Florence.--The Carnival.--A Masked Ball at the Hotel de
France.--Group of Englishmen.--A Polish Dance.--The blending of
Nations productive of the Advancement of Intelligence.--Public
Opinion.--A Yankee mystified.--Prince Napoleon, son of the Count St.
Leu.
The carnival commenced early this year, and we have now been a month
occupied with its harmless follies and gaieties. Our little capital
has shone forth in new colours, and a round of masked balls, at
the different legations, has been one of the principal sources of
amusement. I was present at the one given by M. de Vitrolles, the
minister of France, and shall describe it, in a few words, that you may
form some idea of the manner in which these things are managed in Italy.
Although a mask is not indispensable, one is expected to wear some
symbol of the folly of the hour. I was told that a little silk cloak,
that fell no lower than the elbows, lined with red, and furnished with
tassels, was much used by the _juste milieu_, and was the very minimum
of admissible costume. Provided with one of these, then, and otherwise
dressed as usual, I presented myself among the crowd at the “_Hotel de
France_.”
Perhaps half the company was masked; the rest appearing in every sort
of dress that fancy, usage, or caprice dictated. A town like Florence
offers, on such an occasion, a greater variety of national costumes
than one of the larger capitals; for the society is more than half
composed of travellers, who come from all the countries of Christendom.
The ball-room, as a matter of course, presented a brilliant
_coup d’œil_, the more especially as all the women were in high
fancy-dresses.--There was the usual sprinkling of Greeks, Egyptians,
Turks, and magnificos, with a large proportion of _bonâ fide_ military
uniforms. Among others, I saw an Englishman of my acquaintance, a Sir
---- ----, in a coat of a cut that reminded one of the last century. On
inquiry, he told me that he had belonged to the guards in his youth,
and that he never travelled without his old coat, which he found still
very useful on occasions like the present. This is the sensible mode
of getting along; but our provincial sensitiveness makes us afraid
of a militia uniform. Lord ---- was also there, in his jacket, as a
lieutenant of yeomanry. Again, in the course of the evening, a group of
Englishmen collected in the centre of the room, and began to talk of
their own country. They were all in uniforms, perhaps ten of them, and
all belonged to what they called “the household brigade.” The rest of
the company shrugged their shoulders at this invasion of the English
guards, which was not exactly in good taste; but a cluster of finer
young men could not easily have been found. Several of them were six
feet two or three, and among the Italians they looked like giants. It
resembled a ring of our own Western boys, for a novelty, well dressed.
Soon after the company had assembled, a party appeared beautifully
attired in the Polish costume, and danced a polonaise. Both the men
and women wore boots, and the dresses were singularly striking. The
movement of the dance was slow, and had some slight resemblance to
that of a quadrille, though it was much more German and theatrical.
The dancers were chiefly Italians; but the master of ceremonies was, I
believe, a Pole.
After I had been some time in the room, I found I was the object
of general attention. Every one turned round to look at me, until,
suspecting something was wrong, I asked an acquaintance what could
be the cause of so much and so unusual observation. “You have no
cloak,” he answered. Sure enough, the apology for a costume that had
been thrown over my shoulders had fallen; and the want of it, in that
assembly, was just as much a matter of surprise, as wearing it would
have been under other circumstances.
“_Vive la folie, mon cher!_” cried the eloquent Baron ----, as he saw
me pick up the fallen garment; “_il faut être aussi fol que le reste
du monde, ce soir_.” This gentleman was enveloped in a white domino,
without a mask; his fine Neapolitan eye rolling over the scene, like
one who enjoyed its gaiety. The blending of colours formed one of the
attractions of the evening, the white dominos, in particular, greatly
aiding the effect.
Looking over the company, I was led to speculate on the probable
consequences of the extraordinary blending of nations, that is the
consequence of the present condition of Europe. Fifty years since,
none but the noble and rich travelled; and even of this class, not one
in ten could fairly be said to have seen the world. At that time, the
Alps were crossed only with difficulty, and at a heavy expense; and the
roads and inns, generally, were so bad, that a journey from Paris to
Rome was a serious undertaking, and a residence in either town involved
a total change of habits for the inhabitant of the other. To-night a
young Englishman of my acquaintance civilly asked me if he could do
anything for me in London. “I’m going to take a run home for a month or
six weeks,” he added, “and shall be back before you go farther south.”
He thought little more of the journey than we think of an excursion
from New York to Washington. His father would have taken more time to
prepare for such a journey, than the son will consume in making it.
One evident and beneficial effect of this commingling is certainly the
general advancement of intelligence, the wearing down of prejudices,
and the prevalence of a more philosophic spirit than of old. In a
society where representatives from all the enlightened nations of the
world are assembled, a man must be worse than a block if he do not
acquire materials worth retaining; for no people is so civilized as to
be perfect, and few so degraded as not to possess something worthy to
be imparted to others.
It would be morally impossible for Europe to retrograde to the
coarseness and open oppression that existed eighty years since, without
the occurrence of some violent revolution: nor is it any longer easy
for any particular community so far to isolate itself from the general
sisterhood of states, as to retain many of the flagrant abuses that
outrage the spirit of the age. There is still something to gain in
these particulars, beyond a doubt; but the progress is steadily onward,
and twenty years more of peace and of continued intercourse will create
a standard of moral civilization below which no people can fall and
keep its place in the scale of nations. This is the right sort of
public opinion; not one which invades the sacred precincts of private
life, subjecting the sentiments and actions of individuals to the
supervision of a neighbourhood, and giving birth to a wrong as great
as any it removes,--but a controlling judgment that settles great
principles and throws its shield before the wronged and the feeble--a
public opinion that benefits all without doing injustice to any. In
this respect, Europe enjoys an immense advantage, from which we are
almost entirely excluded by position. I think the effect very apparent,
when one comes to analyze the modes of thinking of the two hemispheres;
and in nothing is this effect more obvious than in the circumstance to
which I have had occasion so often to allude in these letters, of the
manner in which opinion precedes facts here, and facts precede opinion
with us. This, after all, when one has made a proper allowance for the
influence of time on physical things, is the great distinctive feature
between the people of most of Europe and the people of America.
We have the carnival in the streets as well as in the palaces, and most
of all in the theatres.--Balls are given nearly every night in some
one of these public places, and I have been to two or three in masks,
but always in domino. On several of these occasions I have attempted
to mystify countrymen of our own; but Jonathan is usually as innocent
of joking as he is of Hebrew. One evening I attempted a conversation
with a tall Yankee, whom I had seen before, and succeeded in getting
him a little aloof from the company; when he started up suddenly from
his seat, and plunged into the crowd, leaving me delighted with the
success of my awful communications. You will judge of my astonishment
at hearing him tell a mutual friend next day of the abrupt manner in
which he had escaped some impudent trull, who had endeavoured to
get him beneath _a chandelier where the grease might fall on his new
coat_--a plot of which I solemnly assert my innocence.--My greasy
friend was revenged by a party which got round me, and quizzed me at
such a rate, that I took shelter from them, by putting my mask in my
pocket, and going into the box of the Count St. Leu, who was not in
mask. My tormentors, however, were not to be driven off so easily;
for two of them followed me, keeping up a round of pleasantries about
America and the Indians until I was glad to be quit of them. Later in
the evening, one of these gentry met me in the crowd, and removing his
mask a little, he showed me the face of Prince Napoleon Bonaparte,
the eldest son of the count--a young man of great personal beauty and
of singular cleverness. I masked again, and we took a seat apart, and
began to discuss the usages of our respective countries.--Both agreed
that the world was little more than a masquerade, and my companion
related the following anecdote, among other things, as a proof of the
truth of our truisms.
You will remember that when King Louis abdicated the throne of Holland,
it was in favour of this very son, who was a titular monarch for the
few days that intervened between the retirement of his father and the
incorporation of the country with France. Though a mere boy, he was
condemned to listen to many congratulatory addresses on his accession,
his whole reign being distinguished by little else. One morning he was
required to receive a deputation, just as he had prepared to discuss a
quantity of _bons-bons_, on which he had set his heart, and of which
he was particularly fond. While the courtier was dwelling on the
virtues of the retired monarch, the weight of his loss (that of the
_bons-bons_) oppressed him even to tears; and “you will judge of my
surprise,” he added, laughing, “at hearing all the courtiers bursting
out in exclamations of delight _at the excellence of my heart_, when I
expected nothing better than a severe rebuke for my babyism!” This, he
said good-humouredly, was the first of his masquerades.