representing an old man taming a bull for agricultural labour; while a
young warrior is sheathing his sword, a mother and children sitting at
his feet, and Minerva crowned with laurels, stands shedding her
protecting influence over them. The erection of this regal monument is
wonderful, to hand down to posterity the triumphs of the man whom we
first hear of as a student in the military school at Brienne, whom in
1784 we see in the Ecole Militaire, founded by Louis XV. in 1751; whom
again we find at No. 5, Quai de Court, near Rue de Mail; and in 1794 as
a lodger at No. 19, Rue de la Michandère. From this he goes to the Hotel
Mirabeau, Rue du Dauphin, where he resided when he defeated his enemies
on the 13th Vendimaire. The Hotel de la Colonade, Rue Neuve des
Capuchins is his next residence, and where he was married to Josephine.
From this hotel he removed to his wife's dwelling in the Rue
Chanteriene, No. 52. In 1796 the young general started for Italy, where
his conquests paved the way for the ever memorable 18th Brumaire, that
made him dictator of France. Napoleon was too great now to be satisfied
with private dwellings, and we next trace him to the Elysee, St. Cloud,
Versailles, the Tuileries, Fontainbleau, and finally, came his decline,
which I need not relate to you.
After visiting the Gobelins, passing through its many rooms, seeing here
and there a half-finished piece of tapestry; and meeting a number of the
members of the late Peace Congress, who, like myself had remained behind
to see more of the beauties of the French capital than could be
overtaken during the Convention week. I accepted an invitation to dine
with a German gentleman at the Palais Royal, and was soon revelling amid
the luxuries of the table. I was glad that I had gone to the Palais
Royal, for here I had the honour of an introduction to M. Beranger, the
poet; and although I had to converse with him through an interpreter, I
enjoyed his company very much. "The people's poet," as he is called, is
apparently about seventy years of age, bald on the top of the head, and
rather corpulent, but of active look, and in the enjoyment of good
health. Few writers in France have done better service to the cause of
political and religious freedom, than Pierre Jean de Beranger. He is the
dauntless friend and advocate of the down-trodden poor and oppressed,
and has often incurred the displeasure of the Government by the arrows
that he has thrown into their camp. He felt what he wrote; it came
straight from his heart, and went directly to the hearts of the people.
He expressed himself strongly opposed to slavery, and said, "I don't
see how the Americans can reconcile slavery with their professed love of
freedom." Dinner out of the way, a walk through the different
apartments, and a stroll over the court, and I bade adieu to the Palais
Royal, satisfied that I should partake of many worse dinners than I had
helped to devour that day.
Few nations are more courteous than the French. Here the stranger, let
him come from what country he may, and be ever so unacquainted with the
people and language, he is sure of a civil reply to any question that he
may ask. With the exception of the egregious blunder I have mentioned of
the cabman driving me to the Elysee, I was not laughed at once while in
France.
LETTER VIII.
_Departure from Paris--Boulogne--Folkstone--London--Geo. Thompson, Esq.,
M.P.--Hartwell House--Dr. Lee--Cottage of the Peasant--Windsor
Castle--Residence of Wm. Penn--England's First Welcome--Heath Lodge--The
Bank of England._
LONDON, _Sept. 8th_.
The sun had just appeared from behind a cloud and was setting, and its
reflection upon the domes and spires of the great buildings in Paris
made everything appear lovely and sublime, as the train, with almost
lightning speed, was bringing me from the French metropolis. I gazed
with eager eyes to catch a farewell glance of the tops of the regal
palaces through which I had passed, during a stay of fifteen days in the
French capital.
A pleasant ride of four hours brought us to Boulogne, where we rested
for the night. The next morning I was up at an early hour, and out
viewing the town. Boulogne could present but little attraction, after a
fortnight spent in seeing the lions of Paris. A return to the hotel, and
breakfast over, we stepped on board the steamer, and were soon crossing
the channel. Two hours more, and I was safely seated in a railway
carriage, _en route_ to the English metropolis. We reached London at
mid-day, where I was soon comfortably lodged at 22, Cecil Street,
Strand. As the London lodging-houses seldom furnish dinners, I lost no
time in seeking out a dining-saloon, which I had no difficulty in
finding in the Strand. It being the first house of the kind I had
entered in London, I was not a little annoyed at the politeness of the
waiter. The first salutation I had, after seating myself in one of the
stalls, was, "Ox tail, Sir; gravy soup; carrot soup, Sir; roast beef;
roast pork; boiled beef; roast lamb; boiled leg of mutton, Sir, with
caper sauce; jugged hare, Sir; boiled knuckle of veal and bacon; roast
turkey and oyster sauce; sucking pig, Sir; curried chicken; harrico
mutton, Sir." These, and many other dishes which I have forgotten, were
called over with a rapidity that would have done credit to one of our
Yankee pedlars, in crying his wares in a New England village. I was so
completely taken by surprise, that I asked for a "bill of fare," and
told him to leave me. No city in the world furnishes a cheaper, better,
and quicker meal for the weary traveller, than a London eating-house.
* * * * *
After spending a day in looking about through this great thoroughfare,
the Strand, I sallied forth with letters of introduction, with which I
had been provided by my friends before leaving America; and following
the direction of one, I was soon at No. 6, A, Waterloo Place. A moment
more, and I was in the presence of one of whom I had heard much, and
whose name is as familiar to the friends of the slave in the United
States, as household words. Although I had never seen him before, yet I
felt a feeling akin to love for the man who had proclaimed to the
oppressors of my race in America, the doctrine of _immediate
emancipation_ for the slaves of the great Republic. On reaching the
door, I sent in my letter; and it being fresh from the hands of William
Lloyd Garrison, the champion of freedom in the New World, was calculated
to insure me a warm reception at the hands of the distinguished M.P. for
the Tower Hamlets. Mr. Thompson did not wait for the servant to show me
in; but met me at the door himself, and gave me a hearty shake of the
hand, at the same time saying, "Welcome to England. How did you leave
Garrison." I need not add, that Mr. T. gave me the best advice, as to my
course in Great Britain; and how I could best serve the cause of my
enslaved countrymen. I never enjoyed three hours more agreeably than
those I spent with Mr. T. on the occasion of my first visit. George
Thompson's love of freedom, his labours in behalf of the American slave,
the negroes of the West Indies, and the wronged millions of India, are
too well known to the people of both hemispheres, to need a word of
comment from me. With the single exception of the illustrious Garrison,
no individual is more loved and honoured by the coloured people of
America, and their friends than Mr. Thompson.
A few days after my arrival in London, I received an invitation from
John Lee, Esq., LL.D., whom I had met at the Peace Congress in Paris, to
pay him a visit at his seat, near Aylesbury; and as the time was "fixed"
by the Dr., I took the train on the appointed day, on my way to Hartwell
House.
I had heard much of the aristocracy of England, and must confess that I
was not a little prejudiced against them. On a bright sunshine day,
between the hours of twelve and two, I found myself seated in a
carriage, my back turned upon Aylesbury, the vehicle whirling rapidly
over the smooth macadamised road, and I on my first visit to an English
gentleman. Twenty minutes' ride, and a turn to the right, and we were
amid the fine old trees of Hartwell Park; one having suspended from its
branches, the national banners of several different countries; among
them, the "Stars and Stripes. I felt glad that my own country's flag had
a place there, although Campbell's lines"--
"United States, your banner wears,
Two emblems,--one of fame;
Alas, the other that it bears,
Reminds us of your shame.
The white man's liberty in types,
Stands blazoned by your stars;
But what's the meaning of your stripes,
They mean your Negro-scars"--
were at the time continually running through my mind. Arrived at the
door, and we received what every one does who visits Dr. Lee--a hearty
welcome. I was immediately shown into a room with a lofty ceiling, hung
round with fine specimens of the Italian masters, and told that this was
my apartment. Hartwell House stands in an extensive park, shaded with
trees, that made me think of the oaks and elms in an American forest,
and many of whose limbs had been trimmed and nursed with the best of
care. This was for seven years the residence of John Hampden the
patriot, and more recently that of Louis XVIII., during his exile in
this country. The house is built on a very extensive scale, and is
ornamented in the interior with carvings in wood of many of the kings
and princes of bygone centuries. A room some 60 feet by 25 contains a
variety of articles that the Dr. has collected together--the whole
forming a museum that would be considered a sight in the Western States
of America.
The morning after my arrival at Hartwell I was up at an early hour--in
fact, before any of the servants--wandering about through the vast
halls, and trying to find my way out, in which I eventually succeeded,
but not, however, without aid. It had rained the previous night, and the
sun was peeping through a misty cloud as I strolled through the park,
listening to the sweet voices of the birds that were fluttering in the
tops of the trees, and trimming their wings for a morning flight. The
silence of the night had not yet been broken by the voice of man; and I
wandered about the vast park unannoyed, except by the dew from the grass
that wet my slippers. Not far from the house I came abruptly upon a
beautiful little pond of water, where the gold fish were flouncing
about, and the gentle ripples glittering in the sunshine looked like so
many silver minnows playing on the surface.
While strolling about with pleasure, and only regretting that my dear
daughters were not with me to enjoy the morning's walk, I saw the
gardener on his way to the garden. I followed him, and was soon feasting
my eyes upon the richest specimens of garden scenery. There were the
peaches hanging upon the trees that were fastened to the wall;
vegetables, fruit, and flowers were there in all their bloom and beauty;
and even the variegated geranium of a warmer clime, was there in its
hothouse home, and seemed to have forgotten that it was in a different
country from its own. Dr. Lee shows great taste in the management of his
garden. I have seldom seen a more splendid variety of fruits and flowers
in the southern States of America, than I saw at Hartwell House.
I should, however, state that I was not the only guest at Hartwell
during my stay. Dr. Lee had invited several others of the American
delegation to the Peace Congress, and two or three of the French
delegates who were on a visit to England, were enjoying the Doctor's
hospitality. Dr. Lee is a staunch friend of Temperance, as well as of
the cause of universal freedom. Every year he treats his tenantry to a
dinner, and I need not add that these are always conducted on the
principle of total abstinence.
During the second day we visited several of the cottages of the work
people, and in these I took no little interest. The people of the United
States know nothing of the real condition of the labouring classes of
England. The peasants of Great Britain are always spoken of as belonging
to the soil. I was taught in America that the English labourer was no
better off than the slave upon a Carolina rice-field. I had seen the
slaves in Missouri huddled together, three, four, and even five families
in a single room not more than 15 by 25 feet square, and I expected to
see the same in England. But in this I was disappointed. After visiting
a new house that the Doctor was building, he took us into one of the
cottages that stood near the road, and gave us an opportunity, of
seeing, for the first time, an English peasant's cot. We entered a low
whitewashed room, with a stone floor that showed an admirable degree of
cleanness. Before us was a row of shelves filled with earthen dishes and
pewter spoons, glittering as if they had just come from under the hand
of a woman of taste. A Cobden loaf of bread, that had just been left by
the baker's boy, lay upon an oaken table which had been much worn away
with the scrubbing brush; while just above lay the old family bible that
had been handed down from father to son, until its possession was
considered of almost as great value as its contents. A half-open door,
leading into another room, showed us a clean bed; the whole presenting
as fine a picture of neatness, order, and comfort, as the most
fastidious taste could wish to see. No occupant was present, and
therefore I inspected everything with a greater degree of freedom. In
front of the cottage was a small grass plot, with here and there a bed
of flowers, cheated out of its share of sunshine by the tall holly that
had been planted near it. As I looked upon the home of the labourer, my
thoughts were with my enslaved countrymen. What a difference, thought I,
there is between the tillers of the soil in England and America. There
could not be a more complete refutation of the assertion that the
English labourer is no better off than the American slave, than the
scenes that were then before me. I called the attention of one of my
American friends to a beautiful rose near the door of the cot, and said
to him, "The law that will protect that flower will also guard and
protect the hand that planted it." He knew that I had drank deep of the
cup of slavery, was aware of what I meant, and merely nodded his head in
reply. I never experienced hospitality more genuine, and yet more
unpretending, than was meted out to me while at Hartwell. And the
favourable impression made on my own mind, of the distinguished
proprietor of Hartwell Park, was nearly as indelible as my humble name
that the Doctor had engraven in a brick, in the vault beneath the
Observatory in Hartwell House.
On my return to London I accepted an invitation to join a party on a
visit to Windsor Castle; and taking the train at the Waterloo Bridge
Station, we were soon passing through a pleasant part of the country.
Arrived at the castle, we committed ourselves into the hands of the
servants, and were introduced into Her Majesty's State apartments,
Audience Chamber, Vandyck Room, Waterloo Chambers, St. George's Hall,
Gold Pantry, and many others whose names I have forgotten. In wandering
about the different apartments I lost my company, and in trying to find
them, passed through a room in which hung a magnificent portrait of
Charles I., by Vandyck. The hum and noise of my companions had ceased,
and I had the scene and silence to myself. I looked in vain for the
king's evil genius (Cromwell), but he was not in the same room. The
pencil of Sir Peter Lely has left a splendid full-length likeness of
James II. George IV. is suspended from a peg in the wall, looking as if
it was fresh from the hands of Sir Thomas Lawrence, its admirable
painter. I was now in St. George's Hall, and I gazed upward to view the
beautiful figures on the ceiling, until my neck was nearly out of joint.
Leaving this room, I inspected with interest the ancient _keep_ of the
castle. In past centuries this part of the palace was used as a prison.
Here James the First of Scotland was detained a prisoner for eighteen
years. I viewed the window through which the young prince had often
looked to catch a glimpse of the young and beautiful Lady Jane,
daughter of the Earl of Somerset, with whom he was enamoured.
From the top of the Round Tower I had a fine view of the surrounding
country. Stoke Park, once the residence of that great friend of humanity
and civilization, William Penn, was among the scenes that I viewed with
pleasure from Windsor Castle. Four years ago, when in the city of
Philadelphia, and hunting up the places associated with the name of this
distinguished man, and more recently when walking over the farm once
occupied by him on the banks of the Delaware, examining the old malt
house which is now left standing, because of the veneration with which
the name of the man who built it is held, I had no idea that I should
ever see the dwelling which he had occupied in the Old World. Stoke Park
is about four miles from Windsor, and is now owned by the Right Hon.
Henry Labouchere.
The castle, standing as it does on an eminence, and surrounded by a
beautiful valley covered with splendid villas, has the appearance of
Gulliver looking down upon the Lilliputians. It rears its massive
towers and irregular walls over and above every other object; it stands
like a mountain in the desert. How full this old palace is of material
for thought! How one could ramble here alone, or with one or two
congenial companions, and enjoy a recapitulation of its history! But an
engagement to be at Croydon in the evening cut short my stay at Windsor,
and compelled me to return to town in advance of my party.
* * * * *
Having met with John Morland, Esq., of Heath Lodge, at Paris, he gave me
an invitation to visit Croydon, and deliver a lecture on American
Slavery; and last evening, at eight o'clock, I found myself in a fine
old building in the town, and facing the first English audience that I
had seen in the sea-girt isle. It was my first welcome in England. The
assembly was an enthusiastic one, and made still more so by the
appearance of George Thompson, Esq., M.P., upon the platform. It is not
my intention to give accounts of my lectures or meetings in these pages.
I therefore merely say, that I left Croydon with a good impression of
the English, and Heath Lodge with a feeling that its occupant was one
of the most benevolent of men.
The same party with whom I visited Windsor being supplied with a card of
admission to the Bank of England, I accepted an invitation to be one of
the company. We entered the vast building at a little past twelve
o'clock to-day. The sun threw into the large halls a brilliancy that
seemed to light up the countenances of the almost countless number of
clerks, who were at their desks, or serving persons at the counters. As
nearly all my countrymen who visit London pay their respects to this
noted institution, I shall sum up my visit to it, by saying that it
surpassed my highest idea of a bank. But a stroll through this monster
building of gold and silver brought to my mind an incident that occurred
to me a year after my escape from slavery.
In the autumn of 1835, having been cheated out of the previous summer's
earnings, by the captain of the steamer in which I had been employed
running away with the money, I was, like the rest of the men, left
without any means of support during the winter, and therefore had to
seek employment in the neighbouring towns. I went to the town of
Monroe, in the state of Michigan, and while going through the principal
streets looking for work, I passed the door of the only barber in the
town, whose shop appeared to be filled with persons waiting to be
shaved. As there was but one man at work, and as I had, while employed
in the steamer, occasionally shaved a gentleman who could not perform
that office himself, it occurred to me that I might get employment here
as a journeyman barber. I therefore made immediate application for work,
but the barber told me he did not need a hand. But I was not to be put
off so easily, and after making several offers to work cheap, I frankly
told him, that if he would not employ me I would get a room near to him,
and set up an opposition establishment. This threat, however, made no
impression on the barber; and as I was leaving, one of the men who were
waiting to be shaved said, "If you want a room in which to commence
business, I have one on the opposite side of the street." This man
followed me out; we went over, and I looked at the room. He strongly
urged me to set up, at the same time promising to give me his
influence. I took the room, purchased an old table, two chairs, got a
pole with a red stripe painted around it, and the next day opened, with
a sign over the door, "Fashionable Hair-dresser from New York, Emperor
of the West." I need not add that my enterprise was very annoying to the
"shop over the way"--especially my sign, which happened to be the most
expensive part of the concern. Of course, I had to tell all who came in
that my neighbour on the opposite side did not keep clean towels, that
his razors were dull, and, above all, he had never been to New York to
see the fashions. Neither had I. In a few weeks I had the entire
business of the town, to the great discomfiture of the other barber.
At this time, money matters in the Western States were in a sad
condition. Any person who could raise a small amount of money was
permitted to establish a bank, and allowed to issue notes for four times
the sum raised. This being the case, many persons borrowed money merely
long enough to exhibit to the bank inspectors, and the borrowed money
was returned, and the bank left without a dollar in its vaults, if,
indeed, it had a vault about its premises. The result was, that banks
were started all over the Western States, and the country flooded with
worthless paper. These were known as the "Wild Cat Banks." Silver coin
being very scarce, and the banks not being allowed to issue notes for a
smaller amount than one dollar, several persons put out notes from 6 to
75 cents in value; these were called "Shinplasters." The Shinplaster was
in the shape of a promissory note, made payable on demand. I have often
seen persons with large rolls of these bills, the whole not amounting to
more than five dollars. Some weeks after I had commenced business on my
"own hook," I was one evening very much crowded with customers; and
while they were talking over the events of the day, one of them said to
me, "Emperor, you seem to be doing a thriving business. You should do as
other business men, issue your Shinplasters." This, of course, as it was
intended, created a laugh; but with me it was no laughing matter, for
from that moment I began to think seriously of becoming a banker. I
accordingly went a few days after to a printer, and he, wishing to get
the job of printing, urged me to put out my notes, and showed me some
specimens of engravings that he had just received from Detroit. My head
being already filled with the idea of a bank, I needed but little
persuasion to set the thing finally afloat. Before I left the printer
the notes were partly in type, and I studying how I should keep the
public from counterfeiting them. The next day my Shinplasters were
handed to me, the whole amount being twenty dollars, and after being
duly signed were ready for circulation. At first my notes did not take
well; they were too new, and viewed with a suspicious eye. But through
the assistance of my customers, and a good deal of exertion on my own
part, my bills were soon in circulation; and nearly all the money
received in return for my notes was spent in fitting up and decorating
my shop.