corner, which had been erected in honour of the Duke of Wellington. The
place, like every other fashionable haunt at that season, was
comparatively deserted. Still, there might have been fifty persons in
sight. “Stop him! stop him!” cried a man, who was chasing another
directly towards me. The chase, to use nautical terms, began to lighten
ship, by throwing overboard, first one article and then another. As
these objects were cast in different directions, he probably hoped that
his pursuer, like Atalantis, might stop to pick them up. The last that
appeared in the air was a hat, when finding himself hemmed in between
three of us, the thief suffered himself to be taken. A young man had
been sleeping on the grass, and this land-pirate had absolutely
succeeded in getting his shoes, his handkerchief, and his hat; but an
attempt to _take off his cravat_ had awoke the sleeper. In this case,
the prisoner was marched off under sundry severe threats of vengeance,
for the _robbee_ was heated with the run, and really looked so
ridiculous that his anger was quite natural.
My business was now done, and I left London, in a night coach, for
Southampton. The place of rendezvous was the White Horse Cellar, in
Piccadilly, a spot almost as celebrated for those who are _in transitu_,
as was the Isthmus of Suez, of old. I took an inside seat, this time,
for the convenience of a nap. At first, I had but a single fellow
traveller. Venturing to ask him the names of one or two objects that we
passed, and fearing he might think my curiosity impertinent, I
apologized for it, by mentioning that I was a foreigner. “A foreigner!”
he exclaimed, “why, you speak English, as well as I do myself!” I
confess I had thought, until that moment, that the advantage, in this
particular, was altogether on my side; but it seems I was mistaken. By
way of relieving his mind, however, I told him I was an American. “An
American!” and he seemed more puzzled than ever. After a few minutes of
meditation, on what he had just heard, he civilly pointed to a bit of
meadow, through which the Thames meanders, and good naturedly told me it
was Runny Meade. I presume my manner denoted a proper interest, for he
now took up the subject of the English Barons, and entered into a long
account of their modern magnificence and wealth. This is a topic, that a
large class in England, who only know their aristocracy by report,
usually discuss with great unction. They appear to have the same pride
in the superiority of their great families, that the American slave is
known to feel in the importance of his master. I say this seriously, and
not with a view to sneer, but to point out to you a state of feeling
that, at first, struck me as very extraordinary. I suppose that the
feelings of both _castes_ depend on a very natural principle. The
Englishman, however, as he is better educated, has one respectable
feature in his deference. He exults, with reason, in the superiority of
his betters over the betters of most other people: in this particular,
he is fully borne out by the fact. Subsequent observation has given me
occasion to observe, that the English gentlemen, in appearance,
attainments, manliness, and perhaps I might add principles, although
this and deportment are points on which I should speak with less
confidence, stands as a rule, at the head of his class, in christendom.
This should not be, nor would it be, were the gentlemen of America equal
to their fortunes, which, unhappily, they are not. Facts have so far
preceded opinions, at home, as to leave but few minds capable of keeping
in their company. But this is a subject, to which we may also, have
occasion to return.
The coach stopped, and we took up a third inside. This man proved to be
a radical. He soon began to make side hits, at the “nobility and
gentry,” and, mingled with some biting truths, he uttered a vast deal of
nonsense. While he was in the midst of his denunciations, the coach
again stopped, and one of the outsides was driven into it by the night
air. He was evidently a gentleman, and the guard afterwards told me he
was a Captain Somebody, and a nephew of a Lord Something, to whose
country place he was going. The appearance of the captain checked the
radical, for a little while, but, finding that the other was quiet, he
soon returned to the attack. The aristocrat was silent, and the admirer
of aristocracy evidently thought himself too good to enter into a
dispute, with one of the mere people; for _to admire_ aristocracy was,
in his eyes, something like an _illustration_; but wincing under one of
the other’s home-pushes, he said, “These opinions may do very well for
this gentleman,” meaning me, who as yet had not uttered a syllable—“who
is an American; but I must say, I think them out of place, in the mouth
of an Englishman.” The radical regarded me a moment, and inquired if
what the other had just said was true. I answered that it was. He then
began an eulogium on America; which, like his Jeremiad on England, had a
good many truths blended with a great deal of nonsense. At length, he
unfortunately referred to me, to corroborate one of his most capital
errors. As this could not be done conscientiously, for his theory
depended on the material misconstruction of giving the whole legislative
power to Congress, I was obliged to explain the mistake into which he
had fallen. The captain and the _toady_, were both evidently pleased;
nor, can I say, I was sorry the appeal had been made, for it had the
effect of silencing a commentator, who knew very little of his subject.
The captain manifested his satisfaction, by commencing a conversation,
which lasted until we all went to sleep. Both the captain and the
radical quitted us in the night.
Men like the one just described, do the truth a great deal of harm.
Their knowledge does not extend to first principles, and they are always
for maintaining their positions by a citation of facts. One half of the
latter are imagined; and even that which is true is so enveloped with
collateral absurdities, that when pushed, they are invariably exposed.
These are the travellers who come among us Liberals, and go back Tories.
Finding that things fall short of the political Elysiums of their
imaginations, they fly into the opposite extreme, as a sort of _amende
honorable_ to their own folly and ignorance.
At the distance of a few miles from Winchester, we passed an encampment
of gipsies, by the way-side. They were better-looking than I had
expected to see them, though their faces were hardly perceptible in the
gray of the morning. They appeared well fed and very comfortably
bivouacked. Why do not these people appear in America? or, do they come,
and get absorbed like all the rest, by the humane and popular tendencies
of the country. What a homage will it be to the institutions, if it be
found that even a gipsy cease to be a gipsy, in such a country! Just as
the sun rose, I got out to our lodgings and went to bed.
After a sound sleep of two or three hours, I rose and went to the
drawing-room. A lady was in it, seated in a way to allow me to see no
more than a small part of her side-face. In that little, I saw the
countenance of your aunt’s family. It was the sister whom we had never
seen, and who had hastened out of Hertfordshire to meet us. There are
obvious reasons why such a subject cannot be treated in this letter, but
the study of two sisters who had been educated, the one in England and
the other in America, who possessed so much in common, and yet, who were
separated by so much that was not in common, was to me a matter of
singular interest. It showed me, at a glance, the manner in which the
distinctive moral and physical features of nations are formed; the
points of resemblance being just sufficient to render the points of
difference more obvious.
A new and nearer route to Netley, had been discovered during my absence,
and our unpractised Americans had done little else than admire ruins,
for the past week. The European who comes to America, plunges into the
virgin forest with wonder and delight, while the American who goes to
Europe finds his greatest pleasure, at first, in hunting up the
memorials of the past. Each is in quest of novelty, and is burning with
the desire to gaze at objects of which he has often read.
The steam-boat made but one or two voyages a week, between Southampton
and Havre, and we were obliged to wait a day or two for the next trip.
The intervening time was passed in the manner just named. Every place of
any importance in England, has some work or other written on the subject
of its history, its beauties, and its monuments. It is lucky to escape a
folio. Our works on Southampton, (which are of moderate dimensions,
however,) spoke of some Roman remains in the neighbourhood. The spot was
found, and, although the imagination was of greater use than common in
following the author’s description, we stood on the spot with a species
of antiquarian awe.
Southampton had formerly been a port of some importance. Many of the
expeditions sent against France embarked here, and the town had once
been well fortified, for the warfare of the period. A good deal of the
old wall remains. All of this was industriously traced out, while the
“bow-windows, long passages, and old maids,” found no favour in our
eyes.
One simple and touching memorial, I well remember. There is a ferry
between the town and the grounds near Netley Abbey. A lady had caught a
cold which terminated in death, in consequence of waiting on the shore,
during a storm, for the arrival of a boat. To protect others from a
similar calamity, she had ordered a very suitable defence against the
weather, to be built on the fatal spot, and to be kept in repair for
ever. The structure is entirely of stone, small and exceedingly simple
and ingenious. The ground plan is that of a Greek cross. On this
foundation are reared four walls, which, of course, cross each other in
the centre, at right angles, A little above the height of a man, the
whole is amply roofed. Let the wind blow which way it will, you perceive
there is always shelter. There is no external wall, and the diameter of
the whole does not exceed ten feet, if it be as much. This little work
is exceedingly English, and it is just as unlike any thing American as
possible. It has its origin in benevolence, is original in the idea, and
it is picturesque. We might accomplish the benevolence, but it would be
of a more public character: the picturesque is a thing of which we
hardly know the meaning; and as for the originality, the dread of doing
any thing different from his neighbour, would effectually prevent an
American from erecting such a shelter; even charity, with us, being
subject to the control of the general voice. On the other hand, what a
clever expedient would have been devised, in the first instance, in
America, to get across the ferry without taking cold! All these little
peculiarities have an intimate connexion with national character and
national habits. The desire to be independent and original, causes a
multitude of silly things to be invented here, while the apprehension of
doing any thing different from those around them, causes a multitude of
silly things to be _perpetuated_ in America, and yet, we are children of
the same parents! When profit is in view, we have but one soul, and that
is certainly inventive enough; but when money has been made, and is to
be spent, we really do not seem to know how to set about it, except by
routine.
LETTER IV.
TO R. COOPER, ESQ., COOPERSTOWN.
On quitting England, we embarked from the very strand where Henry Vth
embarked for the fruitless field of Agincourt. A fearful rumour had gone
abroad, that the Camilla (the steam-boat,) had been shorn of a wing, and
there were many rueful faces in the boat that took us off to the vessel.
In plainer speech, one of the boilers was out of order, and the passage
was to be made with just half the usual propelling power. At that
season, or, indeed, at any season, the only probable consequence was
loss of time. With a strong head wind, it is true, the Camilla might
have been compelled to return, but this might also have happened with
the use of both the boilers.
Our adventurers did not see things in this light. The division of
employments, which produces prices so cheap and good, makes bad
travellers. Our boats’ cargo embarked with fear and trembling, and “she
has but one boiler!” passed from mouth to mouth, amid ominous faces. A
bachelor-looking personage of about fifty, with his person well swaddled
in July, declared in a loud voice that we were “all going on board, to
be drowned.” This startled A——, who, having full faith in my nautical
experience, asked what we were to think of it. It was a mere question
between ten hours and fifteen, and so I told her. The females who had
just before been trembling with alarm, brightened at this, and two or
three of them civilly thanked me, for the information they had thus
obtained incidentally!—“Boat, sir; boat?”—“Thank ’ee, sir; thank ’ee,
sir.”
We found two or three parties on board, of a higher condition than
common. Apprehension cast a shade over the cold marble-like polish of
even the English aristocrat; for if, as Mrs. Opie has well observed,
there is nothing “so like a lord in a passion, as a commoner in a
passion;” “your fear” is also a sad leveller. The boat was soon under
way, and gradually our cargo of mental apprehensions settled into the
usual dolorous physical suffering of landsmen, in rough water. So much
for excessive civilization. The want of a boiler, under similar
circumstances, would have excited no feeling whatever, among a similar
number of Americans, nineteen in twenty of whom, thanks to their
rough-and-tumble habits, would know exactly what to think of it.
I was seated, during a part of the day, near a group of young men, who
were conversing with a lady of some three or four and twenty. They
expressed their surprise at meeting her on board. She told them it was a
sudden whim; that no one knew of her movements; she meant only to be
gone a fortnight, to take a run into Normandy. In the course of the
conversation, I learned that she was single, and had a maid and a
footman with her. In this guise she might go where she pleased, whereas,
had she taken “an escort,” in the American fashion, her character would
have suffered. This usage, however, is English, rather than European.
Single women on the continent, except in extraordinary cases, are
obliged to maintain far greater reserve even than with us; and there,
single or married, they cannot travel under the protection of any man,
who is not very nearly connected with them, domestics and dependants
excepted.
The debates about proceeding at all, had detained us so long, and the
“one boiler” proved to be so powerless, that night set in, and we had
not yet made the coast of France. The breeze had been fresh, but it
lulled towards sunset, though not before we began to feel the influence
of the tides. About midnight, however, I heard some one exclaim, “Land!”
and we all hastened on deck, to take a first look at France.
The boat was running along beneath some cliffs. The moon was shining
bright, and her rays lighted up the chalky sides of the high coast,
giving them a ghostly hue. The towers of two light-houses, also,
glittered on a head-land near by. Presently, a long sea-wall became
visible, and rounding its end, we shot into smooth water. We entered the
little port of Havre, between artificial works, on one of which stands a
low, massive, circular tower, that tradition attributes to no less a
personage than Julius Cæsar.
What a change, in so short a time! On the other side of the channel,
beyond the usual demands for employment, which were made in a modest
way, and the eternal “Thank ’ee, sir,” there was a quiet in the people,
that was not entirely free from a suspicion of surliness. Here, every
man seemed to have two voices, both of which he used, as if with no
other desire than to hear himself speak. Notwithstanding the hour, which
was past midnight, the quay was well lined, and a dozen officials poured
on board the boat to prevent our landing. Custom-house officers,
_gens-d’armes_, with enormous hats, and female _commissionaires_, were
counteracting each other, at every turn. At length we were permitted to
land, being ordered up to a building, near by. Here the females were
taken into a separate room, where their persons were examined, by
functionaries of their own sex, for contraband goods! This process has
been described to me, as being, to the last degree, offensive and
humiliating. My own person was respected, I know not why, for we were
herded like sheep. As we were without spot, at least so far as smuggling
was concerned, we were soon liberated. All our effects were left in the
office, and we were turned into the streets, without even a rag, but
what we had on. This was an inauspicious commencement, for a country so
polished, and yet, when one comes to look at the causes, it is not easy
to point out an alternative. It was our own fault that we came so late.
The streets were empty, and the tall gray houses, narrow avenues, and
the unaccustomed objects, presented a strange spectacle, by the placid
light of the moon. It appeared as if we had alighted in a different
planet. Though fatigued and sleepy, the whole party would involuntarily
stop to admire some novelty, and our march was straggling and irregular.
One house refused us after another, and it soon became seriously a
question whether the night was not to be passed in the open air. P—— was
less than three years old, and as we had a regular gradation from that
age upward, our _début_ in France promised to be any thing but
agreeable. The guide said his resources were exhausted, and hinted at
the impossibility of getting in. Nothing, but the inns, was open, and at
all these we were refused. At length I remembered that, in poring over
an English guide-book, purchased in New York, a certain _Hotel de
l’Angleterre_ had been recommended as the best house in Havre.
“_Savez-vous mon ami, ou est l’hôtel de l’Angleterre?_” “_Ma fois, oui;
c’est tout près._” This “_ma fois, oui_,” was ominous, and the “_c’est
tout pres_,” was more so still. Thither we went, however, and we were
received.—Then commenced the process of climbing. We ascended several
stories, by a narrow crooked stair-case, and were shown into rooms on
the fifth floor.
The floors were of waxed tiles, without carpets or mats, and the
furniture was tawdry. We got into our beds, which fatigue could scarcely
render it possible to endure, on account of the bugs. A more infernal
night I never passed, and I have often thought since, how hazardous it
is to trust to first impressions. This night, and one or two more passed
at Havre, and one other passed between Rouen and Paris, were among the
most uncomfortable I can remember; and yet if I were to name a country
in which one would be the most certain to get a good and a clean bed, I
think I should name France!
The next morning I arose, and went down the ladder, for it was little
better, to the lower world. The servant wished to know if we intended to
use the _table d’hôte_, which he pronounced excellent. Curiosity induced
me to look at the appliances. It was a dark, dirty and crowded room, and
yet not without certain savory smells. French cookery can even get the
better of French dirt. It was the only place about the house, the
kitchen excepted, where a tolerable smell was to be found, and I mounted
to the upper regions, in self-defence.
An hour of two afterwards, the consul did me the favour to call. I
apologized for the necessity of causing him to clamber up so high. “It
is not a misfortune here,” was the answer, “for the higher one is, the
purer is the atmosphere,” and he was right enough. It was not necessary
to explain that we were in an inferior house, and certainly every thing
was extremely novel. At breakfast, however, there was a sensible
improvement. The linen was white as snow; we were served with silver
forks—it was a breakfast _à la fourchette_—spotlessly clean napkins,
excellent rolls, and delicious butter, to say nothing of _côtelettes_
that appeared to have been cooked by magic. Your aunt and myself looked
at each other with ludicrous satisfaction when we came to taste the
coffee, which happened to be precisely at the same instant. It was the
first time either of us had ever tasted French coffee—it would scarcely
be exaggeration to say, that either of us had ever tasted coffee, at
all. I have had many French cooks since; have lived years in the capital
of France itself, but I could never yet obtain a servant who understood
the secret of making _café au lait_, as it is made in most of the inns
and _cafés_, of that country. The discrepancy between the excellence of
the table, and the abominations of the place, struck them all, so
forcibly, that the rest of the party did little else but talk about it.
As for myself, I wished to do nothing but eat.
I had now another specimen of national manners. It was necessary to get
our luggage through the custom house. The consul recommended a
_commissionaire_ to help me. “You are not to be surprised,” he said,
laughing, as he went away, “if I send you one in petticoats.” In a few
minutes, sure enough, one of the _beau sexe_ presented herself. Her name
was _Désirée_, and an abler negotiator was never employed. She scolded,
coaxed, advised, wrangled, and uniformly triumphed. The officers were
more civil, by day-light, than we had found them under the influence of
the moon, and our business was soon effected.
W—— had brought with him a spy-glass. It was old and of little value,
but it was an heir-loom of the family. It came from the Hall at C——n,
and had become historical for its service in detecting deer, in the
lake, during the early years of the settlement. This glass had
disappeared. No inquiry could recover it. “Send for _Désirée_,” said the
consul. _Désirée_ came, received her orders, and in half an hour the
glass was restored. There was an oversight in not getting a passport,
when we were about to quit Havre. The office hours were over, and the
steam-boat could not wait. “Where is _Désirée_?” Désirée was made
acquainted with the difficulty, and the passport was obtained.
“_Désirée, ou est Désirée?_” cried some one in the crowd, that had
assembled to see the Camilla start for England, the day after our
arrival. “Here is an Englishman who is too late to get his passport
_visèd_” said this person to Désirée, so near me that I heard it all,
“the boat goes in ten minutes—what is to be done?” “_Ma foi_—it is too
late!” “Try, _ma bonne_—it’s a pity he should lose his passage—_voici_.”
The Englishman gave his fee. Désirée looked about her, and then taking
the idler by the arm, she hurried him through the crowd, this way and
that way, ending by putting him aboard without any passport at all. “It
is too late to get one,” she said; “and they can but send you back.” He
passed undetected. France has a plenty of these managing females, though
Désirée is one of the cleverest of them all. I understood this woman had
passed a year or two in England, expressly to fit herself for her
present occupation, by learning the language.