
they have for the last seven or eight years.”
As the disposition of the higher classes of Bostonians to ridicule the
institutions of their country were known to me, I paid no particular
attention to their remarks, which were made as we were gazing on
the statue “_of the hero of the revolution_.” I only remember that
the lawyer went on in a strain of uninterrupted eloquence, abusing
the trial by jury, the vote by ballot, and, _à fortiori_, universal
suffrage. “We just wanted that,” he said, “to complete our misery! As
if our mob had not enough power without it! Our democracy is of the
worst kind; it does not strive for equality, but for supremacy. It
becomes at once our jury, judge, legislator, and governor. You dare not
act as you please in your own house; you dare not educate your children
in your own way; you dare not express a wish of your own but what you
have to dread to be exposed in public, and have your name paraded in
the newspapers. Every man in this city is a spy on his neighbour, a
voluntary, unpaid police-agent of the rabble, that pries into all your
actions and motives, and is always ready to attribute them to the worst
source. And yet we talk of personal liberty, as if such a thing could
exist in a republic!”
“But is the description you give of your townsmen not applicable to all
classes?” demanded I; “is it only the labouring classes, or ‘the mob,’
as you call them, which act as spies to the community?”
“We are all naturally a curious, inquisitive people,” replied he; “and
a cunning one too, because we hardly ever answer one question except by
asking another; but all these faults are increased by the tendencies of
our institutions.”
“Have you been less curious or inquisitive before the revolution?”
“Not exactly that; but the inquisitiveness of the lower classes was
less troublesome. Our gentlemen were not obliged to notice it; they
were not directly responsible to the people; in short, _we_ were in
every respect more independent than we now are.”
I thought it best not to continue this sort of conversation; so,
quitting the house, and walking down Beacon-street, I pointed to a new
building which struck me as remarkably tasteful. “Here,” said I, “is
quite a stylish mansion! I did not expect to find so much neatness and
comfort in this city!”
“It is the mansion of Mr. ***,” replied my cicerone. “Don’t you think
it a fine building? And in the Italian style, too! The owner is one of
our richest men,--the son of Mr. ***, who came to Boston in the year
----. He made all his money in the ---- business, and must now be worth
upwards of a million of dollars. He has a very nice family too. His
wife was a Miss ***, daughter to Mr. ***, one of our most respectable
merchants; quite an _intellectual_ girl, with plenty of money. I
believe she brought him three hundred thousand dollars. Her sister
married a Mr. ***, one of the most _influential men_ in this city. They
have been a good deal abroad, and furnished their house in the best
style----”
Fearing that I should be condemned to listen to a long description of
the various articles of furniture brought home from London or Paris,
and at last to the statistics of the gentleman’s property,--a thing
which is by no means unfrequent in Boston,--I abruptly changed the
conversation by directing my cicerone’s attention to an unfinished
building, whose enormous height was entirely disproportionate to the
small surface it covered on the ground.
“This house,” I said, “seems to be perfectly new; how did it happen
that so eligible a site for building remained so long a time
unimproved?”
“It was a fine garden,” replied my cicerone, “belonging to Mr. ***,
living in the house adjoining it; but he sold it as a house-lot for the
neat little sum of twelve thousand dollars. It’s only a small piece of
ground, just large enough for two parlours on a floor; but our houses
are all three or four stories high, none of us wishing to be overlooked
by his neighbour.”
“Did he keep the ground on speculation?” demanded I.
“Bless your soul, sir!” exclaimed he; “do you think Mr. *** is a
speculator? He is a rich man, sir! he does not care for the money;
‘it’s only for the conven’ance of it,’ as the New Hampshire farmer
said, when he dunned the gentleman for a bushel of potatoes. Who the
deuce would not take twelve thousand dollars for a little garden,
scarcely large enough to raise cabbage for the family?”
“Especially in a town where no man possesses anything he would not
sell, provided a proper price be offered him,” added the lawyer.
While we were thus talking, we had reached the mill-dam which leads
over to Brooklyne, and from which we enjoyed a truly magnificent view
of the panorama of Boston. I observed to my companions that their city
was one of the finest in the Union; and that, as far as I might be
allowed to judge, it could be made a most delightful residence.
“It _was_ a delightful place,” replied the lawyer; “but our old
families are gradually losing their influence. Most of the fine houses
you see here are inhabited by _roturiers_; our society is getting worse
and worse every day; and, while we expend thousands for our public
schools, we lose our manners.”
“That is a fact,” exclaimed my cicerone; “our young men are not half
so polite as the old ones; and, what is worse, the influence of family
is entirely lost. Our young ladies, for instance, do not value birth
and good breeding half so much as money. They would rather marry a
woodcutter, if he had shown himself ‘clever’ in making money, than the
son of our oldest gentleman.”
“But pray, gentlemen,” interrupted I, half impatiently, “why cannot
you enjoy the many blessings Heaven has bestowed on you, without being
continually afraid of losing your dignity? I have heard more talk
about aristocracy and family in the United States than during my whole
previous life in Europe. You embitter your enjoyments and pleasures
by endeavouring to exclude from them all that come after you; and,
in doing so, wound the feelings of many an honest man, who, but for
a little more urbanity on your part, would be your friend instead
of your enemy. A question of interest which is now agitating the
country[3] may for a moment unite you; but the union is an unnatural
one, and on that account cannot last. Your state of society is such,
that, in the ordinary intercourse with your fellow-citizens, you must
necessarily offend more than you can gratify; and the mortifications
which two-thirds of the whole population are constantly suffering from
the small portion distinguished from the rest by nothing but success
in business, must add to the natural jealousies felt by the labouring
classes of all countries with regard to the rich. The distinction
between the different orders of society may be more _apparent_ in
England,--as they are, from historical reasons, with all people of
Saxon origin; but they are, nevertheless, far less offensive than yours.
“In all countries in which there exists an hereditary, wealthy
nobility, there exists a sort of good-will towards the inferior classes
which leads to the relation of patron and client, and through which
many an apparent injustice is smoothed over by liberality and kindness;
but the mere moneyed aristocracy which is establishing itself in
this country, however you may disguise the fact by cunning and soft
speeches, or an hyperbolical affectation of republicanism, _hates_ the
industrious masses over whom it strives to elevate itself.
“The exclusiveness of your wealthy brokers, that hoard money without
_spending_ it, offends the people without benefiting the artisan or the
tradesman; and the meanness with which your first people bargain for
every trifle to save a penny, renders their custom scarcely desirable
to respectable tradespeople. You are extravagantly fond of splendour,
and yet are afraid of displaying it. You must understand me right: I
speak of the rich, calculating Bostonians, who really live on their
property; not of your wealthy men in New York, who live on nine months’
credit. Besides, you yourself will allow that your aristocracy is far
from being generally well educated, and I do not see how this fault is
to be remedied as long as wealth constitutes the chief title to good
society.
“Your aristocracy, therefore, has not the power of dazzling the lower
classes with that air of self-possession and dignity by which gentlemen
of rank are at once recognised in Europe. On the contrary, the
manners of your rich people in their intercourse with less successful
aspirants to fortune are markedly coarse and vulgar, in order, I
believe, to give the latter to understand that they are sufficiently
_independent_--that, I think, is the word,--not to _care_ for their
opinion.”
Here the lawyer pleaded a pressing engagement; and left us, without
shaking of hands, or expressing a desire of seeing me again.
“You have made an enemy of that man,” observed my cicerone, “who will
make you a hundred more enemies if you should ever think of settling in
this city.”
“He did not seem to be offended,” replied I; “or I should have checked
my tongue before he left us.”
“You can never tell when these people are offended,” he rejoined; “but
you may rely upon one thing,--they will never forgive you. They lock
their wrath up, until a favourable opportunity presents itself for
taking summary vengeance. If I were in your place, _I would make myself
scarce_.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean, I would not show myself too much in public, or in society; or
perhaps engage my passage to New York.”
“And you call this a free country!” exclaimed I, “and the manners of
your people those of high-minded gentlemen! Good manners in other
countries consist in putting every one at ease, which may be done
without being in the least degree familiar; but here the higher classes
seem to be determined upon making every one that is poorer than
themselves feel his inferiority, in order to make him as uncomfortable
as possible. And all this is done with an affectation of republican
simplicity, which makes every species of arrogance only the more
offensive as coming from an equal. The Southern people, whom you
pronounce much more aristocratic, and who perhaps are so in the English
sense of the word, are infinitely more amiable in their manners, merely
because _their_ exclusiveness relates to family and education, and
because they are not continually in contact with the labouring classes.
“In order to make any kind of aristocracy tolerable, it is necessary
that it should, in some shape or other, either protect the lower
classes, or never come in contact with them. The aristocracy of the
Atlantic cities is unfortunately neither a protector of the lower
orders, with whom it is continually wrestling for power; nor is it,
from its political position and mode of life, capable of avoiding
incessant contact with them. Hence arises a continual jarring: the rich
claiming a rank which the poor are unwilling to grant; and the poor
provoked by the _unprofitable_ arrogance of the rich, opposing to them
a species of insolence which a labouring man in Europe would hardly
dare to offer his equals.
“I recollect some time ago having travelled on board of a canal-boat
from Harrisburg to Pittsburg. The accommodations on board of these
boats, the most bigoted American--and I know I address myself to
none such--could not but call miserable; and yet, the majority being
satisfied, none dared to murmur. Our meals were shocking; cooked in the
worst manner, and served as no man in England would place a piece of
bread before a day labourer. During the night we were put on shelves,
of which three were placed one above the other at a distance of not
more than from sixteen to twenty inches, and so close together that the
feet of one person touched the head of his neighbour, and _vice versâ_.
To complete our misery, the cabin was not ventilated, the door being
kept closed in order to prevent those who lay next to it from taking
cold; and we slept without sheets, the same unwashed and uncleaned
blankets having perhaps served in turn to a hundred different pedlars
and emigrants. But the _ne plus ultra_ was one of the captains,[4]
a New-Englander by birth; a puny, pale, consumptive fellow with
sharp grey eyes, thin pointed nose, long deeply-indented chin, and a
dash across his face marking the opening of the mouth in the absence
of lips. His voice, something between a growl and a grunt, seemed
to proceed from a subterraneous cavern; while his hands, carefully
concealed in his pockets, indicated, by their position, the usual
current of his thoughts.
“This fellow, whom no man of correct judgment would have made keeper
of a pack of hounds, used to look upon the whole company with an air
of conscious superiority; strutting the deck as if he were commander
of a frigate, and scarcely deigning to address a word to any of
the passengers. You will excuse me for this digression, which you
will readily forgive when you reflect that I but agree with you in
the opinion that, much as the New-Englanders are to be esteemed at
home,--and there is none more ready to pay homage to their public and
private virtue than myself,--they are nevertheless among the dullest,
driest, and most disagreeable adventurers one meets abroad. This man
had the impudence to serve the same meat three times to his passengers:
first, with tea and coffee in the morning; then, with pure water at
noon; and lastly, though there was scarcely enough left to feed a dog,
the remainder of the dinner was once more brought upon the table in
the shape of a supper. Previous to that, we had been _kept_, as they
call it, by a fat round-faced German, who gave us at least _plenty_ to
eat, and a friendly face in the bargain; but our Yankee captain seemed
to be determined to make the most of our cash, without contracting the
irregular polygon of his face into anything approaching a smile.
“Under these circumstances, a German gentleman, who, to judge from his
merry voice, and two large bumps of alimentiveness gracing his circular
forehead, was fond of humour and good cheer, was amusing the company in
tolerable good English with a few unequivocal innuendoes in reference
to their _English comforts_; which were no sooner uttered than the
captain, probably thinking that the _foreigner_ was an _aristocrat_
not admiring the institutions of the country, told him that his
conversation was ‘most perfectly disgusting,’ and that, if he did not
‘hold his tongue,’ he should be obliged to put him ashore. These,
as far as I can recollect, were the very words of the ill-humoured
blackguard; and such an effect did they produce on the company that
none dared to demonstrate against his insulting conduct, though they
_whispered_ to one another that it was not altogether _gentlemanly_ or
_just_.
“Now, this man would not have been half so insolent if the gentleman
whom he reprobated had not been decently dressed, so as to lead him
to suppose that he wanted to play the aristocrat. It was a species of
revenge against what he imagined to be the taunts and sneers of ‘a
vulgar upstart,’ who, in spite of his money, resorted to this mode of
travelling for the sake of saving expenses.
“If the higher classes claim superior respect, it is but just they
should pay for it, as the higher classes do in Europe, where a man is
charged according to his rank; but how few of your fashionable people
are willing to lay out an additional groat for the distinction they so
ardently covet. They want to be esteemed merely because they are rich,
though their wealth does not benefit any of their fellow-citizens.”
“I remember a young Bostonian,” observed my cicerone, “who employed a
second-rate barber to cut his hair. The task not being performed to
his satisfaction, he indignantly rose from the chair, placed a piece
of twelve and a half cents (the usual price being twenty-five) on the
table, and, opening the door with great fury, told the affrighted
little Frenchman that he should never _patronise_ him again.
“Such instances of the liberality of our first people,” he continued,
“occur every day; as you may yourself witness by frequenting our
market. Every one of our gentlemen purchases his own provisions, so
as to render the collusion of the servants with the tradespeople,
which you know exists to a lamentable extent in England, wholly
impossible. Our aristocracy, I can assure you, are a shrewd people; but
unfortunately for the comforts of domestic life, their servants are
equally shrewd, and stay with their calculating masters no longer than
they can _help_ it.
“This state of things,” added he, after a pause, “does not exist at
the South. There the veriest fault of the people is generosity. The
slaves, who enable them to be aristocratic without being mean, stand
to them in the relation of vassals to their lords; and the planters,
not fearing the power and political influence of their slaves, but, on
the contrary, having an interest in their physical well-being, treat
them generally with humanity and kindness. There never was a great
moral evil, without producing also some good; and thus it is that the
very relation between master and slave engenders ties and affections
which no one can understand without having witnessed their effect. I
have seen the wives of planters watch at the sick-bed of their slaves,
and perform acts of charity which the misconstrued self-esteem of our
Northern people would have deemed menial, merely because the feelings
of _kindness_ and _gratitude_, which are strongest in the Southern
States, are, with us, construed into _obligation_ and _payment_;
two things which effectually destroy all poetry of life, even in
the relation of parents to their children. I am not here disposed
to underrate the miseries of slavery, as they will always appear to
the mind of an European; but I cannot entirely overlook some of the
advantages which result from it to the moral and social relations of
the country.”
And I could not but agree with my cicerone. If the tendency of wealth
in the Northern States is towards an aristocracy of money, the
aristocracy of the Southern States, founded on birth and education,
is a sort of offset to it,--a means of preventing the degeneration of
the high-minded democracy which once swayed the country, into a vulgar
oligarchy of calculating machines without poetry, without arts, and
without generosity.
“After all, the greatest benefactors of the American people were
Southerners, from the great father of the country, down to its last
chivalrous defender. Southern orators are yet the most eloquent;
Southern statesmen the most disinterested in their views of national
politics. Genius requires a heart as well as a head, or the seed lacks
the warmth necessary for its germination. Give me the man whose blood
flows quickly through his veins, with his ready perception and his
high sense of honour! If aristocracy, the original sin of society,
must be entailed upon man in every climate, then let me at once have
that of the South. Give me an aristocracy above the cares and toils of
ordinary life, which has the means and the leisure to devote itself to
higher pursuits than mere pecuniary gain and profit,--an aristocracy
to whom national honour and glory are not words without meaning, and
whose estimation of a people’s happiness is not deduced merely from its
statistics of commerce and manufactures!
“I have always hoped, and still hope, that the democratic principle
will, in America, prevail over all the others: but if this hope should
prove delusive; if, in the phraseology of one of the ablest senators in
the United States, ‘the multiplied wants of the country’ should beget
an universal worship of Mammon as the means of satisfying them; then I
would rather live surrounded by negroes, and, in the society of their
aristocratic but high-minded and generous masters, seek some feeble
consolation in the reflection that Rome and Greece were likewise cursed
with slavery. I would prefer the aristocracy of the Southern States
to that of the North, for precisely the same reason that I prefer,
generally, a nobleman to a _roturier_.”
“You are not very singular in your notions,” observed my cicerone. “I
do not remember a single European that came here but what expressed
the same opinion; but this singular coincidence has not in the least
changed the opinion of our people, who are perfectly satisfied that
their city stands unrivalled in the world for virtue, wisdom, and
patriotism.”
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Edward Everett, the present governor of Massachusetts.
[2] The two streets which face the Common.
[3] The United States Bank and the Sub-treasury system.
[4] These change at the different stopping-places of the boat.
CHAPTER II.
Cross-examination of Foreigners in the United States.--Definition
of Common Sense--Its high value in America.--Aversion to
Genius.--Sensible reply of a Boston Aristocrat with regard
to a Parvenu from the country.--Ladies buying themselves a
Professor.--Boys at school learning for Money.--A Boston fashionable
Concert--Description of the Musicians and the Audience.--High value of
Morality in a Cantatrice.--Dangers of differing in matters of taste
from the leading Coteries.--Secret Police in Boston.--Reflections.
“Unhappy he, who from the first of joys--
Society--cut off, is left alone
Amid this world of death. Day after day
Sad on the jetting eminence he sits,
And views the main that ever toils below.”
THOMSON’S _Seasons_.
The day after my arrival in Boston I delivered my letters of
introduction. Some I merely sent with my card; others I carried in
person, according to the custom of the country. My reception could not,
of course, be equal to that of a well-recommended Englishman; the word
“de” having, by my request, been suppressed in all my letters, and it
not being known at that time that I was about to commit my impressions
to paper. Yet was I received with politeness; subject, however, to a
sort of cross-examination, of which, for the benefit of travellers, I
will here furnish a short extract.
_Question._--“How do you like this country?”
_Answer_ (of course).--“Extremely well.” (It will do no harm to show
a little enthusiasm; the Bostonians, having little of that article
themselves, like to see it in others.)
_Question._--“How does this country appear to you compared with
England?”
(This is a question never asked by the labouring class, who seem to
care little or nothing about it; and proves at once your being in good
society. You must answer it with great circumspection; as, if you give
America the preference, they either think you a hypocrite, or a person
not used to society and the world; and, if you show yourself too great
a partisan for England, their vanity will never forgive you.)
_Question._--“Do you intend to settle here?”
(This question is best answered in the negative.)
_Question._--“Are you married or single.”
(If the stranger be a man of moderate fortune, it will be best for him
to call himself a married man; the fashionable society of Boston having
a great dread of poor bachelors.)
_Question._--“Do you not think we _enjoy_ a very bad climate?”
(This they really believe; but it is prudent in Europeans stoutly
to deny it. The fact is, it is really not half so bad as generally
represented; there being more sunny days in America than, perhaps with
the exception of Italy or Spain, in any part of Europe.)
_Question._--“Don’t you think the transition from heat to cold very
sudden?”
(Deny it by all means, even if there should have been a change of
twenty degrees that very day.)
Then comes the praise of the American “falls,” in which any one may
join conscientiously; an American landscape in the month of October
being, on account of the infinite variety in the colour of the woods,
and the extreme serenity of the sky, the most beautiful thing in the
world.
National vanity--a feeling which is totally distinct from
patriotism--exists in no part of the United States to such an extent
as in New England, and especially in Boston, whose inhabitants think
themselves not only vastly superior to any people in Europe, but also
infinitely more enlightened, especially as regards politics, than the
rest of their countrymen. Thus the question has been seriously proposed
to me, whether I had not been struck with the superior intelligence of
the Bostonians, compared with the inhabitants of other cities in the
United States and in Europe? and whether, on the whole, I had found any
people in the world superior to those of New England?
These faults apart, I found the Bostonians quite an _entertaining_, I
could not conscientiously say an _hospitable_ people, because one does
not feel at home amongst them, even after a residence of many years.
The fact is, that though they boast of an unusual degree of “common
sense” in their common transactions of life, very little of it is seen
in their society. Society is the only sea with the navigation of which
the New-Englanders are as yet unacquainted, in spite of the English,
French, and Italian charts they study for that purpose. The moment
their ladies and gentlemen sit in state, they are affected and awkward;
_et quand le bon ton parait, le bon sens se retire_.
What the wealthy Bostonians generally understand by common sense, and
the influence which the latter exercises on society, I soon had an
opportunity of learning, at the house of a fashionable gentleman, a
president of a bank, with whom I had the pleasure of dining a few days
after my arrival in the city.
The individual in question was between forty-five and fifty years of
age; apparently of a high bilious temper, with a livid complexion, grey
piercing eyes, straight hair, compressed lips, thin nose and chin,--in
short, a figure which in any part of the world I should have at once
recognised as belonging to a matter-of-fact man from New England. There
were but two more gentlemen to dine with us, and no ladies besides the
wife and daughters of our entertainer; so that conversation soon began
to flag, until, the dessert being put on the table, the restraint was
taken off from the gentlemen by the good-natured retiring of the ladies.
Mine host was the first person who broke in upon the monotony of the
entertainment, by introducing a topic which at once commanded the
attention of his friends.
“Common sense,” he said, after having drunk the first glass of madeira
and passed the bottle, “is the _genius_, or, as I do not like that
word, the _essence_ of society and good government; and I think,”
added he with a self-complacent smile, “no people in the world have
inherited a larger share of this most invaluable commodity than our
_cool, calm, calculating, money-making_ Yankees. Did you” (addressing
himself to me) “ever see a more intelligent people than our Bostonians?
Did you ever see a city more quiet, more prosperous, more orderly than
Boston?”
“The appearance of Boston,” responded I, “certainly warrants all you
say of it.”
“Yes, sir,” he rejoined; “and I can point out to you at least one
hundred persons in that city worth upwards of a hundred thousand
dollars.”
“That certainly argues in favour of the industry and perseverance of
its inhabitants.”
“Say rather it argues in favour of their _common_ sense,” said he, “in
which industry and perseverance are necessarily included. We are a
common sense, matter-of-fact people,” added he exultingly; “we leave
genius and enthusiasm to Europeans.”
“Thank Heaven!” exclaimed his neighbour on the left, “I have no genius
in _my_ family; my children are all brought up to be industrious.”
“You may thank the Lord for that,” replied our entertainer; “I
never saw a genius yet who was either himself happy or capable of
making others so. I have brought up my sons to become merchants and
manufacturers; only Sam, the poor boy who is a little hard of hearing,
and rather slow of comprehension, shall go to college. Our merchants,
sir, are the most respectable part of the community.”
“What college do you mean to send him to?” demanded I, in order to
ascertain whether he had been serious.
“I shall send him to Harvard University,” he replied; “the oldest
literary institution in the country. Have you not yet been to see it?”
I told him that I had been but a few days in Boston, but that I should
certainly take an early opportunity of visiting the institution.
“Do so,” he said; “you will find it well worth your while; it will
convince you that, while we have been making money, we have not
altogether neglected arts and sciences.”
“Which are your cleverest men in the various departments of science?”
demanded I.
“Why, they are none of them very clever in _our_ sense of the word.
We consider professors as secondary men. Our practice is to give the
different professorships away to young men, in order to induce them to
devote themselves to the branch they are to teach. Our country is as
yet too young for old professors; and, besides, they are too poorly
paid to induce first-rate men to devote themselves to the business of
lecturing.”
“In this manner,” rejoined I, “you will never have eminent men in the
higher departments of philosophy.”
“We have as yet no time to devote to abstract learning,” he observed;
“we are too young for that. Our principal acquirement consists in
common sense; all the rest we consider as moonshine. You must know,” he
said, with a countenance in which superiority of knowledge was mingled
with condescension of manners, “that a young man learns as much in six
months in a counting-room as in four years at college. My friends do
not entirely agree with me; but I often told them that our colleges
only made poor gentlemen, and spoiled clever tradesmen.”
He then counted over the names of most of the rich men in Boston, who,
he said, were all self-taught country boys, possessed of no other
learning than the art of making dollars in a neat, handsome, clean
manner. “This,” he added, “has given them a higher standing in society
than they could have acquired by all the philosophy in the world, and
enabled them to marry into the oldest and most aristocratic families
of the place.
“Take, for instance, the case of our friend ***. What does he know
except making money? What has he ever learned except negociating,
or rather _shaving_ notes? What college did he ever go to, except
that of our brokers in State-street? And has he not married the
daughter of one of our richest men? Has he not got one of the largest
fortunes with her? And is he not now connected with some of our first
people--with the real back-bone of our Boston aristocracy? And do you
know the answer his father-in-law gave to one of his old friends, who
remonstrated with him for giving his daughter away to a _parvenu_ from
the country? ‘I give my daughter to any man,’ said he, ‘who will come
to Boston and have wit enough to make a hundred thousand dollars in
six years.’ There’s common sense for you, I trust: that’s what we call
practical philosophy.”
“It is certainly a melancholy fact,” sighed the gentleman next to me,
who now for the first time opened his lips, “that a great number of our
young men, who have gone to college, have afterwards been unsuccessful
in business. I think our education is not sufficiently practical;--we
are still attached to the European system.”
“Not only that,” replied our entertainer, “but most of our students
contract habits of idleness, which will never answer in this country.
They want to imitate your English gentleman, when their patrimony--I
mean their _share_ in their father’s fortune--is scarcely sufficient to
keep them alive. Do you remember Mr. ***’s reply to a young gentleman
who had asked him his advice as to what he ought to do in order to
succeed in business? ‘Take off your kid gloves,’ said he, ‘and go to
work.’ There’s philosophy for you, equal to your Kants and Leibnitz!
Mr. ***, you know, is a plain-spoken man, who came to Boston without a
cent in his pocket, and is now one of our most respectable citizens.”
“But if this be the prevailing taste of your townsmen,” said I, “why do
you call Boston the Athens of the United States?”
“That appellation,” replied he, “refers to our women, not to our
gentlemen. Our ladies read a great deal. And why should they not? What
else have they to do? And we have, besides, a lot of literary twaddles,
manufactured by the wholesale at Cambridge, who attempt to turn the
heads of our young girls with the nonsense they call ‘poetry,’ which
fills nearly all our papers, instead of clever editorials. If we have
one poet among us, we have at least fifty, the joint earnings of whom
would not be sufficient to keep a dog. But then poets don’t turn _our_
heads, you see; we are too much occupied with business.”
“But how do your literary men manage to get on?” demanded I: “I know
several of them quite in easy circumstances.”
“They marry rich women, who can afford paying for being entertained.
They show their common sense in that. It’s quite the fashion for our
rich girls to _buy themselves a professor_, previous to taking a trip
to Europe.”
“And then,” added my neighbour on the right, “literary reputations are
in this city not acquired, as in other places, through the medium of
public opinion; but by the aid of a small coterie, composed of a few
‘leading citizens,’ who have the power of setting a man up, or putting
him down, just as they please;[5] the process being this. Mr. A. or
Mr. B., wealthy gentlemen in Beacon-street, declare Mr. Smith a fine
scholar; and immediately half a dozen of their clique will repeat the
same assertion. The individual in question is thus made fashionable,
so that any one speaking against him is considered unacquainted with
the usages of society. Those, therefore, whose opinion--if they dare
to have one--is different from Mr. A.’s and Mr. B.’s, are most likely
to keep it to themselves; while every person aspiring to rank and
fashion publicly swears to his scholarship: for our people, you must
know, are accustomed to do everything from fear; nothing from love. If
you want to succeed in anything,--if you want to carry any particular
measure,--enlist half a dozen influential citizens in your behalf, and
the rest will not dare _to back out_. That’s the way things are done in
this city.
“And the worst of it is,” he continued, “that our coteries are small,
and, for the most part, led by one or two _prominent members of
society_, who, on all similar occasions, act as dictators. Add to this,
that our fashionable men have not the advantages of education and
leisure enjoyed by the higher classes in Europe, and that their manners
are generally stiff, uncouth, and overbearing; and you will easily
understand why our society, so far from resembling that of Athens,
must necessarily counteract the independent developement of mind and
character.
“This habit of conforming to each other’s opinion, and the penalty set
upon every transgression of that kind, are sufficient to prevent a man
from wearing a coat cut in a different fashion, or a shirt-collar no
longer _à la mode_, or, in fact, to do, say, or appear anything which
could render him unpopular among a certain set. In no other place, I
believe, is there such a stress laid upon ‘saving appearances.’ I once
asked a relation of mine for what sum of money he might be prevailed
upon to suffer his mustachoes to grow? He demanded twenty-four hours
‘to figure it out,’ and then told me the next day that he could not do
it for one cent less than ten thousand dollars. He reasoned thus: ‘I am
a man of moderate property, the interest of my patrimony being barely
sufficient to pay for my board, I am therefore obliged to work, in
part, for my living; but, my wants being few, an additional six hundred
dollars would cover all my expenses. These I hope to earn by practising
law, to which profession I was bred, and, for which I feel a natural
predilection. Now, if I wear mustachoes, I must resign my practice as
a lawyer; for with mustachoes I can neither go to court, nor obtain
a respectable chamber practice. Six hundred dollars are the interest,
at six per cent. per annum, of ten thousand dollars, which, therefore,
would be sufficient to make up for my loss; for I can manage to live
without society.”
“A few singularities of that sort may be charged to every people,”
observed the gentleman of the house; “and, besides, I really do not see
what business a young man has to wear mustachoes: I would certainly not
employ him in a counting-room. We are a young people; and, as such,
must endeavour to get on by hard work, not by dandyism. Some of our
instructors have the good sense to inculcate this doctrine even into
our children; and I do not see why grown persons should be permitted to
set up a different rule for themselves.”
“And pray, sir,” demanded I, “in what manner do your instructors teach
children the necessity of working?”
“In the best manner,” replied he, “common sense could dictate. _They
make them study for money._ They distribute annually a certain
sum,--say, from eighty to a hundred dollars,--in the shape of
prize-money, among those who obtain the highest marks at the different
recitations, for which the pupils are numbered as high as _plus_
seven, and as low as _minus_ seven; a certain number of positive
marks entitling the child to one cent prize-money. At the end of the
school-term accounts are made out, when each child receives a check
on a bookseller or stationer for the amount due to him; for which he
may now select a book, a pen-knife, or some other trifling article,
according to his own pleasure; on which, moreover, the instructor
himself enjoys a liberal discount.”
“But does not this practice,” I said, “introduce sordid habits at an
age in which the mind is most susceptible of receiving impressions, and
in which it is of the greatest importance to instil into children more
elevated notions of honour and justice?”
“You are entirely mistaken,” replied he; “and one can at once see from
your remarks that you are a little dyed in the speculative philosophy
of your country. No stimulus to learning can be half as great as when
a boy can figure it out on his slate how many dollars and cents his
geography, grammar, spelling, reading, and good conduct come to _per
annum_.”
This _common sense_ of the Bostonians, thought I, as I was walking
home, is, after all, very narrowly circumscribed; referring in most
cases merely to immediate wants, and the means of satisfying them. But
it is in referring actions to ultimate principles that men rise above
common-place, in proportion, perhaps, as they render themselves liable
to error. Common sense is a sort of instinct sufficient to guide men
through the lower spheres of life; but of itself incapable of raising
them to a high moral elevation. Common sense, in fact, is the genius of
mediocrity. It does not expand or liberalize the mind, or communicate
to it any great and generous impulse. It refers to a sort of _intérêt
bien entendu_; and is, on that account, not in very high repute among
a large portion of the Southern people. I remember what a Southern
Jacksonian once told me with regard to the politics of Massachusetts.
“We do not want that State,” he said, “to come over to our side,
because it would prejudice the rest of the Union. People would
immediately ask what concession has Government made to the particular
_interests_ of that State?” This is the idea which the Americans
themselves entertain of the common sense of the leading citizens of
Boston.--_Point d’argent, point de Suisses!_
In the evening I saw again my cicerone, who proposed going to the
concert, which he promised me would be one of the most fashionable
ones of the season. We accordingly shaped our course towards Masonic
Hall,--a building in style slightly approaching the Gothic, but in size
not much larger than an ordinary dwelling-house,--which, ever since
freemasonry became unpopular in Boston, has been changed into a temple
of the Muses.
On looking over the bill, I found that the performers had a peculiar
way of recommending themselves to the notice of the higher classes of
Americans. In the first place, all of them were professors, members
of different philharmonic societies in Europe, whose favourite airs,
duettos, concerts, &c. had met with universal applause in London,
Paris, and St. Petersburg. Then they were all composers; the bill
expressly announcing a favourite air from “La Gazza Ladra,” arranged by
Professor ***; duetto from “Gli Italiani in Algieri,” with variations
by Mr. ***, Professor of the Royal Conservatory of ***; &c. A Spaniard
even went so far as to give notice that a grand rondo, originally
composed for the violin by Mayseder, would be performed with variations
by Professor ***, late first flute-player to his Majesty the ex-Emperor
of Brazil.
I communicated to my friend my astonishment at the fashionable people
of America being so easily duped by high-sounding titles, which in
Europe would at once stamp a man as a charlatan or a village performer;
but was assured that this was the regular way of proceeding in all the
Atlantic cities, the judgment of the higher classes in matters of taste
confirming, without a single exception, the verdict pronounced by the
connoisseurs of Europe.
“You will,” he said, “to-night hear the voice of a woman who in England
would at best be considered a tolerable good ballad-singer for a
provincial theatre, but you will witness the storm of applause with
which she will be received _here_. It is such a fine opportunity for
all who have taste, to show their superiority over those who have not
had an opportunity of improving themselves in Europe. This songstress,
moreover, is introduced to some of our first people, who will collect
here to-night, and by their significant nods and half-subdued
‘bravos’ induce the multitude to the clapping of hands. Our _leading
citizens_ think themselves bound by hospitality to applaud an English
_cantatrice_: for which reason the second, third, and fourth rows of
benches are occupied by _tout ce qu’il y a de mieux_,--that is by _tout
ce qui a de cent à cinq cents mille écus_; the first benches being
declined by all, either from modesty, or from fear of making themselves
too conspicuous before the public.
“An American aristocrat, you must know,” continued my cicerone, “is a
gentleman of very nice feelings, who, while he is most anxious to avoid
notoriety among _the people_, in order to avoid public censure, is at
the same time particularly solicitous to push himself forward in his
coterie, in order by his social standing to make up for the injustice
of politics.”
“I presume,” said I, “most of the gentlemen on the forward benches are
merchants?”
“Let me see,” he said, standing on tiptoe. “They are mostly merchants;
but I also discover two lawyers, and a fashionable clergyman. There is,
however, not a man amongst them worth less than one hundred thousand
dollars.”
“Pray, is a rich man here supposed to understand something about
music?” demanded I.
“Most assuredly he is,” replied he. “You will always find the richest
men give the first sign of approbation, after which the minor fortunes
venture to signalize theirs. Our society is so small that every man
in it is known; so that no individual can be guilty of a breach of
etiquette without having at once the whole clique against him. There
is more social tyranny in this place than you could find anywhere in
Europe. Every principle of morals, politics, or religion is set up as
an article of faith; our infallible moneyed men proclaiming in their
counting-rooms, and on ’change, the Popish doctrine _Nulla salus extra
ecclesiam Catholicam_.”
While we were thus discussing _la haute société_ of Boston, Mrs. ***,
from London, made her appearance, and--her morality being endorsed by
three responsible merchants--was received with thundering applause; the
_Honourable_ Mr. *** giving, as drum-major, the signal with a beautiful
cane, which was immediately answered by “_the middling interests_” in
the centre, and at last echoed by the mechanics, perched up in the
rear. Mrs. *** courtesied. Renewed applause; during which she, at last,
opened her cherub lips, and, with a great deal of common sense,--that
is, without any of the coquetry of a French actress, or the _agaceries_
of an Italian _prima donna_,--sang off two or three verses of one of
those English ballads which sound so prettily in a private parlour, and
so badly in a large concert-room. The worst of it was, that instead
of the simple melody, which in most English or German compositions
is exceedingly touching, she endeavoured to show her school, and
the scope of her voice, by introducing variations, which were duly
acknowledged by the people to whom she had been recommended. The
_ladies_, especially, seemed not so much to admire her voice, as her
modesty in not looking once from the music on the fashionable young men
whose eyes were fastened upon her.
English women, being fine and tall, charm sufficiently by their placid
beauty, and a certain _laisser aller_ which they carry off admirably.
French and Italian women, on the contrary, are, as a race, far less
handsome, but considerably more _piquantes_. _Ces sont des femmes
caressantes._ An English woman is made to be wooed; a French one
entices _you_ by a thousand little trifles, which it is the study of
her life to practise with success. One is, perhaps, truly amiable; the
other _interests_ you by her very peevishness. The fair songstress
seemed to be amiable in the English fashion, for she was all good
nature--the usual concomitant of a certain _embonpoint_ and smiled
continually--on her music-book.
“But how is it possible,” said I to my cicerone, “to applaud such
singing as this? There is neither simplicity nor taste, neither feeling
nor execution in her performance, and yet the storm of applause is not
abating.”
“For the Lord’s sake!” exclaimed he, “do not say that loud enough for
other people to hear you. It would deprive you of many an innocent
pleasure you would perhaps otherwise enjoy during your stay in this
city. Our _élite_ never forgive such a difference of opinion to one
of their own clique; how much more, then, must a foreigner be on his
guard! And in this case, too, where Mr. and Mrs. *** have taken the
songstress under their protection! It would be sufficient to exclude
you at once from society. This is _free_ country, sir! every man may do
or think what he pleases, only he must not let other people know it.
You might just as well attack one of our fashionable preachers as Mrs.
***.”
“If this is what you call freedom in Boston,” said I, “I will not go to
another concert, if Paganini himself were to perform here.”
“And yet, if you heard an oratorio performed by our ‘Handel and Haydn
Society’, you would, perhaps, change your opinion. That society is
almost wholly composed of mechanics, who cultivate music from taste,
and pay their German leader, a good scientific musician, a very
handsome salary.”
“Singular city this!” exclaimed I, “in which the labouring classes
cultivate music from taste, and in which the rich people listen to it
from obligation. I shall be obliged to leave the room. Will you not
accompany me?”
“I should like to do so,” whispered he; “but it would be observed. I
am obliged to live with these people; and you know the proverb, ‘Among
Romans do as Romans do.’ _A propos_; if any one should ask you about
the concert, and especially about Mrs. ***, say you were ‘_delighted_;’
that’s the word now. There is no use in making yourself enemies;
_delighted_, sir! Don’t forget your cue.”
What an extraordinary phenomenon, thought I as I went home, this state
of society must be to an European! And is it a wonder if, under such
circumstances, the most paltry scribbler thinks himself justified in
caricaturing it? Here is a free people voluntarily reducing itself to
a state of the most odious social bondage, for no other object but to
maintain an imaginary superiority over those classes in whom, according
to the constitution of their country, all real power is vested; and
here are the labouring classes, probably for the first time permitted
to legislate for themselves, worshipping wealth in its most hideous
colours! Here, then, is a society formed as nearly as possible on the
abstract theory of equality; and this is the state to which it has
become reduced by the aspirings of a few wealthy families in less
than a century! If such is the tendency towards decay in all human
institutions, how jealous ought the people to be of the most trifling
privileges, arrogated exclusively by certain classes.
And what species of tyranny is worse than that which attempts
to control a man’s private actions, his worship, his domestic
arrangements, and his pleasures? What can be more absurd than for a
certain class, for the most part not a whit better educated than the
rest, to assume the dictatorship in all matters relating to politics,
religion, or the arts? And how can it be reconciled with the spirit
of independence, manifested more or less by every American, to see so
large a portion of their countrymen governed by the tinsel logic of
such a coterie? Nothing can excite the contempt of an educated European
more than the continual fears and apprehensions in which even the “most
enlightened citizens” of the United States seem to live with regard to
their next neighbours, lest their actions, principles, opinions, and
beliefs should be condemned by their fellow creatures!
I have heard it seriously asserted in America, that there are no better
policemen than the ordinary run of Bostonians; and that, as long as
their natural inquisitiveness remained, there was no need of a secret
tribunal; every citizen taking upon himself the several offices of spy,
juryman, justice, and--_vide_ Lynch law--executioner. This is by some
called the wholesome restraint of public opinion: but, in order that
public opinion may be just, it must not be biased by the particular
faith of a coterie; and there are transactions in private life of which
the public ought never to be made the judge.
There is scarcely a degree of political freedom which can compensate
a man for the loss of independence in his private transactions, and
the want of a generous liberality in the community at large. There are
individuals whose tastes and dispositions are not likely to involve
them in any political or religious controversy, and who therefore can
be comparatively free, even under a despotic government; but, in a
community like Boston, no abstract rule of conduct can be laid down,
capable of protecting a man against censure and retaliation. This
peculiarity in the composition of its society I do not, however, like
so many others, ascribe to the political institutions of the country,
which, on the contrary, are constantly counteracting its effects;
but to the aristocracy of money, unmitigated as it is by superior
education, and unlimited in its influence either by the existence of a
real nobility or a powerful sovereign.
The _moveable_, _moneyed_ aristocracy of our times I consider as the
greatest enemy of mankind, in comparison to which all the terrors of
the feudal system are as nothing. The nobility of the middle ages
offered to the people protection for vassalage, and set them the
example of chivalry and valour. A mere moneyed aristocracy, on the
contrary, enslaves the people without giving them an equivalent,
introducing everywhere the most sordid principles of selfishness,
to the exclusion of every noble and disinterested sentiment. A mere
moneyed preponderance of one class of citizens over the other, does not
form an historical link between the present and the past; neither does
it, like the masses, represent the interests of mankind in general. All
its tendencies are downwards, reducing a people gradually to a degree
of moral degradation, from which perhaps they might have been saved by
the presence of a powerful nobility of family.
FOOTNOTES:
[5] Public opinion sways the country in all respects except in matters
of taste, which are entirely settled by the higher orders.
CHAPTER III.
Maternal Affections of American Ladies--their Cause.--Want
of Romance in the Lives of American Gentlemen.--Moral and
Religious Cant.--Daniel Webster’s Principle of resisting arrogant
Innovation.--Reflections on the Democratic, Aristocratic, and
Monarchical Forms of Government.--The Bunker Hill Monument.--Want of
Patriotism in the Higher Classes of Americans.--The English Feeling in
Boston.--Americans passing for Englishmen in Europe.--Anecdotes.--The
American Aristocracy take the House of Lords under their
Protection.--Their Contempt for the Western Settlers.--The American
Character not understood in Europe.
“And as for Heaven ‘being love,’ why not say ‘honey
Is wax?’ Heaven is not love, ’tis matrimony.”
BYRON.
“When I again saw my cicerone, I communicated to him my surprise at
seeing so few women frequenting theatres, concerts, and other places of
amusement. To one lady seen at the theatre there are at least three or
four gentlemen; whereas at church the relation is the reverse, proving
the ladies to be much more piously inclined than the men.
“Our women,” he said, “are too much confined at home, attending on
their children; and yet this, and going to church, constitute their
only pleasures in this world. Ours is yet a country in which preachers
are better paid than actors and musicians; and a seat in a pew of
one of our fashionable ‘meeting-houses’ is offered you with the same
ceremonious politeness, as, in Italy, a box at the opera.”
“I have always heard that American women made the best mothers,” said I.
“As regards the maternal affections of our women,” replied he, “I can
easily conceive why they should be strong. It is nearly all the romance
(!) they enjoy; the duties they assume in marrying overbalancing
infinitely the caresses and attentions bestowed upon them by their
husbands. Our young men are an industrious, steady, persevering, but
not an amiable race of beings. They have a high respect for ladies in
general; but they are not devoted to them beyond the forms and usages
of society. Money-making is the principal pursuit to which they are
devoted; and which so completely absorbs their time, that, between
business and politics, they hardly find time for the cultivation of
affections.
“And our rich people,” he continued, “are, in this respect, more to
be pitied than the poor. The latter spend their few leisure hours,
or rather _minutes_, at home, in the circle of their families; while
the former are compelled to waste them in society. And what society
is that? It does not consist of a few friends whom accident assembles
round the fireside, to pass away an evening in agreeable chit-chat.
Our fashionable people are not fond of this cheap, unostentatious sort
of amusement; and, besides, it does not suit the taste of our boys and
girls, who are only satisfied with a dance. For this reason our parties
are expensive, and afford little or no relaxation to men of sense. I
once heard a diplomatist say, that a young man, in order to form his
manners and judgment, ought to choose his female society from among
ladies not under thirty, and his male companions from gentlemen not
under forty years of age; but certainly, if manners and judgment are to
be acquired only on such terms, our state of society is such that our
young men must for ever remain deficient in them.
“If our married women were to be compensated for the loss they sustain
in society by increased attention from their husbands, they might
perhaps profit by the exchange. But our business men have no time for
cooing. Their first object is trade; everything else is surbordinate.
There is a great deal of domestic comfort in the United States,
resulting from sound principles of morality and religion, especially
on the part of the women; but I have hardly ever seen that tender
affection--that union of souls, in which two persons require nothing
but each other’s consent for the completion of their happiness. That
state, I am aware, requires either absolute poverty, or a degree of
wealth and refinement which, from the vain attempt to satisfy the heart
with the gratification of artificial wants, returns once more to the
legitimate source of all human happiness. Both cases are as yet unknown
in America; labour securing a competency to every industrious man, and
the laws and institutions of the country preventing the accumulation of
property.
“These circumstances make us a practical and active, but not an
enthusiastic or imaginative people. We choose our fair companions
according to the dictates of good sense, not after ‘some fanciful
creation of the mind.’ Our country is not yet a land of _beaux idéals_.”
“On this account,” proceeded my travelled cicerone, “we are not
subject to disappointment when the dreams of our youth are not
realized; and the organization of society prevents us even from
perceiving our error. Suppose one of our young men to marry a woman
whose tastes, disposition, and character are essentially different
from his own: it would not necessarily follow that the union must, on
this account, prove an unhappy one. The points of contact are so few,
the sphere of action of each party so well defined by custom and law,
and the occupation of the man out of the house so constant, that he
may become the father of a large family, and even die without finding
out his mistake. This assertion seems to be absurd, and yet it is
true to the very letter. And it is this sort of passiveness in all
matters not relating to business or politics, which, though it may not
constitute the most amiable or interesting feature of our character,
is nevertheless the principal cause of the universal content which
pervades our community.
“A similar match in Europe would be the source of endless misery.
The comparative leisure enjoyed even by the labouring classes would
prove a source of pain to two minds not perfectly tuned in unison.
Nothing creates so many artificial wants,--nothing is, in itself,
such exquisite luxury as leisure.[6] Our rich, industrious population
may pity the poor _lazzarone_, who is badly fed, scarcely covered, and
who has no other couch to lay his limbs upon but the marble steps of a
palace or a church; and yet how many such vagabonds would be willing to
exchange their position with that of our most opulent citizens? Such is
the difference in men’s ideas of happiness.
“An European computes his _time_, or rather his _leisure moments_,
better than his money; in America the case is reversed. In Europe,
wealth is comparatively within the reach of few; but every one has his
little share of leisure, from the day-labourer who has his hour at noon
and his vesper, to the _rentier_ who lives in idleness. Under these
circumstances, the choice of a companion determines a man’s happiness
for life. Great and many are the calls on each other’s sympathy in
pleasure and in affliction, and a single discord destroys the harmony
for ever. A man may live with a woman of different tastes,--he may eat
and drink with her,--he may see her at specified hours of the day,--he
may share his fortune or anything else with her without being unhappy;
but who can describe the feelings of an enthusiast whose wife remains
motionless at one of Shakspeare’s plays?--at the sight of the ocean or
the Alps?
“These inequalities of taste and disposition become a true source
of misery in proportion as we have leisure to give scope to our
imagination. In active life, in the pursuits of agriculture, commerce,
or manufactures, they are hardly noticed. What time, I would ask you,
has one of our young men to be unhappy?--when in the morning he rises,
to read the papers; then takes his breakfast, at which his fair partner
presents him with her own white hands two cups of hyson or pekoe,
with the trifling addition of a steak or a chop; then goes to his
counting-room, where he remains until one; then passes the hour from
one till two on ’change; then returns home to eat his beef and pudding,
which he accomplishes in about ten minutes; then returns once more
to his counting-room, where he remains till sunset; then comes home
to swallow his two or three cups of tea; after which, if there be no
political _caucas_, no evening lecture, or late arrival of the mail,
he is heartily glad to go to rest, in order to gather strength for the
work of the next day? What can it matter to him whether his wife be
sentimental? whether she have imagination or taste? whether she be an
admirer of the drama?
“‘What’s Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba?’
“Our _fashionable_ men,” continued he, with a sarcastic contraction
of his lips, which was his usual substitute for a smile, “are less
fortunate. They are not permitted to go to bed when they are tired.
_Society_ has claims upon them; they must contribute their share to the
entertainment of the evening. Accordingly, they are obliged to wash
and dress, put on kid gloves, and prepare, in every other respect,
for the sacrifice, to which they are led by their wives like so many
sheep to the slaughter-house. Being, as married people, excluded from
dancing, and cards being abolished among us, they are obliged to amuse
themselves with taking refreshments, which I believe they always do,
until, towards ten, a regular supper rewards their patience; after
which the majority of the company get into their hacks, swearing that
it was a capital entertainment, at which there was plenty to eat, and a
great profusion of choice and exquisite wines.
“As regards our women, they are, with the exception of the time
consumed at meals, the whole day left to themselves; a circumstance
which is not calculated to render their existence a happy one, unless
they are blessed with children to break in upon its monotony, and
afford fresh scope for their affections. Hence our women love their
offspring passionately; while for their husbands they feel a sort of
half-distant respect, wholly opposed to that tender familiarity without
which it is impossible to penetrate into a woman’s heart.
“In this manner our men are cheated--or rather cheat themselves--out
of the poetical part of matrimony; but are also saved from a vast deal
of mortification. At any rate, our hard-featured, industrious Yankees,
who are accustomed to act from principle, not from impulse,--from
conviction, not from inclination,--have shown themselves worthy of
living under free institutions, which seem to compensate them for the
absence of those pleasures which a higher degree of refinement and an
abundance of leisure secure to the higher classes of Europe; and the
remark of a celebrated European statesman was, perhaps, a wise one,
when he said ‘that a people is fit for liberal institutions in exactly
the same proportion as its whole time is employed in satisfying its
physical wants.’”
“But how is it possible,” demanded I, “that with all this political
liberty, and the constant occupation of all classes of society, you
should have become reduced to a degree of social bondage, of which
no city in Europe, and scarcely one in Asia, furnishes an example?
Remember, I have not yet forgotten the advice you gave me at the
concert.”
“All this,” replied he, “is owing to the excessive prudence which
pervades our higher society, and which, in reality, makes them believe
that no European can fathom them. Our gentlemen are, indeed, not
endowed with the faculty of second sight; but they have what they call
‘second thoughts,’ a sort of _arrière pensée_, which it is not always
easy to decipher, and is frequently the whole substitute for profundity
or research. Thus they have always two motives for one and the same
act,--a public and a _private_ one; and, as many Europeans who come
here to study our character are ingenuous enough to consider one motive
quite sufficient for each act, it is an even chance they are mistaken,
whether they have a view to our private or public motives. If you stay
long enough among us, you will hear morality, politics, and even
religion advocated from more than one _prudent_ motive. High, exalted
views, or enthusiasm for one or the other of these all-important
subjects, you will, indeed, meet with occasionally; but, in general,
we look upon all such sentiments as unhealthy, feverish, unbecoming a
‘calm,’ ‘sober,’ ‘calculating’ people. We delight in prose, though we
frequently _talk_ poetry. Poetry with us is a _public_ consideration,
for which reason its place is usually the newspapers. It is food for
the multitude; our _private_ motives seldom rise beyond a clear view of
our own immediate interests. In the inimitable language of one of our
most fashionable young ladies, we _admire_ roast beef, and _dote_ on
oyster pies.
“This is in some degree the origin of our cant in morality and
religion, which our politicians, when there is no other absorbing
topic, such as manufactures, commerce, fisheries, &c. employ for
the purpose of ‘making a hit.’ In the absence of enthusiasm, which
would inspire them with natural eloquence, they seek to maintain
themselves at a certain elevation by pressing hard on lofty topics;
having no wings, they endeavour to support themselves in the air by
a _parachute_. Thus the words ‘virtue,’ ‘patriotism,’ ‘morality,’
‘religion,’ ‘piety,’ are in every one’s mouth. All these terms had
originally a distinct meaning attached to them, and to the mass of the
people they are still full of import; but, being thus used on the most
trifling occasion, they must sooner or later become degraded to mere
figures of speech.
“The same holds of our republican manners. You will see many of our
public characters wear the garb of humility in the presence of their
meanest fellow-citizens; they carry their own _portemanteaux_ when
landing from a steam-boat, shake hands with everybody on election
day, and, like _Hildebrand_, assume, when walking or standing, an
inclined posture; but let them once be elected, and you will see them
draw themselves up to their full height, exclaiming ‘_Ego sum papa!_’
With all our democratic machinery, our Atlantic cities contain more
lingering, pining, ‘aspirants to honourable distinction,’ than perhaps
could be found in any equal number of men in Europe.
“Besides,” continued he, “our rich people, who, in the absence of a
law of primogeniture, preserve their wealth by marrying cousins,[7]
and our young merchants, who become rich by successful speculations,
are somewhat tired of their monotonous state of existence. Many of
them have been in Europe, where their property has enabled them,
occasionally, to associate with the higher orders. They have witnessed
the importance attached in _civilized_ countries to rank and fortune,
and are therefore, out of pure philanthropy, anxious to introduce the
same high degree of civilization in America. ‘_Do we not see the world
prosper around us?_’ asks Mr. Daniel Webster, the great Massachusetts
statesman and orator;[8] ‘do we not see OTHER GOVERNMENTS, and OTHER
NATIONS, enlightened by experience, and rejecting ARROGANT INNOVATIONS
and THEORETIC DREAMS, accomplishing the great ends of society?’
“Now is not this Conservatism with a vengeance! Would an English Tory
have dared to make such an avowal before a British parliament? Where
would England be, if her born or chosen legislators had looked round
for precedents among other nations? What would have become of the
United States, if the representatives of the people, in 1776, had
held the same language? What better argument can be made in favour of
absolute despotism in any country, than that ‘other nations, and other
governments, reject _arrogant innovations_ and _theoretic dreams_? The
decree of the Emperor of China against the introduction of Christianity
is not more profound in its argument; and yet Mr. Webster is, in this
respect, nothing but a plagiary! Arrogant innovations were resisted in
China long before the birth of the honourable senator for Massachusetts.
“Such doctrines as these will explain to you, at the same time, the
views of our Whigs. Compare them to the principles of Toryism in
England, and the conviction will irresistibly be forced upon you that
the latter are a thousand times more liberal, and compatible with the
freedom of the people. How many measures for the welfare of the English
people have emanated from the nobility! But these _Whigs_, who are just
one or two steps removed from the masses, think themselves beset by
dogs, and are continually kicking for fear of being bitten.
“These sentiments will not surprise any one who has heard ‘the most
influential citizens’ assert that the republic has secured no great
and signal benefit to the United States; that they were just as free,
and certain classes even freer, under the British Government; that
there can be nothing worse than the present mob-government, &c. These
sentiments, I say, had ceased to astonish me; they only served to
convince me of the necessity of trusting to institutions, not to men,
the welfare of the state.”
In the present struggle for power, ambitious men may yet hope to
arrive at honourable distinction through legitimate means--through
the suffrages of the people; and hence the decision of every great
question is still referred to the latter, although in a manner so
distorted by cunning and sophistry that the people can scarcely see
the true point at issue. For this reason the United States are, as
yet, free from secret societies, private meetings and assemblies
for political purposes, and leagues of powerful families for the
furtherance of treasonable objects. Neither of the two parties, the
would-be-aristocratic or the democratic, is as yet firmly established
in power, or can hope to acquire and retain it for any length of time;
but it is even this unsettled state which, by some, is taken for a
surety of the continuance of the republican government.
Every institution, democratic, aristocratic, or monarchical, was
originally good, and remained so as long as it answered the purpose
for which it was first established. For this reason it is absurd to
praise or censure, in the abstract, either of these forms of society.
The elements of each of them probably co-existed at all times, even
under governments the most republican or despotic: all calamities
which ever befel mankind arose from their misapplication, or from
the disproportion between the progress of society (no matter in what
direction) and the relative preponderance of one or the other of these
three principles.
If any of the two great parties which divide the United States, as
they do the rest of the world, should ever succeed in breaking up and
destroying the other; if any one of them were to establish itself so
firmly in power, as to make its political antagonists wholly despair of
overthrowing it by constitutional means; then one of two great evils
would necessarily ensue,--political indifference on the part of a great
number of industrious and wealthy citizens; or a lawless opposition,
not to the party in power, but to the _institutions_ under which
they hold it. Something of the kind--at least the former of the two
cases--actually occurred during the latter part of the administration
of General Jackson; at which time a large portion of wealthy, and
formerly influential citizens, believing it in vain to make any farther
resistance to the sway of democracy, entirely withdrew from politics,
and frankly expressed, at home and abroad, in conversation and in
public prints, their contempt for the government and institutions of
America. Now that, by a series of changes which it is not here the
place to explain, political influence and power seem to be once more
within their reach, they begin again to take an active part in public
affairs, recommencing their opposition to democracy with renewed vigour.
The government of the United States requires, more than any other, a
strong opposition, in order to prevent a powerful faction from assuming
a monarchical sway through one or more of its leaders. Democracies
and aristocracies may eventually terminate in monarchies; their most
critical moment being always that in which one of two great parties
has gained some signal victory over the other. The power obtained
by the conquerors is necessarily concentrated in the hands of a few
political champions; who, being on such occasions, for a time at
least, independent of public opinion, or having that opinion in their
favour, may dictate law. Such a moment is fraught with dangers, even if
the democratic party be the conqueror; the transition from democracy
to monarchy being far more easy than that from aristocracy to the
government of a single individual. The latter is, indeed, impossible
until the aristocracy is completely absorbed by the democratic element,
and by degrees spoliated of its prerogatives.
For this reason a powerful aristocracy of family has always been the
strongest bulwark against arbitrary power, and the preserver of liberty
in the middle ages. But, in order that the aristocratic element shall
fulfil its high destination, it must have an _historical_ basis;--it
must date from the origin of the country, and, like the aristocracy
of England, have contributed to the foundation of the state. A mere
mushroom aristocracy of money, taken yesterday from behind the counter,
possesses none of these essential qualities; and is on that account
neither capable of protecting the lower classes, nor of forming by
itself a powerful political party. What a commercial aristocracy may do
for the happiness of a people, even when reflecting on its historical
grandeur, we have seen in the example of Venice, from the time the
signory elected the chief magistrate, in 1173, to that in which she
stooped
“-------------------- to be
A province for an empire, petty town
In lieu of capital, with slaves for senates,
Beggars for nobles, panders for a people.”
The establishment of a purely democratic government--that is, of one
in which the democratic prevails over the aristocratic and monarchical
principles,--is an historical problem which, under the most favourable
circumstances ever combined, was intrusted to the American people.
These circumstances will continue to act for centuries in their favour;
and suppose the government finally to become modified, could such an
event disprove the fact that, as long as the republic _did_ last, the
people were prosperous and happy, the nation respected abroad, and its
domestic affairs managed with skill and integrity? Is it an argument
against democratic institutions that they cannot last for ever? Might
you not just as well despise youth and vigour, because they are
doomed to old age and decrepitude? If it be true that all republics
finally changed into aristocracies or monarchies, it ought to make
the Americans only the more jealous of preserving the purity of their
institutions, in order that, if an aristocracy _must_ come, it may not
be one of mere wealthy stock-jobbers.
* * * * *
“Come,” said my cicerone, “let us take a walk over to Charlestown,
‘the mob quarter,’ as our enlightened citizens call that independent
suburb of Boston. We shall have a fine view of the city and the
harbour from Bunker’s Hill monument, the most classical object in this
neighbourhood.”
“How far is it now completed?” demanded I. “I was told they did not go
on with it from want of funds.”
“That monument,” replied he, “of which no one can tell when it will be
finished, is a sad proof of the preference given by the Bostonians to
_realities_, rather than to fictions of honour and glory. Our people
are not fond of the poetry of history. They seem to have fought for
liberty because it was a thing worth fighting for, without being fired
with that enthusiasm for a great and noble cause with which we have
seen millions of Europeans rush into battle as into a banquet-room.
“We Yankees are not like the heroes of antiquity; we are not ambitious,
and do not even think it worth our while to leave traces of our virtues
and achievements to posterity. We are not easily moved by historical
recollections, and therefore think it a useless vanity to erect
monuments for our children, in order to stimulate them to great and
generous actions. This is a new illustration of our common sense. Being
less exposed to invasions from a foreign enemy, and less dreading the
aspirings of a powerful faction within, we do not see our institutions
surrounded by those dangers, in the struggle against which love of
liberty and of country become the absorbing passions of a people.
Liberty, with us, constitutes a quiet possession, which we hope to
retain rather by prudence and economy than by enthusiasm and courage.”
“I have heard a number of Bostonians,” observed I, “animadvert
seriously against the celebration of the 4th of July, the anniversary
of the declaration of independence; and especially against the reading
of that instrument from the pulpit, because it contains expressions
offensive to a power with which the Americans are now living in peace
and amity.”
“We do not wish our children to imbibe that tender affection for
liberty,” replied he, “which a lover cherishes for his mistress; we
want them to be wedded to it in the good old Puritan fashion, without
going through the tedium of a sentimental courtship. Our liberal
institutions are, with us, a sort of household furniture intended for
common use, well kept and guarded from injury, but no object of ardent
attachment or devotion.”
The total absence of enthusiasm among the higher classes of Americans,
I found, indeed, one of the most remarkable features of their
character. They consider the democratic institutions of their country
_opposed_ to national grandeur; and feel, therefore, little inclined to
commemorate events which could either flatter the vanity, or excite the
emulation, of the lower classes. They seem to be of opinion that the
people of the United States have full as much liberty as they can bear,
and that a little more would unavoidably upset the whole. This will be
considered as a gross slander on the patriotism of the aristocracy;
but it is nevertheless a conclusion I have deliberately come to, after
a long series of observation. Love of liberty and of country I found
infinitely stronger among the labouring classes, who do not enjoy the
advantage of finishing their education in Europe; absolute contempt,
and sometimes hatred of the institutions of their country, among those
who have had the means of spending several years abroad. What is the
world to argue from it?
The monument at Bunker’s, or rather Breed’s Hill,--for the Americans
mistook their position in the night, and fortified Breed’s Hill instead
of Bunker’s Hill,--was intended, I believe, for a plain obelisk, which,
if it were completed, would command a most superb view of the city
and the harbour; as it now stands, it is nothing but a modern ruin,--a
lasting reproach to the want of _nationality_ of the Bostonians. Want
of _public spirit_ it cannot be; because the Bostonians have given a
thousand proofs of their readiness to make large pecuniary sacrifices
in order to further the establishment of institutions calculated to
benefit the community. The establishment of the Athenæum, principally
through the munificence of a merchant; the Asylum for the Blind,
towards which Mr. Perkins contributed alone ten thousand pounds
sterling; the great liberality of all classes whenever an appeal is
made to their charity; and lastly, the large sums paid annually for
the support of common schools and public lectures, do not allow me to
entertain the least doubt on the subject.
But, in the case of the monument at Bunker’s Hill, “the English
feeling,” for which the higher classes of Boston were always
distinguished, seems to have acted as a counterpoise; and to have,
if not absolutely prevented its completion, at least withheld those
sums which would have been readily contributed for another object. The
_Boston ladies_, who, it is said, have a good deal of public spirit,
made an attempt to revive the national pride of the gentlemen, but
without effect; the outward respect paid by the Americans “to the sex”
being essentially different from that species of gallantry which makes
men delight in anticipating the wishes of women without being regularly
pressed into the service. The “appeal of the ladies,” therefore,
remained without effect, and a few of the forward ones barely escaped
being ridiculed in the public prints. “This is a sad state of society,”
say the disciples of Miss Martineau; “but all this will be changed when
the ladies will vote, and hold public meetings for the propagation of
patriotism.”
“If the _English feeling_ of our aristocracy,” observed my cicerone,
“were to manifest itself only by the omission of expensive monuments,
it would, perhaps, less expose us to the censure of our patriots,
or the just ridicule of Europeans. But I have known gentlemen whose
highest glory consisted in not being recognised as Americans while in
England, and whose delight it was to pass on the Continent _pour des
Mylords Anglais_. One of them, a youngster of not more than twenty-one
years of age, was, on his stay in Paris, particularly afraid of being
taken for an American savage. He spoke on all occasions of England as
his native country--(our fashionable young men, you know, talk of going
_home_ to England,)--and commenced and finished his sentences with
‘_Nous autres en Angleterre_,’ ‘_nous autres à Londres_,’ &c. In the
travellers’ books he signed himself Mr. ***; ‘_Rentier de Londres_;’
his clothes were made by a London tailor, his hat was English; and he
even imitated the bad English accent when speaking French, though he
could speak the language tolerably well when he wanted to shine before
Americans.
“A year or two ago,” he continued, “I met, on the Rhine, with a still
more extraordinary phenomenon. It was nearly in the middle of the month
of August, when I went in a steamer from Mayence to Coblentz. There
were a number of Englishmen on board, who, according to their custom,
avoided as much as possible every kind of contact with the rest of the
company. They were seated on one side of the boat, gazing on the moving
panorama of the river; occasionally ejaculating ‘fine!’ ‘pretty!’ ‘very
fine!’ ‘too much at once!’ At a little distance from them, towards the
stern of the vessel, sat, ‘solitary and alone,’ as a celebrated senator
has it, a gentleman in a macintosh, buttoned up to the chin, supporting
his body, which was bent forward, by a huge cane, and keeping his eyes
fixed on the ground in the deepest meditation.
“This Pythagorean attitude and silence, which were admirably becoming
a thinking Englishman, excited the mirth of all the passengers, and
especially of the Germans, who ironically remarked ‘that the English
had a very philosophical way of travelling, always reasoning and
reflecting when other people are satisfied with the mere looks of
things.’
“After the lapse of I should think an hour, the supposed Englishman,
whose back must have ached considerably, drew himself up to his full
height, enabling me to recognise in him a young gentleman of my
acquaintance, who had gone to Europe for his health, and was at the
same time carefully improving his manners. ‘How long is it since you
left ***?’ demanded I, rushing up to him in order to shake him by the
hand. ‘Hush!’ whispered he; ‘I have been coming down all the way from
Strasbourg with these Englishmen here, and none of them has recognised
me as an American.’
“The fact is,” continued my cicerone, “our higher classes, in spite
of their continual croaking, have no other standard to go by but the
English. They pique themselves on dressing like the English, talking
like the English, thinking like the English, and behaving like the
English, and on having English sentiments with regard to politics and
religion. Some of ‘the aristocracy’ are even more orthodox than the
English themselves; especially with regard to the Irish, who, since
their emancipation, are much more unpopular with certain classes of
Americans than O’Connell can possibly be in a British assembly of
Tories.
“For the same reason have our aristocracy taken the House of Lords
under their protection; ‘because the English nobility is such a
glorious institution!’ ‘it contributes so much to the national
splendour!’ and there are so many high families in America _connected_
with the first people in England! They probably think that, as long
as aristocracy finds a stronghold in the old institutions of Britain,
there remains at least a hope of introducing something similar to
them in the United States; but they forget that, from the historical
aristocracy of England, to the nameless money-dealers of America, there
is a greater transition than from the substance to the shadow of a
thing. Incorporated companies and banks are as yet the only armories
that furnish weapons to the chivalrous knights composing the nobility
of the New World; and there is scarcely an American squire that would
not be willing to sell horse and lance provided a proper price be
offered him.
“Another generic feature which marks our wealthy _parvenus_,
while, at the same time, it furnishes a curious index to the human
heart, is the little sympathy felt or expressed with regard to the
enterprising Western settlers, and the contemptuous language held by
our ‘respectable editors’ when speaking of those unfortunate exiles
from the refinement of ‘the Old States.’ Mrs. Trollope’s caricatures of
the ‘half-horse and half-alligator race make the reader laugh; those
drawn in our own papers are calculated to make one _despise_ them. They
use precisely the same language formerly employed by British writers
with regard to the early settlers of the American colonies:--‘lawless
adventurers,’ ‘fugitives from justice,’ ‘outcasts from society,’ ‘dregs
of humanity,’ ‘candidates for the state’s prison or the gallows.’
“By these gentle appellations do the mushroom aristocracy of a few
trading places stigmatise the steady, laborious, enterprising race of
men that fertilize the Western wilderness, and create new markets for
manufactures and commerce. Scarcely a couple of generations removed
from the original settlers, they already play the old families, without
having in their ephemeral existence done _one_ thing deserving to be
recorded in history; for we cannot disguise the fact, that all we have
thus far accomplished, all that distinguishes our people from the idle
and vicious population of Europe, all that has contributed to our
boundless national prosperity, is owing to the virtue, enterprise, and
perseverance of the _labouring_ classes, and in no small proportion to
those very ‘adventurers’ whom our Atlantic satraps affect to despise.
“Our higher classes,” added my cicerone, “seldom get angry at
foreigners for abusing their government in the abstract; but let
any one attempt to prove that there are no elements for a different
administration to be found amongst them, and they will raise a hue
and cry against the audacious slanderer. Tell them that they are ‘no
republicans,’ and they will feel themselves flattered, though they
may pout like some affected prude with whom a man takes some pleasing
liberty. But attack their _aristocracy_; say that it is a noisy,
shapeless monster, with many tails and no head,--or, what is worse, say
that you discover _no_ aristocracy in the country,--and you will set
them raving.
“I remember a poor, little, innocent woman who nearly fainted at a
duke’s telling her that he had understood there was no _noblesse_ in
America; but merely an educated (?) wealthy _bourgeoisie_. Poor thing!
she little expected such a mortification; and from such a quarter too!
And yet she was a great stickler for human rights; just like some
fashionable reformer, who can see no reason for the extraordinary
prerogatives of the nobility, but is wide awake to the chasm which
separates _him_ from the multitude.
“We may safely call ourselves the vainest people on earth,” concluded
my cicerone, “and yet we dare not have an opinion which is not
sanctioned abroad. We constantly refer each other’s manners, doctrines,
and principles to those which are current in Europe; but, when an
European ventures to imitate our example, we cannot contain our wrath
at his impertinence. We do not object to the standard of comparison,
but to the comparison itself; because we claim for ourselves the
exclusive faculty of arriving at just conclusions. Our best society is
but a sorry caricature of that of Europe, and yet we get angry when an
European attempts to depict it. Our fate is indeed the most singular.
No one can understand us; and yet we are constantly talking about
ourselves, and throwing out hints as to where observers may look for an
explanation of our manners. The good people of England especially seem,
in reference to us, to be in precisely the same predicament as Dr.
Johnson was with regard to the Scotch,--the more we talk, the less they
know about us.”
FOOTNOTES:
[6] Those of my readers who are disposed to doubt the possibility of
such sentiments proceeding from an American, must be informed that my
cicerone, being the son of a government envoy of high rank, was born
and educated in Europe.
[7] Against this practice, Dr. Spurzheim, the lecturer on phrenology,
strongly remonstrated while in Boston, pointing to the pernicious
consequences on the health and vigour of the rising generation.
[8] Daniel Webster’s second speech on the Sub-treasury System proposed
by the present administration.
CHAPTER IV.
A party of English Gentlemen at Dinner--their Patriotism.--Character
of John Bull in America.--The Englishman’s Speech.--The American
Answer.--Modesty of British Commercial Agents in the United
States.--Anecdote characteristic of the Second Society.
“Peace, I say! hear mine host of the Garter! Am I politic? Am I
subtile? Am I a Machiavel? Shall I lose my doctor? No; he gives me the
potions, and the motions. Shall I lose my parson? My priest? My Sir
Hugh? No; he gives me the proverbs and the no-verbs.”
_Merry Wives of Windsor_, Act iii. Scene 1.
To-day I dined with an English gentleman, who had been settled a great
number of years in the country, and was married to an American lady of
very good family.
The company was composed principally of merchants and manufacturers,
with an admixture of a few travelling; agents of British commercial
houses, whom it was not difficult to recognise as the lions of
the party. They were not, properly speaking, members of the first
society, because foreigners who are once married and settled in the
country seldom belong to it, unless they are immensely rich; but
they thought themselves nevertheless considerably above the second,
not one of them having accepted an invitation to the latter for the
last six months,--preferring infinitely no society at all to the
degradation of mixing with inferior persons. Besides, one of them,
having of late moved into “a more respectable neighbourhood,” was
preparing to entertain his new fashionable acquaintance with a large,
sumptuous party, which he hoped would at once open to his sons and
daughters--“the old man and woman” are not so easily promoted--the road
to the highest circles.
Dinner, which was one of the plainest I ever made in the United States,
was served in the usual manner; only that the gentleman of the house
piqued himself on having everything cooked in the true English fashion.
I believe he had a beef-steak brought upon the table for the sole
purpose of showing the difference between the English and American ways
of dressing it. “This is an English steak,” said he; “at least you do
not see it besmeared with rancid butter, and N.B. cooked with Liverpool
coal.” The _roast beef_ was recommended in the same manner, as being
“roasted in the true English style;” and the same was said of the
parboiled vegetables, and at last of the fire-proof pudding.
“I hope,” said one of the gentlemen, who was an American at the head of
a large manufacturing establishment, “none of our friends is troubled
with dyspepsia.”
“I like the English kitchen better than any other,” replied our
entertainer, “whatever preference my friends may give to the French or
Italian.”
“At any rate it is preferable to the American,” observed another
Englishman.
“And if not that, we at least know how to eat,” remarked another.
“That,” said our host, “no one will deny. The custom of eating against
time exists only in America.”
“Why,” observed the manufacturer peevishly, “I have seen many an
Englishman, sitting down at our public tables, play as good a knife and
fork, and as quickly too, as one of our ‘natives.’”
“That was done in self-defence,” cried the Englishman, “if it was done
at all.”
“If the custom of dining at _tables d’hôte_ existed in England,”
rejoined the manufacturer, “your people would soon learn _speed_ and
_ingenuity_ in eating.”
“I hope, sir, such a custom will never be introduced.”
“And then you forget that at a public table in America you frequently
meet with people who, in England, would be content to make their dinner
at a beef-shop.”
“I often suspected something of the kind.”
“Why, sir, this is a republican country; we have no _public_
distinction of classes.”
“So much the worse for you.”
“But is it not very strange,” observed the manufacturer, somewhat
angrily, “that you Englishmen, who come here for no other purpose in
the world but to make money, who ‘underwork and undersell’ us wherever
you can, should be constantly railing against this country? I have seen
Scotchmen, Irishmen, Frenchmen, and Germans who were all satisfied to
live amongst us and acquire property; but I do not remember a single
Englishman that was not constantly talking of the superiority of
England over America. The English are the only foreigners that never
become _bonâ fide_ citizens. They always have a leaning towards their
own country, however they may have forsworn their sovereign, and
pledged fidelity and allegiance to the United States.”
“I consider all you have said as highly in our favour,” said our host.
“But I do not,” remarked the manufacturer. “I consider it downright
perjury to come and settle amongst us,--to apply for the privileges of
citizenship,--to go through the requisite formalities,--to pledge an
oath of allegiance to the country,--to renounce publicly one’s former
sovereign,--to exercise all the rights of native Americans conferred by
these acts,--and then, after all, to remain a foreigner at heart, and
to abuse this country whenever an opportunity presents itself of doing
so with impunity. If you dislike this country so much, why do you stay
in it?”
“Because I cannot do better,” replied the Englishman.
“That’s an old, but nevertheless a good one,” remarked one of the
company.
“Oh!” exclaimed the manufacturer, “we know _your_ principles well
enough. Your John-Bullism is past redemption.’”
“I trust it is,” said the gentleman, colouring to his ears. “Nothing,
God willing, shall transform me into a Yankee!”
“But you are married in this country; you have children born in
America;--what countrymen shall _they_ be? They cannot be called
Englishmen, I am sure.”
“I am sorry for it; but that is not my fault. I will, at least, give
them an _English education_.”
“Pray, are you a naturalized citizen?”
“I have never perjured myself,” replied the sturdy representative of
John Bull.
“But did I not see you the other day at the polls?”
“I did not vote, I merely distributed tickets.”
“What a nice distinction this is; you did not vote, you merely
electioneered!”
“That was done from principle.”
“What principle can that be? What interest can you take in our politics
without being a citizen?”
“I have no interest at all in it. I merely do my duty by exerting
myself to the utmost of my power to insure the election of the
worst candidates, in order that you may the sooner be cured of your
republican notions.”
“If this is really your object, you ought to have been lynched long
ago.”
“I tell this merely to my friends.”
“Pray, do not quarrel with him,” interrupted one of the guests,
addressing himself to the manufacturer; “our friend has always exerted
himself on _your side_ of the question.”
“That is a fact,” observed another. “Though you start from apparently
very different premises, and appear to have very different motives,
there is really no great difference between you in the end; so I think
you had better shake hands, and drink to _England and the United
States_!”
“England and the United States!” echoed the company.
“England and the United States!” repeated our host; “and may the latter
never forget _what they owe_ to the former!”
“John Bull to the back-bone!” cried the manufacturer. “All in his own
house too!”
“But is it true,” demanded another Englishman, who, I was told, was an
ironmonger, “that Mr. *** is not yet naturalized?”
“I am,” said he, “to all intents and purposes a _British subject_.”
“That’s no answer to my question,” replied the ironmonger; “a man may
be a British subject, and still for all purposes in _this_ country a
naturalized American. I am a citizen of _both_ countries. I hold real
estate in Nova Scotia and in the United States.”
“Then you do not hold it according to law.”
“Pshaw!” ejaculated the ironmonger, “who cares for that? Millions of
acres of land in this country belong to foreigners.”
“But you cannot be a _bonâ fide_ holder of real estate in the United
States without being a citizen, and you cannot become a citizen without
renouncing all allegiance to foreign countries. You must have perjured
yourself with regard to England or America.”
“Poh! poh! Talk of perjury in such matters! It’s a sort of custom-house
oath which binds a person no farther than his word. I would not be
such a fool as to give up my rights as a British subject. Times may
change;--would you have me put all my eggs into one basket?”
“A nice creed this!” cried the manufacturer; “and such are the men that
govern our elections! And you vote just like the rest of us?”
“And why should I not?”
“Pray, don’t quarrel,” said the same mediator that had before
reconciled the manufacturer with our host; “_he_, too, votes on _your_
side. Why do you scrutinize his motives if his _acts_ coincide with
your own? _England and the United States!_ I say,--_their interests are
one and the same; may they never be divided by party spirit_!”
This toast was drunk with all the honours; after which the gentleman
of the house rose, and made, as far as I can recollect, the following
_speech_:--
“Gentlemen,
“I am glad to see that you are by degrees coming to your senses. You
cannot but agree with me, that it is the best policy of the United
States to cultivate the friendship of Great Britain. It is, I am
sure, the wisest thing you can do, after having been so foolish as to
separate from us. As for _us_, we do not care three straws for that
separation; we can get _along_ without you.”
“That’s an Americanism,” remarked one of the company: “he is a
stickler for Old England, and talks of going _along_!”
“I plead guilty to the charge,” replied the host. “The fact is, I have
been so long in the United States that I have almost forgotten the
English language.”
“Go on, sir! Go on!” cried the company; “never mind the language.”
“Well, gentlemen, I said we did not care three straws for that
separation; neither do we, for our annual commercial balances against
you are now greater than they ever were before the revolution. I
only wish we could get rid of Canada in the same way. As for your
_independence_, it’s all my eye and Betty Martin, as the saying goes,
as long as you borrow money, and we are the ones that lend it you. A
man in debt has lost his freedom, and the same holds of a nation.
“As regards the good understanding which exists between England and
the United States, it is based, I am sure, on the most rational
basis: the creditor likes to see his debtor prosper, in order that
he may have a chance of being paid; and the debtor does not wish to
break with his creditor, in order that the latter may not be too hard
upon him, and, perhaps, trust him again. This, I believe, is all
the sympathy which exists between the two countries at present; the
antagonistical principles of their respective governments admitting
of none other. With regard to myself, gentlemen, I can only say that,
as the partner of an English house, I have always found the Americans
an honest, clever, enterprising people; a little too enterprising by
the by, especially with regard to manufactures” (here he cast a side
glance at the representative of ‘the American system’); “but, as this
has done _them_ more harm than _us_, I am not disposed to quarrel
with them. The Americans are, no doubt, our best customers; for which
reason we like to see them in Liverpool, Manchester, Leeds, &c. in
precisely the same manner as we Englishmen meet with more civility
in Boston, New York, Philadelphia, and Baltimore, than in any other
part of the Union. This is all natural enough; and, in proportion as
_trade_ increases, our _friendship_ must increase with it: and as I,
for one, am really disposed to promote the latter as far as lies in
_my_ power, I will give you ‘The trade between England and America!’”
The trade between England and America was then drunk in a bumper; when,
after sundry coughs and expectorations, the manufacturer rose and
delivered himself in these terms:--
“Gentlemen,
“I am a manufacturer,--I presume you all know what that means;
and I am _proud_ to be one.” (To the host.) “I think, sir, that
without manufactures this country would be entirely dependent on
Great Britain. Our manufactures, sir, make us independent; without
manufactures we should still be the slaves of the old country.”
(“Oh, oh!” and cries of “Go on, go on!”) “But, sir, I will go
further; I will come to the point; I will go beyond it! What, sir,
would become of this country without manufactures in case of a war
with England?”--(Several gentlemen, “We don’t want war; we want
peace.”)--“Gentlemen, if you interrupt me, I will sit down.”
(“No, no! go on! Let us have it in true style.”)
“Well, gentlemen, I have asked the gentleman what would become of us
without manufactures in case of a war? Here is a question! will you
answer me that? Can you deny that our manufactures are destined at
some future day not only to compete with those of England, but to
_beat_ them? And as to the insinuation, sir, that the establishment
of manufactures has hurt this country, I look upon it with scorn; and
what is worse than scorn, with _pity_,--nay, with perfect contempt.”
(Cries of, “That is personal;” “that won’t do, Mr. ***; you are out of
order.”)
“If I was out of order, I am sorry for it; I did not mean to be
personal; I only wished to state the truth, the whole truth, and
nothing but the truth. The gentleman hinted that we have not enough
capital or perseverance to carry on that branch of industry; at
least, I understood him to say so; but _I guess_ he will find himself
mistaken. If we have not enough perseverance, we have at least ‘an
awful sight of hang-on.’” (Shouts of “That’s right: give it to
him!” and laughter.) “But, sir, I gladly reciprocate; nay, I feel
absolutely obliged to you for the kind sentiments you expressed in
reference to this country. I hope the friendship between England and
this country will be eternal; I mean to say, _I trust_ it will last
for ever. England cannot but _profit_ by it, and so must _we_. Why
then should we be eternally quarrelling with one another. I can see no
good arising from it in any shape; so far from it, on the contrary, _a
pretty considerable deal_ of evil.
“It has been the custom of a few ignorant Englishmen to underrate the
American character; but _I calculate_ the English _nation_ had nothing
to do with it, and must, since Lord Brougham’s establishment of common
schools, have learnt the true character of our people. But, as I
always say, gentlemen, there is not the least cause of enmity between
us. We both speak the same language, and were originally one and the
same people; we intermarry and trade with one another; and, in short,
do all things which mark us as civilized nations. On this account,
gentlemen, and because it does not behove a Christian people (as one
of our orators said), even in time of war, to harbour any ill will
towards one another,[9] I give you, gentlemen, and I trust it may be
a sentiment to which you will all cordially respond,--‘Success to the
enterprise of both countries; and may they never forget _their common
stock_!’”
“A fine _stump speaker_[10] this!” observed one of the Americans.
“Rather too _Kentuckical_, though,” remarked another; “but the fact
is, there are so many _nice_ shades of our meaning, that we cannot
express them in any other language.”
* * * * *
I again saw my cicerone in the evening, and related to him the
conversation I had listened to, expressing my surprise at the continual
feuds between the English and Americans.
“This ought not to astonish you,” observed he: “most of the commercial
agents, who come here either to settle or to reside, find themselves,
for the first time in their lives, in what is called ‘the first
society,’ apparently on a par with our most influential, _i. e._
moneyed citizens. This, of course, strikes them as extraordinary,
and leads them to the conclusion that the first society in America
must be essentially different from the society called ‘the first’
in England or Europe in general; to which they could not, possibly,
procure themselves an introduction. This, as you may perceive, must
be the natural effect of their modesty, for which you ought not to
blame them, and for which I, for one, am rather disposed to give them
credit; especially as I have seen the same persons, who in America
flourished in the most fashionable circles, on their return to England
not even admitted to the society of a London club, but content with a
place in the counting-room of their employers, and a table in a city
coffee-room. Though occasionally thrown into the company of _our_
statesmen, they never approached, by chance, a member of parliament in
their own country; and, although here considered as men of ability,
they were satisfied with living in obscurity at home.
“As regards their political opinions,” he continued, “few of them, I
believe, have received a liberal education, so as to be able to view
our institutions with an enlarged, impartial mind, or to separate an
accidental evil from the general good of which they may be productive
to the great mass of the people. Instead of seeing in our government a
practical illustration of the political doctrines abstracted from the
experience of all countries and of every age, they view in it only a
modification of the government of England, and apply to it the scale of
their own country.
“For this we can the less blame them, as many of our most distinguished
statesmen and politicians take precisely the same view of our
institutions; referring them constantly to the British model, and
considering nothing as legitimate which cannot be directly traced
to, or deduced from, a similar institution in Great Britain. If you
believe them, no other people but the English are born with a political
understanding or forecast: why then should the English, who come here,
not apply the same doctrines also to the Americans? and why should they
not, occasionally, join our own fashionable people in depreciating the
advantages of our government, and speak disrespectfully of those whom
ourselves are accustomed to treat with so little ceremony?
“When the English, who come here to live among us, declare our
government a mere experiment, and our institutions destructive to the
ends of society, they re-echo but the sentiments of our first people,
whom they are obliged to imitate if they wish to be considered
fashionable; for, believe me, an Englishman who would praise our
government, and who in consequence would be suspected of Radicalism,
would be infinitely less popular in Boston than one who, by abusing us,
proves himself to have belonged to the fashionable school of politics
in his own country.
“The great evil of our society consists in its being constantly
acted upon by two entirely heterogeneous principles,--the democratic
institutions of the country impelling our people one way, while the
aristocratic aspirings of the upper classes communicate to them an
impulse in the opposite direction. The resulting motion, therefore,
is neither _straight forward_, nor directly ascending; but a sort of
compromising diagonal, which in the inimitable language of our people
is characteristically called ‘slantendicular.’
“This is the great historical origin of the doctrine of double motives
which sways our best society; and which is, perhaps, the principal
cause of all the incongruities, contradictions, and downright
absurdities for which we have been ridiculed by Europeans. I, for
my own part, tell you frankly that I dislike in the extreme the
‘slantendicular’ conduct of certain classes. I prefer a downright
aristocracy with _avowed_ motives and principles, to a jesuitical
nobility of ‘influential citizens.’ You must respect the perseverance
and iron consequence of a Duke of Wellington; but you cannot but
despise the cringing pride of _our_ Tory politicians. If we are doomed
to have artificial distinctions,--if we must have an aristocracy
after the model of that of Europe,--let us, for mercy’s sake! _import
it ready made_; the gradual process of growing it ourselves is too
tedious, and the minute details too disgusting, not to put the best of
us out of humour.
“I never want to see an aristocrat until he is ready to put on white
gloves; our ‘ungloved,’ ‘unwashed’ aristocrats are to me an object
of horror. No tyranny is more odious than that of an overgrown
_bourgeoisie_. Being less removed from the lower classes, their tyranny
is more felt; and not being placed sufficiently above competition, they
are incapable of taking any lofty, disinterested views with regard to
the government of the people, whom they half fear and half despise.
These faults, at least, are among those which are seldom to be found in
an hereditary aristocracy, until it becomes reduced to a position in
which it is obliged to enter with the people on a contest for power.
* * * * *
“Having told you so much about our ‘first people,’” said my cicerone,
taking a bottle from his closet, and filling two glasses with I do not
now remember what, “I will, as a _pendant_ to them, relate to you an
anecdote which will throw some light also on our _second_ society. Only
let us drink fast, and let me soon remove the glasses; I should not
like my servants to know that I am in a habit of taking a thing of this
kind. There is no use in making one’s self unpopular, you know.
“The town of Boston,” he commenced, “if it were not already remarkable
as the ‘cradle of liberty,’ and the place where the first American
_tea-party_ was given, would long ago have become so by the hospitality
and convivial talents of its inhabitants.
“At the South-end of the town, at the very spot where General
Washington raised a fort from which he forced the departure of the
British army, stands now, not a monument to commemorate the deed, but
an excellent hotel, where a man may get the best things in the shape
of viands and wines, if he be willing to pay for them. To this place,
called ‘Mount Washington Hotel,’ many an excellent family, probably
out of patriotism, retires in the summer, not only to enjoy the
sea-breeze, and to escape from the noise of the town, but also in order
to be able to say that they have spent the summer at a watering-place;
New Port, Longbranch, and Saratoga Springs being much more expensive,
and society too exclusive to enable people of moderate fortune to
participate in the entertainments of the season. The Washington Hotel,
therefore, is frequented by such gentlemen and ladies as have acquired
competency without wealth, respectability without family dating of more
than one generation, and a common-place routine of fashion without
having had the advantage of a trip to Europe,--in short, by such as in
Boston form the second society, and with whom the first society never,
even by chance, exchange any kind of civility.
“Notwithstanding these apparent disadvantages,” continued my cicerone,
filling himself another glass, “nothing could be prettier than
this second society if its members could be made to agree amongst
themselves. This, however, is altogether out of the question, owing
to the numerous coteries and subdivisions to which it is again
subjected. Our second society, namely, has again its first, second,
and third rank, each of which is again subdivided into still smaller
circles, which are again numbered; so that it requires the nicety of a
mathematician to ascertain what sort of company a man is likely to be
with when invited to a party. Owing to this trifling circumstance, the
members of the second society live with each other somewhat after the
manner of cats and dogs; making but too frequently foreigners witnesses
of their broils, and affording them, as will appear from my story,
occasionally an opportunity of acting the peace-makers.
“An instance of this kind happened last year, when a Polish gentleman
arriving in Boston, and finding the town too hot in the summer,
was induced to take up his residence at the ‘Washington Hotel,’
which he was told, and with great justice too, furnished excellent
accommodations at moderate prices, and commanded a fine view of the
harbour.
“Scarcely had he removed thither, before his being announced ‘as a
count,’ ‘a real count,’ ‘a count that was _known_ to be a count,’
and who had brought letters proving him to be ‘every inch a count,’
caused such a sensation in the house, that the ladies refused to eat,
drink, and even _talk_, except in company of ‘the count.’ The count
could not but be flattered by these attentions, and in turn omitted
nothing by which to testify his gratitude. He listened with the utmost
patience to the accounts of their chivalrous ancestors,--for in Boston
even the second society have _ancestors_,--sat without opening his
lips when they mutually abused one another, and with incredible skill
managed to remain on good terms with the various sets, divisions, and
subdivisions, whose every-day regret it was to be obliged, ‘owing to
the ridiculous American custom,’ _to dine together at the same table_.
“At last the melancholy hour drew near when the count was about to
depart. When this sad intelligence was received, the ladies, with that
tenderness which belongs to their sex, and the peculiar generosity
which marks ‘the second society,’ determined to pay to the count a
tribute of their respect, and accordingly met in conclave to consult
as to the best manner of manifesting their sentiments. At first, the
first section of the second society met, and agreed to give the count
_a ball_. Then came the second, then the third, then again the _élite_
of each section; and, wonderful! on this subject they all agreed.
“It was therefore intimated to the count that he must defer his
departure until after the ball, to which the cavalier readily
consented; assuring the ladies that their kindness should be engraven
on his heart, and that he should never forget the amicable reception
he had met with in Boston. The rest of my story is easily told. The
evening was fixed for the party, the ‘ladies patronesses’ chosen from
each set, (because, the count having been polite to all, none could
very well be omitted,) and invitations sent out to three or four
hundred people to pay to the count the tribute due to his rank and
quality.
“At last the appointed evening arrived. The ball was superb,--the
hall magnificently decorated,--the music exquisite,--the refreshments
in excellent taste and in the greatest profusion. There was also a
supper;--not indeed equal to one of Crockford’s, but, notwithstanding,
nice, delicate, blending the French with the English art of cookery,
and arranged in a style worthy of a _prince_. The selection of madeira
and sherry corresponded with the supper; and there was a profusion
of iced champaign for the ladies. The whole went off prosperously,
with the exception of a single mistake; which, however, the count did
not discover till the next morning, when the landlord, stepping into
his room, presented him with a small piece of paper containing the
disagreeable item of--
“‘To Ball, 1000 dollars.’
“The count was stupified,--changed colour,--declared that the ball had
been given to him, and that he had nothing to do with settling the bill.
“The landlord withdrew; handed the bill to the ‘ladies patronesses,’
and respectfully demanded an explanation. Hereupon a grand meeting of
all the sets was immediately convened, at which the best understanding
prevailed throughout, the whole assembly coming to the unanimous
resolution ‘that the count was a shabby fellow.’
“The day following, the count paid the bill and quitted the hotel,
without leaving a single p. p. c. for any of its inmates.”
Here my cicerone finished his glass, locked the bottle and the empty
tumblers carefully up in the closet, and, having put the key in his
pocket, told me in the most solemn voice that it was not the custom
in Boston to keep late hours, and that, in order not to lose his
reputation as a moral man, he was now obliged to wish me a good night.
FOOTNOTES:
[9] Mr. Quincy was, during the last war, one of the leading members
of the opposition; and, as such, introduced a resolution “that it was
unbecoming a Christian people to exult in the triumphs over their
enemies.” This resolution was afterwards voted to be erased from the
journal of the house.
[10] One who speaks _extempore_; because in the Western country they
use the stump of a tree for a rostrum.
CHAPTER V.
A Literary Party.--The American Press.--Character of Editors--their
Rise and Progress.--Influence of Advertisements.--Old and New
Federalists.--Mode of operating on the People.
“A field of glory is a field for all.”
POPE’S _Dunciad_.
I passed an evening at the house of a genuine specimen of a Yankee,--at
a sort of literary party, to which nearly the whole Boston tribe of
the quill were invited; the master of the house being well able to
act as president. My Boston friends, on reading this, will imagine I
refer to a gentleman in B***-street; but I can assure them that they
are mistaken. I do not mean a man who has at once been promoted to the
rank of king of literature, master of the pamphlet and magazine writers
of New England, by his wealth and the agreeable manners he acquired
in Europe; but a hard-working man, who served his apprenticeship in
a printer’s shop, and by dint of perseverance and talent became one
of the most powerful organs of public opinion, and a correct English
writer. His politics were, from the beginning, those of the Federal
school, but honest; his style clear and flowing, his arguments logical
and to the point; and he possessed a fund of wit and humour to season
the productions of his pen. In his younger days he submitted himself
to the arduous and unprofitable task of exposing some of the most
glaring follies of his countrymen; for which, though he became in an
eminent degree a public benefactor, he was frequently sued for libel,
and condemned to heavy fines. Notwithstanding these reverses he had
prospered, and become the father of a large family, most of the members
of which were distinguished for great ability.
On this occasion he had convened his friends and acquaintances in
order to communicate to them his resolution to add a new monthly
periodical to the list of those already in existence, and to ask their
contribution to so laudable an undertaking. He also told them that for
one year at least he was ready to continue it at a loss, remunerating
liberally the best papers on politics and _belles lettres_, to which he
proposed to direct his principal attention.
The proposition was received with enthusiasm by the whole company.
They agreed unanimously that such an undertaking was highly patriotic,
and that the time being was particularly propitious to an undertaking
of that sort; that the condition of the country, and the progress of
literature and science in the United States, “loudly call for such a
periodical,” &c.; and, as a mark of their sincerity, pledged their
entertainer in a bumper of hock, which seemed to augur favourably for
their taste and judgment.
While they were thus engaged in expressing their sympathy with
literature and the arts, I had an opportunity of observing their
countenances, which partook of the usual shrewdness of New-Englanders,
but were otherwise far from being remarkable or striking. Fortunately
for my democratic sentiments, they were all representatives of the Whig
or American Tory press; though some of the _English_ editors of that
denomination would not, perhaps, feel flattered by this extension of
the fraternity.
What was most interesting to me was, the little case which prevailed
amongst them; none seeming to know his true position. They approached
each other with great caution, as if they dreaded each other’s malice.
I am sure they did not venture a single expression which they would
not have liked to see in print. In addition to this, they watched
each other’s motions, and the greater or less degree of intimacy which
existed between their entertainer and his invited colleagues; in short,
they wanted nothing but tact and manners to pass for a tolerable body
of diplomatists at a provincial court in Germany.
I could not help making some reflections on those poor mortals, who,
like other players, “fretted their hour upon the stage;” though their
_parts_ were not many, and the play but too often not worth the candle.
I believe I am not altogether wrong in asserting that the American
daily press, though its influence on national politics is prodigious,
is nevertheless in its composition, character, and moral force,
scarcely to be compared to the mass of talent employed in this branch
of literature in Europe.
There is scarcely a paper in any of the large cities of the United
States which has a decided political character--advocating some great
historical principle, and employing in its warfare other weapons than
common-place dialectics, and constant appeals to the passions of its
subscribers. The effect produced by the American papers is due to their
number; there being not one of them which can boast of a subscription
sufficiently large to make it a true representative of public opinion.
Their power is owing to combination. No great central institution
has as yet taken the lead; but they have a wonderful faculty in
communicating each other’s ideas, either by direct quotations or by
dressing up the same thought in a variety of manners. An American
paper, in fact, is said to be edited _with great talent_ when it
contains in each number from half a column to a column of original
matter: the rest consists of extracts and advertisements. The latter
constitute the pecuniary resources of an editor; the subscriptions
being so low that, unless a “fair advertising patronage” can be
obtained, little profit or absolute loss must necessarily attend the
publication.
From this single circumstance the leading character of American
newspapers may at once be inferred. The commercial part of the
community advertise the most,--their interests, therefore, are sure to
be advocated; while those principles which refer to the higher branches
of statesmanship or political economy are rarely made the subject of
newspaper controversy, except perhaps in the Southern States. The
Southerners are the only people in the Union who study politics as a
science, having both the education and leisure for that purpose. The
Southern papers, therefore, are, on an average, much better edited than
those of the North; though from their higher standard, and the peculiar
composition of Southern society, they have comparatively a small number
of readers.
The practical men at the North call the Southerners, and especially
the Virginians, “Meta-physical politicians,” in contradistinction to
those whose immediate object is the increase of trade and traffic. The
Northern papers advocate each only _a particular part_ of a political
system: one, a bank of fifty millions; another, one of forty millions;
one, a bank in New York; another, one in Philadelphia, &c. just as it
suits the convenience of their subscribers. It is not the press which
leads the public,--it is the public which leads the press. What is
likely to succeed--that principle which promises to become popular,
which gratifies the peculiar _penchant_ of the leading portion of
the public, is sure to be maintained, if not with spirit, at least
with great obstinacy; but a great truth, which is not yet universally
received, which meets with a strong opposition from wealth and
prejudice, which is calculated to benefit future generations and not
the present one, often pleads in vain for a single enunciation in a
daily print. The proverb, “_Point d’argent, point de Suisses_,” applies
as much to the gentlemen of the press as to the hired soldiers of
Helvetia; with this difference only, that, once engaged in fight, they
do not always defend their masters with the same unalterable faith and
courage.
The fact is, a truth which clashes with the interests of a certain
portion of society is seldom introduced by men not entirely independent
in their circumstances; and for this reason a powerful aristocracy, or
an absolute monarchy, has often done more for the emancipation of a
people than could have been effected by the variously-directed efforts
of the wealthy middle classes. The history of all countries up to the
present day furnishes ample proofs of this assertion, and the state of
America itself forms no exception to the rule.
The Southern planters, who, not without cause, are reproached with
aristocratic principles and sentiments, are nevertheless the stronghold
of American liberty, without which the variety of commercial,
manufacturing, and agricultural interests would soon produce a conflict
of principles, which would ultimately endanger the Union. The very
opposition to the Southern interests obliges the higher classes of the
North to live in peace with the inferior orders.
The industrious labourer at the North has no better ally than the
Southern planter, who, from his position, is more independent, more
generous, and better able to protect him against the rich monopolist
than the _roturier_, who is his competitor. From the South emanated all
the democratic measures, together with the doctrine of the sovereignty
of the people as it is now understood, in the United States. Southern
statesmen advocated the rights of the poor; and broke down the monopoly
of trade and manufactures, which threatened to enrich one class of
citizens at the expense of all the rest.
There is a species of republicanism which may assume all the odious
features of aristocracy; and there is an aristocracy, in the true
sense of the word, which may act as a stimulus to liberty and national
honour. If there be one truth which the history of modern times has
proved beyond the possibility of a doubt, it is this,--that the
wealthy _bourgeoisie_, where it succeeded in obtaining power, has
been a ruder tyrant of the lower classes than the hereditary nobility
whom it deprived of their political influence. As my friend truly
observed,--the more nearly an aristocracy is allied to the people, the
more intolerable are its presumptions; the less are these qualities
redeemed by refinement, education, and that peculiar sense of honour
which, even at the worst stage of corruption, seldom entirely quits
those descended from a long line of ancestors. If Michel Chevalier
is right in believing that the nature of man is too corrupt to be
governed by a pure democracy, then I would, with my Boston cicerone,
prefer at once an aristocracy of family and _hereditary_ property,
with chivalrous notions of honour and justice, to a cold, calculating
preponderance of moneyed men, which, though it may to a certain extent
stimulate enterprise and industry, establishes nevertheless a mean
_numerical_ scale of worth, the most distressing of all to the lofty
aspirations of high-minded men.
The aristocratic _super-position_ of society, as it exists in
Europe and in the Southern States of America, has far less tendency
to circumscribe the liberty of the people[11] than the democratic
_juxta-position_ of different ranks and fortunes, with an incessant
_struggle_ for individual distinction. In short, I prefer the
white-gloved democrat of the South, with his _aristocratic_ bearing, to
the ungloved aristocrat of the North, with his republican humility,
and his cravings after popularity and power.
“Ourself and Bushy, Bagot here and Green,
Observed his courtship to the common people,--
How he did seem to dive into their hearts
With humble and familiar courtesy;--
What reverence he did throw away on slaves,
Wooing poor craftsmen with the craft of smiles,
And patient underbearing of his fortune,
As ’twere to banish their effects with him.
Off goes his bonnet to an oyster wench;
A brace of draymen bid--God speed him well!
And has the tribute of his supple knee
With ‘_Thanks, my countrymen, my loving friends!_’”
As I was thus pondering on the relative merits of the North and South,
I observed a gentleman whom I had once met in a stage-coach talking to
the master of the house in a manner from which it was easy to infer
that _I_ formed the subject of their conversation. Shortly after he
rushed up to me, and, seizing both my hands,
“Don’t you remember me?” exclaimed he; “we travelled together in the
same coach from Baltimore to Washington.”
I was glad to find some one to converse with freely, without being
every third word stopped by such phrases as these: “Why, sir! I don’t
exactly know;” “I sometimes think;” “I am half inclined to suppose;”
“I rather guess;” “I should _swan_,” (for, “I should swear,”) &c.;
or cross-examined as to my intentions, views, inclinations, tastes,
and habits, which I knew would be considered as absurd if they did
not entirely correspond with the stereotype patterns of the leading
moralists of the city. During my stay in Boston I have often felt
gratified with the attention shown me by many of its inhabitants;
and there are, perhaps, few cities which, in proportion to their
population, can boast of so large a number of educated men and women:
but I cannot refrain from alluding to the want of moral independence,
not only in their private and public acts, but also in their
_conversation_. I communicated these thoughts to the Carolinian, who,
seizing both my hands, exclaimed,
“You have spoken my very heart. I could live twenty years in this
city without feeling myself at home in it. There is a degree of
ceremoniousness, watchfulness, and prudence, even in the hospitality
of these people, which destroys that familiar conviviality to which we
are accustomed at the South. The same holds of the women. There is a
certain severity--_une rigueur poussée trop loin_--about the loveliest
faces in New England, which acts as a disenchanter on enthusiasm. You
gaze, you admire, you respect; but you are almost _afraid_ to love;
such a distance does there seem between yourself and the object of your
fancy.”
From these topics our conversation turned on literature and the
representatives of the press.
“Our editors,” said he, “think themselves competent for the solution
of every question, whether it refer to politics or poetry, to the
settlement of the Western country or to Greek and Roman archæology.
Once armed with a quill, they care not whom they meet in the arena.
Fortunately it is their practice to praise indiscriminately every
book, pamphlet, or poem, of which a copy is sent them ‘for notice;’
except when the author attacks their favourite doctrines, or pretends
to be wiser than themselves. In such cases they exhibit an _esprit du
corps_, and woe to the unfortunate offender that provokes a power so
formidable! Not only will judgment be pronounced on him _editorially_;
but also in an infinite number of _anonymous_ articles, furnished by
the legion of literary twaddles which surround our ‘independent press,’
and claim the occasional insertion of a squib as a _bonus_ for the
amount of their annual subscription. This species of assassination is
considered perfectly lawful, and is practised by lawyers, physicians,
clergymen, merchants, manufacturers, and tradespeople of all sorts.
Whoever subscribes to a paper considers himself _the editor’s patron_,
and obliges the latter to give publicity to his dull lucubrations.
“An editor, in order to reject these voluntary contributions, must
be very independent in his circumstances, or possess a fund of wit
and sarcasm to make people afraid of him, as is, for instance, the
case with our entertainer; but by far the majority are glad to avail
themselves of these opportunities of filling their columns without
personal exertion or trouble. You know how the democratic tendency
of Cooper’s novels was treated in our prints; how the youths of our
colleges, and the clerks of our dry-goods-men, exerted themselves to
the utmost to counteract their pernicious tendency.”[12]
“I do not remember many of those newspaper squibs,” said I; “but I
think Cooper showed very little taste or good sense in answering them
at large in ‘_A Letter to my Countrymen_.’”
“And in republishing that letter in England,” added the Carolinian;
“making the English public judge between himself and the American
people.”
“And yet, what remedy has an American author in such a case, except to
appeal from a small and prejudiced public to a large and liberal one?”
“I do not think,” rejoined the Carolinian, “the English public is much
more liberal than our own. But, then, in England every man sticks to
his trade, so that the criticism of the periodical press, and even of
the daily papers, proceed at least from persons competent to judge, and
who have made literature their principal occupation in life. If it were
not for English critics, we should not know or esteem our own poets;
for it is only after they have acquired a standing _there_, that they
are admitted into society in this country. I remember what an American
lady from this very city told a gentleman in Paris, when she heard a
certain bard was visiting the highest society in England: ‘I cannot
conceive of it,’ said she; ‘he never visited in the first society _with
us_.’ ‘Then,’ observed a sarcastic Scotchman, ‘the first society in
England must be very differently constituted from the first society in
America.’”
“You are too severe on your own countrymen,” said I.
“I am accustomed to speak my opinion frankly,” replied the Southerner.
“How many of the gentlemen present do you think fit to edit a
respectable paper in England?”
“That is a difficult question.”
“Oh, not at all, sir! I will answer it for you. Hardly one besides
our entertainer, who, though perhaps no longer equal to what he
was, possesses, nevertheless, more business tact, and writes better
English, than any one of his colleagues. And yet all these men have
pretensions to literature, and imagine themselves capable of judging
the literary productions of others. What man of talent would under
such circumstances not rather appeal to England, and be judged by his
peers, than trust to the decisions of his countrymen? The greatest
praise of the American press is, after all, but a dubious testimony of
an author’s merits, even with a great portion of the American public;
while its censure becomes doubly severe from the circumstance of its
rare occurrence, and the great ease with which it may be avoided. I
remember an instance in which one of this gallant body of editors
‘cut up’ a book, and that too one which has since been republished in
England, merely because the author had forgotten to send him a copy;--a
tribute which no poor devil of a writer ought to forget to pay to
those sovereign princes of literature, if he do not wish to see himself
damned. But, if the work has once gone through an edition in _England_,
all is hushed in silence; for, although we declaim continually against
British influence, we have scarcely an editor who dares to hold
an opinion different from that of the English public. The love of
independence is, indeed, inherent in them; but in such matters a mere
_declaration_ does not answer the purpose.”
“And what is the usual career of one of your editors?” demanded I.
“That is easily told,” replied he. “A man fails in business, or is
otherwise unfortunate; he does not succeed in his profession, or has
had some other falling-out with the world. Then he turns politician,
and commences generally by being a democrat. Democracy is the easiest
and best commencement of a politician. He is serving his apprenticeship
with the people, as a young physician first practises on the poor
before he ventures his skill on those who are able to pay him. The
majority of our ‘most respectable editors’ commenced in this manner,
by advocating ‘the greatest good to the greatest number;’ but, once
brought into notice, the transition from Radicalism to Whiggism, and
from that to Toryism, is effected with little difficulty.
“You may always doubt a democratic editor’s sincerity when his
_advertisements_ begin to increase. He is then sure of making himself
agreeable to a certain portion of the _commercial_ community, and
to meet soon with the proper reward of his new political faith. You
may then expect to see him promoted in society and on ’change; and
ten chances to one he will be able to settle with his creditors.
After that, he begins to differ in one or the other point from the
leading principles of the democratic party, (for it is seldom that a
man changes _at once_ from a democrat to a Whig,) until by degrees
he renounces the whole doctrine as unworthy ‘of a gentleman and a
scholar.’ Then he begins his abuse against the _mob_, declaiming loudly
against anarchy and usurpation; because new converts to a doctrine
must show more zeal than those who have been brought up in it, and in
order to exhibit their contempt for the class of society from which
they themselves have sprung. These abuses are afterwards returned
with interest by those who have remained faithful to their cause, or
who have not yet had a chance of promotion. Hence arises a newspaper
controversy, which is neither calculated to elevate the style of our
writers, nor to throw much light on the great principles for which they
are contending. After subtracting the personal abuse and common party
slang of our papers, there remains scarcely enough matter to elicit one
generous thought, or a single truth capable of adding to our political
knowledge.
“Our editors are so much bent on discussing men and characters, that
they scarcely ever find time for examining a principle; and hence it
is that foreigners not acquainted with our public men cannot form a
correct notion of our politics. It is our boast that Europeans do not
understand our institutions; but I believe the same reproach applies to
ourselves, and particularly to our editors. How many of these, I would
ask, understand the true meaning of aristocracy and democracy? and what
historical idea do they associate with these terms?
“Immediately after the revolutionary war, we had Whigs and Tories;
that is, men that were honest enough openly to avow their sentiments.
These _had_ a political system, and defended it logically with
philosophical arguments. And I will be sincere with you: a large
portion of our public men _was_ then inclined towards Whiggism, or
rather to a moderate Toryism, as might have been expected from a
people principally descended from England, and versed only in the
British school of politics. These men, however, soon discovered the
impossibility of establishing, in America, a government after the
English model. Their principles and doctrines became unpopular; until,
at last, their motives were suspected, and they themselves held up as
traitors to the country.
“The French revolution had given a fresh impulse to the democracy of
the country; and the champions of the old school--the Federalists as
they were called--were obliged to leave the field to their victorious
antagonists. Since that period their party has tried to _smuggle_
itself into power. They assumed a variety of insignificant names by
which to deceive the multitude, and within the last few years sailed
under false colours. They are no longer the plain honest men who come
out with their principles in broad daylight; they do not advocate
openly and manly the system they once gloried in, but only certain
detached parts of it. They administer their politics to the people,
like some disagreeable medicine, in exceedingly small doses, in order
not to disgust the public stomach.
“The great majority of editors are, in every respect, the mere tools
of party. They do not set up or maintain a principle, they merely
spread it over a wider surface. Their _modus operandi_ consists in
appealing to the passions of the multitude, upon whose decision
their success mainly depends; and the same is the case with our
statesmen. The democrats may do so without apparent inconsequence; they
_acknowledge_ the people as their sovereign, and may do them homage:
but when a party, which agrees in nothing except in the conviction
that the people are unfit to govern, bends its knees before that very
people in order humbly to crave some of the offices and distinctions in
its gift, then I can no longer remain an indifferent spectator; I feel
indignant at the base conduct of these crafty flatterers, and become
ashamed of the principles of the party to which my whole family and
myself have always belonged.”
“You are a Federalist then?” demanded I.
“Yes, sir, one of the _old_ school; for I believe that an aristocracy
not linked with, but, on the contrary, separated and opposed to the
people, must for ever remain powerless; and that the people of no
country are to be won by empty praise and sycophancy, but by the
conferring of some substantial benefit.”
“Our rich people do not even understand how to strike the lower
classes with the exhibition of wealth and splendour; a practice which
is rarely entirely without effect when that exhibition benefits a
large number of tradespeople. So far from seeking the appearance of
liberality, they hoard money in the most miserly manner; as if the
mere possession of wealth, and not the skilful application of it,
were capable of procuring them political influence. There is not a
branch of industry in which they are not striving to grind the face of
the poor, and yet they expect the latter to promote their interests!
Nothing but an entire stupefaction of the people can ever make them
attain their object. The people give nothing without an equivalent, and
are only rendered more obstinate by the fine speeches and flattery of
those who pretend to be their superiors. In one word, our aristocrats
are fond of power and distinction; but they are unwilling to pay for
them. Money is, and remains, their highest consideration; and the
acquisition of it the principal object of their lives. Hence the
privilege of making money, and of borrowing and lending it, has become
the rallying point of their party. How far this will assist them it is
at present difficult to tell; but one thing they may rely upon with
certainty,--that the people, though for a time espousing their cause,
will again desert them at the first clashing of interests.
“Among the Western hunters and warriors there are better materials for
a future aristocracy than can be found in the Atlantic cities. They
are, at least, owners of real estate, and possess the soil on which
they play the lords. In short, the persons who are now called ‘the
aristocracy of the Northern States’ must change their manners, habits,
principles, and education, before they can expect to gain a hold on the
sympathy of the people.”
“But why do you remain with a party with which you have so little
sympathy?” demanded I.
“Because I do not wish to be called an ‘apostate.’ I am so far
disgusted with politics, that I will not have anything to do with them
hereafter. The great interests of democracy claim in every country,
even in absolute monarchies, the utmost attention of the legislator.
All wise statesmen, whether kings or senators, have been attached to
its leading principles; but men have ever been too corrupt to give it
a systematic developement. This circumstance makes me sometimes doubt
its success among us; though I, for one, am no longer opposed to the
experiment.”
“The press!” shouted the company,--“the press!” and the editors pledged
it in a bumper.
FOOTNOTES:
[11] These remarks can, of course, only be understood as applying to
the _white_ population of those States.
[12] Since Mr. Cooper’s last publications on France, Italy,
Switzerland, &c. he is less abused by his countrymen. The nice things
he tells them about the _palaces_ of Europe, and the society of princes
to which he _himself_ was invited, have put the critics in good-humour
with the author.
CHAPTER VI.
Unitarian Preaching.--Doctor Channing.--Character of his
Audience.--Religious Party on the Sabbath.--Discussion of Dr.
Channing’s Merits.--Moral Cant.--General Characteristic of New England
Society.--Women the only Aristocracy.
“Love, and meekness, lord,
Become a churchman better than ambition.”
_King Henry VIII._ Act v. Scene 2.
“La Religione e la Filosofia comandare l’una e l’altra energico volere,
e giudizio pacato, e senza queste unite condizioni non esservi nè
giustizia, nè dignità, nè principii securi.”
SILVIO PELLICO.--“_Le mie prigioni._”
This being Sabbath, and the last day of my stay in Boston, I went to
the “first Unitarian church” to hear Dr. Channing, a gentleman of
wide-spread reputation in America, and of late considerably known also
in England. He is considered the prophet of Unitarianism in the United
States, and I am not disposed to derogate from his reputation. He has
undoubtedly contributed much to the popularity of the sect in Boston,
and to its spreading in several parts of the Union, where a large
portion of the population consists of New-Englanders.
I once heard a clever man assert, that the world stood in expectation
of a great man who should unite the three principal creeds,
Christianism, Judaism, and Islamism, into one, and thus bring unity
and concord among the different believers in one God. Whether such a
man would have to clothe his doctrines in pious mysticism, in order
to affect the heart as well as the mind, and to embrace all the
peculiarities of these creeds, he did not say; but, since I have heard
Dr. Channing, I am inclined to think that he is the man, and that
he intends to solve the grand problem by philosophical _analysis_.
It is possible, namely, instead of inventing a form which shall
contain each of these creeds as a co-ordinate part, to make use of
the dissecting-knife in order to cut off all that is not perfectly
homogeneous: the remaining trunks, with their “sublime moral,” would
then so little differ from one another, that the one might be safely
substituted for the other, and _vice versâ_. How much the world would
gain by such a simplification, I leave political economists and female
philosophers to judge, who perhaps are best able to appreciate the
advantages and beauty of such a system.
The sermon I heard was one of the doctor’s best. It was “on the
character of Christ,” and I must do him the justice to say that he
handled his subject with great skill. It was a perfect epopee--almost
equal to the _Henriade_, only that it was in prose. The effect on
the audience was electric. Instead of the ladies fanning themselves,
and the gentlemen sleeping as they are wont to do at this season of
the year, they all looked “at the doctor,” and at each other, as if
doubting the reality of so extraordinary an effort. I expected at every
moment a public manifestation of their feelings, but was disappointed;
for hardly had he finished, and a psalm been sung by the choir, before
his hearers--who, I was told, were composed of the “genteelest” and
“most _fashionable_ part of the community”--left church with that
peculiar English propriety and undisturbed countenance, which would
have led an European from the Continent to suppose they had never been
affected.
It is usual in Boston to make sermons a peculiar branch of literature,
and to discuss them in lieu of other literary matter at dinner or tea,
especially on Sundays. This practice, by which many an European has
undoubtedly been edified, I was to-day doomed to become a victim of,
in a very nice family. I took tea at a gentleman’s house, who, though
he had seen a good deal of the world, thought it nevertheless _prudent_
to conform to the customs of society; especially as he had grown-up
daughters, whose prospects in life might have suffered from an open
confession of the liberality of his principles. Having arrived at the
conviction that religion is absolutely necessary to the _moral and
political_ well-being of the community, and that it is a powerful means
of repressing the vices and passions of the _multitude_, he espoused,
on his return to America, that creed which most nearly approached his
mode of thinking, and put the least restraint on his habits. His family
were inclined towards orthodoxy; but, the father worshipping at an
Unitarian church, the daughters followed his example, and listened to
the eloquent discourses of Dr. Channing.
Scarcely had I entered the room, and, in the good New England fashion,
bowed separately to all the ladies, and shaken each of the gentlemen
present by the hand, before the eldest daughter--a beautiful dark-eyed
girl, with black hair and ruby lips--addressed me in the most solemn
manner in these terms:--
“Well, Mr. ***, whom did you hear to-day?”[13]
“I heard Dr. Channing,” replied I.
“Were you not delighted?”
I somewhat hesitated for an answer.
“It was certainly a great effort,” said the gentleman, observing my
embarrassment.
“But is he not a charming preacher?--I mean, is not his _style_
beautiful?” demanded the girl.
“It is _glorious, glorious, glorious_!” echoed the women.
“And the doctor is not only one of our greatest preachers, but also
one of our first literary characters,” resumed the young lady. “He
has written an excellent sermon against General Jackson, and a most
glorious article against Napoleon in the North American Review.”
“Is he also a politician?” demanded I.
“Yes, sir, and a most _glorious_ one; he wrote against the tariff, and
of late also against slavery.”
“Why did he not write sooner against it?”
“Because he waited for the proper time, just after the subject had been
taken up in England.”
“Are you an abolitionist, Miss ***?”
“I was taught never to speak of it,” said the girl, blushing. “It is a
question in which we dare not act, as we are told by our minister.”
“For G--d’s sake!” cried the old gentleman; “let us not have
_bobolition_. Those blackguards are already stirring up the country
in every direction, and will not be satisfied until they will have
produced a separation of the Union. I think Dr. Channing had better
turn his wits to something else.”
“But what induced him to preach against General Jackson?” demanded I.
“Because General Jackson was very nigh involving the country in a
war with France, and Dr. Channing is opposed to war, on account of
its wickedness. It completely obscures ‘moral grandeur,’ and sets a
high premium on the lower qualities of the mind, such as courage,
patriotism, and the like. He is in general opposed to ‘military
greatness,’ and is just as severe on Napoleon, Nelson, Wellington, and
Jackson, as Pope was upon women; only he is not quite so satirical,”
observed the old gentleman. “He thinks those men will have ‘a very low
standing’ in the other world. Isn’t it so, my child?”
“Precisely so, father; Dr. Channing always speaks of Napoleon as of
‘the miscalled great man.’”
“Then the French were right in calling him _le_ PETIT _caporal_.”
“Why, the doctor calls Napoleon only a _third-rate man_!”
“Then, I assure you, he has been sinking the bathos in a professional
manner. Such a speech might have been _piquant_ some twenty-five or
thirty years ago at a nobleman’s table; but no one can venture on it
now without betraying the most profound ignorance of history, and the
most ridiculous conceit at the same time. None but great men do great
things; the saying and writing them is left to inferior minds, and
often to mere scribblers. Napoleon tamed the revolution, he changed its
corrosive nature; which alone ought to have entitled him to the respect
of the Tories.”
“It is the misfortune of our people,” continued the old gentleman,
“that they cram everything under the head of morality. Morality is
the cant and crack word of the place. If you go to our fashionable
churches, you will hear the fashionable clergyman preach ‘morality;’
if you visit a private gentleman’s house, he is sure to entertain you
with ‘morality;’ if you attend a public meeting, the ‘moral’ speaker
will address his ‘moral’ fellow-citizens on the subject of ‘public
morals;’ if you listen to the partisan harangues of our professional
politicians, they will conjure the people ‘in the name of morality’ to
outvote the profligate antagonist faction, &c. Morality seems to be the
great lever of society; the difficulty only consists in finding its
fulcrum.”
“I believe Dr. Channing is very popular in England,” observed one of
the visiters.
“Among the Unitarians at least,” replied the master of the house; “but
the assertion of some of his friends here, that he is the best English
writer now living, is, I can assure you, wholly gratuitous. We are
apt to overdo things on this side of the Atlantic, and are either too
lavishing in our praise or too severe in our censure. We always deal
in superlatives, even in common conversation; which is the surest sign
of our imagination being void of images. Everything with us is ‘most
beautiful,’ ‘most sublime,’ ‘most glorious,’ from a turnip up to our
ministers, lawyers, and statesmen; so that, on occasions when we are
really moved, we have no other terms to express our feelings than those
whose signification is already worn out by common use.
“As regards Dr. Channing’s merits as an author, no one can deny, I
believe, that he is a correct and tasteful writer, though by no means
a powerful one. There is throughout his productions a visible want of
originality and strength, which a skilful rhetoric and a nice selection
of terms are incapable of concealing even from ordinary readers. His
ideas are less striking than the garb in which they are dressed, and
remind one constantly of some pretty little miniature painting, in
which the artist is more successful in the drapery than in the face. In
addition to this, he is, like all New-Englanders, prone to argument,
and in the course of it but too frequently betrays the want of logic
and sound scholarship.
“This is most apparent in his little pamphlet on Slavery, and the
annexation of Texas. He there ventured on a subject in which the
popular feeling was already in his favour, and yet did not set forth
a single new idea capable of adding strength to his cause. He merely
reiterated, and dressed in new garbs, the general argument against
slavery, used by European writers nearly a hundred years ago; and,
in so doing, but followed the example of hundreds of his countrymen,
who did the same thing at a time when it was dangerous to advance
such doctrines in America. I naturally expected to see the subject
treated, not in the English manner, but applied to the condition of the
Southern States. I thought he would allude to the forlorn condition of
the _free_ negroes at the North, and propose some means of elevating
their character, in order gradually to prepare them for a rational
state of freedom. I thought he would reproach his own fellow-citizens
for refusing negro children to be educated at our public schools, for
excluding them from our churches, our theatres, our public houses, our
stage-coaches, and even our burying-grounds! And yet it is evident
that, as long as the feelings of our Northern population do not
change with regard to the negroes, emancipation can do them no good;
for, while it gives them liberty, it prevents them from becoming
respectable,--it takes away the master’s whip in order to transfer the
slave to the pillory and the gallows.
“I expected Dr. Channing to propose a scheme for gradually emancipating
the negroes, without absolutely ruining the planters; but, instead
of all this, he contented himself with declaiming against slavery in
the abstract, and in appealing to the _political_ prejudices of the
Northern people.”
“But,” objected one of the gentlemen, “Dr. Channing, in his pamphlet
on Slavery, and in his ‘Letter to Henry Clay, on the annexation of
Texas,’ says that he is aware that these publications will make him
unpopular with a large portion of his readers; but that he is prepared
to meet their disapprobation, rather than omit to do his duty.”
“Oh! that’s nothing,” rejoined the master of the house, “but a display
of courage in times of peace. Let him preach the same doctrines to the
Southerners, or, as I said before, allude to the forlorn condition of
the free negroes amongst ourselves, and I will believe in his moral
fortitude. Many a clergyman in the United States has exposed himself
to being mobbed, and some _were_ mobbed, for daring to preach what Dr.
Channing published with the greatest possible security in Boston; and
yet those men earned no reputation for their martyrdom.”
“Neither did these men employ the proper means for abolishing slavery;
they preached revolt.”
“And Dr. Channing,” resumed the old gentleman, “the doctrine of
political equality. He pressed the subject of slavery on his Northern
brethren, not with the calm, impressive voice of an apostle of
Christianity,[14] but with the malice of a political demagogue, jealous
of the mental superiority of the South. Riches he neither condemns nor
despises; but he is inexorable on the subject of leisure, which enables
the Southern planters to be gentlemen and professional politicians.
Here” (pointing to a little pamphlet lying on the table) “is the best
proof of his sincerity and courage. See what he says of the South and
North in his Letter to Henry Clay. If the company will allow me, I will
read the passage. It is worth perusing, as it contains an illustration
of the character of our leading people.
“‘I now proceed,’ says Dr. Channing, ‘to another important argument
against the annexation of Texas to our country,--the argument drawn
from the bearings of the measure on our national Union. Next to
liberty, union is our great political interest; and this cannot but
be loosened--it may be dissolved--by the proposed extension of our
territory. I will not say that _every_ extension must be pernicious;
that our government cannot hold together even our present confederacy;
that the central heart (?) cannot send its influences to the remote
states which are to spring up within our present borders. Old
theories must be cautiously applied to this country. If the federal
government will abstain from _minute_ legislation, and rigidly confine
itself within constitutional bounds, it may be a bond of union to more
extensive communities than were ever comprehended under one sway.’
“Capital logic, this!” exclaimed one of the visiters. “Do not pretend
to rule, and you will sway over extensive communities. And what does
he mean by _minute_ legislation? What do the Southerners claim but
non-interference with their internal regulations? and yet, while Dr.
Channing preaches the same doctrine, he stirs up a question which,
sooner or later, must interfere with the sovereignty of the States.”
“This is not all,” replied the old gentleman: “he contradicts himself
every third or fourth line, preaching union on one hand, and the
dissolution of it on the other. Let me read to you another passage.
“‘Undoubtedly there is peril in extending ourselves; and yet the chief
benefit of the Union, which is the preservation of peaceful relations
among neighbouring states, is so vast that some risk should be taken
to secure it in the greatest possible degree. The objection to the
annexation of Texas, drawn from the unwieldiness it would give to the
country, though very serious, is not decisive. A far more serious
objection is, that it should be annexed to us for the avowed purpose
of multiplying slave-holding States, and thus giving POLITICAL POWER.
_This_ cannot, ought not to be borne. It will _justify_, it will at
length DEMAND a separation of the States.’”
“Did I not always tell you,” interrupted the same visitor, “that the
doctrine of nullification originated in Massachusetts? This is but a
repetition of sentiments expressed here more than twenty years ago. But
we change opinions according to circumstances.”
“Hear on!” cried the master of the house. “You interrupted me in the
best part of Channing’s letter.
“‘We maintain,’ he says, ‘that this policy is altogether without
reason on the part of the South. The South has exerted, and cannot
help exerting, a disproportionate share of influence on the
confederacy. The slave-holding States have already advantages of
co-operation, and for swaying the country, which the others do not
possess. _The free States have no common interest like slavery to hold
them together._ They differ in character, feelings, and pursuits.
They agree but on one point, and that a negative one,--the absence
of slavery; and this distinction, as is well known, makes no lively
impression on the consciousness, and in no degree counteracts the
influences which divide them from one another. To this may be added
the well-known fact, that in the free States the subject of politics
is of secondary importance, whilst in the South it is paramount.
In the North, every man must toil for subsistence; and, amidst the
feverish competitions and anxieties of the eager and universal
pursuit of gain, political power is sought with little comparative
avidity. _In some districts it is hard to find fit representatives for
Congress_, so backward are _superior men_ to forego the emoluments of
their vocation,--the prospect of independence,--for the uncertainties
of public life.’”
“Under such circumstances,” interrupted I, “and with such an exalted
patriotism on the part of your _superior_ men in the North, the
American people ought to be glad to find Southern legislators in
Congress; else their senate and house of representatives would contain
nothing but men of straw.”
“It is precisely that mental aristocracy of the South which our people
dislike the most,” responded the old gentleman. “They cannot pardon
elegant manners and superior education. But hear what parallel Dr.
Channing draws between the South and North.
“‘What contrast does the South form with the divided and slumbering
North! There, one strong broad distinction exists, of which all
the members of the community have a perfect consciousness; there a
peculiar element is found, which spreads its influence through the
mass, and impresses itself on the whole constitution of society.
Nothing decides the character of a people more than the form and
determination of labour. Hence we find a unity in the South unknown
in the North. In the South, too, the proprietors, released from the
necessity of labour, and having little of the machinery of association
to engage their attention, devote themselves to politics with a
concentration of zeal which a Northerner can only comprehend by
being on the spot. _Hence the South has professional politicians_, a
character hardly known in the free States.’
“You hear,” cried the reader, “_our_ politicians are mere _dilettanti_.
“‘The result is plain,’ continues Dr. Channing. ‘The South has
generally ruled the country. It must always have an undue power.
United, as the North cannot be, it can always link to itself some
discontented portion in the North, which it can liberally reward by
the patronage which the possession of the government confers.’
“This, gentlemen,” exclaimed the master of the house, “is the manner in
which the doctor preaches against slavery! He shows the whole value of
it to the South, and then calls upon the South to renounce it, in order
to put itself on a level with the North. An _advocate_ of slavery could
not have selected a better argument for pressing the continuance of
the institution on the Southern planters, and yet he expects them to
become convinced of its wickedness. He has, indeed, a most peculiar way
of exhorting sinners; he shows them all the nice things they may get by
offending against the law, and then says, ‘All these you shall _not_
have by following me.’”
“And what does all his argument come to,” observed one of the visitors,
“but this?--Our moneyed men in the North revere nothing more than
money; but, because each of us is determined to make money, we are
divided into as many different castes as there are ways and means of
making money. We, Northerners, have no rallying point; because every
one makes money for himself, and not for his neighbour. This, however,
is not enough to give us political strength; and for this reason the
Southerners, who by their slaves are placed above the necessity of
making money, rule over us by superior talent and education. This is a
state of things not to be endured; and, since we cannot become clever
ourselves, we must at least prevent others from becoming so. With us,
politics come after money; in the South, they take the lead in all
human pursuits. If, therefore, we want to get the upper hand with those
Southerners, we must abolish slavery, or, in other words, force the
planters to make money for themselves; then we shall see who can make
money faster, the South or the North. In the North all work for money;
and, as politics with us are no very lucrative pursuit, our _superior_
(rich?) men will have nothing to do with them. They prefer the prospect
of money to that of political distinction, and the actual possession of
it to everything else in the world.”
“Capital!” cried the old gentleman; “that’s the point Dr. Channing
is going to make. We would like to become like the Southerners, if
we could do so without pecuniary sacrifice; but, as this is entirely
out of the question, we must reduce those who are above us to our own
level. In this manner we shall promote equality and justice, and,
in addition, obtain credit with the world for philanthropy and true
Christian charity.”
“You may say what you please against the doctor,” said the eldest girl,
visibly displeased by the turn the conversation had taken. “I shall
always believe him _a charming preacher_.”
“I am myself very fond of his sermons,” added the old lady; “only I
prefer reading them at home to hearing them at church.”
“And I,” observed an elderly gentleman, “do not like his explanation of
the Scriptures by their general scope, and the disbelief of their being
written by Divine inspiration; though I heard his colleague assert,
that, _rather than disbelieve_ THE WHOLE, _he would take every part of
them_ FOR GOSPEL.”
* * * * *
And now I must bid good-b’ye to Boston and its remarkable inhabitants,
who, I am afraid, have already occupied my attention more than is
agreeable to my readers, and, perhaps, to the Bostonians themselves.
“Common sense” is certainly the staple commodity of _New England_; but
I cannot say I have always found it in the _metropolis_. The Bostonians
are too much flattered by their own public men and the press, not to
be occasionally benefited by the remarks of “a foreigner.” They all
call themselves an enthusiastic people,--comparing themselves to the
Athenians; but, during my whole stay in the United States, I have not
known one of them moved by the tender passion, which, strange to say,
never attacks an educated Bostonian _mal à propos_.
The gentlemen of that city never do anything out of season. Whenever
one of them falls in love, you may be sure he is quite ready to get
married, and that the object of his affection is a legitimate one. He
does not throw away his sentiment on some unattainable object, for he
husbands his feelings as he does his property. No man remembers better
than he the words of Bacon: “When it (love) entereth men’s minds, it
troubleth men’s _business_;” and, the latter constituting by far the
most important object of his life, it is comparatively a rare case to
see him _look out for a wife_ “before he sees his way clear ahead.” In
this manner he avoids a great deal of romance and vice; but all this
prudence and calculation, this impossibility of being betrayed into
some rash inconsiderate act, lend to his character a degree of hardness
and severity, which, though it may admirably qualify him for public
life, renders him, nevertheless, the most unamiable creature in society.
I have heard it said that the New-Englanders in general have a quicker
perception, and are shrewder, than Europeans or the rest of the
Americans. The Bostonians pride themselves on being “sharper” than the
Jews, and on preventing them from making a living in their city; but I
cannot say that this agrees with my experience. As regards quickness of
perception, they are certainly inferior to the Italians, and in part
even to the French; but they make up for it by their greater calmness,
which renders them less liable to error. They have not, as a certain
English writer believes, two heads; their clearness of judgment arises
only from the absence of emotions. Where men have but _one_ aim, and
that a definite and finite one, they are seldom deterred from it; so
that the vulgar, who merely judge by the success, often ascribe to them
great mental powers: but there is a kind of genius which, from its very
elevation, and its necessary incommensurability with the common mind,
is doomed to unceasing strife; and with this the New-Englanders have in
general but little sympathy.
The great difficulty which Europeans, and even Jews, find in acquiring
property in New England, is not so much owing to the superior
business-talent or cunning of the New-Englanders, as to the practice of
“every man’s doing every man’s business;” which reduces the price of
all kinds of labour by excessive competition, and leaves no room for
interlopers of any description. No species of industry is deemed vulgar
or degrading; and, while a European or a Southerner is obliged to do an
hundred things _honoris causâ_, the New-Englander undertakes nothing
without a prospect of advantage or reward.
Another deficiency in the composition of the New-Englander is the
absence of humour. I have, indeed, been shown a number of persons
who were said to possess a great deal of what is called “dry wit;”
but which, after all, was but an odd way of expressing common-place
ideas. Their conversation, generally, wants seasoning,--the spice of
imagination and taste. In sarcasm they succeed better; simply because
they have more judgment than fancy, and understand dissection better
than composition. I shall never forget the definition which a Southern
gentleman, a member of Congress, gave of the satirical powers of a
distinguished politician of the North. “He has no imagination,” said
he, “no humour, no keenness of wit; but his sarcasm resembles a very
cold razor, which takes off the skin without requiring an edge.”
These are some of the dark points in the character of the
New-Englander. His bright ones are exhibited in his relation to the
community as a citizen. Few people have so great a respect for the law,
and are so well able to govern themselves. In no other country are the
labouring classes so well instructed, so orderly, and, I may add, so
respectable,--in the _European_ sense of the word,--as in New England.
Though their State politics have generally been inclined towards Whig,
and even Toryism, they are nevertheless the most thorough Radicals in
principle, and, perhaps, the only people capable of enjoying so large
a portion of liberty without abusing it. In addition to this they
are sober, industrious, and, with the exception of a few straggling
pedlars, from whom it would be absurd to draw a general conclusion,
just and honourable in their dealings. In short, nature has done
everything to make them calm sober republicans; but reserved every
agreeable and amiable quality exclusively for the _women_. Not only
are “the ladies” better educated than “the gentlemen;” but also, owing
to their entire separation from trade and traffic, more imaginative,
high-minded, and patriotic. If the Bostonians, and the New-Englanders
in general, have been remarkable for deeds of public and national
charity, I am inclined to believe it was principally owing to
... “th’ balm that draps on wounds of woe
Frae woman’s pitying e’e.”
The women, in fact, are the real _aristocracy_ of New England; and I
shall go to live in Boston when Miss Martineau’s plan is realized, and
the women emancipated from thraldom.
FOOTNOTES:
[13] This is the Sunday “How do you do?” of the Bostonians.
[14] In his Letter to Henry Clay he avers that he has prepared himself
for his task by “self-purification;” but in what manner he does not
mention.
CHAPTER VII.
The Nobleman’s Journal becomes more and more Aristocratic.--Wistar
Parties in Philadelphia.--Literary Gentlemen in Philadelphia.--The
Girard College.--Character of the late Stephen Girard.--The
Quakers.--Their Aristocratic Sentiments.--Quaker Dress.--Philadelphia
Ladies.--Good Living in Philadelphia.--The Mansion-house in
Third-street.--Apostrophe to the Fashionable Young Men and to the Men
of Family.
“Still stranger much, that when at last mankind
Had reach’d the sinewy firmness of their youth,
And could discriminate and argue well
On subjects more mysterious, they were yet
Babes in the cause of freedom, and should fear
And quake before the gods themselves had made;
But above measure strange that neither proof
Of sad experience, nor example set
By some, whose patriot virtue had prevailed.
Can even now, when they are grown mature
In wisdom, and with philosophic deeds
Familiar, serve t’ emancipate the rest!”
COWPER’S _Task_, Canto v.
The journal of my friend I found was too long for publication. Besides,
I could discover his aristocratic propensities to grow stronger and
stronger in exact proportion to his intercourse with the higher
classes; so that I was obliged to omit his notes on the society of
Philadelphia and Baltimore, in order to find room for his observations
on Washington. Two circumstances, however, I must not suffer to pass
unnoticed; his admiration of the Quakers, and his dislike of the Wistar
parties,--a sort of half literary, half fashionable, weekly convention
of gentlemen, at which a tolerable supper is added to a great deal of
indifferent conversation on ordinary topics.
“There is,” says my friend, in one of his notes, “a much greater
number of literary and scientific gentlemen in Philadelphia than can
be found in any other city of the United States; but they are, as yet,
far from forming ‘a republic of letters.’ As long as literary and
scientific men without fortune are merely tolerated by their wealthy
but less clever colleagues; as long as science and literature in the
United States are judged, not by their high intrinsic value, but by the
advantages which may result from them in the common transactions of
life; as long as arts and sciences remain without influential patrons
or public consideration, it is in vain to attempt their promotion by
pampering poets and painters with a weekly supper. These ‘literary
_réunions_,’ as they are called in Philadelphia, are not calculated to
put a man of letters at his ease, or to elicit new thoughts by familiar
conversation. On the contrary, they are stiff, unsociable, full of that
_gênante étiquette_ which prevails in all the higher American coteries
to the exclusion of mirth and familiarity. The Athenæum and Garrick
clubs in London contain daily a thousand times better opportunities
of improvement to young literary men, than the Wistar parties of
Philadelphia in the course of a century. There are, in fact, no
establishments similar to those in the United States; though there are
_very respectable_ gambling clubs in New York, Philadelphia, Baltimore,
and even in the godly city of Boston.”
“The newly established Girard College,” observes my friend in another
note, “will not prove so great a blessing to the Philadelphians as
is generally imagined. With the munificent donation of its founder,
and the truly royal splendour of its execution, it will, I am afraid,
become after all little more than an ordinary school of arts and
trades. The whole system of education in the United States, and the
tone of society, must materially change, before an institution like
the Polytechnic School of France can possibly succeed in forming
scholars in the higher departments of science. The peculiar foundation
and organization of Girard College does not seem to me to be much
calculated to improve the system of hand-to-mouth learning produced
by the material tendency, and the desire of pecuniary gain and
profit, which form the index to the character of the greater part
of professional men in America. The founder himself, though in many
respects a public-spirited, and in his own way a clever man, had but
a vulgar appreciation of genius, and a very high respect for money.
This is undoubtedly the reason why he chose none but wealthy men for
trustees of the college which was to bear his name, though it is more
than probable some literary men might have been found in the United
States, who, without being able to give _bonds_, would have proved of
some advantage in establishing and organizing a college.
“All I have heard of that vain old Frenchman confirms me in the opinion
that, even in his acts of generosity, he was but a vulgar plebeian;
never consulting the feelings of those he wished to benefit, but first
wounding with a rude hand their inmost soul, in order afterwards to
apply the healing plaster in the shape of a bank-note. Thus, he would
lecture one of his most faithful servants engaged to be married, on
the vexations and follies of matrimony; drawing in a brutal manner
the veil from nature’s holiest mysteries, and refusing to give him
aid and protection, until, perceiving that his victim, dreading the
consequences of his temper, remained, like some obedient cur, silent
at the abuses of his master, he signed a bank-check in his favour to
the amount, I believe, of some thousand pounds. I have heard other
anecdotes about him of a similar nature, from which I could not help
drawing the conclusion that it was his peculiar delight to make his
friends and clients forswear every other god and goddess before he
introduced them to the temple of Mammon;--or did the cunning Gaul
do so from a knowledge of the society in which he wished to gain an
ascendency? What reason, after all, had the Philadelphians to be proud
of such a man? And what difference is there between an American banker
leaving several millions of dollars to a rich and populous city, in
order that his name may be perpetuated by the building of a school; and
an honest English boot-black, who leaves an hundred thousand pounds for
the establishment of an hospital?[15]--I can see none; unless it be
that the act of the former proceeded from vanity, while that of the
latter took its origin in charity and true Christian piety.
“The most interesting part of Philadelphia society are the Quakers;
as a body the most singular, as individuals the most respectable,
Christians in the United States. I do not here speak of their religious
tenets, which are sufficiently known to the world; but of the fact
of their being throughout a moral people, by mutual support almost
universally in easy circumstances, and from their habits of industry
and frugality seldom led into temptation. No other Christian society
is held together by such strong ties of affection and brotherhood; no
other set of men bear in their manners, habits, dress, and character
so strongly the imprints of their faith. They carry their religion--a
thing unknown in these times of moral and political advancement--into
every act of their private and public lives; and, though they sometimes
obtrude it in a manner not the most pleasant or refined on the notice
of strangers, show at least on all occasions that Christianity with
them is a living principle, not an abstract doctrine to be remembered
only on the Sabbath.
“I like aristocracy in every shape, whenever it has a solid
foundation; but I despise aristocratic pretensions in a vulgar rich
man. The aristocracy of the Quakers consists not so much in wealth
as in family, and this circumstance has given to the society of
Philadelphia a tone decidedly superior to that of New York. Though
much more exclusive and less hospitable than the New-Yorkers, the
Philadelphians are more agreeable and elegant in their manners. They
have more of the _à-plomb_ of gentlemen. There is less motion and
more dignity in their carriage; and you can see, from an hundred
little circumstances, that the higher classes have the advantage of a
generation over the ordinary run of aristocrats in the United States.
“The Quakers, who are still among those who directly or indirectly
influence the fashions of society, have introduced a patrician
simplicity in dress, manners, and habits, which forms a singular
contrast with the gaudy ostentatious display of wealth with which one
is occasionally struck in New York. The Philadelphia ladies dress with
more taste than any others in the Union; they walk, dance, sing, and
talk better than those of the Northern cities; and their manners in
general are more finished. They do not study Latin and Greek, like
some of the New England belles; but they prattle French and Spanish,
and sometimes Italian, with tolerable facility. They cultivate the
_agrémens_ of society; while a great portion of the Northern women
puzzle their heads, and those of their admirers, with philosophy and
the classics. Yet it is but justice to say, that the women of New
England, even those of the highest classes, remain unsurpassed as wives
and mothers, and set, in this respect, the example to all other females
in the United States.
“In point of shape, the ladies of Philadelphia are believed to be
unrivalled; their necks, shoulders, and waists being admirably wrought,
and their hands and feet of the most aristocratic littleness. Their
complexions are not so clear and fresh as those of the women of New
England; but the expression of their countenances is more _distinguée_,
inclining somewhat towards the Spanish. I was also told that they had
a taste for the romantic; several ‘droll’ engagements taking place
annually, and a small number of run-away matches furnishing from time
to time sufficient matter for the _chronique scandaleuse_ of the town.
Things of this kind are of rare occurrence in the North; though, as
I observed during my stay in Boston, there is no lack of imagination
on the part of the _women_. But where should a young Bostonian find
time to run away with a lady? What business or matter-of-fact man is
sufficiently amiable for a woman to risk her reputation on his account?
“The Quaker ladies, in general, are renowned for their beauty. They
dress plainly, but in the richest materials; showing that their
aristocracy consists in substance, not in forms. The colour of
their dresses, which is usually of a light grey, is not ill suited
to a fair complexion; but the cut is too Old-English not to form a
glaring contrast with the Paris fashions weekly imported into the
United States. At the time of William Penn, the Quaker dress was not
distinguished from the fashions of the day by all that was inelegant,
odd, contrary to the prevailing taste; and on that account did not
obtrude itself on every one’s notice. But at present the case is
reversed; the very simplicity of the apparel becomes an arrogant
distinction, or may at least be considered as such by those who do not
look upon it as a part of their religious creed. Every man or woman
owes something to society, so that a total disregard of its established
rules and customs is usually considered as proceeding either from
extreme vulgarity, or a degree of elevation which need not descend to
the level of others: a wise person avoids the dilemma.
“For this reason, and perhaps also because the French fashions of the
day are far more becoming to a pretty face, and exhibit _taille_,
_tournure_, &c. to much greater advantage, a portion of ‘the Society of
Friends’ have of late relaxed from their original severity, and adopted
certain unobjectionable parts of Parisian millinery. The selection they
made shows their tact and sense of propriety; and it is now a common
saying with travelled men, that, in order to see a well-dressed lady,
one must either see a Parisian woman of the higher classes, or a ‘_gay
Quakeress_ of Philadelphia.’ The gentlemen, too, begin to trim their
hats, and allow the fashionable scissors to be applied to their coats,
without dreading the immediate downfal of Christianity. They are also
said to have grown more attentive to ladies; having at last arrived at
the conviction that the hearts of women are more easily attached by the
silken thread of trifling cares and attentions, than by the chain-cable
of constant toil and sacrifice.
“A number of Quakers of Philadelphia occupy themselves exclusively
with science and literature; few of them are not members of some
charitable or other association for the benefit of mankind. Yet they
have, from the commencement of the revolutionary war, been denounced
as _Tories_: partly because they did not take an active part in the
struggle for independence; and partly because, as politicians, they
have always been in favour of a federal government. If it be true
that family, education, and even property, are, from the principle of
self-preservation, inclined towards a strong protective government,
the Quakers as a body must naturally be advocates of Conservatism;
but in a country like America, where political principles and parties
are constantly changing, where the power of the government and the
opposition are so nearly balanced, and where the clashing interests of
society sometimes completely paralyze the course of politics adopted by
the Congress of the nation, I can see no evil come from a small part of
the community being attached to existing forms, or united, if this were
possible, for the purpose of resisting the rapidity of public events.
“The American government, as I have often said, requires, more than
any other, a strong opposition. The aristocratic and democratic
principles mutually excite and increase one another, like positive
and negative electricity in the metallic plates of a galvanic chain;
only, that from time to time they require _cleaning_. Each principle
without the presence of the other would soon degenerate; and it is,
in this situation of public affairs, perhaps a fortunate circumstance
that there should exist at least _one_ class of society capable of
representing with some sort of dignity the aristocratic element of
State.
“The time, after all, must come when the United States will have
their history; when the present will be linked to the past; when the
names of American statesmen and patriots will go for something in the
estimation of the public. Then the influence of family will and must be
felt by the people as the historical representative of their political
existence. This period is now delayed by the apparent opposition
between the higher and lower classes; but it will arrive as soon as
the real _élite_ of society will _join_ the lower orders against the
tyranny of mediocrity--in the shape of the government of the rich
_bourgeoisie_.
“The society of Philadelphia is, on the whole, better than that of
Boston or New York. There is less vulgar aristocracy than in other
Northern cities. Not that I mean to say that there are not people to
be found in Boston and New York that could rival the Philadelphians
in point of ‘gentility;’ but in the good ‘city of brotherly love’
there is, probably owing to a seasonable admixture of a large number
of European, and especially French families, a higher tone, greater
elegance, and, in every respect, more _agrémens_. The New-Englanders
are an arguing people, and annoy you, even in society, with
mathematical and political demonstrations. The Philadelphians have more
taste, and _have the best cooks in the United States_.
“There is nothing more aristocratic than the keeping of an excellent
cook; nothing so vulgar as not to care what one is eating or drinking.
‘_Dis-moi ce que tu manges, et je te dirai qui tu es_,’ said the
celebrated author of ‘_La Physiologie du Goút_;’ and, certes, no
Philadelphian will in this respect be found wanting in the scale. There
is a nice little house in Third-street, kept by a man, or, as I should
say, ‘a gentleman,’ who spent upwards of an hundred thousand dollars
in Europe in learning how to eat and drink, and who is now teaching
the same science to a select circle of his countrymen; charging them
for his trouble a little less than some of the quack professors of the
culinary art in New York and Boston, who think a dinner excellent when
it consists of joints, and show their barbarism by putting ice in
their claret.
“Mr. H--d, of the Mansion-house in Philadelphia, has been long enough
in Europe to know the difference between gravy and melted butter; and
if every American that goes to Europe to improve himself would _only
learn as much_, there would be no harm, and much substantial benefit,
arising from it to the country. I have, at his house, eaten fricassees
that would have done credit to old Véry;--his son inherited the money,
not the taste of his father;--and sauces with which, as Prince Puckler
Muskau has it, ‘a man could have eaten his own grandfather!’ In short,
one is more comfortable at the neat little house in Third-street, than
anywhere else in the United States. An Englishman himself could live
there without missing any of the luxuries of his own country, if the
bar-keeper were not a stupid old negro, and Mr. H--d, jun. more of a
gentleman than a landlord.
“A word in parting to you,” says my German traveller, apostrophising
the fashionable young men of Philadelphia; “you are much mistaken if
you take the terms ‘idler,’ and ‘gentleman,’ for synonymous. There
is a vast difference between a gentleman of leisure, and a vagrant
that walks up and down Chestnut-street, and stares women out of
countenance. You seem to think that a certain bold unabashed look
marks the gentleman of _ton_,--the fashionable rake, whose position in
society enables him to disregard the prejudices of the multitude. You
pamper your fancy in the _salons_, in order afterwards to feed upon a
common pasture. This is but a miserable way of imitating the refined
_roué_ of Europe. If you cannot affect sentiment, conceal at least your
passion, or curb your inordinate fancy. There is nothing so vulgar as
imagination without taste.--And you men of family, without fashion!
study aristocracy in the classics, rather than in the newspaper
polemics of the day; or, if this should prove too tedious, read the
history of the Italian republics. There was a time in Florence when
every nobleman was obliged to have a trade, and yet Florence produced
the _Medici_; why should you be ashamed to imitate so high an example?
or are you afraid lest all your tradespeople should wish to become
noblemen?”[16]
FOOTNOTES:
[15] Mr. Day, of the firm of Day and Martin.
[16] Trade and traffic are less popular in Philadelphia than in other
parts of the Union; the young men delighting in being called “gentlemen
of leisure.”
PART III.
CONTAINING A TRIP TO WASHINGTON, AND A SHORT STAY IN THE METROPOLIS.
CHAPTER I.
Journey to Baltimore.--Arrival in the City.--Barnum’s Hotel.--The
Washington Letter-writer.--His Views of Politics.--Arrival
in Washington.--Street Manners of the People.--Hotels and
Boarding-houses.--High Life in the Metropolis.--The Epicure House.
“Quando si parte il giuoco della zara
Colui che perde si riman dolente
Ripetendo le volte e tristo impara;
Con l’altro se ne va tutta la gente.”
DANTE.
One morning, early in the month of March, I left Philadelphia in a
steamer for Baltimore. It was a frosty cold day, and we were obliged
to have a fire in the cabin; round which the gentlemen--the ladies
occupying, as usual, a separate, more elegantly furnished room,--formed
at first a small, but, in proportion as the company increased, a larger
circle. The manners of the people had already a touch of the South in
them: scarcely would a gentleman approach the stove before those who
were already seated made room for him; an attention which, trifling as
it was, marked a certain consideration for the feelings of others,
which it is always gratifying to notice wherever we are. The captains
of the boats from Philadelphia to Frenchtown, and from Newcastle to
Baltimore,--the distance from Frenchtown to Newcastle is made on a
railroad,--were noted for their civility to the passengers; and, on the
whole, I do not remember having travelled more at my ease in any part
of the United States.
We arrived in Baltimore early in the afternoon of the same day; and the
greater part of the company putting up at Barnum’s hotel, I concluded
to go thither also. On entering the spacious bar-room I at once asked
for a separate room, and ordered my luggage to be taken up to it; but
was told “that I must not be in a hurry,” and that no room could be
given away to any gentleman without the bar-keeper having made his
“calculation.” I then perceived that the gentlemen, one after the
other, stepped up to him, telling him their names; which he put down on
a slate, together with the number of rooms they asked for, precisely
in the same manner as the burgomaster of some small town in Germany
would set down the names of the officers of a regiment which is to be
quartered upon it. It finally became my turn to speak.
“What’s your name, sir?” demanded the bar-keeper.
“Mr. ***,” said I, taking care to omit the “De.”
“Are you alone, sir?”
“Yes; but that is the reason I want a room by myself.”
“All single rooms are engaged long ago. I shall have to put you in a
room with one or two other gentlemen.”
“Then I shall not stay here.”
“You may do as you please; but I cannot accommodate you better. We have
to turn away people every day, and we _must_ serve our old customers.”
“You had better stop here,” whispered one of the gentlemen in my ear;
“you will be satisfied with the house in every other respect, and I am
quite sure you will not be able to do better in Baltimore.”
“But, sir,” said I to the bar-keeper, “cannot you manage to put me into
a room with only one other person?”
“I will see what I can do for you, but I cannot promise; I must first
make my _calculation_.”
“And you will of course put me together with a _gentleman_?”
“Nobody stops here but gentlemen; you need not have any scruples about
_that_,” replied the bar-keeper rather indignantly.
I thought it best to be silent if I wanted to sleep that night at
all, and thus quietly awaited my sentence. At last the bar-keeper had
completed the distribution of the rooms; and began to call out the
names of the gentlemen, telling each the number of the room he was
to occupy. When he called out my name he smiled; and turning to me
with a sarcastic expression, “We have to put you in a room with one
gentleman,” said he; “but, should you stay longer, we can to-morrow
give you a room by yourself.” I bowed in token of acknowledgment, and
betook myself at once to the quarters assigned to me.
“Also going to Washington?” demanded my chum as I entered the room.
“Yes, sir; are you going?”
“I am _obliged_ to go,” replied he (with an air of importance); “I am
always there during the session of Congress.”
“Perhaps I have the honour of addressing a senator?”
“No, not exactly.”
“Or a representative?”
“Nor that either.”
“Then you must have some business there?”
“Certainly, sir; I am a correspondent of the New York ***.”
“Oh! you write the letters from Washington for that paper?”
“Precisely so; and it is a more difficult task to write a good letter
than to make a bad speech.”
“No doubt of that, sir; you may often be employed in making the best of
a bad argument.”
“What do you mean, sir?”
“I mean, by improving what has been said by a senator or
representative.”
“Not only that, but it is _we_ that give the cue to every argument.
Our representatives take up a question as they find it stated in the
papers.”
“And it is you that govern the country?”
“It’s the press, sir, and nothing but the press, which governs a free
people.”
“But is not the press liable to error?”
“All human institutions are; but _we_ have such abundant means of
correcting and preventing it, that it is almost impossible for us to be
in the wrong. In the first place, _our_ press has the money by which
(drawing himself up to his full height) it can secure the best talents;
and, secondly, our people are too ‘cool’ to be easily wrought into a
passion. We are a ‘calculating’ people.”
“But your papers are full of personal abuse. Do you think _that_ an
advantage?”
“Not exactly; but it is unquestionably a great help--a seasoning of
dull editorials. Our people have so much ordinary conversation in the
course of the day, that, if it were not for the slander contained in
our newspapers, they would not be amused at all. _Papers_, sir, are
‘the eating, drink, and fuel’ of the Americans; and on that account
they can never be too hot for them.”
“But very high seasoning marks a bad taste; I should think the best
papers on what is called ‘the aristocratic side’ would scorn personal
abuse.”
“Quite the reverse, sir, I assure you. It’s the only means of
attracting notoriety, and of pleasing our first people. Besides, it
would be useless to play the part of a gentleman in _that respect_,
when all the rest are blackguards. We want strength, sir! strength! and
nothing but strength!--none of your ‘milk and molasses’ productions, of
which a man can make neither head nor tail. If we give a man a beating,
we do not want him to get up again; ‘we go the whole hog.’ When we
attack a man, we assail at once his moral, political, religious, and
domestic relations. Every little helps, you know. ‘Give a dog a bad
name, and hang him!’ says the proverb, and it is just so with our
politicians.”
By this time I began to be afraid of the man, lest, if he should not
“steal my purse,” he might publish me in the papers. He looked, indeed,
like a desperate fellow; though his self-sufficiency was quite amusing,
and the smacking of his lips and the stroking of his chin, with which
he accompanied every one of his sayings, were sufficiently ludicrous to
destroy the effect of the ferocious manner in which he paced the room.
I therefore made no farther reply, but began to dress for supper. This
untimely cessation of conversation seemed to annoy him, as it probably
prevented him from showing off, and impressing me with a proper respect
for his station. He therefore drew a parcel of papers from his pocket,
and throwing them violently on the table--
“Here,” exclaimed he, “is the last news. I dare say you know it
already. We have triumphed in every part of the country. Our State is
carried ‘high and dry.’”
“I do not care much about politics,” replied I.
“You don’t?” said he. “Why, then, do you stay in the country?”
“Cannot you imagine a man to have any other business but politics?”
“Oh, certainly, sir! a man may be a merchant, a doctor, or a tradesman;
but, I mean, how do you _amuse_ yourself? I for my part should go mad
if I had not politics to divert myself.” (With pride,) “I _need_ not be
a politician, thank God! I have money enough without it; but I _love_
politics on account of the pleasure they give me. I glory in them!
There is such fun in being on the side that beats. One hundred and
fifty guns, sir, are to be fired from Albany to New York, and from New
York back again to Albany, in honour of our last victory. Where is the
pleasure to be compared to that, sir? To carry a whole State ‘smack,
smooth, and no mistake!’”
“But it must be very annoying to be beaten.”
“That never occurs to me, sir. I never stay long with the beaten party.
If you study our politics, you will always find that our most ‘talented
men’ desert a party just before it is going to break up. We always like
to be on the conquering side. That’s the way to ‘get along’ in this
country, sir, if you want to be a politician. But is there no bell in
this room? I’ll see how long it will take _to raise a waiter_.”
“What do you want, sir?” grinned a negro almost instantaneously.
“Some brandy and water and half-a-dozen cigars: I am going to write an
article.”
“Then I do not wish to disturb you,” said I, grateful for an
opportunity of escaping from the room.
Scarcely was I half an hour down in the reading-room before a huge bell
rang for supper. I expected, as usual, a rush into the dining-hall;
but was much surprised in perceiving the quiet gentlemanly manner in
which every one took his seat. The supper was excellent, and, what is
more, it was well served. I began to perceive that I had fallen into
good hands, and was only sorry that an establishment in every respect
so unexceptionable should have adopted the vexatious custom of having
the roll of travellers called by the bar-keeper, in the manner of some
surly sergeant, before accommodating them with a room. A great deal of
unpleasant feeling arises from mere mistakes in forms, which may easily
be corrected by a little attention to the usages of the world, and
which, therefore, cannot be sufficiently recommended to innkeepers.
Early the next morning I found myself safely seated in one of the huge
railroad cars which leave Baltimore every morning for Washington. This
railroad, I believe, is one of the worst in the United States; the
travelling on it being excessively tedious, the stoppages frequent,
and the rate very slow. I believe we did not go faster than seven or
eight miles an hour, so that we required nearly half a day to complete
a journey of about forty English miles. Nothing can be more barren than
the country through which the railroad is laid; and the approach to the
metropolis is anything but striking, although the entrance is by the
way of the Capitol.
Washington is, indeed, a city _sui generis_, of which no European who
has not actually seen it can form an adequate idea. Mr. Serullier,
formerly minister of France, used to call it “a city of magnificent
distances;” but, though this be true, I should rather call it “a city
without streets.” The Capitol, a magnificent palace, situated on an
eminence called Capitol-hill, and the White-house, the dwelling of the
President, are the only two specimens of architecture in the whole
town; the rest being mere hovels, and even the public buildings,
such as the Treasury, War and Navy Departments, and the General
Post-office, little superior to the most ordinary dwelling-houses in
Europe. The whole town is, in fact, but an appendix to those two public
buildings, a sort of ante-chamber either to the Capitol or to the house
of the chief magistrate. If such a town were situated in Europe, one
would imagine those buildings to be the residences of princes, and the
rest the humble dwellings of their dependants.
The only thing that approaches a street in Washington is Pennsylvania
Avenue, a sometimes single, sometimes double row of houses,
leading from the Capitol to the White-house. In this street are
the two principal hotels of the city, and a considerable number of
boarding-houses. The former are two large barracks, capable of holding
each from one hundred and fifty to two hundred people; the latter are,
for the most part, mean insignificant-looking dens, in which a man
finds the worst accommodations at the most exorbitant prices, and must
often be glad to be accommodated at all.
The most aristocratic inn in Washington is Gadsby’s, though I consider
this “to be a mere matter of taste;” the pretensions to aristocracy
resting on four clean walls, and a triple row of galleries in the
court, which render the distribution of the rooms convenient, and the
rooms themselves agreeable and airy. In every other respect I found no
difference between Gadsby’s and Brown’s, or even Fuller’s, which is
further up towards the President’s house; and, in comparison to other
first-rate hotels in the United States, the fare and accommodations in
all of them are altogether beneath mediocrity. Gadsby, by the by, keeps
an excellent assortment of wines, and he is himself a very gentlemanly
and agreeable man.
Among the boarding-houses there is, I believe, a good deal of
aristocratic classification, owing to the different sets of senators
and representatives who establish their clubs in them. Some also there
are whose pretensions to gentility are principally founded on the
landladies being descended from some ancient family, or on their being
related to some distinguished members of Congress. In short, every
boarding-house marks a particular shade of aristocracy; the Southern
(those for Southern members) being the most refined, and each of them,
in spite of the bad living, the focus of a particular coterie.
There is also a hotel in Pennsylvania Avenue, called “The NATIVE
American;” probably for the accommodation of such members of Congress
and their friends as think themselves entitled to worse fare than can
be obtained at other places, for having the aristocratic preference
of birth--no matter where, and of whom, in the United States,--over
every unfortunate stranger _directly_ descended from Europe. I am not
disposed to quarrel with any American for _enjoying his birth_; though
I cannot but think that the American Indians are much more entitled
to be called “Native Americans” than any descendant from an English,
Scotch, Irish, German, French, Dutch, Swedish, Spanish, or Portuguese
family that happens to be born in the Union.
The first thing that struck me in Washington was the unusual number of
persons perambulating the streets without any apparent occupation, of
which every other American city, with the exception of Philadelphia,
seems to be entirely drained. If there be poor and idle persons walking
the streets of New York, Boston, or Baltimore, it is, I am sorry to
say, generally owing to some late arrival from Europe,--some of the
steerage passengers being yet left without employment. Washington,
however, is a city of _American_ idlers,--a set of gentlemen of such
peculiar merit as well to deserve a public comment. They live in what
is called “elegant style,” rise in the morning at eight or nine, have
breakfast in their own rooms, then smoke five or six cigars until
twelve, at which time they dress for the Senate; few gentlemen ever
honouring the _House of Representatives_ with their presence, except
just before leaving the Capitol.
The Senate of the United States is, indeed, the finest drawing-room
in Washington; for it is there the young women of fashion resort for
the purpose of exhibiting their attractions. The Capitol is, in point
of fashion, the opera-house of the city; the House of Representatives
being the crush-room. In the absence of a decent theatre, the Capitol
furnishes a tolerable place of rendezvous, and is on that account
frequented during the whole season--from December until April or
May--by every lounger in the place, and by every _belle_ that wishes to
become the fashion.
After speaking and talking is over in the Senate, the idlers commence
the regular performance of eating, which is no sort of amusement to
any one in America who is obliged to dine at an ordinary. For this
reason they club together in numbers from four to six, to dine at their
rooms; single dinners being too expensive, and the people who have the
means of entertaining in Washington being not sufficiently numerous to
secure every dandy a place at a private gentleman’s table.
The routs in Washington, in spite of the small rooms and the economy
of refreshments, are delightful, lasting generally from nine in the
evening until two in the morning; after which the _élégants_, wholly
exhausted from the uncommon exertion of being agreeable four or five
hours in succession, repair to some cellar or beef-shop, not quite so
well furnished as the common resorts of cabmen and omnibus drivers in
London, but which the aristocratic taste of the young men elevates into
“refectories.”
It is in these cellars that a stranger may become acquainted with “real
life in Washington.” In the best part of the season, when speeches are
plenty and cash flush, the idlers’ “refectories” keep open the whole
night; the regular eating and drinking, and, as I was informed, also
the _gambling_, never commencing until twelve o’clock.
One of these establishments,--the best of the kind I believe in the
metropolis,--“the Epicure House,” as it is termed, was recommended to
me as doing canvass-back ducks in the neatest style, and being always
the resort of the most fashionable company. This recommendation,
joined to the fact that nothing can be obtained at an inn after the
hour of eleven,--a practice which adds much to the convenience of the
_innkeepers_,--induced me to try the skill of a coloured cook, and
to have a peep at the young men that were called “the first” in the
law-giving city.
On inquiring the way, I was pointed to a house forming the corner
opposite to Gadsby’s hotel, to which was attached a lamp which gave
exactly as much light as was necessary in order not to break one’s
neck in descending the staircase which led to the entrance, but
left the establishment itself in precisely that sort of obscurity
which is always desirable for a place serving as a rendezvous for
_comme-il-faut_ people. On entering it,--it being only a little after
eleven,--I found the room, which was divided into boxes after the
manner of a common English eating-house, nearly empty; a few persons
only eating scolloped oysters or drinking punch, but a number of black
imps slinking about in evident expectation of better business. I
hesitated at first whether I should take a seat, the appearance of the
table-cloths, cruets, &c. being far from inviting; though the bar was
stocked with bottles bearing the inscriptions--“Sillery champaign,”
“Klause Johannisberger,” “Marcobrunner,” “Hermitage,” &c.
The bar-keeper, perceiving my want of resolution, came forward, and
accosted me in the most polite terms.
“You wish, perhaps, for a private room, sir? If you do not want it
longer than after midnight, I can give you the one adjoining. At twelve
I expect a party who may want it until three or four in the morning.”
“Thank you; I do not like to take possession of a room which I am
obliged to give up in three quarters of an hour. Have you none other?”
“I have yet another room up stairs; but it is occupied by a
dinner-party, which is not likely to break up till two or three in the
morning.”
“You keep very late hours, then?”
“Why, sir, we commence late. If you stop here till two o’clock, you
will see this room crowded. This evening all the gentlemen are at Mrs.
***’s, who gives nothing but tea and cakes; which, as you may imagine,
is not precisely the thing for young men that are dancing the whole
evening. Many of them are yet _growing_, and, as is usually the case
with such gentlemen, have an excellent appetite.”
“And so they come here to sup?”
“They do me that honour, sir; and I do my best to accommodate them.”
(What a polite publican, thought I, if he were not a mulatto!) “And
what have you fit to eat?” demanded I.
“Fine canvass-back ducks, oysters, and venison. Canvass-back ducks are
prime; just the season. Shall I show you into the other room?”
“No, I would rather take a duck here; but you must give me a clean
table-cloth.”
“Certainly, sir. What sort of wine will you take? hock, champaign,
claret, madeira, or sherry? I have got some first-rate Johannisberger
and some of Lynch’s claret.”
“Have you champaign in pint bottles?”
“At your service, sir.--John! put a clean table-cloth at No. 3. Do you
want the papers in the mean while?”
In less than fifteen minutes one of the best specimens of that
inestimable bird, the canvass-back duck, for which the Americans might
justly be envied by European princes, was placed before me, “with the
usual trimmings,” consisting of jelly, butter, beets, and pickles,
together with a small bottle of the Napoleon brand champaign. The whole
was served in good order; and I could not but wonder that in a place
of so mean and unfashionable an appearance a person should find such
excellent accommodations. What would Mr. Stuart have said if his good
fortune had led him to the Epicure House in Washington? I can assure
him that in no other place in the United States could he have eaten
canvass-back ducks more deserving of praise and comment.
Hardly had I commenced eating, before a noisy uproarious set of
men entered the premises, singing and swaggering, and calling in a
stentorian voice for cheese and _crackers_.[17]
“What a d--d shabby party that was!” exclaimed a young man, dressed in
the latest New York fashion, with dirty gloves, and his shirt-collar
turned down with perspiration; “one of your regular _Boston_ ones.[18]
I believe nothing was handed round but lemonade and spunge-cake, and of
that there was scarcely enough for the ladies.”
“Why did you not go up stairs?” cried another; “there were plenty of
sandwiches, besides a large basin of toddy.”
“How could he have found time for that; he was all attention to Miss
***; were you not, John?” ejaculated a little creature dressed in boots.
“Ah! are you here?” cried John; “we lost you at the door; how did you
get here?”
“On my legs,” replied the little fellow. “Did you expect me to pay
two dollars to one of those rascally niggers for the pleasure of a
_ride_?”[19]
“But did you wear boots at the ball?”
“Certainly not; I took them off in the entry, and put them on again as
I came out. I always carry my shoes in my pocket when I go to a party.”
“That’s regular Boston fashion!” shouted the company. “How much do you
make by it a year?”
“I _save_ by it more than a hundred dollars; and ‘a dollar saved is a
dollar earned,’ says Franklin.”
“But what do you do with your boots at the party?”
“I _hide_ them as well as I can; I have only lost one pair in Boston.
They were taken away by mistake; but I advertised them in the papers,
and got them back again. But I say, John! how do you stand with Miss
***? All right, hem?”
“For mercy’s sake, don’t bother me now!” cried John; “I am too dry to
talk.” (Turning to a bronze-faced mulatto boy, “Why, you cursed little
imp, cannot you bring me the whisky punch I ordered?”) “To dance a
cotillon lasting three hours! Those girls’ feet don’t seem ever to get
tired.”
“And a German cotillon, too,” rejoined a tall gentlemanly figure, who
appeared to be a Southerner; “if it had not been for the mazurka, which
some of our ladies still object to, because there is too much whirling
and dancing on the heels in it, I should not have had a moment’s rest.
I wonder how the women can stand it!”
“And then the _gallopade_! why, that alone wears out a pair of shoes,”
cried the Bostonian; “the mazurka only requires _heeling_.”
“They ought to make you president of the savings’ bank!” observed the
Southerner.
“That is,” said John, “if he understands saving other people’s money as
well as his own.”
By this time the waiter returned with the punch, a huge lump of cheese,
and a basket of biscuits, which was immediately seized upon and
devoured, as if the persons present were the half-starved crew of some
American whaler just returned from a three years’ cruise round Cape
Horn.
“I say, Jim,” said John, “did you taste the wine?”
“I did,” replied Jim; “but I could not swallow it. It was not worth
three dollars a dozen.”
“I believe it was Sicily madeira.”
“Heaven knows _what_ sort of madeira it was; I took to the toddy.
“If these ladies had not kept me going, I should have done so too.”
“That’s the pleasure of courting,” said Jim tauntingly.
“Why, a man has to come to it some time or other,” said John.
“Miss *** is certainly a pretty girl; but, if I were in your place, I
should not like her flirting in Washington. Washington is the worst
place for a young lady in the United States. It is altogether too
European.”
“I do not like it myself,” observed the Southerner; “nor the custom
of our fashionable women to bring their daughters here just as they
have left the boarding-school, in order to introduce them to the _beau
monde_.”
“And to teach them the gallopade and the mazurka, which is setting a
premium on _foreigners_,” said John with some bitterness.
“Don’t be angry,” cried Jim. “You don’t expect to be cut out by a
German or a Pole, do you?”
“You may go to ---- with your insinuation,” cried John: “what I object
to in the society of Washington is, that it teaches women to _amuse_
themselves; or, rather, that it obliges _us_ to amuse _them_.”
“That is rather bad,” interrupted a thin pale-looking gentleman
with spectacles; “as it must necessarily interfere with our serious
pursuits.”
“Such as drinking punch, and playing cards,” observed the Southerner.
“I mean _literary_ pursuits,” said the man with spectacles.
“Oh yes! we forgot that. Mr. *** writes the _on dits_ for the New
York ***; of course he has no time to throw away upon women. ‘Time is
money,’ says Franklin.--I say, George, did you win or lose at whist?”
“I won twenty dollars.”
“Then you neither lost your time nor your money.”
“If that’s the case, George must pay the punch,” shouted the company.
“George is going to do no such thing,” replied the littérateur.
“Then let us toss up for it,” proposed Jim.
“That would not do,” objected John; “he, as a Yankee, would have the
advantage in _guessing_.”
“I think it best,” said George, “for every man to pay his own
reckoning.” So saying, he called the waiter, paid for his punch, and,
without uttering another syllable, left the party to settle their
accounts after their own manner.
“What a selfish, unsociable, stingy fellow that is,” cried Jim; “would
not even toss up for it! and yet--would you believe it?--he is engaged
to one of the prettiest girls in New England.”
“She probably marries him for his literary reputation. Boston women are
sometimes in love with that!” said John. “But let us now toss up for
the reckoning.”
“It’s all paid,” observed the waiter, pointing to the Southerner.
“Just like him; always throwing away his money!” muttered John,
pocketing his piece. Jim made a bow, and swore he would be revenged:
but all finally agreed to go home, visibly contented.
Scarcely had they left, before a large party of about fifteen or twenty
young men, among whom there appeared to be some Europeans, entered
the room, swearing that they had been done out of a regular meal,
and that they were now going to make up for it. “Let us have three or
four canvass-back ducks, and some of Lynch’s claret,” cried one of
them; “the devil take the stuff they call toddy! I had as lief swallow
prussic acid,--it has given me the cramp in my stomach.”
“If you had drunk it here,” grinned the waiter, “you would feel all the
better for it; we make that article first-rate.”
“Hold your tongue!” cried the gentleman, “and do as you are bid.”
“All right, sir!” said the negro, and went to speak to the cook.
“Can we go into the other room?” demanded one of the party.
“Gentlemen are dining there,” replied the bar-keeper.
“Gambling you mean, don’t you?”
“It’s no business of mine to inquire _what_ they are doing; they have
been there ever since dinner.”
“Then they must leave soon, and we may have the room.”
“I don’t think they will,” rejoined the bar-keeper. “Whenever they come
to dine, they generally stay for breakfast.”
“And the room adjoining?”
“Is already engaged. I expect the gentlemen every minute.”
The party cast an inquiring look at one another, and then gathered
round a small table as well as they could, quietly awaiting the arrival
of the supper.
In less than fifteen minutes from this time, it being nearly twelve
o’clock, the whole room was filled to overflowing with the most motley
assemblage of persons I ever beheld in my life. It was a group worthy
of being preserved on canvass. Besides the party already mentioned,
there were gathered round the chimney a parcel of Kentuckians, a giant
race of men, full of strange oaths and tobacco-juice, discussing
politics, and betting heavily on the issue of certain matters then
under debate. Their language, surely, was not altogether intelligible
to me; but what I _did_ understand convinced me that they are justly
reputed for their wit and humour. One of them--standing, I should
judge, six feet two--was a good-natured punster, who, in spite of
the serious turn their conversation had taken, kept the company in a
continual roar of laughter.
Round the bar was stationed a more noisy and less original set of men;
such as a person might see in any of the larger gin-shops of London
on a Saturday evening. They were vulgar and “uproarious,” smoked bad
cigars and spit promiscuously round the room, while the Kentuckians
showed their better breeding by always hitting the same spot. A third
party, evidently composed of _young bucks_, dressed in the latest
London fashions, with perfumed hair and real French kid gloves, were
discussing the merits of women; which they did _con amore_, using all
the English slang they had collected from the newspapers, or from
fashionable novels, and taking great pains to appear as outlandish as
possible. The intervals between these clusters were filled up with
single gentlemen, of all ages and descriptions, and in every possible
state of consciousness,--from that of a perfect knowledge of “the
thousand natural shocks this flesh is heir to,” to that of the most
total oblivion, and triumph “o’er a’ the ills o’ life.”
What gave a peculiar character to this little pandemonium was the
continual apparition and vanishing of the black, brown, and yellow
waiters; all shining with perspiration, and leaving, as they passed,
something not altogether unlike the odour of brimstone behind them.
These exhalations, the steam of the viands, the smell of rum, brandy,
and tobacco, independent of the corrupt, sultry air produced by the
presence of a large number of persons in a small room, soon obliged me
to quit the scene of merriment; and, in half an hour later, I found
myself safely in bed at Gadsby’s.
FOOTNOTES:
[17] A small biscuit, not a firework.
[18] Parties without supper are, in Washington and the Southern States,
called “Boston parties;” for what reason it is impossible to say, the
Boston parties being generally renowned for their rather ostentatious
suppers.
[19] “Ride” is in America constantly used for “drive.”
CHAPTER II.
Corps Diplomatique in Washington.--What a Fashionable Lady thinks of
an Ambassador.--The Secretary of the Treasury.--Popularity-hunting
of American Statesmen.--Its influence on National Politics.--Mr.
Woodbury’s Hospitality to Literary Men.--Henry Clay.--Thomas
H. Benton.--Salis Wright.--James Buchanan.--Extraordinary
Dinner-bell.--Office-hunters in Washington.--State of Finance of the
City.--Anecdote of General Jackson and the Office-seeker.--General
Character of Washington Society compared with that of other American
Cities.
O momentary grace of mortal man,
Which we more hunt for than the grace of God!
Who builds his hope in air of your fair looks,
Lives like a drunken sailor on a mast;
Ready, with every nod, to tumble down
Into the fatal bowels of the deep.
_King Richard III._ Act iii. Scene 5.
The next day I looked over my letters of introduction, which, being
principally addressed to members of the cabinet and the _corps
diplomatique_, I determined to deliver in person. The influence of
the diplomatic agents in Washington on the moral and social habits
of the people, is much greater than their effect on the politics of
the State; the executive power of the President and Council being
not only limited by the Senate, but also indirectly by the House of
Representatives, and the manifestation of public opinion at the annual
elections. A minister in Washington is, with regard to his diplomatic
agency, pretty much confined to official acts, such as may at any
time be made public: his influence with a particular member of the
cabinet, or with the President himself,--his success with a particular
coterie,--his intrigues against any person that may have rendered
himself obnoxious to his government, are of little or no avail at the
Congress, with which, as yet, no foreign diplomatist has attempted a
political relation. But, in point of fashion, their power is unlimited;
their decisions being quoted as oracles, and their manners made the
standard of society. In Washington, no party is considered fashionable
unless graced by some distinguished senator, and a few members of the
_corps diplomatique_. Between the latter and the senators exists yet
this relation, that every senator has a right to introduce a gentleman
to a foreign minister, either personally, or by leaving his card
together with that of his friend; a privilege which is denied to the
more vulgar members of the House of Representatives.
As far as I was able to ascertain the influence of foreign residents in
Washington, it was confined, with the representative of the greatest
power in Christendom, to setting the example of genuine hospitality
in the shape of the most prosperous dinner parties given in the
metropolis,--his _attachés_ I believe, went _fox_-hunting in the
outskirts of the city; with the representative of the land of chivalry
and tigers, to setting the example of taste in the shape of regular
_soirées musicales_; in the clever and witty envoy extraordinary and
minister plenipotentiary of a northern power, to introducing the
fashion of dancing _on the heels_,[20]--which, by the by, was a pretty
little manœuvre on the part of the old gentleman, who had long ago lost
the use of his _toes_ by the gout; in the representative of a literary
court, to the privilege of spouting literature and science to a _sober_
audience, &c. The ministers of the Italian courts, who had the longest
string of titles printed on their cards, had no distinct influence,
except in setting the fashion of eating and drinking gracefully--at
another man’s table.
To understand the humour and good cheer which reign among the _corps
diplomatique_ in Washington, it is sufficient to know that it consists
almost wholly of bachelors, who, according to the _étiquette_ of the
place, enjoy the privilege of inviting _ladies_ to their parties.[21]
This is certainly an enviable distinction; and, if anything can
reconcile a man to living in single blessedness, it is, I am sure, an
ambassadorship in the American metropolis. Yet, great as the advantages
of such a situation are to the ministers of England, Russia, and even
France, they prove a source of incessant vexation to the envoys of
minor powers. I was told of several of the ministers who lived in
houses of such frail construction as to make the ladies afraid of
walking into them, much less to attempt a dance; they said that “they
regretted extremely that it was not in their power to give parties, it
being useless to send out invitations when the ladies vowed they would
not come.”
In what light ambassadors are held _by the ladies_ will appear from
the following anecdote:--At a dinner party to which most of the
representatives of the greater powers and some of the smaller ones
were invited, one of them, a jolly old bachelor of the English school,
attempted a song, which so much gratified the ladies, that it was
proposed every gentleman present should, in turn, follow the example.
Russia and some other great powers immediately obeyed the summons; but
when the turn came to the representative of a new court, he indignantly
exclaimed, “_Mon roi ne m’a pas envoyé ici pour chanter._”--“Well,”
answered a lady, “if _you_ will not sing, we shall ask your gallant
king to send us somebody else who _will_.”
Being made acquainted with the _étiquette_ of Washington, I ordered a
carriage, and inquired the directions of the persons on whom I wished
to call.
“Bless your soul, sir!” cried the landlord, “that is not at all
necessary in this city; all you have to do is to tell the name of the
person you wish to call on to the ‘driver,’ and he will carry you there
with the greatest possible speed.”
“That may be with regard to the President’s house and the residences of
foreign ministers; but I have also letters to some of the senators, and
even representatives of Congress.”
“That don’t signify,” rejoined the landlord. “These black fellows not
only know the residences of every senator and distinguished member of
Congress, but also those of the higher public officers, clerks, editors
of newspapers, &c. Once under the care of a black ‘driver,’ it is quite
needless for you to know the direction of a single gentleman in this
city.”
With this piece of information I “embarked,” as the Americans say,
“on board of a Washington hack,”--the usual means of conveyance for
gentlemen; and in a short time found myself _tête-à-tête_ with the
editor of one of the first papers. I found him a plain unassuming
gentleman, though he enjoyed the reputation of being a man of
extraordinary talents. He regretted that he could not be of more
service to me during my short stay in the city; but, notwithstanding,
promised to introduce me personally to some of the most distinguished
senators of his party. “I have nothing to do with the rest,” added
he; “but I dare say you have letters to some of them, and one will
cheerfully introduce you to all the others.” He then unceremoniously
excused himself with pressing business, invited me to dine with him
_sans cérémonie_ on the Sunday following, in company with a select
number of _his party_, and almost bowed me out of the room.
“A singular character!” said I to myself, as I again stepped into my
carriage and ordered the coachman to proceed to Mr. Woodbury, the
secretary of the Treasury. “I have, after all, done wrong to omit the
_De_.”
I was so fortunate as to find Mr. Woodbury at home, and was at once
ushered into the parlour. I found him surrounded by his family,
equally distinguished for beauty and accomplishments. Mr. Woodbury is
a gentleman very nearly, or quite, fifty years of age, of agreeable
address and kind manners; though, probably owing to his being born
and brought up in New England, a little ceremonious. It has been the
fashion in America for the last eight or ten years to decry “the
secretary of the Treasury,” and to impeach even his honesty; as if the
money withdrawn from the United States’ bank had filled his coffers and
those of the President.
Mr. Woodbury is a man of great tact for business, and of the most
indefatigable application; but the style of his official documents is
often laborious and cumbrous, with an occasional attempt at laconism,
which renders the fault still more apparent. But, notwithstanding
this imperfection, his annual reports contain a vast deal of
information, and the most minute statistical details of the progress
of agriculture, manufacture, and commerce, not only of America, but of
every other country. To judge fairly and impartially of the ability
of Mr. Woodbury as a head of department, it is necessary to consider
that every question which has agitated the country ever since the
elevation of General Jackson, has turned on the subject of finance,
and that therefore the secretary of the Treasury was placed in the most
difficult and conspicuous position of any public man in the United
States, the President himself scarcely excepted.
Mr. Woodbury has been represented, not only in America, but also in
England, as a cunning politician and popularity-hunter. This reproach,
as far as I have been able to judge,--and I believe I have had as good
an opportunity of observing Mr. Woodbury, and the course of public
events, as any one who has felt himself called upon to publish his
lucubrations to the world,--is altogether malicious and groundless.
Mr. Woodbury owes his elevation to his firmness of character and his
sincere attachment to republican institutions. So far from courting
public favour, he is but too frequently wanting in those trifling
attentions and nice observances which insure popularity. I ought yet to
observe that Mr. Woodbury has a taste for letters, which he manifests
in the best possible manner, by being kind to those who have more
leisure than he to cultivate them. Mr. Willis,--the same that dined
at the Duke of Gordon’s,--Dr. L***, and a number of minor stars, are
indebted to his kind hospitality; and I myself can testify to his
condescension even to ordinary men.
What I have said on the subject of Mr. Woodbury’s popularity naturally
induces me to say a few words on the peculiar character of American
politicians. The question proposed by a member of that body is
generally this:--“What measure can we carry to defeat our antagonists?”
neither party appearing to have any fixed political tenets further
than refer to the public revenue, which is a home question with every
man and every party. On this account we often see in the United States
the Democratic party assume the very principles they once denounced
in the Federalists; and, on the other hand, the Federalists profess
the doctrines which they most abhorred in the Democrats. The fact is,
very few senators, representatives, and men in office have a clear
understanding of the vast importance of the principles they maintain;
nor do they seem to have a correct notion of republicanism, _as
contrasted with other forms of government_. But then, how many of them
possess an adequate knowledge of history--even of their own country?
They all have, indeed, a certain republican instinct, or what the
Americans call a correct _feeling_, of what is compatible with the
text of their constitution; but not many of them, I believe, take a
philosophical view of their government, such as would enable them to
reduce the whole to a _system_, and to perceive accurately the bearing
of every new question on the principles laid down in the national
charter. Nor would such a metaphysical knowledge of the constitution
materially benefit a partisan leader, who never asks what is right or
wrong in the abstract, but merely “What do _my constituents_ consider
as right or wrong? What is the opinion of the public on this subject?”
When a new question is proposed, he thrusts out his _feelers_, to feel
the public pulse; and, having ascertained that, he makes his speeches
accordingly, in order that the people may see that he is actively
engaged on their side; for on the side that beats he _must_ be, or he
is “a ruined man.”
This sort of moral cowardice, which more or less pervades all classes
of society, and of which the example is set in Congress, is certainly
one of the worst features of American politics; and would almost make
a man doubt the beneficial influence of republican institutions on the
developement of mind and character, if their numerous blessings in
other respects did not prove them capable of insuring the happiness of
a people.
When I thus speak of American politicians, I do not mean to draw
envious comparisons between them and European statesmen. I belong
neither to that class of Europeans that cannot pronounce the name
of America without a grudge, nor to that class of fashionable and
travelled Americans that cannot find anything in their own country
equal to Europe. On the contrary, I maintain that there is quite as
much intelligence, application, and certainly of virtue, in the members
of the cabinet at Washington, as can be found in the ministerial
council of any European prince. And I say this, fully aware of its
producing more sneers among the higher classes in America than in
Europe.
If the conduct of every European minister were inquired into, like
that of a head of department in Washington,--if his private and
public transactions were canvassed with the same unrelenting severity
as in America,--if he had to account for every one of his acts, not
merely to Parliament, or, in course of time, to a limited number
of electors, but to the people at large, speaking annually through
the ballot-boxes,--then, I am afraid, few would be found capable of
sustaining their position for a single year.
An American statesman has the most difficult position of any one in
the world, for he has to solve a great and intricate problem in the
presence of a multitude of spectators, who are never to see that he
is puzzled, and who never have the patience to wait for the end, but
condemn a measure from the first moment its immediate results do not
answer their expectations. For this reason few men in America, even if
they possess the talent, have the _courage_ to propose a radical reform
of abuses, or to work some signal good, unless the execution of it is
sure to be _step by step_ applauded by large majorities. It is this
courting of popularity which is the bane of even the best statesmen
in the United States; but it is in part forced upon them,--it is the
_conditio sine quâ non_ of their usefulness.
From the secretary of the Treasury I drove to the lodgings of Mr. Henry
Clay, the celebrated senator from Kentucky. I found this extraordinary
man, who was then already a little past his prime, the very type of
what passes in Europe, ever since the clever caricatures of Mrs.
Trollope, as “an American character.” Mr. Clay stands upwards of six
feet; has a semi-Indian, half-human half-savage countenance, in which,
however, the intellectual strongly preponderates over the animal. His
manners, at first sight, appear to be extremely vulgar; and yet he is
graceful, and even dignified, in his intercourse with strangers.
He chews tobacco, drinks whisky punch, gambles, puts his legs on the
table or the chimney, and spits, as an American would say, “like a
regular Kentucky hog-driver;” and yet he is all gentleness, politeness,
and cordiality in the society of ladies. Add to this that his organs
of speech are the most melodious; and that, with great imagination
and humour, he combines manly eloquence, and the power of sarcasm in
the most extraordinary degree; and it will easily be conceived why he
should have been able to captivate high and low,--_l’homme du salon_,
and the “squatter” in the Western wilderness.
[Illustration: HENRY CLAY.]
Much as Mr. Clay is esteemed in America, I do not think the people have
as yet done justice to his talents. These, to be sure, are, owing to
his advanced age, on the decline; but even the _remnants_ of a mind
like Clay’s are great, and entitle him to be ranked among the greatest
living statesmen. He was for a long time the advocate of the system
of internal improvements, combated with so much success by General
Jackson. He advocated successively the establishment of national roads
and canals, the continuance of a United States’ bank, the tariff,
and, in short, every measure conducive to centralization. That this
system, while it strengthens the government, and introduces order and
uniformity into the administration of the country, diminishes, at the
same time, the liberties of the individual States, and, in general, ill
agrees with the principles of a pure democracy, such as are laid down
in the American constitution, no one, who is not himself interested in
the question, can reasonably deny; but it would be equally absurd to
suppose every man who is an advocate of a central measure, to be at
once an enemy to republican institutions, and a traitor to his country.
Mr. Clay advocated every measure he proposed, not as a mere partisan,
but as a statesman who clearly saw its first and ultimate bearings on
national politics. His is a mind of vast conceptions, which, if it
had not at one time speculated too much in elections,--I allude to
the trick he played at the election of Mr. John Quincy Adams,--might
have long ago enabled him to fill the station to which his unfortunate
ambition a little too early aspired.
From Mr. Clay I called upon Mr. Thomas H. Benton, the democratic
senator from Missouri. This gentleman is altogether in a false
position; for he is, in my opinion, as much over-rated by his friends
as he is under-rated by his enemies. I was the bearer of a letter to
him by one of his most intimate friends, and a person of high standing
and much influence in the country; and yet the reception I met with
was cold and ceremonious,--his manners forced, and almost ludicrously
dignified. The truth is, Mr. Benton behaves on most occasions like a
man who has not yet found his level in society; being continually on
his guard lest he might not be done justice to, and afraid lest his
unrestrained familiar manners might derogate from the estimation in
which he is held by the public. The first impression that he makes
upon a stranger I should judge to be decidedly unfavourable, though he
greatly improves upon acquaintance, and, as he drops his dignity, shows
his truly estimable points of character. As Mr. Benton’s democracy is
probably proof against the seductions of Europe,--a thing I would not
assert of one American out of ten,--I would recommend to him a trip to
Paris,--not to London,--in order that he might learn to carry himself
with a little more ease. It would vastly improve his manners and
general appearance, and perhaps make him find favour even with _female_
philosophers.[22]
Mr. Benton is perhaps the most unfortunate speaker in the Senate; not,
indeed, as regards the substance of his discourses, most of which are
clever and full of information; but with regard to his disjointed,
broken, sometimes loud, and again sometimes scarcely audible,
delivery. This is undoubtedly the reason why his speeches are so much
under-rated, though they contain more solid matter of statistics and
history than can be found in the perhaps more eloquent efforts of his
colleagues. Mr. Benton is a most uncommonly laborious man, and is
constantly collecting facts, not only in America but also in Europe,
in support of his political doctrines; though his partiality for
France, and his eternal and irksome comparisons between the republic
under the consulate of Bonaparte and the confederation of the United
States, rather injure than establish his theories with a considerable
portion of the American public. Another fault with which Mr. Benton has
been reproached consists in his indelicate allusions to his personal
prowess. Every one knows that Mr. Benton is as brave as Cæsar; but
it is not necessary that he himself should refer to it. An appeal to
arms in a deliberative assembly is always vulgar, if not absolutely
savage; and ought to be avoided in the most studious manner, not only
by every man of religion and principle, but also by every gentleman
of good taste. There is, as yet, too much bullyism in the legislative
assemblies of America; many worthy representatives forgetting that it
is easier to fight for, than to establish by argument, the correctness
of a political principle. On the whole, Mr. Benton is a clever
politician, an industrious collector of statistics, and, with the
exception of his delivery, a most skilful debater in Congress. He has,
during a certain period, been almost the only and valiant defender of
General Jackson’s policy in the Senate; and has, by his perseverance,
honesty, and good faith, become universally popular among the labouring
classes, whose interests he has during his whole life constantly and
successfully advocated.
My next visit was to Mr. Salis Wright, senator from the State of New
York, the avowed democratic champion of that State, and indeed a man of
the most extraordinary talents. He is one of those men whose urbanity
and frankness the Americans indicate by saying, “he has not a bit of
starch in him.” Mr. Wright is a statesman, not a mere politician;
and will, if his talents be properly placed before the public, play
an important part in the history of his country. He and Mr. Calhoun
are almost the only two senators free from the “Congressional” sin
of making everlasting speeches. He is always concise, rigorously
logical, and, what is very rare in an American politician, singularly
free from personal abuse. His mind is of that rigid composition
which does not allow him to depart, for one instant, from the point
under consideration; and hence, instead of indulging himself in
irrelevant rhapsodies, sneers, and side-thrusts at the character of his
antagonists, he confines himself strictly to his argument; a method
which, if it were imitated by every senator, would enable them to
transact the same business in about the one-seventh part of the time
now needed, saving annually a sum of not less than a million of dollars.
Mr. Wright’s delivery is rapid, but distinct; proving that every
thought is digested and arranged, and flowing from a well-stored mind.
In his private life he is not a fashionable, but a plain, unassuming,
modest gentleman; who, notwithstanding his own brevity, possesses that
most extraordinary talent of powerful minds--of listening patiently
to the tedious prosings of others. I saw him, in his own room, listen
to an endless recital of an Indian campaign given by an officer in
the army, without even once heaving a sigh, though the thermometer
ranged at 96°; his room being one of the closest in the whole city of
Washington. At last, having listened to the hero for more than an hour,
he told him patiently that he found his story exceedingly entertaining;
but, having a few words to say to one of his friends waiting in the
parlour, he should be obliged to leave him for a few moments, in order
to afterwards hear the conclusion of so interesting a narrative. I must
yet observe that Mr. Wright is seldom seen at the crack parties in
Washington, and is, therefore, not in the way of being much noticed by
foreign tourists.
My next call was on my old acquaintance, Mr. Buchanan, senator from
Pennsylvania. This is a gentleman of plain common sense, agreeable and
dignified manners, and the most resolved unchangeable disposition. As
a speaker, he does not attempt to soar on the wings of genius; but
his arguments being always founded on experience and practical good
sense, and his unimpeachable honesty being proverbial, he is always
sure of producing effect. Mr. Buchanan never had the character of an
office-seeker, though he has always been one of the most strenuous
defenders of General Jackson’s policy; and is even now rarely seen at
the White-house or the levees of the cabinet ministers. And yet in his
externals he is the most courtier-like senator in Congress; his dress
and manners being always what a master of ceremonies at any European
court could wish them to be in order to usher him into the presence
of his royal master. In addition to this, Mr. Buchanan is a bachelor,
and not yet past the age at which bachelors cease to be interesting;
which accounts sufficiently for his being universally beloved, even
by those who are opposed to him in politics. Indeed, I heard it
positively asserted, more than four years ago, that he was “too much of
a gentleman,” and “had remained too long in the Senate,” to continue
much longer an advocate of democracy. This was evidently among the
_on dits_, which, as far as regards the conclusion, had not the least
foundation in it. Mr. Buchanan is, at this moment, as sound a democrat
as ever; proving the vanity and falsehood of Cowper’s assertion, that
“----the age of virtuous liberty is past,
And we are deep in that of cold pretence;
Patriots are grown too shrewd to be sincere,
And we too wise to trust them.”
On my return to the inn I found a numerous assemblage of gentlemen
waiting on the piazza for the ringing of the dinner-bell; which, at
Gadsby’s owing to the vast extent of the premises, is affixed to a
small steeple on the top of the house, in order that it may warn not
only the gentlemen who may be engaged in politics in their rooms, but
also those who may be lounging anywhere within a quarter of a mile
from the place of feeding. During the time the table was setting, the
dining-room itself was carefully locked, in order “to prevent impatient
people from spoiling the looks of it” before it was quite ready. While
thus in expectation of the things that were to come, I asked the
bar-keeper how many senators and representatives had taken rooms in the
house; as, from the number of gentlemen present, it was quite evident
his inn was full.
“Only two, sir,” replied he.
“And what is the reason you have so few?”
“Because our terms are too high; they can get board cheaper
at a boarding-house. We entertain generally but transient
people,--lobby-members; gentlemen with their families, who come here
to spend the season; now and then a letter-writer, though these are
usually stopping at Brown’s; and perhaps occasionally a spy.”
“And are all these men better able to pay for their board than senators
and representatives of Congress?”
“Whether they be better able to pay, I know not; they seem at least to
be _more willing_ to do so. If they have not got money, they ‘_hire_’
it. Washington is the _‘ruination’ place_ of the United States. Many a
man comes here in tolerable circumstances, and leaves the place as a
beggar, with his money spent, and his business neglected. So much for
politics!”
“That’s no very flattering picture of your town.”
“Why, sir,” said one of the gentlemen near me, “how many persons do you
think are solvent in this city?”
“I will hope a great many.”
“I do not think,” replied he, “there are six persons in town able to
pay their debts, if their estates were to be settled to-morrow. The
corporation itself has more debts than it can conveniently manage.
There is not a city in the Union as badly off as ours.”
“And then what a continual influx of paupers!” interrupted the
bar-keeper; “all coming here to seek office, to see the President, and
to avail themselves of their acquaintance with one or the other member,
to obtain a place for themselves or one of their relations. Would you
believe that people come here from a distance of from six hundred to a
thousand miles, to hunt an appointment of six hundred dollars a year;
and that, in order to enable them to get home again, after they have
spent their last farthing, the President is often obliged to pay their
passage out of his own pocket?”
“I can testify to that,” said one of the gentlemen; “General Jackson
has done so more than once. When they first come here, they expect
nothing less than an appointment of two thousand dollars a year; but
by degrees their expectations become more moderate: they would then be
satisfied with a clerkship; by and by with a still more subordinate
station; and at last they would be glad if any one would pay their
bill, and enable them to get home again. I remember a most remarkable
story, which was current here shortly after the election of General
Jackson, and which is singularly characteristic of the notions of our
people as respects the power of the executive.
“One morning, scarcely a fortnight after the General’s arrival at
the White-house, a shabby-genteel looking man presented himself at
his parlour, and, after the usual salutation and shaking of hands,
expressed his joy at seeing the venerable old gentleman at last hold
the situation of chief magistrate of the country, to which his
bravery, his talents, and his unimpeachable rectitude fully entitled
him. ‘We have had a hard time of it,’ said he, ‘in our little place;
but our exertions were unremitting: I myself went round to stimulate
my neighbours, and at last the victory was ours. We beat them by a
majority of ten votes, and I now behold the result of that glorious
triumph!’ The General thanked him in terms of studied politeness,
assuring him that he would resign his office in an instant if he
did not think his election gave satisfaction to a vast majority of
the people; and at last regretted his admirer’s zeal for the public
weal should have been so severely taxed on his account. ‘Oh, no
matter for that, sir!’ said he; ‘I did it with pleasure,--I did it
for myself and for my country’ (the General bowed); ‘and I now come
to congratulate you on your success’ (the General bowed again). ‘I
thought, sir,’ continued he, ‘that, as you are now President of the
United States, I might perhaps be useful to you in some official
capacity.’ (The General looked somewhat embarrassed.) ‘Pray, sir,
have you already made a choice of your cabinet ministers?’--‘I have,’
was the reply of the General.--‘Well, no matter for that; I shall
be satisfied with an embassy to Europe,’--‘I am sorry to say there
is no vacancy.’--‘Then you will perhaps require a head-clerk in the
department of State?’--‘These are generally appointed by the respective
secretaries.’--‘I am very sorry for that: then I must be satisfied
with some inferior appointment.’--‘I never interfere with these: you
must address yourself to the heads of departments.’--‘But could I not
be postmaster in Washington? Only think, General, how I worked for
you!’--‘I am much obliged to you for the good opinion you entertain of
me, and for your kind offices at the last election; but the postmaster
for the city of Washington is already appointed.’--‘Well, I don’t
particularly care for that; I should be satisfied With being his
clerk.’--‘This is a subject you must mention to the postmaster.’--‘Why,
then, General,’ exclaimed the disappointed candidate for office,
‘haven’t you got an old black coat?’ You may well imagine that the
General gave him one.
“As extravagant as this story appears, I can assure you that there
are at any time in Washington hundreds of persons seeking employment
of some sort or other; nine-tenths of whom return home disappointed,
cursing the ingratitude of those whom they have elevated by their
suffrages, and who are now so monstrously ungrateful as to suffer them
to gain a livelihood by common labour. All these men finish by joining
the opposition, expecting to be treated with more consideration by the
next administration.”
Scarcely had he finished, before the bell, or rather the tocsin,
sounded for dinner. In an instant the whole company, consisting of more
than a hundred persons, were seated at table,--the dinner, including
soups and desserts, being served at once,--and in less than ten minutes
the greater portion of them began already to disperse. I had seen much
fast eating in the United States, especially on board of steam-boats;
but nothing to compare to the rapidity with which meals are despatched
in Washington. What astonished me most was, that most of the gentlemen,
very unlike those of Boston, New York, or Philadelphia, did not leave
table in order immediately to attend to business; but merely to walk or
stand on the piazza, smoke, read the papers, or talk politics.
Washington, as I observed before, is the only city of idlers in the
whole Union; and, for a man that is not a manufacturer or a merchant,
quite an agreeable residence. Despite of its ridiculous extent, and the
miserable and scattered situation of the dwelling-houses, it is a focus
of intellect, and contains more resources for a man of education than
any other Transatlantic city. It is in Washington where the national
mind is formed; where local prejudices vanish under the influence of
more enlarged political views; where, if I may use the expression,
the totality of the American people absorbs the provincialism of the
different sections of the country. It is the only city in the United
States, north of the Potomac, where a man is not bored with the
everlasting talk of business,--where the _markets_ are not considered
the most important topic of conversation.
Literary and professional men, though they are tolerated in other
American cities, and, from vanity and ostentation, occasionally shown
up, or, as a clever writer on diplomacy has it, “used by the ladies as
a pepper-box,” find their level only in Washington. Even statesmen like
Webster, Clay, Calhoun, Wright, &c. are at home only listened to from
complacency, unless they touch upon a subject immediately affecting
the interest of their particular State; but, arrived in Washington,
they find themselves at once drawn into a circle of attraction, which
not only furnishes food for their minds, but, from the nature of its
composition, acts as a stimulus on their energies. Washington, in fine,
is the only place in America where talent is esteemed on account of
itself,--not because it enables the person endowed with it “to get
handsome things.”
To call a man “visionary,” or to consider his talents useless to
society, because he cannot immediately reduce them into “shoes and
stockings for paupers,” marks a low estimate of humanity; and, in spite
of the greatest political progress, a backward state of civilization.
I have heard gentlemen in the Northern States boast of having worked
sixteen hours a day in a manufactory, or in a store, as if they had
actually benefited the world with their manual labour. The thought
never struck them that they might have been more useful to society
by employing poor men to do the same work for them, and reserving
their faculties, if such they had, for some occupation that had some
relish of intellect in it. As long as the rich men in America think it
more creditable to themselves to compete with the wages of the poor
by assuming a part of their labour, than by cultivating the higher
branches of knowledge to increase the floating intellect, American
society may abound in common sense, but it will prove the grave of
talent and genius. All this, fortunately, does not apply to Washington,
in which the mass of property is really so small in proportion to the
intellect that governs it, as to leave a large balance in favour of the
latter.
It cannot be doubted but that the vastness of material interests in
the Northern States crushes the loftier aspirings of the mind, though
it may be favourable to a certain degree of elementary instruction and
general information very well compatible with a total neglect of the
higher branches of knowledge, and the absence of taste. It is certainly
a matter of rejoicing, not only for the Americans, but for every
philanthropist, that there should exist at least one country in the
world emphatically to be termed “the land of beef and pudding, clean
shirts, and whole stockings for all;” but in these things does not yet
consist the ultimate happiness of a people, or its capacity for great
and generous actions.
That the great mass of the American people are further advanced, not
only in politics, but in general civilization, than any nation of
Europe, the English themselves not excepted, no one acquainted with
the state of society in the United States will venture to deny: the
question only is, whether that advanced position contains also the
germ of further progress; and whether the direction civilization is
taking in America is sure of leading to the developement of the higher
faculties. A nation may, like the Germans, be too exclusively engaged
in learned and literary pursuits, and thereby neglect to provide for
those physical comforts which, after all, contribute so much to men’s
happiness; but it is also possible to give to the latter more than
their full share of attention, to the total neglect of every noble and
disinterested pursuit.
The apology one continually hears in the United States, “We are a
young people,”--“you cannot expect us to be as far advanced as other
nations,”--“we have not yet the means,” &c.--are, as regards the
Eastern and Atlantic States, nothing but idle cant. The _West_ may
excuse itself for the want of refinement by the prodigious amount
of labour and personal exertion incidental to the settlement of a
wilderness; but the Northern and Eastern people have no such excuse
for being altogether absorbed in money-making. There is more property
accumulated in Boston, New York, and Philadelphia than in any German
town of the same extent; the intercourse with Europe is constant; the
treasures of science and literature as much unlocked to the Americans
as to any other people; and if, notwithstanding all this, these
departments remain still neglected, it can only be because there is
no real taste for them, and because _other pursuits are more sure of
securing the respect of society_. As long as the salary of a head-clerk
in a respectable counting-room surpasses that of a professor of
mathematics and astronomy in the first and oldest American university,
and as long as the company of the latter is hardly considered good
enough for a wholesale dealer in dry goods or an auctioneer, it is
useless to talk of being “a young people,” “of having no time for
literary pursuits,” &c. The age of the nation has nothing to do with
it; it is _the taste of the higher classes_, who rather imitate the
follies of fashionable European life, than the European student in his
closet or the munificence of his patron.
“What a boor that fellow is!” exclaimed a Boston lawyer, half audibly,
at a fashionable party in that city, pointing to a young man wearing
boots.--“But, sir, they are dress boots,” said I; “I have seen them
worn by English gentlemen.”--“Oh, then I have no objection to them!”
The young man who wore them had just returned from England, and was
showing off his new fashion. Why do the hundreds and thousands of
young Americans that overrun Europe, and put ministers and consuls
in requisition to be presented at the different courts, not visit
the more humble dwellings of men of letters, or the _ateliers_ of
artists, and on their return show off something else than their
heels?--_Answer._ “Because the heels are most likely to be observed;
and a man more easily pardoned for ignorance or stupidity than for
unacquaintance with the usages of Europe.” The Americans in Europe just
float on the surface of society, and it is consequently only the froth
of it which they afterwards transplant to their own country.
Washington, as I have said before, is a city to which people come to
_spend_ money, not to _make_ it. The hum and bustle of business nowhere
obtrude themselves on one’s ears, men’s minds are occupied with more
enlarged views of society; and conversation, instead of being confined
to a narrow circle of common-place observations, spreads over topics
of political and historical interest. In addition to these advantages,
one can already notice in Washington Southern manners and Southern
hospitality. Nothing, indeed, is easier than to be introduced into
the best society; a single letter of introduction answering all the
purpose. Some of the _habitués_ seem to make it their business to
procure invitations to parties for strangers. “What party is there
to-night?” you hear a gentleman ask in the morning.--“It is Mrs. ***’s.
Are you invited?”--“I have not the honour of being introduced.”--“Will
you give me your card?”--“With pleasure;” and in an hour or so your
invitation is left at the bar of your hotel. Many of these parties are
indeed supperless, a circumstance much complained of by the dancers:
but then the general tone is agreeable; the people having far less
pretensions, and being much more natural in their manners, than either
the New-Yorkers or the Philadelphians.
FOOTNOTES:
[20] The mazurka.
[21] My friend speaks of the year 1833.
[22] The reader will remember with what severity Miss Martineau
commented on his talents, though she had only seen him once or twice
_en passant_.
CHAPTER III.
The Library of Congress.--Conversation with several Members of
Congress.--Practice of Public Speakers in Washington.--Mr. Van Buren’s
Method of parrying an Invective.--Discussion of General Jackson’s
Character.--Jackson and Wellington’s similarity of Character.--Mr. Van
Buren’s Character.--Instability of American Institutions.--Insecurity
of Property the Consequence of it.--Want of Enthusiasm in the
Higher Classes.--Their Toad-eating in Europe.--Cooper’s last
Publication.--Vanity of boasting of the Natural Resources of the
Country.--Thin-skinnedness of the Americans when attacked by European
Critics.--Toad-eating to the People.--Necessity of establishing a
Moral Quarantine for all Americans returning from Europe.--Americans
ashamed of their Institutions.--Anecdote of a vulgar rich American and
the Grand Duke of Tuscany.--Democratic Twaddles.--Advantages of a poor
Capital.
* * * * *
“Ambition rends, and gaming gains a loss;
But making money, slowly first, then quicker,
And adding still a little through each cross,
(Which _will_ come over things,) beats love or liquor,
The gamester’s counter, or the statesman’s _dross_.
_O gold! I still prefer thee unto paper,
Which makes bank credit like a bark of vapour._”
BYRON’S _Don Juan_., Canto xii. 4.
Being engaged in the evening, I spent the time from four till five in
the afternoon in visiting the library of Congress at the Capitol. I
was introduced to the librarian by one of the members, and found him
exceedingly obliging. The collection of books, manuscripts, newspapers,
&c. is of course small, the number of works in any one department being
probably insufficient to form a scholar: yet, for the entertainment
of the members, and for such current and useful instruction as may
be desirable for the purpose of reference, it is probably more than
sufficient; and thus it well answers the purpose of its founders.
After taking from one of the windows a fine view of the city, which
looks more like a newly settled colony than the capital of a powerful
country, I took a walk with two senators and a member up and down the
macadamised road, called the Pennsylvania Avenue, which leads from the
Capitol to the President’s house; this being the fashionable promenade,
business street, habitable quarter, and sum total of the whole American
metropolis.
The two senators belonged to the democratic party, it being a rare case
for a Whig ever to associate with a Democrat, and _vice versâ_; the
member of the House belonged to the same class of politicians.
“What sort of speech was it Mr. *** made to-day?” demanded one of the
senators of the member.
“Clever enough, I believe; but nobody listened to it. Mr. *** speaks
too much.”
“And on all occasions, probably?”
“Precisely so.”
“Then I do not wonder no one likes to hear him: it is the worst
possible taste to be always up. A man has to be very careful with
that. The older members do not like the younger ones to speak more on
a question than is absolutely necessary. This privilege is entirely
reserved for the veterans. A young man of talent must be cautious how
he shows off; or they will make a dead set at him, and hunt him down.
The best practice is to speak seldom, and only on great occasions.”
“But you know,” observed the member, “a man must give some signs
of life, or he will not be re-elected. Most of our speeches are
manufactured for home-consumption. We ‘let fly’ at them in the House,
then print it, and then send a couple of thousand copies of it to our
constituents. Uncle Sam, you know, pays the postage.”[23]
“None of us has a right to complain about that,” replied the senator:
“speeches are made on both sides; each party possessing the same right,
and making the same use of the privilege of franking.”
“But then our party does not make near as long speeches as the Tories:
it is only the higher classes of society will read a discourse filling
more than seventeen columns in a newspaper.”
“But how do they get people to listen to them?” demanded I.
“They don’t,” answered the member. “We just let him speak on, and
employ our time in reading the newspapers, writing letters, conversing
with one another, talking to some gentleman in the lobby, or in reading
some interesting book. We always find some useful occupation: it is
only the greenhorns listen to a long speech, with a view to catch an
idea.”
“Reading is sometimes practised with great success,” observed the
senator, “while a personal attack is made upon a gentleman. Mr. Van
Buren,[24] for instance, is in the habit of reading a novel as often as
a Whig or Tory senator gets up to pour out his abuse against him. In
this manner he is not only able to weather the storm without getting
angry, but to show at the same time his contempt for the invective.”
“That is a capital plan. I presume he occasionally looks over the
book?” said the member with a laugh.
“Only when the abuse is very heavy; and then it is done with the most
placid countenance, just to let his antagonist know how little he can
shake him. It serves in the place of a reply, and keeps his party all
the while in countenance.”
“But what must a member or a senator do to obtain a hearing from his
colleagues?” demanded I.
“Why, he must have friends, either political or personal, and he must
know how to keep his audience in good humour; a task which is more
difficult than you imagine.”
The conversation then turned upon General Jackson, and the prospects of
the opposition.
“General Jackson,” said one of the senators, “understands the people of
the United States twenty times better than his antagonists; and, if his
successor have but half the same tact, the Whigs may give up the hope
of governing the country for the next half century.”
“You ought not to say ‘_tact_,’” interrupted the other senator, “for
that alone will not do it; he must have the same manners as our present
President. General Jackson has a peculiar way of addressing himself to
the feelings of every man with whom he comes in contact. His simple,
unostentatious manners carry into every heart the conviction of his
honesty; while the firmness of his character inspires his friends with
the hope of success. His motto always was, ‘_Never sacrifice a friend
to an enemy_;’ or, ‘_Make yourself strong with your friends, and you
need not fear your foes._’ These things, however, must be _born_ with
a man; they must be spontaneous, and felt as such by the people, or
they lose the best part of their effect. All the tact in the world will
not answer the same purpose; for, in exactly the same proportion as
we perceive a man is prudent, we become cautious ourselves,--and then
farewell to popularity!
“When the people give their suffrages to a man, they never do so
on a rigid examination of his political principles; for this task
the labouring classes of any country neither have the time nor the
disposition, and it is wholly needless to attempt to persuade them to
a different course by a long and tedious argument. The large masses
act in politics pretty much as they do in religion. Every doctrine is
with them, more or less, a matter of _faith_; received, principally,
on account of their trust in the apostle. If the latter fail to
captivate their hearts, no reasoning in the world is capable of filling
the vacancy: and the more natural and uncorrupt the people are, the
less are they to be moved by abstract reasoning, whether the form of
government be republican, monarchical, or despotic.”
“Precisely so,” ejaculated the member. “General Jackson is popular,
just because he is General Jackson; so much so, that if a man were to
say a word against him in the Western States, he would be ‘_knocked
into eternal smash_.’”
“And this sort of popularity,” continued the senator, “our Northern
people consider as the mere consequence of the battle of New Orleans.
The battle, and General Jackson’s military character, had undoubtedly
a great deal to do with it; but they were not of themselves sufficient
to elevate him to the Presidency. In a country in which so large a
portion of the people consider the acquiring of a fortune the only
rational object of pursuit,--in which so great and so exclusive an
importance is attached to money, that, with a few solitary exceptions,
it is the only means of arriving at personal distinction,--a character
like Jackson’s, so perfectly disinterested, and so entirely devoted to
what he at least deemed the good of his country, could not but excite
astonishment and admiration among the natural, and therefore more
susceptible, people of the Western States. The appearance of General
Jackson was a phenomenon, and would at the present time have been one
in every country. He called himself ‘the people’s friend,’ and gave
proofs of his sincerity and firmness in _adhering_ to his friends, and
of his power to protect them. The people believed in General Jackson
as much as the Turks in their prophet, and would have followed him
wherever he chose to lead them. With this species of popularity it is
in vain to contend; and it betrays little knowledge of the world, and
the springs of human action, to believe those who possess it men of
ordinary capacity.
“What the French call ‘_le génie du caractère_,’ which is the true
talisman of popular favour, is perhaps the highest talent with
which mortals can be endowed. It is a pure gift of Heaven, and has
accomplished the noblest deeds in history. When Napoleon reproached
Voltaire with not having sufficiently appreciated the character of
Mahomed, whom the French poet introduced in the drama of the same
name as a mere impostor, he felt that none but a great mind could
have conceived and executed what to ordinary men would have appeared
absurd or chimerical; and that he who had the power to instil a lasting
enthusiasm for a new cause into millions, and on that enthusiasm to
establish an empire which has spread over half the world, must have
been more than a mere charlatan, for he must have been possessed of a
thorough knowledge of human character. This is a thing a man cannot
acquire by study, if he do not possess it by intuition; and hence it
can neither be defined nor understood by men not similarly gifted, who,
applying their own scale to what is truly incommensurable, are always
astonished at the success of those whom they were all their lives
accustomed to look upon as second or third rate men.
“Have we not heard it objected to Napoleon, that he could not write an
elegant epistle? Do the French not pity Shakspeare for having been
so little of a scholar, and so inelegant in his expressions? And yet
wherein consisted the particular genius of these men, so entirely
opposite to one another, if it was not, principally, in the perfect
knowledge which truly intuitively they possessed of human character?
“In the same manner it has been said of General Jackson that he
is incapable of writing a good English sentence, as if this were
the standard by which to measure the capacity of a political
chief, especially in America, where, out of a hundred senators and
representatives, scarcely one has received what in Europe would be
called a literary education. If classical learning were to constitute
the scale by which to measure the talents of our statesmen, how far
would they not rank behind the paltriest Prussian schoolmaster!
General Jackson understood the people of the United States better
than, perhaps, any President before him, and developed as much energy
in his administration as any American statesman. I do not here speak
as a partisan, nor do I wish to inquire whether all his measures were
beneficial to the people; but they were, at least, all in unison with
his political doctrines, and carried through with an iron consequence,
notwithstanding the enormous opposition that wealth, and, in a
great degree, also talent, put in the way of their execution. And
yet they call Jackson a second-rate man, because he is not a regular
_speechifyer_, or has never published a long article in the newspapers!
“To judge of a man like General Jackson, one must not analyze him
after the manner of a chemist; one must not separate his talents--his
oratory--his style of composition--his generalship, &c.; but take the
_tout ensemble_ of the man, and I venture to say there is not such
another in the United States. It is useless to draw envious comparisons
between him and Washington, Wellington, Napoleon, Jefferson, and
so forth. Great men always wear the imprints of the times and
circumstances which call their talents into action; but history is
sure to preserve the name of any man who has had the strength and
genius to stamp his own character on the people over whose destinies he
presided. General Jackson has many political enemies, and his political
doctrines are perhaps only maintained--I will not say maintainable--by
his own great personality. His successor in office may not be able to
continue to make head against the opposition;--another party may get
into power, and introduce different doctrines into the administration
of the country;--but the impulse which General Jackson has given to
the democracy of America will always continue to be felt, and impel the
government in a more or less popular direction.”
“You are a great friend of General Jackson,” said I, “from the animated
defence you make of his character.”
“I certainly am, sir,” said he; “and I do not know a single man of our
party that is not warmly attached to him. Not that I approve of all his
political principles; but I like the man, and would rather see _him_
President than any other.”
“You have spoken my very heart,” cried the other senator. “I like _Old
Hickory_, because he is just the man for the people, and as immovable
as a rock. One always knows where to find him.”
“He is just the man our party wanted,” rejoined the first senator, “in
order to take the lead.”
“And I like Old Ironhead,” said the member, “because he is a man after
my own sort. When he once says he is your friend, he _is_ your friend;
but once your enemy, then _look out for breakers_.”
“And, what is more,” interrupted the senator, “his hatred is of that
pure Saxon kind which is always coupled with moral horror; and, for
that reason, irreconcileable.”
“And, what is better than all,” cried the member, chuckling, “he has
a good memory; he never forgets a man who has rendered him a service,
nor does he ever cease to remember an injury. The former is sure of
being rewarded, the latter will with difficulty escape punishment. Mr.
Adams, during his Presidency, was pusillanimous enough to endeavour to
reconcile his enemies by all sorts of _douceurs_; he appointed them to
office, invited them to dinner, and distinguished them even before his
friends. This conduct naturally alienated the latter; while the former,
perceiving his drift, did not think themselves bound to be grateful for
his attentions. General Jackson introduced the doctrine of reward and
punishment, and has ‘_got along_’ with it much better than his warmest
friends anticipated. He appointed his friends to office, and dismissed
his antagonists the moment they had taken an active part in politics.
That principle, sir, is the proper one to go upon. The hope of reward,
and the fear of punishment, govern men in politics and religion.”
“You have expressed some apprehension,” said I, turning to the senator,
“that Mr. Van Buren, whom I suppose you mean by the successor of
General Jackson, might not be able to retain the reins of government
long.”
“If I did so,” replied the senator, “it was not because Mr. Van Buren’s
principles are not fully as orthodox as Jackson’s; but he will be
called on the stage immediately after a great actor will have left it,
in order to perform a part not _originally_ intended for him. He may be
a much greater statesman than General Jackson, and yet fail to satisfy
the country. He may not be allowed to act out his own views, and unable
to identify himself with the party as General Jackson did,--be reduced
to an exceedingly precarious position. Besides, his means of reward, as
my friend chooses to call them, will be limited; General Jackson having
already distributed the best offices among his friends, and the power
of creating new ones being with great reluctance granted by the people.
As regards the power of punishment, Mr. Van Buren will be left entirely
impotent; General Jackson having already cleared the vineyard of the
most noxious weeds, and the dismissal from office of a person appointed
by Jackson being sure of raising a hue and cry throughout the country.”
“All that may be,” observed the second senator; “but Mr. Van Buren is
a shrewd man.”
“So he is; but all the shrewdness in the world will not change the
disagreeable predicament in which he will be placed at the resignation
of General Jackson. I am still afraid of the bank question.”
“That is long ago knocked on the head.”
“I wish it was; but I cannot bring myself to think so. The smallest
commercial crisis--and our country is continually exposed to the
largest ones--may revive the hopes of the opposition. It is the
peculiar curse of our country never to come to a lasting conclusion
on any political principle. What is law under one administration is
abolished under another, and _vice versâ_, just as the one or the other
party happens to command a majority of votes.
“What doctrine may now be considered as settled in the United
States?--Not one; except that we are opposed to royalty--principally on
account of its expenses. There is the system of internal improvements;
have we come to a conclusion with regard to that?--No; the democratic
party merely let it fall through, in order that the Whigs on obtaining
power may take it up again. There is the American system with the high
tariff; how does that question stand?--The parties are precisely in the
same position in which they were before the passing of the Compromise
Bill in 1832-3; the North calling for a protective system, and the
South determined to nullify.[25] And so it is with the question of a
United States’ bank, the merit of each principle being every year newly
tested by the result of the elections. This state of things is far from
being enviable, as it renders the possession of property every day more
and more insecure.”
“Not only does it render property insecure,” rejoined the other
senator, “but it undermines the stability of our institutions. Instead
of adhering to the text of the _constitution_, our parties are led by
different _policies_. There is the tariff policy; as if manufacturing,
or getting rich by selling home made cotton and broad-cloth, were the
last end proposed by government. Then comes the national improvement
policy; people must have large roads and canals in order to force trade
into one or the other direction. They cannot wait until the wants of
commerce shall have called them into existence; neither will they rely
upon private enterprise for their execution: it must be done by the
protecting guardianship of the government, and the whole country _en
masse_ must contribute to benefit particular States. Then comes the
question of a national bank; which has agitated the country before it
was quite ushered into the world, and ever after. What great national
question has occupied public attention more than the art, science,
practice, custom, and expediency of making money? It has employed all
the wisdom, all the discretion, and all the energies of our statesmen;
clearly indicating what direction the republic of the nineteenth
century would take, and wherein consists the greatness of our times.
“All these questions have been so continually agitated that we have
found no time for anything else; and yet we wonder Europeans do not
take a sufficient interest in the progress of our country. What have
we done that is so very marvellous? We have, thanks to the infinite
resources of our country, built more railroads and canals than _they_
have; we have built and blown up more steam-boats; and we have, in
proportion to our population, a larger mercantile navy than any other
people. But what progress have we made in the arts and sciences, in
literature, or in philosophy, to entitle us to be ranked foremost in
the scale of nations? There exists now an international literature
among the civilized nations of the world. What share do we take in
that? The present age is in labour to give birth to a new order of
things, to a new era in history; what is America doing to aid the
delivery?--she who has had so much to do with the conception, and who
is now responsible to the world if the whole prove an abortion. Is not
every such sympathy expressed by our people--I mean by the mass of our
population--laughed to scorn by our ‘respectable’ citizens; and are
not nine-tenths of all the Americans travelling in Europe a living
parody of our republican institutions? Has not even Cooper written half
a dozen books on England, Italy, France, &c. as if his main purpose
were to teach his countrymen good manners, and to convince them that
he is a competent instructor, having himself been admitted into the
best society? Why, if the speeches of our fashionable gentlemen were
published in Europe, if _their_ estimation of our people and of our
institutions were taken as a criterion of the justice and strength of
our government, then the state of our country might, indeed, be held up
_in terrorem_ to every nation aspiring to liberty.
“What have we achieved to be proud of, if it be not our national
charter? And is not this expounded by every party in a different
manner? We do not even seem to know whether we shall really have
a republican government, or whether our constitution shall be a
mere mock-word, granting to the people in theory what a large and
influential portion of our citizens endeavour to deny them in practice.
As long as our institutions are looked upon as a mere experiment, not
only by a certain class in Europe, but by the _élite_ of our _own_
people; as long as our fashionable toadies pour out their contempt for
popular governments in the ante-chambers of princes and nobles; and as
long as our enlightened press finds no better food for the patriotism
of our people than to entertain them with the court fashions and the
court etiquette of Europe,--we have no right to find fault with the
literary and thinking portion of Europeans for not wondering at our
progress, or not thinking us the very first nation in the world.
“To boast of the inexhaustible resources of the country God in his
infinite mercy has granted us for the noblest experiment; to be proud
of our getting rich, of our being well-fed and well-clothed; and
to look down with a mixture of pity and contempt on the millions
which in less favoured climes are struggling against hunger and
despotism,--proves a degree of vulgar egotism against which European
writers have a right to use every weapon with which sarcasm and
ridicule can furnish them.
“Instead of bawling like little children when we are hurt by some
European critic, let us be sufficiently independent to go on
fearlessly, and without reference to the fashions of other nations,
in the developement of those maxims and principles which have led to
the establishment of our government. Let every nation develope and
improve that to which it is principally indebted for its existence and
power, instead of continually borrowing from others, and introducing
heterogeneous elements into the state, which can only weaken its
cohesion. The peculiar genius of our people is their capacity for
self-government. Let them follow the inspiration of that genius, and
esteem themselves for their _real_ worth, and they will have no need of
fearing the sting of European sarcasm.”
“That’s it--that’s it exactly!” shouted the member. “Instead of going
on ‘gloriously,’ ‘irresistibly,’ and ‘triumphantly,’ we stop all the
time to pick up knowledge in Europe.”
“There is enough knowledge to be picked up in Europe for you or me,”
replied the senator with a significant look on the member; “but, when
our people go to Europe, they pick up the weed, and overlook the
wholesome plant. We have no discrimination in our choice; and hence
most of our countrymen, when they return home from abroad, arrive in a
poisoned state, and immediately infect their neighbourhood. We ought to
establish a sort of moral quarantine at the entrance of all our ports,
where we ought to retain gentlemen and ladies returning from Europe,
until they should have given symptoms of returning reason.”
“That’s exactly what _I_ say,” cried the member. “I wish somebody would
make such a motion!”
“Is it not strange,” continued the senator, “that we, who are descended
from the English, should resemble them so little in one respect? The
English carry their national customs and manners wherever they go;
whereas we, poor unfortunate Yankees! with the sympathy of half the
world in our favour, are absolutely ashamed of our own, and embarrassed
when asked about the nature of our government.”
“If any such there be, I wish I knew their names,” interrupted the
member; “they ought to be published.”
“That would be ungentlemanly,” retorted the senator, vexed with the
interruption; “you would surely not introduce a reign of terror!”
“I don’t know about that,” ejaculated the member; “I am the man for the
people, and, when any one insults them, my _dander_ is up; and then I
don’t know _what_ I am doing.”
The senator made no reply.
“There are men in Paris,” continued he after a while, “who do more
harm to their countrymen than all the books that have been written on
America.”
“And who are they?” demanded the member eagerly.
“I shall not name them,” said the senator; “but they are some of our
vulgar rich men, and the very worst hunters after nobility. One of
them gives fine parties, and has by his extravagance acquired a sort
of notoriety which he is mistaking for reputation. This man, who is
much more proud of his intercourse with French noblemen than of his
familiarity with his own countrymen, while at Florence actually refused
to recognise one of our worthiest citizens whom he well knew, and whom
the Grand Duke had received on several occasions.--‘Do you know Mr.
***’ asked the Imperial Prince of Austria, the lion of Paris.--‘I do
not,’ replied the latter, somewhat abashed.--‘He has certainly a very
agreeable family,’ observed his Highness, by way of explaining his
motive.--‘That may be,’ answered the wealthy nothing; ‘but he is a
_merchant_, and I do not associate with these.’--‘Indeed!’ remarked the
Grand Duke naïvely, ‘I was always told the merchants composed your best
society!’”
“And I dare say,” said the member, “he would have been glad, while in
America, to be ranked with the society of merchants.”
“It is the character of every toad-eater,” observed the senator drily,
“that he ceases to recognise his friends the moment they can no longer
be useful to him. There are toad-eaters in politics as well as in
society. A man may be a toad-eater to the mob as well as to those above
him; and I do not know which of the two kinds is the worst. We have a
set of political sycophants who fawn and cringe before every party that
is in power, and who are always the first to desert them at the least
_mauvais contretemps_. Our democracy has no greater enemies than those
twaddles. They come over to the side of the people when they have no
other alternative left, and are the servants of the people just as
long as the people have the power to retain them. They are democrats
for a share in the loaves and fishes, and injure the party more than
its most avowed opponents; just as treachery in your own ranks is worse
than an attack from your enemy.”
“But I should think people would soon find them out,” observed the
member.
“They may indeed very easily be detected,” said the senator; “only the
_people_ find them out too late. One of the surest means of detecting
them is to watch their animosity against harmless individuals, while
they show the greatest delicacy for persons who have the power to
injure them. These men are always ready to kill the fly that annoys
them, but move quietly out of the way of the elephant; they never show
their courage unless they are quite sure of opposing the weak, or, like
Falstaff at the battle of Shrewsbury, merely stab the slain.”
The conversation here began to flag; and, in a short time after, the
honourable member, under pretext of having a pressing engagement with
a friend, left us to enjoy the rest of our walk as best we might,
without the advantage of his remarks. I seized this opportunity to ask
the senator whether what I had heard of the poverty of the city of
Washington was true, and whether the town is really deserted during the
summer?
“I am glad,” replied he, “the people here are poor, and unable to
give splendid entertainments. They would otherwise have the power of
seducing senators and representatives with the display of fashion, and
the numerous attractions and manœuvres of wealthy coteries. It is a
fortunate circumstance that the legislative assemblies of the States of
New York and Pennsylvania meet in comparatively small towns; because
not only the influence of the mob, which Jefferson dreaded, but also
the aristocratic seductions of the higher classes, are capable of
destroying the independence of legislators. From these evils we are
happily exempted by the almost hopeless condition of the inhabitants of
this place. Washington is, in this respect, like a German university,
in which all the citizens make their living by the students and
the professors, and on that account must do what the latter like,
instead of holding out inducements for them to desert the path of
duty. With the exception of half a dozen people of large estates, and
particularly the very generous and hospitable General V--ss, all the
parties, entertainments, balls, concerts, etc. are given by the _corps
diplomatique_, or by the gentlemen holding office, among whom some of
the secretaries are particularly remarkable for their unostentatious
civility to strangers. The company, again, is principally composed of
persons connected with the government, of senators, members of the
House, and foreign diplomatic agents; so that the rich visitors from
the Atlantic towns are incapable of making a sensation, and are only
admitted on even terms.”
“That’s a very flattering account of Washington society,” said I,
delighted with the prospect.
“If you are this evening invited to Mrs. ***’s, you may probably have
an opportunity of verifying all I have said. The meagre salaries of
our public functionaries do not enable them to pamper their guests
with hot suppers, as is the custom among the nabobs of New York; but
if agreeable and affable manners, and the _réunion_ of the first
talents of our country, can compensate you for a leg of a turkey or
an oyster-pie, you will not regret staying a few days in the American
metropolis.”
So saying, he bid me good-b’ye; begged me to make use of him in any
manner I pleased, especially if I wished to be introduced to the
President and Vice-president, or to any of his colleagues on _his_
side of the question. I thanked him cordially for his kindness; and,
intending to pay my respects to the President and Vice-president,
told him frankly that I should be under great obligations to him for
a personal introduction to General Jackson and Mr. Van Buren. This
declaration had the desired effect, and it was agreed between us that
he should call on me early on the morning of the following day in order
to present me to the chief magistrate.
FOOTNOTES:
[23] Every member, as well as every senator in Congress, possesses the
“privilege of franking.” “Uncle Sam” is the familiar appellation of
“United States,” from the initials U. S. For the same reason, U. S. L.
D. (the initials of “United States’ Light Dragoons,”) are translated
into “Uncle Sam’s lazy dogs.”
[24] The above notes were written in part during the administration of
General Jackson, when Mr. Van Buren was President of the Senate.
[25] Mr. Calhoun declared in one of his recent speeches that he was
neither for the administration, nor against it; but was merely an
honest _nullifier_.
CHAPTER IV.
A fashionable young American at Gadsby’s Hotel.--A Washington
Party.--Description of the Parlour and the Refectory.--Apple
Toddy.--Introduction to the Lady of the House and to a Fashionable
Belle.--The young Lady’s Literary Taste.--Mr. Wise.--Grand Distinction
between American and English Conservatism.--American Literati.--A
regular American Tory--his Rise and Progress.--Mr. Rives.--Mr.
Preston.--Mr. Webster.--Pendant to the Old Bailey Speech quoted
by Miss Martineau.--Calhoun’s Remarks on the Money-mania of his
Countrymen.--Webster’s Answer and pathetic Conclusion--his giving
into Poetry and sinking the Bathos.--John Quincy Adams.--Mr.
Forsyth.--Anecdote of an American Anchorite.--A Mazurka danced by four
Fashionable Indies, a Polish Count, and three Members of the _Corps
Diplomatique_.
“The greatest problem of the human race, to the solution of which men
are forced by the peculiarity of their nature, is the establishment
of a society for the maintenance of their rights.”--_Kant’s Idea of a
Universal History in a Cosmopolitical Sense._
On my return to the hotel I found the people at tea, which was served
with beefsteaks, chops, ham, &c. and answered the purpose of a regular
meal. It being too early for me to join them, I quietly sneaked off
to my room, or rather to the third part of a room, which was granted
me by the kindness of the innkeeper; the other two-thirds, with the
corresponding beds, &c. being occupied by a lieutenant in the navy,
and a young man of fashion just returned from Europe, who, in proof of
his foreign civilization, was constantly singing French songs without
reference to melody or metre. One of these, which he usually sang in
the morning, when owing to our late rising we got a cold breakfast, I
yet remember had this singular _refrain_:--
“Je suis content, je suis heureux;
Tout homme doit l’être dans ces lieux.”
Being afraid lest the songster should enter the room, and dispute with
me the use of the only looking-glass, I dressed as quickly as I could;
and then went down to the reading-room, to drag out the time from six
till eight with the newspapers. The appointed hour finally arrived,
and with it the carriage I had previously engaged; and in less than
three-quarters of an hour,--the house of Mrs. *** being situated on the
confines of the ideal town,--my “negro driver” halted before a small
building with a wooden staircase in front, which looked as though it
might be blown off by the first gale, or washed away by the rain,
considering that it was exposed to the unmitigated fury of both, and
evidently placed there for no other purpose but to save room for the
kitchen. The house, which was so uncommonly snug as to have but three
windows in front, was brilliantly illumined by the aid of a single
chandelier; and the door left open, in order that the invited guests
might see their way up stairs into the parlour.
Arrived at the place, my coachman sprung off the box, opened the door
of the carriage, and assisted me in alighting amidst a group of dark
faces that were only rendered visible by the reflection from the
whites of their eyes. I passed the review of the servants without
loss of time, and scrambled up the wooden staircase in order to
force my entrance into the parlour. This, however, was in vain; the
gentlemen, who, much against their own inclination, were placed with
their faces in the room and the more vulgar part of their composition
outside, being unable to move forward, in order to admit the ingress
of a new-comer, without interfering with the dancers. I tried to look
_into_ the room, in order to have at least a peep at the ladies; but,
measuring but five feet ten, and the two gentlemen who guarded the
entrance being probably Kentuckians, I could not manage to look over
their shoulders. I endeavoured to have a glance between their bodies,
or between their shoulders and arms. Vain attempt! they were too
compact to suffer a beam of light to go through them.
In despair I went up another pair of stairs, which led into a sort of
refectory, to which the entrance, though difficult, was not impossible.
The room was furnished in a befitting style of simplicity. There was no
display of overgrown wealth; a few painted chairs and tables, a small
ebony-framed looking-glass, and a few settees,--the bed having been
previously ejected in order to make room for the company,--constituting
the sum total of the _ameublement_. On a small side-table, neatly
covered with a white table-cloth, were placed several large plates of
sandwiches, bread and ham; and in the middle of the room stood a large
basin, which at first I took for a Roman bathing-tub, placed there
for the accommodation of such guests as came from a distance, but, on
drawing near, discovered to be full of that exquisite beverage called
“apple toddy,” which differs very little from Mr. Price’s gin punch at
the Garrick, so much approved of by Mr. Theodore Hook. Indeed, I rather
think the advantage, if any, on the side of the toddy, the apples
imparting to the gin a much more simple and delicate flavour than the
Maraschino; and the thing would be better still if iced soda-water were
added to the compound.
The gentlemen formed a very interesting group round this tub; and,
perceiving a stranger step amongst them, immediately made room; while
one of them, probably the president _pro tem_, seized a huge ladle,
and immersing it first into the liquid, and holding it up again in
triumph as high as he could, filled a more than double-sized glass
to the very brim without spilling one drop of the liquid. This feat,
which convinced me at once of his being an _habitué_, was scarcely
accomplished, before, in the most graceful manner possible, he offered
me the glass with the amicable greeting of--
“Every stranger is welcome in Washington!”
I of course pledged him in due politeness, and in less than five
minutes felt perfectly acquainted with the whole company. I then made
a second attempt at forcing an entrance into the ball-room, which, the
Kentuckians being gone, and their places filled by two spindle-shanked
heroes of New York, succeeded beyond my most sanguine expectations;
admitting me not only into the room, but into the presence of the lady
of the house. Having been invited only through the kind intercession of
a friend, without knowing mine hostess, and the custom of announcing by
servants being not yet introduced into the United States, a gentleman
who acted as usher immediately offered me his arm, and led me into the
presence of an elderly lady, dressed rather in the English matron style
than _à la française_, and whose countenance betokened a life passed in
domestic peace and comfort.
The gentleman introduced me as _Monsieur_ DE ***, much against my own
inclination, and I could clearly perceive the consequence that little
word _de_ gave me; not so much with the lady of the house, as with
a number of fashionable misses, strangers in the metropolis, “who
had just come out that season.” I do not know whether _vanity_ had
something to do with it, but I thought I heard one of them ask whether
I was a bachelor; which question being answered in the affirmative, I
am quite sure I heard another one say, “Hem! I dare say he is as poor
as that Polish Count ***, who flirted with every young lady, and, when
it came to the scratch, had hardly money enough to pay the parson.”
This common-sense remark of an American belle, which proved in a most
satisfactory manner her preferring the useful to the agreeable, did
not much affect me; neither did I ascribe it to the want of liberality
towards strangers, having seen _native Americans_ victimized in the
same manner. I therefore pretended not to have heard the remark, and
asked the gentleman who acted as master of the ceremonies to have the
kindness to introduce me to the lady who, I thought, had inquired
whether I was married.
I found her well-educated, _spirituelle_,--full of imagination. I
even think she gave me to understand that she once wrote poetry--as
an exercise at the boarding-school, and that she always had a secret
attachment to men of letters. Among the various English writers, she
was most in love with Scott, who completely transported her to the
times of chivalry and knight-errantry; while her own countryman Cooper
was to her “an object of perfect horror,” though she had no particular
objection to his last works, “which contain a great deal of information
about the state of society in Europe.” She “_longed_ to see Europe;
and was very much indebted to mamma for bringing her to Washington,
where she could already have a foretaste of it.” On hearing this, her
mother, who stood near her, said that she was a child, and that I
must not listen to her. Being really not disposed for a flirtation,
and seeing the same senator with whom I had taken a walk in the
afternoon enter the room, I was glad to find an opportunity of leaving
my sentimental fair one to the care of her tender parent, who had
instilled into her such delicate tastes.
When the senator saw that I was disengaging myself, he came up to me
without ceremony, shook me by the hand, and asked me how I liked the
party. I related to him my adventure in the upper room, which made him
smile. “You may depend upon it,” said he, “that if ever you meet with
any of those gentlemen in the neighbourhood of his estate, you will not
be able to get off with less than a month’s stay at his house,--such
would be his hospitality, and the pleasure of meeting you again. I must
now lead you round a little, in order to show you some of our most
remarkable characters.
“That man there, with white hair and dark keen eyes, who so violently
gesticulates, is Mr. Wise, a member from Virginia. He is a paragon
of American speakers,--always up, always ready, always determined to
speak, on every occasion, the modicum of two or three hours, were it
but to show his friends and constituents that he is ‘up and doing.’ He
is a member of the Whig opposition; fighting against the government as
against a hydra with many heads, all which _he_ has to sever from the
trunk. His contempt for the present administration knows neither bounds
nor reason; and he is opposed to every one of its measures, to every
member or senator that ever seconded or defended one of these, and to
every man that ever voted for any such member or senator. He goes, in
fact, ‘the whole hog t’other way,’ and, as such, is the very type of
an American Whig. He carries his opposition almost to madness, though
amongst his numerous speeches there are a good many clever ones.”
“I could never tell the object of your Whig party,” said I; “pray, what
_are_ its peculiar principles?”
“Our appellation of _Whigs_ or _Conservatives_, and _Tories_,
_Democrats_, or _Destructives_,” replied he, “must really puzzle the
English. I would ask, what have _our_ Conservatives to preserve? What
our Destructives to destroy? Our Conservatives possess no exclusive
rights, no privileges beyond those enjoyed by the people at large;
their names are not associated with the history of the country; their
ancestors, if they were known, had nothing to do with establishing
the government,--for the _mania_ for aristocracy is least to be found
among those families whose forefathers distinguished themselves in the
revolutionary war; they hold no property which the first commercial
crisis may not destroy; and hold, in fact, the very _reverse_ position
of the Conservatives in England. They do not endeavour to _preserve_
what they _possess_, but strive to _acquire more_; they are not
associated with the _past_, but entertain bright hopes of the _future_;
they do not stand on the broad basis of the history of their own
country, but seek for precedent in Europe. This, sir, is the character
of _our_ Conservatives, Whigs, or Aristocrats, who bear no more
resemblance to the English Tories, than a poor man, who tries to become
rich by shaving his neighbour, does to a millionnaire who defends his
own property.
“You must not be misled by the idle declamations of those who
incessantly talk of the levelling system, and its consequences on the
people of this country. The levelling system commenced at the very
settlement of the country, and was most active during the revolution.
It was then that the Conservatives, with some show of logic, might have
declaimed against the levelling principle; not now. There are some
who will gravely tell you that the most eminent American statesmen,
during the revolution and immediately after, were Conservatives, or
moderate Tories; but what does this prove, if it be true? Simply,
that a great number of those whom an overruling Providence used as
instruments in bestowing liberty and happiness on our people, did not
understand what they were doing: which, after all, does not make so
very much against them; there being at all times, and in all countries,
but few politicians capable of foreseeing the ultimate result of an
innovation. And what, I would ask, have nine-tenths of these Tories
to lose by this levelling system, that makes them so tenacious of
their doctrines? Where is the elevation from which they are afraid
to descend? What noble principles which they cherish, will thereby
be trodden in the dust? What protection which they give to arts and
sciences, will thereby suffer? Echo must answer, ‘What?’--Daniel
Webster, the gentleman there with the hawk-eyes, told us that the war
between the democrats and the aristocracy is a war of the poor against
the rich; and I am inclined to think he is half right,--as far, namely,
as concerns his own party. But if wealth form the only distinction, the
only claim to supremacy in our country, the sooner we get rid of its
influence the better. It is the most degrading of all, and must be
equally spurned by the labourer and the man of genius.”
“But a great number of your literary men belong likewise to the
opposition.”
“Pray, don’t talk to me of our literary men! We have as yet, for the
most part, but literary imitators, who follow the beaten track of the
English or French; and the organization of our society is admirably
calculated to retain them in this state of imbecility. It is the want
of nationality, the absence of generous and expanded feelings, which
are crushed by the vulgar inordinate desire after money, and the little
love which our upper classes in general bear to the institutions of our
country, which are the cause of our poets singing the praise of the
lark and the nightingale, with whose melodious strains they are only
acquainted through the medium of some English annual. What is there
in our country to inspire poetic sentiments, if it be not the love of
liberty and of nature, the great sources of all poetry?
“We are told that our political principles are bad, because they do not
meet with the approbation of some two or three score of vain scribblers
calling themselves _literati_, but being in fact pettifogging lawyers,
that have not wit enough to make a living by their profession. Now,
in order to prove such an assertion to be correct, it would first
be necessary to show that these representatives of the wisdom,
intelligence, and patriotism of the country are capable of forming
a correct judgment of the position and wants of our people; and,
secondly, that they are capable of forming an _independent_ judgment.
When our _literati_ shall be known otherwise than by writing for the
newspapers, or occasionally for an album, I shall believe the first;
when I shall see a paper without advertisements, I shall trust in the
second.
“We talk of an independent press, and our editors are more easily
bought and sold than any writer in France! They are, indeed, not
bought by so much money down, simply because there is none to give it
them; but by contributions of twenty-five dollars a-piece for _annual
advertisements_, paid at the end of the year,--if the subscriber does
not fail in the mean time. Our _literati_ want to make a living with
their pen, and are in this respect just like other tradespeople.
“There,” said he, pointing to a young man dressed in the latest London
fashion, “is a gentleman, the son of a respectable merchant in New
York, who may serve as an illustration of what _we_ mean by a Tory. He
is just turned twenty-one, and has already been in France, England,
and Italy. His father is rich; that is, he associates with fashionable
people, keeps a carriage, and will, if he do not meet with great
reverses, leave to his six children from fifteen to twenty thousand
dollars a head. This modicum the young man will have to improve, or
he will die a beggar; so that, if he does not marry a rich woman, he
will be unavoidably condemned to personal labour and exertion. Yet this
young man is _an aristocrat_! His father, knowing his inability to
provide for him in such a manner as to render him independent, thought
fit to give him a _practical_ rather than a literary education. The
young man accordingly _learned_ reading, writing, and spelling; writes
a tolerably fair hand, and has studied mathematics--as far as the rule
of three! When he had acquired so much of a practical education, he was
sent to Europe to _perfect_ himself.
“He first went to England, where he saw all the great actors and
actresses, went up St. Paul’s to take a view of the city of London,
made the round of the principal gambling-houses and other public
establishments worth the attention of a traveller, dined with every
gentleman to whom he brought a letter of introduction, and then wrote
home, that, being perfectly acquainted with English society, he was
now desirous of seeing France. His father accordingly sent the money,
and the young man set out in a stage-coach from London to Dover. From
Dover to Boulogne he went in a steamer; and at Boulogne he took the
_malle-poste_ for Paris, making observations all the way on the manners
of the French people.
“Arrived in Paris, his first care was to secure comfortable lodgings;
then he delivered his letter of introduction, which was a letter of
credit on Messrs. *** and Co.; then dined with his banker; after which
he dined again at a _restaurant_’s, and then set out to prepare for
his daily avocation, which consisted in strolling from his lodgings in
the Rue Rivoli, through the Rue St. Honoré, to the Palais Royal; from
the Palais Royal, through the Rue Vivienne, to the Place de la Bourse;
thence through the Passage du Panorama to the Boulevards; and over the
Boulevards, through the Rue de la Paix and the Place Vendôme, into the
garden of the Tuileries, which, together with the principal theatres
and other places of amusement, contained his circle of acquaintance in
the French metropolis.
“Society in France being a little easier of access than in England,
he obtained, by dint of perseverance,--one of our cardinal
virtues,--access to one or two respectable families, and left his
card with our minister in order to be presented at court. Whether he
was actually admitted into ‘the presence of royalty,’ after which his
heart panted ever since he was a boy, I know not; but I rather think he
_was_, since, immediately on his return, he cut most of his old friends
and acquaintances, and was, in fact, quite another man.
“The time of his embarkation at Havre being fixed upon, he employed
the remaining six or seven weeks to see Italy; not forgetting to buy
in Milan some _black lace_ for his sister, in Genoa some _velvet_ for
his mother, and in Rome one or two pieces of _mosaïque_, in order
to show his taste in the fine arts. The reason he did not purchase
a _hat_ at Leghorn was, that he did not know how to dispose of it
in his portmanteau. I forgot to say, that, during all the time the
young gentleman was in Europe ‘improving himself,’ he wrote home ‘the
most touching letters,’ which were shown to all the acquaintance of
the family; and, it being thought a pity that such talents should
remain hidden under a bushel, and not enlighten other Americans that
did not enjoy the same advantages, some of them actually appeared in
the papers, superscribed ‘_Correspondence of an American Gentleman
now travelling in Europe_.’ What was particularly remarkable in
his correspondence was the great number of Gallicisms; showing his
acquaintance with a foreign idiom, which he had already mastered to
such a degree as to forget his own language. At last he came back from
his tour, and has ever since been a lion in our fashionable society.
Such, sir, is the usual type of our aristocrats, who are constantly
railing against the levelling system, which would confound them with
the industrious mechanic, the honest farmer, and the enterprising and
thriving backwoodsman. But we have already lost too much time with a
_puppy_; I must now show you some of our _men_.
“That gentleman there, whose animated conversation has brought together
a circle of hearers, is Mr. Rives, senator from Virginia. He is one
of the best specimens of our Southern gentlemen, uniting great vigour
of mind, and the eye of a statesman, with those agreeable and affable
manners which throw off restraint without diminishing respect; a
gift which nature seldom bestows on those born under more Northern
latitudes. He will be a prominent candidate for the Vice-presidency,
and a great support to the democratic party. Mr. Rives is an agreeable
speaker, clear and precise in his arguments, and an enemy to the
rhetorical or flowery style. He has no notion of sinking the bathos, or
of shaking the Senate with the thunder of his voice.
“Next to him stands a gentleman with a red wig and a laughing
countenance; his eyes sparkle, though he has not yet had any champaign,
and the spirits confined within his brain seem to celebrate one
continual Lord Mayor’s day. This is Mr. Preston, senator from South
Carolina. What a pity it is he is on the side of the opposition! He
is full of fun; mixes up repartee, sarcasm, irony, and _persiflage_
in one continual strain of humorous eloquence; and is, in fact, the
prince of wags in Congress. His manners, of course, are those of a
gentleman,--which indeed he cannot help, being a South-Carolinian;
and his wit, though it sometimes touches to the quick, is accompanied
by so much good-nature that it is impossible to be angry with him.
These qualities, of course, do not make him a _leader_, but rather
the cavalry of the opposition; and his spirited attacks sometimes make
greater havoc than the artillery of Clay or Webster.
“Mr. Webster you know already. He sits at yon table, playing at whist.
This is trifling away his time, for he is the last man to spend his
hours in innocent amusements. Mr. Webster is, according to _my_
opinion, a gentleman without imagination or extensive reading; but of
immense natural talents, and severe application to his profession.
He is considered one of the best, and there are those who consider
him _the_ best, constitutional lawyer; and, certes, his judgment,
discrimination, and logic are not surpassed by any member or senator in
Congress. Yet, with all these qualities, he is better calculated for a
debater than for a leader; his mind being more of that analytic order
which succeeds in dissecting and destroying, than of that synthetic
character which combines simple elements to an harmonious whole. The
latter requires a creative genius, and a certain intuitive knowledge
of things; whereas the process of dissection presupposes but a careful
examination of facts, and the application of sound logic.
“To understand where Mr. Webster’s talents lie, it is only necessary to
study his parliamentary tactics, and to read his speeches. He never
rises from his seat, except to repel an attack, or to take advantage of
an overture given by one of his enemies. When an important question--of
which he is hardly ever the originator--is proposed, his practice is
to wait until every one has given his opinion; he then compares them,
dissects them, analyses them, and (wonderful!) pronounces upon them
like a judge after hearing the argument of each counsel. Every flaw
in the reasoning, in the expression,--every logical imperfection is
sure to be detected; and his speech, which in truth is a critical
abstract of all the speeches delivered in Congress, passes then, with
his friends at least, for an _original_ production. But I would ask,
what particular measure has he originated that produced either good
or evil to the country? The tariff?--That was Mr. Calhoun’s measure.
Internal improvements, or a bank.?--That honour (!) belongs to Henry
Clay. When, at the session of Congress in 1832-3, the country was
threatened with civil war, was it _he_ that averted the calamity by
the proposition of a measure calculated to satisfy all parties?--No;
this honour belongs again to Henry Clay. What, then, I ask, has he done
that is so wonderful?--He is a great constitutional lawyer! That may
be; but he has not yet delivered his ideas in a scientific form, and
the commentaries of Mr. Justice Story will perhaps outlive the fame of
Daniel Webster.
[Illustration: DANIEL WEBSTER.]
“Mr. Webster’s great tact in repelling an enemy consists in personal
satire and irony. Thus he succeeded against Mr. Haines, and against
a number of minor opponents, who all went to swell his renown. His
speeches are clear and argumentative; but, while they occupy your
understanding, they leave you cold and cheerless. He cannot excite your
imagination; he cannot touch your feelings; and he does not stimulate
your enthusiasm. Neither is he capable of supplying this deficiency
by his personality; for, though respected and admired throughout the
country, he is not beloved,--no, not even by his own partisans. Mr.
Webster knows the laws of his country; but he is less acquainted with
the men that are to be governed by them, and possesses none of those
conciliating and engaging qualities which insure personal popularity.
This accounts for his position in Congress, where, notwithstanding the
powerful aid he lends to the opposition, he stands alone--_the terrible
senator from Massachusetts_.
“Neither is Mr. Webster as a speaker entirely without faults. He
sometimes tries to sink the bathos by being flowery and rhetorical;
and he seems to labour under the singular impression that a public
speaker must commence and leave off with a flourish, and on this
account violates his imagination with the composition of regular
beginnings and ends, which are but too frequently wholly irrelevant to
the text of his discourses. He had, in this respect, better follow the
example of certain landscape painters, who, being perfectly equal to
the _inanimate_, leave the _figures_ to be done by somebody else.”
* * * * *
_N.B._--It is now three years since I noted down the conversation
of the democratic senator. I have since heard so much of Daniel
Webster,--European writers, and especially Miss Martineau,[26] having
actually made his apotheosis,--that, as a _pendant_ to the Old Bailey
speech recorded in her last work on America, I cannot refrain here
from laying before the British reader some elegant extracts from one
of his speeches (called the _Great_ Speech), in reply to the remarks
of John C. Calhoun, delivered in the Senate on the 12th of March 1838.
This speech, one of the most elaborate of which he was ever delivered,
fills, in the “New York American,” seventeen and a quarter columns, and
was intended to demolish his antagonist. It is on that account full of
personal attacks, occasionally interspersed with a modest praise of
himself.
Mr. Calhoun had been defending an independent Treasury, such as exists,
and has always existed, in every country, whether the Government was
monarchical or republican; while Mr. Webster, the advocate of a union
between the Government and the Bank, tried to ridicule the idea;
endeavouring to show that his adversary had been _previously_ wrong
on a question relating to the _tariff_. Mr. Calhoun, in his opening
remarks, pointed to the evils of the irresponsible American banking
system; to its “self-sustaining principle, which poised and impelled
the system, self-balanced in the midst of the heavens like some
celestial body, with scarcely a perceptible deviation from its path
from the concussion it had received;” and at last took the following
philosophic ground:--
“But its most fatal effects (the effects of the American banking
system) originate in its bearing on the moral and intellectual
developement of the community. The great principles of demand and
supply govern the moral and intellectual world no less than the
business and commercial. If a community be so organised as to cause a
demand for high mental attainments, they are sure to be developed. If
its honours and rewards are allotted to pursuits that require their
developement by creating a demand for intelligence, knowledge, wisdom,
justice, firmness, courage, patriotism, and the like, they are sure
to be produced. But if allotted to pursuits that require inferior
qualities, the higher are sure to decay and perish. I object to the
banking system, because it allots the honours and rewards of the
community in a very undue proportion to a pursuit the least of all
others favourable to the developement of the higher mental qualities,
intellectual or moral,--to the decay of the learned professions,
and the more noble pursuits of science, literature, philosophy, and
statesmanship, and the great and more useful pursuits of business and
industry. With the vast increase of its profits and influence it is
gradually concentrating in itself most of the prizes of life,--wealth,
honour, and influence,--to the great disparagement and degradation of
all the liberal, useful, and generous pursuits of society. The rising
generation cannot but feel its deadening influence. The youth who crowd
our colleges, and behold the road to honour and distinction terminating
in a banking-house, will feel the spirit of emulation decay within
them, and will no longer be pressed forward by generous ardour to mount
up the rugged steep of science as the road to honour and distinction,
when, perhaps, the highest point they could attain in what was once the
most honourable and influential of learned professions would be the
place of attorney to a bank.”
The force and truth of these remarks are amply illustrated by the
actual composition of American society, and would be equally felt in
England, if, with a system of banking similar to that now in use in
the United States, the people were at any time to be _deprived_ (I use
that word on purpose) of the influence of the nobility and clergy. It
is the absence of high dignitaries, and of men placed by their birth
and education above the level of ordinary men, which renders the
presence of a moneyed aristocracy in the United States truly odious
and degrading; and forces every man of sound sense, who is capable of
understanding the true position of the country by comparing it to that
of others, naturally over to the democratic party. In proportion as
science and literature will be cultivated in America, democracy will
become more and more powerful; for it is only vulgar and inferior minds
Whiggism can purchase with money.
To the short and pithy speech of Mr. Calhoun, then, Mr. Webster made,
as I said before, a seventeen and a quarter column answer. This I
surely have no intention of inflicting upon the innocent reader;[27]
but, in order to verify the criticism of the democratic senator, I
shall quote a few of those passages in which Mr. Webster gives into
the poetical,--that is, those passages in which his imagination seems
to be sufficiently excited to _quote_ poetry, exhibiting his taste in
the selection,--and the grand _finale_, which will demonstrate his art
of sinking the bathos.
At the head of the ninth column, after expatiating at some length _on
the inconvenience_ of counting money, which would ensue in case of a
Treasury, he says,
“But this is not all: once a quarter the naval officer is to count the
collector’s money, and the register in the land-office is to count
the receiver’s money. And, moreover, sir! every now and then the
secretary of the Treasury is to authorize unexpected and impromptu
countings in his discretion, and just to satisfy his own mind. What a
money-counting, tinkling, jingling, generation we shall be! All the
money-changers in Solomon’s temple will be as nothing to us. Our sound
_will go forth into all lands_. _We_ shall be like the king in the
ditty of the nursery,
‘There sat the king a-counting of his money.’”
What mighty reasons these for not having a Treasury! And what glorious
quotation of poetry! What a beautiful association of ideas! To think
of the nursery ditty in the Senate of the United States! How well Mr.
Webster remembers the days of his innocence! and what a talent he must
have had, even as a boy, for finance, to remember just the verse which
relates to the “king _a_-counting of his money!”
The next quotation of poetry occurs on the fourteenth column, where Mr.
Webster speaks of the issue of Treasury notes, which, as the orator
assures us, might be given out by the Government so as to _flood the
country_.[28]
“And now I pray you to consider, Mr. President,” says Mr. Webster,
“what an admirable contrivance this would be to secure that economy
in the expenses of Government which the gentleman has so much at
heart. Relaxed from all necessity of taxation, and from the consequent
responsibility to the people,--(this is a wilful misrepresentation
of the fact,)--not called upon to regard at all the amount of annual
income,--having an authority to cause Treasury notes to be issued,
whenever it pleases,
‘In multitudes, like which the _populous_ North
_Poured_ never from her _frozen_ loins to pass
Rhine or the Danau,’--
what admirable restraint would be on Government!” &c.
Now mark how well those three lines of blank verse are brought in!
What a beautiful simile, to compare the issue of Treasury notes to the
_populous_ North _pouring_ from her _frozen_ loins hordes of barbarians
to cross the Rhine or the _Danau_! How applicable! Just the thing for
America! What a terrible sensation those children of the North would
make among the Yankees, just as they are crossing the Rhine or the
Danube!
But the conclusion of Mr. Webster’s speech is a perfect _chef d’œuvre_.
He there apostrophises Calhoun in the following manner:--
“Let him go! I remain! I remain where I ever have been, and ever mean
to be. Here, standing on the platform of the General Constitution,--a
platform broad enough and firm enough to uphold every interest of the
_whole_ country,--I shall still be found!”
The words, “Let him go! I remain!” produce a sort of dramatic effect;
and are, I believe, a happy imitation of those ancient soliloquies
which commence thus: “_He is gone, and I am alone._” And then how
natural that the platform of the General Constitution, which is broad
enough “to uphold _every_ interest of the _whole_ country,” should also
support _him_! Nothing could be more _à propos_.
“Intrusted,” continues Mr. Webster, “with some part in the
administration of that constitution, I intend to act in its spirit, and
in the spirit of those who framed it. Yes, sir; I would act as if our
fathers who formed it for us, and who bequeathed it to us, were looking
on us,--as if I would see their venerable forms bending down to behold
us from the abodes above! I would act too, sir, as if that long line of
posterity were also viewing us, whose eye is hereafter to scrutinise
our conduct.”
What a thorough view and review that is! and what can be more pathetic
than to see the fathers of the constitution first _looking_ upon them,
and then bending down their venerable forms to _behold_ them!
Mr. Webster continues the same beautiful figure still farther.
“Standing thus as in the full gaze of our _ancestors_ and our
_posterity_, having received this inheritance from the former to be
transmitted to the latter, and feeling that, if I am born for any good
in my day and generation, it is for the good of the whole country,
(what a modest way this of recommending himself to the Presidency!) no
local policy or local feelings, no temporary impulse shall induce me to
yield my _foothold_ (!) on the constitution and the Union. I move off
under no banner not known to the whole American people, and to their
constitution and laws. No, sir; these walls, these columns,
----‘fly
From their firm base as soon as I.’”
This is the third and last quotation of poetry, and a direct challenge
of the nullifier, _defeated by General Jackson_. The selection is
beautiful! Mr. Webster’s bravery needs no comment!
Then comes the real _last end_ of the speech,--a perfect _bijou_ of
rhetorical amplification.
“I came into public life, sir, _in the service_ of the United States.”
(Mr. Webster probably means to _serve_ the United States.) “On that
broad _altar_ my earliest and all my public vows have been made. I
propose to serve no other _master_. So far as depends on any agency
of mine, they shall continue United States, united in interest and
affection, united in every thing in regard to which the constitution
has decreed their union; united in war, for the common defence, the
common _renown_, and the common glory; and _united_, _compacted_, _knit
firmly together_ in peace, for the common prosperity and happiness of
ourselves and our children.”
Who does not here remember the wholesome piece of advice Napoleon gave
to his brother Lucien when the latter had sent him a proclamation
intended for the public? “I have read the proclamation,” observed
Napoleon; “it is good for nothing. There are too many words and too few
ideas in it. You struggle after pathos. This is not the way to speak to
the people. They possess more tact and judgment than you are aware of.
Your _prose_ will do more harm than good.”
I am not disposed to undervalue Mr. Webster’s talent as a judge and
critic,--except as regards poetry and the arts. The bench is the proper
place for him; but as a statesman, or party leader, he can only succeed
by the blunders of his antagonists.
* * * * *
The next gentleman to whom my democratic friend directed my attention
was a short stout figure, with a bald head, and a cold, displeasing,
repulsive countenance, which, notwithstanding, beamed with an almost
supernatural intelligence. “This is Mr. John Quincy Adams,” observed my
friend, “formerly President of the United States, and now a member of
Congress. Next to General Jackson, he is perhaps the most remarkable
man in the country, though he is his perfect antipode. If anything
shows the superiority of character over abstract knowledge, it is the
triumph of the honest, straightforward soldier over this hair-splitter.
Were there yet twenty Jacksons in the country, they would yet twenty
times succeed against such a man. This is a law of nature.
“Mr. Adams, if you consider his acquirements, is probably the best
informed man in America, though his knowledge is somewhat rhapsodical,
like his character. He has the most astonishing memory, and possesses
great conversational powers. Yet, with all these eminent qualities,
he has not one true friend! With almost universal talent, and, I
might add, universal application, he possesses no genius, no great
personality, like Jackson, born to wield the destinies of a country.
He is full of information, understands most perfectly the routine
of business, reads everything, examines everything, and remembers
everything; and yet, when he comes to act, is sure of committing some
blunder which will expose him and his friends. He is, in fact, a living
illustration of Voltaire’s motto:
‘_Nous tromper dans nos entreprises,
C’est à quoi nous sommes sujets;
Le matin je fais des projets,
Et le long du jour des sottises._’
The reason is, he knows Europe better than he does America;--he
is a stranger in his own country. He fights his battles on paper;
calculating the number of men, their position, and the kind of arms,
but making no allowance for their moral character. Many of his plans
are well conceived, but all are badly executed; and he has the weakness
of most bad generals, to account for his lost battles by the faults of
his inferior officers.
“The _gaucheries_ which distinguish his political life also mark his
private intercourse; he talks better than any man in the United States,
and yet is sure to be embarrassed when addressed, unless previously
prepared for it. This want of social talent I have frequently noticed
among the most eminent men of New England, and it accounts for their
little popularity. Mr. Adams belongs, of course, to the opposition;
but, like the independent Yankee militia-man, fights his battles ‘_on
his own book_.’[29] He will not suffer any one near him, and attacks
indiscriminately friend or foe that opposes his progress. Of late, few
of his own party have dared to come within his reach; for, though his
political principles are somewhat _rococo_, his wit and sarcasm are as
unimpaired as ever, and his capacity to scratch those who tread upon
his toe as good as in the best days of his manhood.
* * * * *
Mr. Adams’s peculiar manners have, with the exception of too much
panegyric, been well described in an article entitled “Glances at
Congress,” inserted in the first number of the United States’ Magazine
and Democratic Review, published at Washington. “Our attention,” says
the reporter who furnished the article, “is now attracted to a ray of
light that glitters on the apex of a bald and noble head, ‘located’ on
the left of the House, in the neighbourhood of the Speaker’s chair.
It proceeds from that wonderful man, who in his person combines the
agitator, philosopher, poet, statesman, critic, and orator,--John
Quincy Adams. Who that has seen him sitting beneath the cupola of
the hall, with the rays of light gathering and glancing about his
singularly polished head, but has likened him to one of the luminaries
of the age, shining and glittering in the political firmament of the
Union. There he sits hour after hour, day after day, with untiring
patience; never absent from his seat, never voting for an adjournment,
vigilant as the most jealous member of the House; his ear always on
the alert, himself always prepared to go at once into the profoundest
question of state, to the minutest point of order. What must be his
thoughts as he ponders on the past, in which he has played a part so
conspicuous! We look at him, and mark his cold and tearful eye, his
stern and abstracted gaze, and conjure up phantoms of other scenes. We
see him amid his festive and splendid halls ten years back, standing
stiff and awkward, and shaking a tall, military-looking man by the
hand, in whose honour the gala was given, to commemorate the most
splendid of America’s victories. We see him again, years afterwards,
the bitter foe of that same military chieftain, and the competitor
with him for the highest gift of a free people. We look upon a more
than king (!?), who has filled every department of honour in his
native land, still at his post; he who was the President of millions,
now the representative of forty odd thousand, quarrelling about
trifles or advocating high principles. To-day growling and sneering
at the House, with an abolition petition in his trembling hand; and
anon lording it over the passions, and lashing the members into the
wildest state of enthusiasm by his indignant and emphatic eloquence.
Alone, unspoken to, unconsulted, never consulting with others, he sits
apart, wrapped in his reveries; and, with his finger resting on his
nose, he permits his mind to move like a gigantic pendulum, stirring
up the hours of the past and disturbing those of the hidden future.
Or probably he is writing,--his almost perpetual employment;--but
what?--who can guess?--perhaps some poetry in a young girl’s album! He
looks enfeebled, but yet he is never tired; worn out, but ever ready
for combat; melancholy, but let a witty thing fall from any member,
and that old man’s face is wreathed in smiles. He appears passive, but
woe to the unfortunate member that hazards an arrow at him; the eagle
is not swifter in his flight than Mr. Adams; with his agitated finger
quivering in sarcastic gesticulation, he seizes upon his foe; and, amid
the amusement of the House, rarely fails to take a signal vengeance.
“His mode of speaking is peculiar. He rises abruptly, his face
reddens, and, in a moment throwing himself into the attitude of a
veteran gladiator, he prepares for the attack. Then he becomes full
of gesticulation, his body sways to and fro, self-command seems lost;
his head is bent forward in his earnestness till it sometimes nearly
touches the desk; his voice frequently breaks, but he pursues his
object throughout its bearings. Nothing daunts him; the House may ring
with the cries of ‘Order, order!’--unmoved, contemptuous, he stands
amid the tempest, and, like an oak that knows his gnarled and knotted
strength, stretches his arms forth, and defies the blast.”
* * * * *
Leaning against the wall, his hands folded on his back, a contemplative
spectator of the busy scene before him, stood a gentleman with
venerable white hair, and a pale placid countenance, which at once
bespoke reserve and affability, firmness of purpose and urbanity, in
an extraordinary degree. This, as my friend acquainted me, was Mr.
Forsyth, formerly senator from Georgia, but now Secretary of State. He
was one of the most strenuous defenders of General Jackson’s policy at
a time when the latter had a large majority against him in the Senate,
and was shortly after called into the cabinet. There he distinguished
himself by his tact, moderation, and sound statesmanlike policy. The
part he took in the recent difficulties with France is known, though it
is believed he principally acted under General Jackson’s direction.
Mr. Forsyth is one of those few members of the cabinet who have escaped
the ferocious attacks of the opposition. Though a strong partisan of
democracy, neither his private nor his public life furnished a text
for the abuses of party. Some ignorant and uncultivated persons have
_accused_ (!) him of too great a devotion to the ladies; but this
reproach, so far from injuring him in the estimation of sensible
persons, only goes to elevate his character as a man.
It is high time for the Americans to leave off the barbarous and
ridiculous notion that a man, in order to be a statesman, a lawyer, an
orator, or a man of business, must necessarily be a bore in society. I
was once present when an American, who was in the habit of delivering
gratuitous lectures on morality, was asked by a Frenchman what sort of
impression the sight of a beautiful and lovely woman made upon him?
“Precisely the same as that of a fine _horse_,” replied he, by way of
showing the utter subjection in which he kept his passions.--“_Dieu
merci!_” cried the Frenchman; “I vill not invite you to see my
darters.” Nothing, certainly, marks the irredeemable vulgarity of a
person more strongly than his indifference to beauty and accomplishment.
“There are yet three gentlemen,” continued my friend, “whom I would
gladly show you, as amongst those who have the greatest influence on
the destinies of our country; but unfortunately they are not here,
and, with the exception of Mr. Van Buren, who is one of them, are
seldom seen at parties. To-morrow, however, after our call on General
Jackson, I shall introduce you to them personally. At present you must
excuse me; I have to see some of my colleagues in order to prepare
them for a question which I know will to-morrow come up in the Senate.
The opposition want to steal a march upon us; but I am determined they
shall find us prepared.”
Shortly after the senator disappeared, and with him a number of
his colleagues. Scarcely one member remained after twelve, though
the dance continued till half-past two. On this occasion I saw the
first _mazurka_ danced in the United States; four fashionable ladies
consenting to be partners to three Russian gentlemen and a Polish
count, who was something of a lion in Washington. The three Russians
were none other than the amiable and witty Baron K--r, the Russian
minister; the clever and kind-hearted Mr. K--r, the secretary of
legation; and Mr. G--, the _attaché_. The partners could not have
been better selected: and, though I could observe not a few sneers
in the countenances of the elderly portion of the fair, the younger
was evidently delighted; and, as I understood afterwards, practised
the steps and the “turn-abouts” more than a week, to the exclusion of
everything else. I remained until two; at which time I took another
glass of apple-toddy, which enabled me to return home without stopping
on the way at the “Epicure House.”
FOOTNOTES:
[26] Miss Martineau, I understood of my American friends, was, like
many English reformers, a great enthusiast for democracy in the
abstract; only that in her private intercourse she preferred the
society of distinguished persons belonging to the opposite coterie.
This probably accounts for her partiality with regard to Daniel Webster
and Henry Clay, and her antipathy to the administration. The Quarterly
Review, in an excellent article on that useful and instructive work
of Mr. Walker, entitled “The Original,” ascribes to the influence of
the generous and brilliant hospitality of the noble Lords Lansdowne,
Holland, Sefton,--and the clever writer might have added his Grace
the Duke of Devonshire,--“a magic power, which, in the intoxication
of the moment, throws many an author off his guard, until he finds or
thinks himself irrecoverably committed, and, suppressing any lurking
inclination towards Toryism, becomes deeply and definitely a Whig.”
The administration party in America are unfortunately not much in
the habit of entertaining people; but if the number of dishes--no
matter how cooked--constituting an American dinner can be put into
the scale against the rank, beauty, wit, eloquence, accomplishment,
and agreeableness which congregate at the noble houses just named, an
_American Whig_ dinner, too, is not without its attraction.
[27] One of the arguments of Mr. Webster has already been mentioned in
another chapter.
[28] Mr. Webster does not enter on that part of Mr. Calhoun’s speech in
which the latter observes, that the Government, issuing Treasury notes
only to the amount of the anticipated revenue, and for the necessary
expenses of the State, could not abuse its privilege half so much as
the United States’ Bank, dependent as the latter is on commercial
fluctuations, and on the peculiar system of credit established in
America.
[29] This was the answer of a citizen, who, being called upon to join
a company during the last war, wished to express his determination to
fight independently, _on his own account_.
CHAPTER V.
Drive to the White-house.--Anecdote of Mr. Jefferson and the
British Ambassador.--Reception at General Jackson’s.--The General’s
Conversation and Character.--The President’s Prayer.--Anecdotes
of General Jackson.--Reception by Mr. Van Buren.--Anecdote
illustrative of Mr. Van Buren’s Tact--his Character.--Character of
the American Opposition.--Political Hypocrisy.--Mr. Calhoun.--Mr.
Kendall.--Conclusion.
“There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats;
For I am arm’d so strong in honesty,
That they pass by me, as the idle wind
Which I respect not.”
_Julius Cæsar_, Act iv. Scene 4.
The next day, at precisely ten o’clock, my friend called on me in a
carriage; and, twenty minutes later, we arrived at the White-house. On
the way thither he told me an anecdote of Mr. Jefferson, “the father
of American democracy,” which I have since heard corroborated in a
high quarter, and which I thought sufficiently amusing to write in my
note-book.
Shortly after the commencement of the French revolution, when the
general war threatened to involve America as one of the belligerent
parties, the noble Lord E--ne, then the Honourable Mr. E--ne, was
sent out as envoy extraordinary and minister plenipotentiary of his
British Majesty, in order probably to maintain the friendly relations
existing between the cabinets of St. James’s and Washington. The noble
lord was then a young man, full of ardour and ambition, and devoted to
the service of his country. He was, therefore, particularly anxious
to make the best possible impression on Mr. Jefferson, whose party
was then in the ascendant; and accordingly determined on a splendid
_début_ of his diplomatic functions. A rich court uniform, beautifully
embroidered with gold, was selected for the purpose, together with a
most costly carriage of state; and the servants of the ambassador shone
in the richest and gayest livery ever beheld by Democrat or Tory in the
Western world.
In this carriage, early on a fine morning, sat the envoy extraordinary
and minister plenipotentiary, dressed in his rich court uniform, with
his credentials in his hand, conning over his harangue on his drive to
the American President. Having but a short distance to go, the carriage
stopped at the White-house just as he had finished the rehearsal; and,
immediately after, one of his footmen jumped off, and made the usual
English _tapage_ at the door, which, being a novelty in America, did
not fail to produce alarm and confusion among the inmates. Instead of
one negro servant, two rushed forthwith to the door; but, dreading a
popular tumult, did not dare open it, until a second rap, more dreadful
than the first, proved the urgency of the case, and the necessity
of performing their duty. One of them at last summoned courage,
and, thrusting out his head without exposing his body, accosted the
ambassador’s footman in these terms:--
“Hallo! wat row are dat?”
The footman then explained that the Honourable Mr. E--ne, envoy
extraordinary and minister plenipotentiary of his British Majesty,
wished to wait upon his Excellency the President of the United States.
This explanation made _Bacchus_ so far recover from his fright as to
induce him to open the door and admit the ambassador. _Jupiter_, the
second servant, drew also near; and, gazing upon the rich uniform of
the stranger,
“Bacchus,” said he, “wat are dat man so dun up for?”
Scarcely had the ambassador time to recover from his astonishment
when he was ushered into a small room, containing the President’s
library; the negroes going before him. There he waited some time,
amusing himself with looking out of the window; one of the black imps
having assured him that he would call “massa” immediately. At last Mr.
Jefferson made his appearance, in his _robe de chambre_ and slippers
without heels. The Honourable Mr. E--ne was more perplexed than ever;
but still trusting to his speech, and throwing himself into the most
graceful attitude, he commenced.
“Mr. President!”
“Sit down, sir!” said Mr. Jefferson, pointing to a seat.
The ambassador continued unmoved.
“Sit down, sir! I pray you,” reiterated Mr. Jefferson, throwing himself
into a large black leathern arm-chair; and the ambassador had to follow
his example.
The effect of the harangue being thus wholly destroyed, the British
envoy made the best of his hands and lungs. Vain effort! Mr. Jefferson
remained impassible; crossing his legs, and from time to time throwing
up his slipper, which with wonderful dexterity he always caught again
at the point of his toe. At last, when the ambassador came to the
end of his speech, in which he expressed the wish that the friendly
relations which had heretofore existed between his Majesty’s Cabinet
and the Government of the United States might continue without
interruption, up goes the slipper nearly to the ceiling of the room,
and down again on the President’s toe, without the latter contracting a
muscle.
“I hope,” said my friend, as we were alighting from the carriage,
“we shall not be received in this manner by General Jackson, who
possesses, without exception, the most dignified manners of any man
in the country.[30] He is a soldier, free from artifice and disguise;
one of nature’s noblemen, possessing more genuine politeness than
nine-tenths of our fashionable people, who import their good-breeding
from Europe. He is, in fact, a phenomenon in our country, which the
present money-making generation cannot understand,--a living paradox in
the eyes of our capitalists; aiming at the happiness of the people by
destroying the National Bank,--a monster ‘who would rather see commerce
and credit perish than the constitution of the country!’”
“Is General Jackson at home?” asked the senator of the Irish servant
that opened the door.
“He is, sir.”
“Here is my card,” said I, “if you wish to announce me.”
“That is not necessary,” replied my friend; “every one can see the
President.”
We walked up one pair of stairs, and, the General happening to be
alone, were immediately admitted into his presence. On our entering
the room, the General rose, and shook us both by the hand. He then
asked us to sit down, and in a few minutes I felt more at my ease than
I ever did in the house of an American broker. Understanding that I
was a German, he told us, that while in North Carolina, not far from a
number of “Dutch” settlements, he applied himself assiduously to the
study of the German language; but, “moving” soon afterwards to the
State of Tennessee, was obliged to give it up. “It is a fine language,”
added he, “spoken by an honest people.” He then drew a picture of the
German settlements, and of the Germans in general, which betrayed a
knowledge of character I have not yet had the good fortune to discover
in any of his political antagonists. From the Germans the conversation
turned to the Irish, whose leading features he traced with the same
accuracy; and so he went on discussing every set of emigrants, and at
last the people of his own country. The sketch he gave of the last was
excellent, and proved him to be thoroughly _master of his subject_.
After this, the senator, in order to draw him out, introduced various
political topics, on which the General expressed himself without a
moment’s hesitation with the utmost determination and precision. It
was as if every thought and principle he uttered had been fixed in his
mind ever since he was born, and had never undergone a change up to the
present period. Politics with him do not consist in a mere series of
cold rules and maxims, in order to obtain a particular object; he is an
enthusiast, full of faith in the people and in the perfectibility of
human nature, and deeply imbued with the purest religious sentiments.
No abstract argument can drive him from his position, for he is nothing
separate. He is a politician, a soldier, an enthusiast for the rights
of the people, and a Christian at the same time. If the politician is
convinced, there remain still the soldier, the enthusiast, and the
Christian to be satisfied; if the soldier is captured, there remains
still the enthusiast; and so on. He is always a whole; head, heart,
and hand,--conception, determination, and action--being one and
inseparable. Such men are always a riddle to the world, accustomed as
the vulgar are to ascribe every signal success to a particular talent,
or to this or that capacity, without ever considering the connection
between mind and character.
Of General Jackson’s enthusiasm I soon had an opportunity of satisfying
myself. Miss Martineau being at that time in Washington, and having
been overheard to make a remark at her boarding-house to this effect,
“that it was really a wonder General Jackson succeeded against the
United States’ bank, considering that all the talent and the genius
of the country were against him,” my friend seized the opportunity to
direct the General’s attention to the peculiar manner in which British
writers were accustomed to view his government. Upon this he rose from
his chair, drew himself up to his full height, and, with his eyes
flashing fire, remarked to the senator:--“You might have told her, sir,
that all the _honesty_ and _integrity_ of the country were on _my_
side.” Then, without uttering another syllable, he resumed his seat,
and was as friendly and agreeable as before.
Shortly after, an old man of the “far West” entered the room. Jackson
rose to salute him, but was told, almost in a sulky manner, “not to
disturb himself, it being evident that he was engaged;” and that the
stranger, who wore boots, and a cloak with three capes, “would amuse
himself, in the mean while, with looking on the pictures.”
“Do so,” said the General; but following him with his eyes, and
perceiving him standing still before an engraving representing a battle
fought in the revolutionary war, the thought seemed to strike him that
the man, who was very old, might have been a revolutionary soldier.
“You are perhaps acquainted with the details of that battle?” said
General Jackson, drawing near him.
“Indeed I am, sir,” said the veteran; “I was myself engaged in it, and
carried off a nice keep-sake here on my left arm.”
I do not remember what dialogue now ensued between the soldier and the
General,--it was, indeed, too rapid for me to follow it; but I saw the
old man, who at first answered the General sulkily, grow warmer and
warmer, until at last he was actually moved to tears. He sternly gazed
on the President’s face; then, as if a sudden revolution had taken
place in his mind, he turned round, wished the General a good morning,
and left the room. This man may have been an enemy to General Jackson’s
administration, who had come to see the President for no other purpose
but to satisfy his curiosity; but I am quite sure he left him with the
determination to vote for him at the next election.
Our visit was soon again interrupted by the arrival of three gentlemen
from the Northern States. They came to Washington to pay their
respects to the President, who almost instantaneously recognised
them as belonging to the opposition. His expressions and manners
were remarkably guarded; and, in a short time, he introduced the
subject of manufactures. He inquired particularly into the method of
cotton-spinning, and at least managed to keep them in good-humour. Soon
after we all left together, and, in going down stairs, I heard one of
the company say, “He would not be so bad a President after all, if he
were not so d--d obstinate!”
“Well, sir,” said the senator, as we were again seated in our carriage,
“how do you like the President?”
“He is, indeed, an extraordinary man!”
“And have you observed his talent in making himself beloved by all who
come near him? You have probably seen him with his enemies; but you
ought to see him when he is without restraint among his friends,--how,
from pure benevolence, he just says to every man what is most agreeable
to him!--how delicately he alludes to every little service rendered
him!--how he remembers every act of kindness, every opinion expressed
in favour of his measures,--and you would at once perceive the reason
of his unparalleled popularity.
“And then see him again in his cabinet,--explaining his political
principles, and providing for the means of carrying them into
effect,--always determined, never wavering on account of the doubts
raised by his friends, and inspiring his own council with confidence
in his measures,--and you would be convinced that General Jackson, so
far from being influenced by his advisers, is himself the director of
his cabinet, in which, perhaps, he rules with as much absolute power
as any potentate in Europe. And yet, with all this _penchant_ towards
absolutism, what a staunch defender of democracy! the Wellington of
our Liberals! and who knows but that Wellington, had he been born in
America, would not have acted like Jackson; finding the democratic form
of government the most legitimate, the most natural, and that which is
sure to develope all the resources of the country? Minds of the same
tenor sometimes act very differently under different circumstances; and
_he who in England is a strong Conservative, may in America, for very
analogous reasons, be a sound Democrat_.
It was not long after my presentation at General Jackson’s that I
had the honour of taking tea with him; which gave me an opportunity
of seeing him in his private circle. The invitation was given
unceremoniously, just at the moment I was going to take leave of him.
We passed into another room, where the company, consisting of his
private secretary, his adopted son and his lady, and a gentleman who
has since had an important influence on public affairs, were assembled
round a small table,--Mrs. Jackson (the wife of his adopted son)
doing the honours of the house. After each of us had taken the place
assigned him by the lady, General Jackson rose, and with a loud and
solemn voice, which bore the imprint of sincerity, thanked the Giver of
all for His infinite mercy. The prayer was short, but impressive; and
the example of his devotion had a visible effect on every individual
present. Add to this, that General Jackson is a tall majestic-looking
man, with a stern countenance, grey piercing eyes, and bushy white
hair, that stands almost perpendicularly on his head, leaving his
large high forehead entirely free, and you will easily conceive the
solemnity of the thanks’-offering of the American President.
One of the most characteristic anecdotes of General Jackson relates to
the late difficulties between the Governments of the United States and
France, when the King of the French seemed to insist on an apology from
the President. This, as is well known, General Jackson peremptorily
refused; and accordingly a cabinet council was convened in Washington,
in which every member delivered his opinion according to his own
manner, General Jackson listening to all with the utmost patience.
There was the Secretary of State, not knowing how far a war with France
would be supported by the people of the different States; the Secretary
of the Treasury was already computing the deficit in the budget; the
Secretary of the Navy thought it his duty to observe that the naval
force of the United States was hardly capable of coping with that of
the French; and at last came the Secretary of War, who alluded to the
state of the army, a great portion of which was absorbed by the Indian
campaign. General Jackson remained immoveable. At last, when every one
had finished, he rose; and, placing his hand with some violence on
the table, said in a solemn and firm voice: “We have obtained judgment
against the French King; and, by the Eternal! we must sue out the
execution!”--“But what if we meet with reverses? The French will cut
off our commerce; they will arm privateers against our merchantmen;
and what if they attempt a landing?”--“That’s precisely the thing
they will attempt,” observed General Jackson calmly; “and you may
depend upon it we will give them a good drubbing.” This anecdote gave
rise to a caricature, representing a French army, led by the Gallic
cock, swimming across the Atlantic; and General Jackson standing on
the American shore with his cane drawn, and a numerous staff behind
him, expecting their arrival. Another caricature, drawn after the
settlement, representing General Jackson holding in his left hand a bag
of money, with the figures 25,000,000 written on it, and in his right
hand a cane, which he is shaking at Louis Philippe, with the words
to his mouth, “’Tis well that you paid me, or, by the Eternal!” to
which the King is represented bowing, and saying, “Not another word of
apology, my dear General!” has already been mentioned in another work.
The following fact, which was related to me by Mr. Power, an American
sculptor of much merit, now at Florence, is yet deserving a place in
my note-book. When Mr. Power was last in Washington to take a bust
of General Jackson, a friend observed to the artist that it would be
impossible for him to give the right expression to the mouth, the
General having lost his front teeth, which destroyed the expression
of firmness about his lips; and that he had therefore better try to
persuade the General to wear false teeth for one or two sittings. The
artist, grateful for the hint, did not omit to ask General Jackson in a
truly Western manner (Mr. Power was born and brought up in Cincinnati)
whether he had ever worn false teeth? “I have,” said the General; “but
I am sorry for it.”--“But had you not better put them in once more, to
give me an opportunity of modelling the mouth; it would greatly enhance
the effect.”--“The _truth_, sir! the whole truth, and nothing: but the
truth!” exclaimed the General with a stern voice; “you have no right to
represent me otherwise than I am.”
What simplicity of character! and yet what energy and perseverance!
We drove from the White-house towards Georgetown; stopping at one of
the houses, called “The Seven Buildings.” This was the dwelling of the
Vice-President. My friend gave both our names, and in a moment after
we were admitted into the presence of Mr. Van Buren. He received us
in the same manner as General Jackson, only with less solemnity. His
conversation was rapid, but concise and logical; his voice calm and
steady, and his manners those of a perfect courtier. Understanding that
I was a German, he introduced the subject of travelling, which gave
him an opportunity of comparing the scenery on the Rhine with that of
the Hudson, and pointing out the distinct beauties of each; which he
did with more taste and less affectation than I had yet heard from an
American when speaking of foreign countries. He gave the preference
to his native river, and supported his opinion with such forcible
arguments that he converted me to his doctrine. He then drew a parallel
between the state of Europe and that of the United States; pointing
to the advantages of the latter, to their government, the manners and
customs of the people, and to their happiness. All this he did with
so much gentleness, with such an entire absence of conceit, and such
admirable management of terms, that it was impossible either to resist
his eloquence or to be offended with his conclusions.
Our visit was interrupted by the arrival of several Western members,
who, being alarmed at General Jackson’s message in relation to
the differences with France, desired to know whether it was the
Vice-President’s opinion that France would pay “without having a tug
for it.” Mr. Van Buren, without being for one moment embarrassed
by this abrupt question, instead of an answer, took up a British
periodical, the name of which I do not now recollect, but which treated
the French-American question in a very sensible manner. From this
he read to the members several passages, which expressed themselves
favourably to General Jackson’s policy; and at last the conclusion,
which ran thus, “Jonathan has claimed the money, and Jonathan will have
it.” The members were delighted; and the conversation then passed to
other topics. I mention this as an instance of Mr. Van Buren’s tact, a
quality full as indispensable to a statesman as a sound knowledge of
politics.
* * * * *
“Well, and what do you think of our Vice-President?” asked my friend,
as we were driving towards the lodgings of Mr. John C. Calhoun.
“I have certainly left him with the highest respect for his mind and
character.”
“And yet, sir! there are those who call him an _intrigant_, a ‘little
magician,’ a ‘non-committal man,’ &c. though there is not one man in
the country whose attachment to the democratic cause is better known
or understood. The firmness of a man’s political principles is, in
this country at least, always commensurate with the degree of abuse
heaped upon him by the opposite party. Our people, I mean ‘the higher
and better informed classes,’ are seldom inexorable with regard to a
politician holding out some chances of conversion; but let a man’s
character be established, and there is no end to their vituperation.
This has happened to Mr. Van Buren, and ought to be considered by every
democrat as a pledge of his fidelity.
“What act of Mr. Van Buren has ever had any other than democratic
tendency? What principle did he ever advocate that was not strictly
conformable to that doctrine? If he be a non-committal man, it must be
that he never committed himself _to his enemies_.
“The reason why in America, more than in every other country,
political controversies are personal, is, that the opposition, which
in consequence of universal suffrage can only triumph by popular
majorities, is obliged to apparently uphold the principles maintained
by the democracy; so that, while it cannot make war upon the general
doctrines of the administration, it is concentrating all its venom
in its attacks on particular measures, and the men who support them.
Let any Whig, either in or out of Congress, deny the correctness
of this proposition, and, I say, he either does not understand our
institutions, or he is wilfully disguising the truth. There is no other
real distinction of parties in the United States, except, that one
really does or means to do what it says; while the other is saying one
thing, and preparing or hoping to be able to do another. There is more
political hypocrisy in this country than perhaps anywhere else,--not
among the people, but among ‘the upper classes;’ owing to the basis
of our society being purely democratic, and the superstructure a
lamentable imitation of the usages of Europe.
“I know,” continued he after a pause, “that no administration or set of
men is without its political misconceptions and mistakes; but have the
opposition calculated how many of these are to be charged to their own
account? Into how many errors they force the administration by their
reckless and indiscriminate resistance against all measures emanating
from the executive? And do they not thus force the government to avail
itself continually of ‘the party’ in carrying measures which ought to
originate in calm reflection and sound statesmanship, and be applied in
a generous spirit to all classes of society? The spirit of party is,
indeed, at the basis of our institutions; an opposition we must have,
and the peculiar nature of our government requires a powerful one; but
most unfortunately our demagogues--Whigs and Democrats--oppose men,
not principles. If there be a man in the country capable of acting as
mediator between the two hostile parties,--appeasing the one without
sacrificing the principles of the other,--that man is Mr. Van Buren;
and future events will prove it.”
We now halted before a small house in Pennsylvania Avenue, situated not
far from the Capitol. This was the temporary residence of Mr. John C.
Calhoun, senator from South Carolina. If the South, in general, have a
right to be proud of the great number of eminent statesmen and orators
who represent its interests in Congress, South Carolina in particular
may glory in Mr. Calhoun. He is a statesman, not a lawyer; and perhaps
the only senator in Congress whose course of reading was strictly
adapted to the high functions he was to assume. When my friend and
I entered the room, he was stretched on a couch, from which he rose
to offer us a warm Southern welcome. He almost immediately introduced
the subject of politics, in which his superiority over my friend soon
reduced the latter to the situation of a mere listener.
As he was explaining his views and theories, which, contrary to the
usual American practice, he did in the most concise manner, and with a
degree of rapidity which required our utmost attention to follow him,
his face assumed an almost supernatural expression; his dark brows were
knit together, his eyes shot fire, his black hair stood on end, while
on his quivering lips there hung an almost Mephistophelean scorn at
the absurdity of the opposite doctrine. Then, at once, he became again
all calmness, gentleness, and good-nature, laughing at the blunders of
his friends and foes, and commencing a highly comical review of their
absurdities.
Mr. Calhoun is, without contradiction, the greatest genius in
Congress, and secretly acknowledged as such even by his most declared
political enemies. His speeches are the shortest, his political
views the most elevated, his delivery the most impressive of any
one of his colleagues; and he adds to all these qualities the most
unsparing irony. He was Vice-President at the commencement of General
Jackson’s administration; but subsequently joined the Whigs in order
to oppose the tariff, _nullified_ by his native State. Without this
step, which destroyed his popularity in the North, he would, with
very little opposition, have become General Jackson’s successor in
office. This alone proves the absurdity of the charge of unlawful
ambition repeatedly brought against him. The Presidential chair of
_the United States_, once within his reach, was assuredly a higher
mark than the Presidency of “the _Southern_ Union,” the _bête noire_
of the enlightened opposition. Mr. Calhoun has lately again joined the
administration in its endeavour to separate itself from the banks; a
short extract from his speech I have already presented in a previous
note.
* * * * *
“You must yet see one of our most remarkable men,” said my friend; “but
I cannot take you to his house. You must see him at his office, where
he is from five o’clock in the morning till late at night, always ‘up
and doing.’ I mean the fifth auditor, Mr. Amos Kendall, who, according
to the account of the opposition, has governed the country for the last
six or eight years, and against whose genius their united talents
were unable to prevail. Mr. Kendall is a native of Massachusetts, and
a graduate of Dartmouth College. He emigrated to Kentucky, where, like
many New-Englanders, he was for a time employed as an instructor,
and for a short time engaged as private tutor in Mr. Clay’s family.
He subsequently became editor of a paper, which is said to have
revolutionised _the State_, and, inasmuch as the leading articles of
one journal are copied into the others, _the whole country_.”
“No man knows like Mr. Kendall how to address the people: his language
is always popular, and yet concise; he never destroys the effect of
a strong thought by spinning it out into a long sentence; and, above
all, he avoids declamation. His style is forcible; because it convinces
the people in their own way, instead of fatiguing them with laborious
researches, or overwhelming them with the unfathomable pathos of a
regular orator. He has shown to his political opponents that the
various principles of democracy may be united into a system, and that
that system may be maintained in practice by a government strong within
and without.”
At this moment our coach stopped at the entrance of the war department,
and the next minute we were ushered into the audience-chamber of the
fifth auditor. He was at that moment talking to several people that
besieged his office, without leaving off writing. When I was introduced
to him, he made a slight motion forward, seizing me by the hand; but
immediately sank back again into his chair with a seeming intention to
recommence his labours. He spoke but a few words, principally by way
of asking questions; and having ascertained who I was, what I sought,
and what my opinions were, was evidently forming an estimate of my mind
and character. While he was thus conversing with my friend and me,
filling up the intervals with writing, I observed that he was equally
watching the rest of the company; among whom I recognised an individual
who I knew did not in his native place enjoy a very high reputation for
industry, and who, to judge from Mr. Kendall’s glances at him, had no
particular chance of success in Washington.
Mr. Kendall’s person is one of the most striking I ever beheld. He
is of a spare frame, of rather less than middle stature, and, when
walking or standing, inclines his body slightly forward. His face
is pale, wearing the imprint of over-exertion; but his large eyes
are full of animation, and his forehead, the highest and broadest I
ever saw, bespeaks the greatest intellectual power. His head, which
indeed is one of the most extraordinary phrenological specimens, is
of the most unusual size when compared to his body; and it seems as
if, by continual exertion of his intellectual faculties, his whole
body had been made tributary to his brain. A man with Mr. Kendall’s
extraordinary powers of mind, and such indefatigable habits of
industry,--calm, passionless, and endowed with the most unerring
judgment,--must naturally be hated by his political antagonists; though
not even the most obstinate members of the opposition have as yet
ventured to dispute his talents.
We did not remain long at the office; but, on our way home, my friend
finished the picture. “You ought to see him in the centre of his
family,” said he: “what an excellent husband and father! in his private
intercourse how remarkably modest and unassuming! He has indeed but one
fault, which, however, is sufficient to damn him with our fashionable
people: he is not fond of the dissipations of society, and does not
give sumptuous entertainments.”
_N. B._ Mr. Kendall is now Postmaster-general, and as such a member
of Mr. Van Buren’s cabinet. Though in rank the last, he is known by
friend and foe to be the first in activity; and his counsel is decisive
with the most experienced men in Washington. Mr. Kendall commenced his
political career not more than ten years ago with editing a small paper
in the Western country; and stands now foremost in the ranks of the
most eminent statesmen of America. If he were a _parvenu_ merchant or
broker, he would be cited by the aristocracy as an example worthy of
imitation; but, having risen merely by his _talents_ and his _pen_, the
very mention of his name is offensive to the high-minded stock-jobbers
in Wall and State streets.
* * * * *
In order to form a correct idea of the American government, it is
absolutely necessary one should stay some time in Washington; and
frequent, not merely the fashionable society, but the company of
those sturdy members of Congress, who, deputed from every part of the
Union, actually represent the opinions, habits, and sentiments of the
different sections of the country. During the session of Congress,
Washington is the miniature picture of the United States; enabling a
stranger to form a better estimate of the character of the American
people than many years’ residence in different parts of the Union. The
picture is always complete, not a mere fragment, as is necessarily the
case in any other city east or west of the Alleghanies. It is there
one can take a correct view of the state of parties; of the magnitude
of the different interests, whether commercial, manufacturing, or
agricultural; and of the political prospects of the country.
One of the most amusing and instructive occupations is to contrast
the representatives from the “New States” (the men that have not
yet learned how to bow, and do not yet know what P. P. C. on a card
means,) with the supple members from New York or Massachusetts, with
their French and English civilization hanging loosely about them,
like a garment not made for their use; how the latter are striving
for ascendency, and how they are daily losing influence with those
vigorous sons of the West, that reflect the genius and enterprise of a
new world! The West--not the East continually troubled with European
visions--is ultimately destined to sway the country. The sea does not
separate America from Europe; but behind the Alleghanies is springing
up a new life, and a people more nearly allied to the soil that
nourishes them, than the more refined and polished population of the
seaboard.
To sum up the whole: what is termed “the aristocracy of America”--that
is, a considerable portion of all people worth from fifty to an
hundred thousand dollars,--are, _owing to the growing power of the
West_, a most harmless, though I cannot say “inoffensive,” part of the
population. They live in houses a little larger than those inhabited
by respectable mechanics, cover the floors of their parlours with
Brussels carpets instead of Kidderminster, pay nine pence for beef
which the labourer purchases for eight, pay a shilling more for a pound
of tea, and keep a man-servant. Some of them keep a carriage, but by
far the greater part are content with hackney-coaches. In point of
accomplishment they are only inferior to the middle classes of Europe;
but in pride and conceit they surpass the ancient nobility of the
Holy Roman Empire and the thirty-four princes of the actual Germanic
Confederation. This circumstance does not much add to their amiability,
and does not in particular grace the boys and girls composing “the
first society.” Some of them lay a great stress on family when it is
joined to money; but, without this most indispensable requisite, _la
vertu sans argent n’est qu’un meuble inutile_. It is, however, to be
observed that property not only produces respectability, but also
acts backwards on a man’s ancestry; there being not one rich man in
the United States,--foreigners excepted,--who is not descended from a
respectable father and grandfather.
In politics they are the most implacable enemies to democracy; which,
with them, is synonymous with mob-government and anarchy. They are
for a _strong_ administration, made out of their own party; and would
hardly object to royalty, if the King would support himself out of his
private chest. A court in Upper Canada, such as Lord Durham established
there for a short time, would be a great attraction, and would
undoubtedly cause many emigrations to Quebec. In all other respects
their political opinions do not seriously differ from those of the
mass of the people, except that they are for two trifling reforms in
the _status quo_,--the introduction of an electoral census, and the
re-establishment of the law of primogeniture. It is true that, had this
reform been carried ten years ago, they would themselves be in the
situation of those against whom these measures are now intended to be
effectual; but this is a matter of no consideration when compared to
the good which would accrue from it to “society.”
But it is not so much in America as in _Europe_ that the true
character of the American aristocracy can be successfully studied. At
home the vulgar clamour of the mob, and a few silly editors setting up
for the representatives of public opinion, interfere too much with the
display of their true sentiments. It is but in Europe--where they are
relieved from these trammels--that they show the natural man, their
_penchant_ for the elegancies of society, their contempt for the poor,
and their toad-eating to the higher classes, in which they even “beat
the English.” It is there they sink the “American citizen,” in order
to become noblemen without pedigrees, and courtiers without manners.
I would therefore recommend to the next English tourist that is going
to publish a work on “American Society,” to visit the courts of Italy
and France rather than the United States. He will there find richer
materials for a satire on American institutions than he would be able
to discover from the State of Maine to Louisiana, and from the broad
Atlantic to the Rocky Mountains. I am only able thus to throw out the
hint, and leave the execution of the plan to a pen abler than my own.
FOOTNOTES:
[30] It is hardly necessary to remark, that Mr. Jefferson, who during
his stay in Europe had ample opportunities of becoming acquainted with
court fashion, affected this _nonchalance_ for a political purpose.
THE END.
LONDON:
PRINTED BY SAMUEL BENTLEY,
Bangor House, Shoe Lane.
Transcriber’s Notes
Punctuation errors have been fixed.
Page vii: “American Opposiion” changed to “American Opposition”
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