Mountain paths near Sorrento.—The Scaricatòjo.—Picturesque
house.—Amalfi.—Salerno.—Eboli.—The Castle.—View from
it.—Unhealthiness of the Peasantry.—Buffaloes.—Useful breed of
Oxen.—Scene of Murder.—Pæstum.—The Temple of Neptune.—Scenery of
Pæstum.—Beautiful route to Pompeii.—Castel-a-Mare.—American Vessels
seized by Murat.—Influence of the Commercial Class in
America.—Rights of individual Citizens disregarded.
The season having advanced far enough to remove all apprehension of
malaria, we sent notice to our friend Mr. Hammett, at Naples, and
prepared to visit Pæstum. On the appointed day the consul appeared,
and, the next morning, after an early breakfast, we left _la Casa
detta del Tasso_, on donkeys as usual, and took one of the mountain
paths that led towards the gulf of Salerno. We had often explored
these very heights, and had often admired the loveliness of the
view, as from the elevations we overlooked both bays, and all the
radiant scenery, but never more so than on this occasion. The shores
of this promontory, on the gulf of Salerno, are, as a rule, much
higher than those of the bay of Naples, though they cannot well be
more precipitous. At the highest point of the road we dismissed the
donkeys, and prepared to make the descent on foot, followed by a man
to carry the night-sack and the cloaks. The place to which we were
going, and, in particular, the path which leads to it, has great
local celebrity, and that deservedly, among the lovers of the
picturesque, under the name of the _Scaricatòjo_, which signifies, I
believe, a place to discharge at, or a landing. W——, who justifies
his Pennsylvanian descent by a love of puns, termed it the
“Scare-you-the-toes-oh!”—and really it is one of the last places on
the coast I should have expected to find a marine landing at. The
precipice is very high, many times higher than that of Sorrento, and
almost as steep. We went down it by a zig-zag, half stairs and half
path, or what —— would call an _amphibious_ road, wondering what
there could be at the bottom, but the sea. We did find, however, a
landing just large enough to receive a boat or two, and the site of
a small house, in which two or three custom-house officers live; for
so great is the jealousy of this government, in matters of revenue,
that every spot at which a boat can throw its crew ashore is closely
watched.
At the _Scaricatòjo_, we took a small boat with a pair of oars, and
launched upon the water, bound to Amalfi, which lies some six or eight
miles further up the gulf towards Salerno. Our party consisted of five;
and these, with the two oars, gave us more freight than would have been
agreeable in a blow; but fortunately there was scarcely any air, though
the cradle of old Neptune was lazily rocking, as it is ever known to be,
gale or calm. Occasionally, as we rounded the cliffs, the scend of the
sea would carry us close in, giving us the appearance of one of the
bubbles, though in fact there was no risk.
I had often rowed under mountains, in Switzerland, though not often so
immediately beneath rocks of the same elevation for some of the peaks
between Amalfi and the _Scaricatòjo_ are said to be six thousand feet
high. This is almost equal to Mount Washington, and all, too, in the
distance of a mile, or even less, of base. In Switzerland, certainly,
one sees cottages, and even churches, convents, and châteaux, on the
spurs of mountains; but I do not remember to have ever met with
habitations of the same pretension so crowded on rocks so nearly
perpendicular, as was the case to-day, a few miles before we reached
Amalfi. Some of the country-houses seemed to us, who were floating
beneath, to be absolutely stuck against the rocks; though I dare say
there was ample room for safety, and even for gardens. Just before
reaching the town, a convent appeared built _into_ the cliffs, in a most
picturesque manner, the wall of rock rising above the buildings half way
to the clouds.
Amalfi is in a sort of a gorge, and certainly has as few commercial
facilities, in the way of a port, as any ordinary mile of sea beach.
Beach it has, and that in a region like this, is distinction enough to
form a town; for the light craft most in use by the ancients could be
hauled on it, an effectual mode of security. I never before witnessed a
scene of wrangling, begging, vociferations, and rapacity, equal to that
which followed our landing on the beach of Amalfi. Men, women, and
children beset us in schulls, particularly the two latter, until we were
compelled to use strong measures to get rid of them.
Amalfi would seem to have been built for pleasure, for the situation is
beautifully picturesque; though, the beach excepted, and a gorge in the
mountains that permits of a better path than is usual here, were the
only two practical advantages I could discover about its site. You may
imagine the effect of a town of some size, clinging to rocks between
mountains and the sea, with churches, convents, and villas, stuck about
on shelves, according to caprice or accident. These people are the very
opposites of us Americans in their urban economy; for while we level
molehills with the sagacity and zeal of speculators, they perch
themselves on cliffs, and people ravines like poets. We may have the
best of it, considering a house as an _article_, in which a room must
contain but _two_ windows, since the _third_ curtain will prevent its
letting; but they have greatly the best of it, considering a house as a
place, in which one is to indulge in his individuality, and in pleasant
thoughts. I believe we make money faster than any other nation, while we
spend it with less satisfaction. A copy of the lost Pandects of
Justinian was found at Amalfi, in 1137. I wonder where the Pandects of
Trade were found?
As our time was short, we ordered a large boat with six oars, and left
Amalfi within an hour, taking some refreshments with us, the country
changed materially as we approached the head of the gulf, the peaks
becoming lower and less perpendicular, and the shores generally more
accessible. In the direction of Calabria the coast appeared low, the
Apennines retiring inland, though their blue and ridgy outlines were
visible in the haze. A lad who pulled the stroke oar, and who answered
most of our questions, amused us greatly with his _patois_. Signore, he
invariably pronounced like _snore_;—“_S’nore, si; s’nore, no_;”—as you
may suppose, to W——’s great delight.
We found Salerno seated on the strand, with hills behind it, and an
amphitheatre of mountains in their rear, again. It occupies some such
situation on the gulf of Salerno as Naples occupies on her own bay,
though less picturesquely surrounded in some respects, while it is more
so in others. The southern, or rather, the eastern, shore of the gulf,
especially, is comparatively tame, on account of the flat land bounding
the water. The place of our destination was in that direction, still
distant some five-and-twenty or thirty miles. Salerno is little more
than a roadstead, for vessels of any size; though it has a mole of some
extent, behind which smaller craft can lie. The sciroccos have a full
rake into this bay; but against all winds from west northerly, round to
south-east, there is a tolerable protection.
As the great post-road from Naples to Calabria, (the Ancient Appian Way)
passes through Salerno, we here took a carriage and three horses, with
which we proceeded, as soon as possible, towards Eboli. The road was
excellent, and the scenery enchanting. I can scarcely recall more
beautiful pastoral glimpses of glades and meadows, all relieved by noble
oaks, than we passed this evening. The population, too, appeared
admirably suited to increase the effect. The dresses were in the highest
degree picturesque, though a little rude, and we met few men who did not
carry guns. Some even wore short swords. I believe the practice has
arisen from the violence of the banditti, who formerly frequented the
mountains. The danger of descents by the Barbary corsairs, too, on a
coast so favourable, may have had its influence. A pointed, high-crowned
hat, occasionally decorated with ribands, leathern gaiters rising to the
knees, a jacket a little _á la hussar_, with a gun thrown into the
hollow of the arm, at all events, made a man fit for a picture. Although
we were not actually in Calabria, the peasants more resembled Calabrians
than Neapolitans.
We did not get to Eboli until after dark. The carriage stopped at an inn
without the walls, which had once been a convent. On examining it, we
found it little more than a coarse drinking-house, with a table and two
or three chairs placed in each cell, most of which were reeking with
wine, and the bed-rooms quite as unpromising. It was clear the ladies
could not sleep there, and yet it was the best public-house Eboli
afforded. From this awkward and uncomfortable situation we were
extricated by the kindness and forethought of the consul. That gentleman
had bethought him, before leaving Naples, of addressing a note to the
Prince of Angra,—who is not only lord of Eboli, but the proprietor of
most of the adjacent country,—and had received, in reply, a letter
addressed to all the prince’s dependents or stewards, commanding them to
put any of his numerous houses at our disposal. The head manager of the
estate lived in Eboli, and to his dwelling Mr. Hammett and myself
forthwith proceeded. On reading the letter, we were told the castle of
Eboli should be immediately put at our disposition, and that we had only
to go and conduct the ladies up to it. This we did not require two
invitations to do.
Eboli is a small crowded town, lying against an acclivity, at the foot
of the Apennines, and is crowned by the castle, which occupies, as was
usual in the middle ages, the highest site. The place is walled, and the
streets are rather rapid and irregular. Most of the ancient castle has
disappeared, though a few towers remain; but, in its stead, a spacious
and comfortable hunting-seat has been erected. We entered a spacious
court, and were conducted by a private way to a large sala, in which a
fire was lighted in a brazier placed in the chimney. Around this we
gladly gathered, for the cool air of the Apennines was beginning to
chill us. A supper was prepared, and we were furnished with good beds
and excellent rooms. All was done with great assiduity, and with a
profound desire to do credit to the lord of Eboli; two or three servants
remaining always in the castle, whither, however, the owner seldom
comes, and then only to pass a few days.
In the morning I rose betimes, and went out on a terrace to look at the
scenery, for the darkness had hid every thing from observation the
previous night. The elevation of the castle gave it a commanding view,
and we were enabled to see most of the country through which we were to
travel to reach Pæstum, then distant from us twelve miles.
Eboli stands on the verge of the great plain that stretches leagues
along the sea at this place. This country was probably once fertile,
and, of course, healthful, like the Campagna of Rome, or it never would
have been occupied as the site of such a town as Pæstum. It is now
nearly deserted; though there are a few hunting seats scattered about
its surface, which may be occupied in the cool months. Among others is
Persano, a house belonging to the king, and which was much frequented by
the late sporting monarch, Don Francesco. The sea was visible in the
distance; and the site of Pæstum might also be discerned, across a wide
reach of plain. This plain was much covered with small trees in the
foreground, though it was more naked nearer to the sea.
After breakfast we left the castle of Eboli, grateful for its
hospitality, and very sensible of the politeness by which it had been
accorded. The road, for some distance, was beautiful; but it gradually
led us upon the plain, where soon little was visible besides bushes.
Persano was passed, lying on our left; and then, for miles, it was a
country that, while it was not positively pleasant, offered nothing that
was positively disagreeable.
Peasants soon began to appear that seemed not only out of their region,
but almost out of their hemisphere. The physical peculiarities were
certainly European; but in size, tint, and almost dress, they might have
passed for Esquimaux. Sheep-skins with the wool on were the favourite
jacket; and some actually wore blankets, like our own Indians. The
sallow hue made us shudder; for one saw it was not owing to climate and
habits, acting through centuries, but to disease. Had the same
individual been so happy as to pass his days on the adjacent mountains,
the springs of life would have remained pure: his colour might have been
dark under this fierce sun, but it would not have denoted disease; and
his days, though numbered, would have reached the allotted time of man.
As it was, the fabulous adventurers of the Bohan Upas were not more
certainly doomed than these poor wretches. The rice fields of Carolina
are kind in comparison with these wastes; for those kill, and there is
an end of it; and, unlike these, they do not much injure those whose
hard fortune compels them to dwell there, but merely those who yield to
cupidity, and not to necessity.
On reaching the Silaro, we found the bridge broken, and we had to cross
in a boat. The carriage was swamped, and buffaloes were procured to drag
it out. In all this country, buffaloes appear to be used instead of
oxen. The plains abound with them, and we saw them at work in all
directions. Of course, you are naturalist enough to know that the animal
familiarly called the buffalo in America, and which furnishes the
sleigh-skins, is not the buffalo, but the bison; the real buffalo
differing little from the ox. At Florence oxen are employed, and oxen
too of a breed I was very desirous of getting sent to America. They are
of a cream colour, a little inclining to the dun, and, besides having a
handsome form, are admirably suited to a warm climate, and are the
fastest walkers I have ever seen in the yoke. I have frequently walked
by their sides, at a quick pace, and have generally found them as nimble
as I am myself; nor do I remember ever to have seen one lolling. They
are said to fatten kindly, and have a good carcase, though certainly
they are a little longer-legged than our own. Their weight might fail a
little in the heavy toil of a clearing; but there is a vast deal of
lighter American labour in which their qualities would come admirably in
use. I was told the breed is Hungarian. I question if the cows are very
good milkers; though this may be the result of husbandry and climate,
for milk is far more precious and scarcer in Italy than wine, as I have
already told you, and good pasture is very scarce—almost unknown.
Passing a house or two of the Prince of Angra, we trotted on by a
straight even road, for a league or two farther. The country had become
more wild and sterile, though it could be hardly termed a desert. It had
the appearance of neglect rather than of barrenness, and, like the
Campagna of Rome, doubtless has gotten the upper hand of industry, by
having been so long permitted to go uncultivated. The coachman stopped
the carriage by a copse of bushes, and told us the spot was the scene of
a recent robbery and murder. A newly-married English couple were going
into Pæstum, when their carriage was stopped at this place. A lad was
stationed with a musket by the copse, while two or three others appeared
in the road by the horse’s head. This lad wanted nerves for his task;
for on the Englishman’s remonstrating, most probably against his holding
the gun pointed, he fired, and shot man and wife through their bodies,
as they sat side by side. Both were killed, or both died of the wounds,
and the robbers were subsequently taken and executed. A hamlet, against
the Apennines, was pointed out to us as the place in which they had
lived. It was said, murder formed no part of their original intention.
Since that time, however, the police has been much more active, and no
robbery has occurred. As for ourselves, the affair of the “runner”
between Bologna and Florence has completely removed all uneasiness on
the subject.
A few yards beyond the thicket of the robbers, we came to the ruined
fragments of a gateway and of walls, and then entered within the
precincts of the ancient city of Pæstum. There are three or four modern
houses within these walls, one or two of which are of respectable
dimensions, belonging to the proprietor of the country, and they injure
the effect, although, in the season when one may sleep here with
impunity, they contribute to the comfort of a visit. It would have aided
the general effect, had the site of the city itself been left to its
solitude, and the dwellings might have stood without the walls as well
as within them.
The history of Pæstum is not very well settled. It is popularly said to
have been built by a colony of marine adventurers, who named the place
after their own particular god, Neptune.[1] The temples that remain are
certainly of very remote antiquity; probably little less ancient, if
any, than the Pyramids of Egypt. The Romans got possession of the place,
of course, and Augustus is said to have visited the very temples that
are now standing, as specimens of ancient architecture! The Saracens
destroyed the town about a thousand years since, and it has lain the
whole of the intervening time virtually a waste. So completely was the
place forgotten and lost, that, standing on the coast, and at no great
distance from what must have been the great road into Calabria, since
the time of Appius Claudius, at least, its site was unknown to the
reading and travelling portion of mankind, until the year 1755, when a
painter of Naples, who was out sketching from nature, blundered on the
ruins, and brought them into notice. This sounds extraordinary in the
ears of an American; but a little explanation removes half the causes of
wonder.
Footnote 1:
Ποσειδων.
In the first place, Pæstum, though it stands within a mile of the sea,
lies on the eastern side of the gulf of Salerno, and away from the track
of all but the small vessels of the adjoining country. The temples are
not high, and when first seen by the painter, were said to have been
nearly buried in vines and trees. A common Italian is so much accustomed
to see ruins, that the peasants of the neighbourhood would not be struck
by their existence; things to which we have been habituated appearing
always as things of course, and occasioning no surprise. Besides, Pæstum
was never a place much noted in history, but is principally remarkable
for containing a rare specimen of architecture in its ruder state, and
for the durability of its works. Perhaps the ruins, concealed in tangled
brakes, required the keen eye and cultivated tastes of an artist, to
attract the attention necessary to draw them from obscurity. How many
hunters, land surveyors, and even land speculators, saw the Falls of
Trenton before they wore spoken of beyond their own neighbourhood! I can
well recollect the time when I first heard of them as a thing that would
well repay the trouble of walking a mile or two to see; and yet it may
be questioned if all Europe has a cascade that so well merits a
visit;—certainly it has not more than one or two, if it has any.
The size of Pæstum is easily to be seen by the remains of its walls. The
guide-books say these walls were once fifty feet high; though I saw
nothing that would have led me to believe them so lofty. Parts remain,
notwithstanding, in a tolerable state of preservation. Their circuit is
stated at two miles, the form being elliptical; and this would give, on
the shortest side, a diameter a little exceeding half a mile, which is
about the real distance. We have few villages, containing fifteen
hundred souls, in America, that do not cover at much ground as this;
although we have no edifice to compare with the temples that have stood
on this spot, near two thousand years, _as ruins_, even in the largest
towns. One of the gates still remains; but it may be questioned if it is
as old as the temples. There are also the remains of an amphitheatre, or
of a theatre, and of many other edifices that belonged to the
civilisation of that remote age. It is probable the theatre was Roman.
It sounds odd to speak of antiquity as being comparatively modern,
because it was Roman; but comparing the temple of Neptune with any thing
else of the sort, in Italy, would seem quite out of the question. Its
history and its style prove it to be one of the most venerable specimens
of human art of which we have any knowledge. The Pyramids themselves are
scarcely older. And yet, standing a few hundred feet in its front, and
examining the structure, one can scarcely fancy that he sees a blemish
on its exterior. The lightning has scathed it; but time appears to have
wrought nearly in vain on its massive columns. Some of the interior
columns are gone, it is true, and a little of the pediment is broken,
but scarcely more than is absolutely necessary to give the structure the
air of a ruin.
The temple of Neptune is thought to be the oldest of the remaining
edifices of Pæstum, and it certainly is much the finest, although that
called of Ceres belongs to a more advanced taste in architecture. The
rudeness of the former, however, accords so admirably with its
massiveness, as well as its antiquity, that I believe few people
hesitate about giving it the preference. To me, it was much the most
impressive, and I had almost said the most imposing, edifice I know. The
mind insensibly ran back to other ages as I gazed at the pile, which,
like the fresh-looking lava of Ischia, appeared to laugh at human
annals. Three centuries since, I said mentally, Columbus discovered half
the world, astonishing the inhabitants of the two hemispheres equally,
by bringing each to a knowledge of the other. At that period, which more
than swallowed the entire history of my own country, this temple lay
buried in vines and brambles, the haunt of serpents and birds. Seven
centuries would take us back to the period of the English conquest, when
England itself was a nation scarcely emerged from barbarism. Four or
five more might carry us back to the age when marauders from the East
laid waste the sickly town that had succeeded the city of the original
colonists, when the past, to even its people, seemed remote and obscure.
Four or five centuries more would take us up to the Romans, who came to
see this temple as an object of wonder, and as a curious relic of
distant ages. Another thousand years would probably bring us to the
period when the priests officiated at the altar, and homage was paid to
one of the attributes of Divine power, through the mysticisms of heathen
allegory. What a speck does the history of America become in this long
vista of events—what a point the life and adventures of a single man!
And yet even this temple does not reach to the last great convulsion,
when the earth was virtually destroyed, and animal life may be said to
have taken a new commencement: at the next, even the temple of Neptune
will disappear.
Some astronomers, by calculating the epochs of a particular and a
remarkable comet, that which was last seen in 1681, suppose it possible
that it may have struck the earth about the time of the Deluge, causing
that phenomenon, and producing most of those physical changes that
certainly have altered the face of the earth, destroying many of its
animals, and which may have actually given it new revolutions. Admitting
that this theory is substantially true,—and it is as likely to be so as
any other that has been broached,—we may regard the temple of Neptune as
one of the best specimens of architecture that succeeded the new
civilisation. At all events, it is something even to fancy one has seen
a work of human art that may be esteemed a standard of human skill three
thousand years ago.
A good deal has been written about the scenery of Pæstum, which is
certainly not unsuited to the ruins. It would be better without the
half-dozen modern dwellings, perhaps; but the mind takes little heed of
these intruders, when once occupied with the temples. There is something
too engrossing in the study of structures like these, to admit of
interruption. The plain is not a desert, but it is covered rather with
the luxuriant vegetation of weeds, that associate with the spot the idea
of wildness, instead of that of solitude. In this respect, the Pyramids
are the most sublime; for there nature, and even vegetation, appear to
have gone to decay, while the works of man endure. Still, there are a
homeliness and familiarity in the wastes of Pæstum, that suit the nature
of the ruins better, perhaps, than a plain of sand. The site of each
class of ruins is suited to its particular character. This is a town,
and the fancy endeavours to people its streets, to crowd the altar, and
to imagine the thousand familiar objects and scenes that once enlivened
its avenues. The tangled brake, the wild flower, the luxuriant and
negligent vine, while they are eloquent on the subject of solitude,
comport well with such recollections. In Egypt the grandeur of the
desolation, with the interminable and sterile plains, better suit the
magnificence of the works, and the mystery that conceals their origin
and history. _Au reste_, the moral of the _entourage_ of Pæstum is
different from that of the Pyramids; for the Apennines form a distant
but beautiful amphitheatre on one side, while the blue Mediterranean on
the other, the “eternal hills,” and “the great sea” of antiquity,
exhibit all the glories of their nature, as they hover over and around
these memorials of man.
We sat down to the most disgusting and the nastiest meal at Pæstum I
ever saw served; but nothing besides wine would seem to be fit for use
at the place. Our host did credit to the latter; and he frankly admitted
that, without plenty of good warm liquor, life was a slippery tenure on
this plain. What a happy apology for one who takes kindly to the remedy!
Several miserable looking wretches, in whom life seemed to be withering
hourly, came round the hovel, and he pointed to them as proofs of the
truth of his theory.
We did not return to Eboli, but proceeded direct to Salerno, on our
return, reaching that place just as night closed. The inn at this place
struck me as being more thoroughly foreign and strange than any I had
yet been in. The grand _sala_ was in the centre of the house, and almost
without external light. It also answered the purposes of a kitchen; the
travellers, who were seated around the vast room, eating by dim lamps,
enjoying the advantage of whetting their appetites by the aid of the
flavours of the different dishes. We succeeded in obtaining three rooms,
in one of which, that afterwards served me for a bed-room, we contrived
to eat a very unscientific supper.
After a better breakfast the next morning, we proceeded by land, taking
the road to Pompeii. The route was beautiful, running over mountains and
through gorges, with brilliant views of the sea; for we had now to cross
the broken range of the Apennines, that separates the two bays, and
which forms the promontory of Sorrento. The cliffs near Salerno were
truly magnificent, and a hermitage or two on their giddy shelves put
every thing of the sort we had seen, even in Switzerland, to shame.
One of the great charms of Italy is the manner in which the most
picturesque sites are thus occupied. Pinnacles, peaks, rocks, terraces,
that, in other countries, the traveller might feel disposed to embellish
by some structure, in his fancy, poetical alike in its form and uses,
are here actually occupied, and frequently by objects whose beauty
surpasses even the workings of the imagination. Of this character was
the extraordinary scene already mentioned, in the island of Ischia. Then
the softness of the atmosphere and the skies throw a charm over all, to
comprehend which, one must be acquainted with the effect of light in low
latitudes.
There were a great many small isolated towers standing along the ridges
and sides of the mountains, which, I was told, were used for the
field-sports of the king, though in what way I cannot tell you. The
mountains between Castel-a-mare and Sorrento also have several. If I
understood the explanation, they are not intended for hunting or
shooting-seats, for which they are too small and too numerous, but
merely as stands to shoot from! This may be set down as royal poaching.
Our visit to Pompeii was short, though we nearly made the circuit of the
walls. The amphitheatre is built against these walls, at one end; for,
standing on its uppermost point, I found I looked out of the city. The
house of the fountain was now completely disinterred, and we saw a few
small domestic articles that had been found in the ashes. I was more
strongly impressed than ever, at this visit, with the notion of
restoring and furnishing entire one of the best of the houses; a thing
that might be done from the Royal Museum with tolerable success. Even a
respectable approach to the truth would be infinitely interesting.
I must still think that a portion of the town of the greatest interest,
as respects private dwellings, remains to be explored. I believe that
the street parallel to that of the Appian Way will yet, when opened,
offer some dwelling suited to this plan of restoration, and that by
proper care the walls and paintings may be preserved. It would be better
to open a house with this express intention, than to attempt restoring
one of those that has long been exposed to the air.
From Pompeii we went to Castel-a-mare. This town stands near the ancient
site of Stabiæ, which was also destroyed by the eruption of the year 79.
The king has a favourite country palace on the heights behind the town;
it is called _Qui si sana_,[2] a name that answers to the _Sans Souci_
of Frederic, though of a different signification. We saw, a short time
since, the royal squadron on its way from Naples to Castel-a-mare, the
king having several vessels that he uses as yachts. One was a ship, and
there were also a brig and a schooner. There is a schooner now lying at
Naples, that was seized under the decrees of Murat, which was formerly
appropriated to the same purposes. Since my arrival here, I have heard
an interesting fact coupled with these seizures, on authority so good
that I give it credit.
Footnote 2:
“_Here one is cured_,” literally translated.
When the proposition to seize these vessels was made to Murat, he
resisted it, on the ground that it was a species of piracy, a breach of
faith that could not be tolerated for a moment by any independent
nation, and _that immediate war would be the consequence_. His minister
knew America better than his master: “_America will not declare war,
sire, for it is a country of traders, and these are men who will not
consent to lose their present profits for the maintenance of a
principle._ It is true, in the end something will be done, for no nation
can submit to such an aggression; but at present it will be nothing but
talk. Hereafter, Naples may have to make compensation; but your majesty
needs money, and we can consider this as a forced loan.” The counsel was
followed, and we now know how true was the minister’s prediction. This
person was wrong in his general estimate of the American nation, but
perfectly right in that of its merchants, who have the character common
to all in trade. They never look beyond the day. It is our misfortune to
have no towns but trading towns, and, consequently, no collected
influence to resist their published opinions and interested clamour,
which are fast tending to a misconception, and to a displacing of all
the interests of life. Thus it is we find men treating commerce, which
is merely an incident of human affairs, as a principal, and struggling
to make every thing, even morals and laws, subservient to its ends, and
this, too, without a due regard to means. This class of citizens overawe
those presses which have the greatest circulation, and by acting in
concert, and with available means, form a powerful, and, more
especially, a clamorous resistance, to any thing that thwarts, or which
they fancy thwarts, their interests. The commercial class of America, as
a class, will ever be found in opposition to any administration that
loyally carries out the intention of the government; for that intention
is indissolubly connected with great principles, whereas their bias has
ever been to expedients that are temporary and fluctuating, or to the
policy that suits the prevailing interest of the hour. Trade, liable to
so many vicissitudes and sudden reverses, never can have any higher code
of principles.
I cannot express to you the sensations which crowded my mind as, seated
on the mole at Naples, I regarded the schooner in question; a vessel
that had been wrested, without even the pretence of legality, from an
American citizen, to contribute to the pleasures of the king of this
country. Of what avails it that one is an American? His property is
taken from him by violence, his person outraged, and if he complain so
as seriously to bring in danger the relations of his country, the
chances are more than equal that his character would follow his
property, if no other means offered to protect, as it is termed, the
interests of trade. What aggravates the wrong, is the fact that a large
portion of the class who have given this false direction to the public
policy are not even Americans, but foreigners who assume the American
character merely to advance their fortunes, and who are always ready to
throw it aside when there is a question of national pride, or of
national disgrace.
For myself, a near view of the effects of these wrongs, and a
consideration of the policy and feelings that have succeeded them, has
destroyed all confidence in the protection of my native country. I deem
the national character of no more use or service to me, as a traveller
beyond the influence of his own laws, than if I were an Esquimaux. I
know that others of more experience,—I may say, of _bitter_
experience,—have the same feeling. I declare solemnly, were I a
merchant, and were my vessel seized by any power of sufficient force to
render a contest with it of momentary importance to trade, that, so far
from believing myself protected by my flag,—unless, indeed, I could call
to my immediate succour some of those gallant and right-feeling men who
command the cruisers, who are ready enough to assert the honour and
rights of the flag, but who are oftener reproached than commended,
however, when they _do_ discover a proper spirit of this nature,—I
should conceive I had made a good escape by compromising with the
aggressor for one half, instead of appealing to the government for
protection.
There is a great deal of vapouring in the papers about the protection of
the flag; but I am perfectly persuaded that my feeling is the feelings
of a large majority of the Americans abroad. I do not believe one in ten
has the smallest reliance on the spirit, wisdom, patriotism, or justice
of the government at home. By government, I mean that body which alone
possesses any efficient authority in such cases, which is Congress. Were
I personally to be brought under the displeasure of any of these
governments, I would sooner seek the protection of a Russian, or even of
a French, than of an American minister, unless my personal relations
with the latter were such as to render me confident of his support. On
those diplomatic men who look forward to political advancement at home,
I should have no dependance at all, as a rule, (I admit the character of
the individual might influence his conduct,) for such men, as a class,
regard the clamour of the most clamorous, far more than either
principles or their duties.
This is a sore spot in the American character, and a blot on the
American name. I once thought differently, for I followed my feelings
rather than my knowledge; but observation and reflection have taught me
to think as I now think. What renders the consciousness of this false
policy most of all bitter, is the certainty that the heart of the nation
is sound, its bones and sinews being as ready as those of any people on
earth to maintain a true and a spirited policy. But they are neutralized
by the congregated and arrogant interests of trade. Let any wrong of
this nature be fairly laid before the nation in the spirit of honesty
and truth, and nine men in ten will be ready to avenge the honour or to
justify the rights of the republic: but politicians do not, or will not
see this truth, and they invariably point to the towns and the presses
of the merchants. I have had several conversations on this very topic
with diplomatic men in Europe, and have not found one who was not under
this malign and unmanly fear, and insomuch unfit for his trust.[3]
Footnote 3:
The experiment of a right course has since been tried. A President of
a strong will has made a tardy attempt to rescue the honour and
character of the nation, and, favoured by circumstances, he has
partially succeeded. The treaty with France has not been complied
with, according to either its spirit or its letter; but it has been
enough to satisfy those who had lost all hope. It has not been
complied with, because the money stipulated to be paid with interest
has not been paid according to those stipulations, making a difference
against the claimants of more than a million. But what was the course
of Congress, under the circumstances of a violated treaty, in addition
to the original outrage!
This is not the popular manner of regarding these things, I know; but I
am writing to tell you what, at least, I conceive to be, under the
deepest conviction of my responsibilities as a man, the naked truth. The
day will come when these opinions will be believed, the political
ephemera of the hour having withered, died, and become forgotten,
notwithstanding the charlatanism and laboured industry of the Tacituses
of the day.