OF TOURISTS IN FOREIGN COUNTRIES.
The very kind of laughter, already described in the foregoing chapter,
induced many tourists to laugh at every little imperfection they
meet in foreign countries. The laughter of a man of letters should
be inoffensive: it should be rather the laughter enhancing the merit
of the person he laughs at, than a depreciating, or self-conceited
laughter.
Once, in giving letters of introduction to a gentleman, who was going
to visit Italy, I could not prevent myself from smiling, on hearing
him say: “The Italians are an intelligent people.”--“How do you
know it?” said I to him. “Because” he answered, “I think so.” Now a
days, every thing goes so fast, that even gentlemen judge of nations
before they have seen them! And celebrated writers sell their books,
describing nations which they never saw. To those who praised my poor,
dear country, rather too much, originated perhaps, from their blind
love towards my imperfect, lovely country, I will still be thankful to
them, though their praises might spoil Italy. However, the Vicar of
Wakefield, also, praised his wife upon her epitaph, which he placed
on the chimney piece, in order to keep the good woman to her family
duties, during her life time!
No nation has yet reached the civilization for which God created us. As
the lover of a little discrimination sees better the faults of the lady
whom he loves, than the faults of the ladies whom he does not love, a
man of letters, who has at heart the improvements of society, sees the
faults of all the countries, with which he feels an interest. Of the
blind lovers of my country, I will say here nothing more, than I would
of those, who had no kind feeling for Italy. Besides, there are so
many, who wrote on Italy, that, were I undertaking to comment on them,
it would be a work too long for me, and unfit here. However, as such
kind of writers form one of the most extensive branches of our present
literature, I will take up “Italy and the Italians,” by J. T. Headley,
for two good reasons. The first, because I find in it, the least to say
against, and the second, because it is the most recent I know of on the
subject.
How could Mr. Headley entitle his short reflections of six months,
which he spent in that country, “Italy and the Italians,” I cannot
understand. It seems to me, such a title is rather a too pompous one,
when we reflect, at the same time, that Mr. Headley, by his very
confession, we learn, that he did not know, at that time, the italian
language.
It was no more than one or two days Mr. Headley had stepped on a shore
of Italy, Genoa, when he found himself offended by two individuals.
The first, was a mustached officer, who eyed him askance as he passed;
and the second, a black-robed priest, not deigning him even a look,
as he went. Here, I find the very logic of the wolf, disposed to eat
the lamb, at a water spring.--The officer offended the writer, because
he looked at him; and the priest, because he did not deign to look at
him! Next, comes an elegantly dressed woman, who, I suppose, having
seen Mr. Headley offended, because the priest did not look at him, she
lifted her quizzing glass, coolly scanning him from head to foot, and
with a smile of self-satisfaction on her face, walked on.--For me, I
always like to see a lady looking at me: it is a sign of kind feeling,
and innocence: and children, not spoiled by too fond parents, look at
strangers with like pleasing curiosity.
The gentleman went to see an Asylum, where he found an italian woman,
who had lost her mind, because her father forced her to marry a
gentlemen, whom she did not love. This only instance is enough for the
writer in question to say: “When we remember in what manner marriages
are contracted in this country, looseness of morals in italian woman
should cease to surprise us.... Her lover was a young, and melancholy
creature.... The morning after she was led to the alter, she sat by her
window with pale countenance, and swollen eyes, watching his coming.
But, he came no more.... The night that made her a wife, made him a
corpse. He had driven a stiletto through his heart.... The young bride
went into a paroxysm of grief; and went raving mad.... And now for
sixteen years had she lived with a dead heart in her bosom.”
Many of the suicides in America are slandered by fanatics of the
temperance society, as being caused by intemperance. Mr. Headley,
here, satisfies himself, by venting against the unfortunate young man,
these words: “to render his death still more heart-breaking, he had
not left her a single line.” Such a gratuitous imputation is, indeed
unkind against a man, now in his grave! Had, the writer of “Italy,
and the Italians,” sounded a little more the italian heart, he might
have found, that the woman, who turned insane, and the man who killed
himself for love, cannot have looseness of morals. He, and she who feel
love, have a heavenly mind, free from every immoral propensity; and
the innocent girl in the private company of her lover, is more morally
guarded, than by the most careful parent. I speak here of a lover,
and not of those wretches, who dishonor love, and whose base passion
renders them incapable of killing themselves for a woman. And here I
may use the language of an american lady from her Alida. “I cannot
despair of any one who can love--not with the temporary interest that
changes its object, as whim, or accident directs; but, who, in spite of
disappointment, coldness, rejection, absence, despair, still clings to
her who first taught his heart to feel it.”
Mr. Headley is rather one of the most mild in his language, among the
many writers who, in copying each other, bring such an unjust blame on
all the italian ladies. There may be nations, where ladies might know
better how to conceal their affections; but, as the race of Adam and
Eve are all beings of flesh, blood, and bones, instances of depravity
are found in every part of the world; and like sins, stand in the
records of America as well as of Italy: and as there are gentlemen who
have their mother and sisters in Italy, whom they esteem and honor, I
would advise such writers to use a better language, when they write
of other nations. To speak disrespectfully of the ladies of a whole
nation, it is not a demonstration; and it is only the devil on two
sticks, who could be able to say so. A gentleman from the top of a
tower, cannot see what passes in the households of a strange country.
The writer of “Italy and the Italians;” after having passed three weeks
in the only city of Genoa, he reproaches himself by having mistook
an italian lady for a common woman, because she was badly dressed.
And because her good nature prevented her from resenting his innocent
mistake, by this only fact, he thinks that the ladies of Italy have not
the dignity of the american or english ladies. “Dignity and woman’s
rights,” says he, “are nothing to an italian lady, while victory
is every thing.” It seems to me that, had the italian lady pouted,
because of his mistake, such a bad humor would have robbed her of all
woman’s dignity, and woman’s right. Nothing is more attractive in a
woman than her innocent forgiveness. And the woman, who shows any fear
of losing her dignity or woman’s rights before a gentleman, she does
but tell him he is not a gentleman. However, had, here, the gentleman
been acquainted with her language, he might have discovered the lady
under servant’s garments; and her new dress, nothing but a reproach on
herself by having forgotten, at that moment, that she ought to have
been better dressed before them. There are faults in innocent woman,
which render her still more lovely. It is like that child who stumbles,
for too much eagerness in running to embrace its mother. I suppose she
was one of those good italian ladies, who forget themselves to please
their neighbors; and while her innocent blunders force you to love the
childish woman, who always places you at home, you find yourself happy
in playing the child with her. That which one calls woman’s dignity,
for another, is nothing but a chilling pride.
I must here now copy the following lines from Mr. Headley: “I have
seen, and heard much of an italian love of music, but nothing
illustrating it so forcibly as an incident that occured last evening at
the opera. In the midst of one of the scenes, a man in the pit near the
orchestra, was suddenly seized with convulsions. His limbs stiffened;
his eyes became set in his head, and stood wide open, staring at the
ceiling like the eyes of a corpse; while low, and agonizing groans
broke from his struggling bosom. The prima donna came forward at that
moment, but seeing his livid, death-stamped face before her, suddenly
stopped with a tragic look and start, that for once was perfectly
natural. She turned to the bass-singer, and pointed out the frightful
spectacle. He also started back in horror, and the prospect was, that
the opera would terminate on the spot; but, the scene that was just
opening, was the one in which the prima donna was to make her great
effort, and around which the whole interest of the play was gathered,
and the spectators were determined not to be disappointed, because
one man was dying, and so shouted ‘go on! go on!’ Clara Novello gave
another look towards the groaning man, whose whole aspect was enough
to freeze the blood, and then started off in her part. But, the dying
man grew worse and worse, and finally sprung bolt upright in his seat.
A person sitting behind him, all-absorbed in the music, immediately
placed his hands on his shoulders, pressed him down again, and held
him firmly in his place. There he sat, pinioned fast with his pale,
corpse-like face upturned, in the midst of that gay assemblage, and
the foam rolling over his lips, while the braying of trumpets, and the
voice of the singer, drowned the groans that were rending his bosom.
At length the foam became streaked with blood, as it oozed through
his teeth, and the convulsive starts grew quicker and fiercer. But,
the man behind, held him fast, while he gazed in perfect rapture on
the singer, who now, like the ascending lark, was trying her loftiest
strain. As it ended, the house rang with applause, and the man, who had
held down the poor dying creature could contain his ecstacy no longer,
and lifting his hands from his shoulders, clapped them rapidly together
three or four times, crying out over the ears of the dying man, ‘Brava,
brava!’ and then hurriedly placing them back again to prevent his
springing up in his convulsive throes. It was a perfectly maddening
spectacle, and the music jarred on the chords of my heart, like the
blows of a hammer. But, the song was ended, the effect secured, and so
the spectators could attend to the sufferer in their midst. The _gens
d’armes_ entered, and carried him speechless, and lifeless out of the
theatre. If this be the refined nature, and sensitive soul, love of
music creates, heaven, keep me from it, and my countrymen. Give me a
heart with chords that vibrate to human suffering, sooner than to the
most ravishing melody, aye, that can hear nothing, and feel nothing
else, when moving pity speaks. But, so the world goes--men will weep
over a dying ass, then pitch a brother into the ditch. A play, oh, how
they can appreciate, and feel it, they are so sensitive; but a stern
stirring fact, they can look as coldly on, as a statue!”
It is now nearly fourteen years, since I arrived in the United States
of North America; and were I, here, relating the wrongs, and injustice
I received from the hands of several americans--Mr. Headly, though I
have not the honor of his acquaintance, as I think him a gentleman,
and a man of feeling, in spite of his “Italy and the Italians,” were
he using the same style in blaming his countrymen as he blames mine,
Mr. Headley, I say, would execrate all the americans! But, stop, my
dear sir, I would say to him; you ought not to execrate them all,
because I had the misfortune of having fallen among a few american
rogues. If I met individuals, whom Petrarca would call _gente cui si
fa notte innanzi sera_, I have nevertheless a high respect still, for
the whole nation: and although in this christian old, and new world
it is difficult, very difficult to find a friend, not only I have a
friend in America; but, I know many whom, though not my friends, I
respect and esteem; and could I know the many virtuous, who generally,
and unfortunately, are always the most retired, I am sure to find
such a number in America--sufficient to shame those, who spoke badly
of the whole nation, from which they cannot deny a Franklin received
his birth. Still, Mr. Headley, who cannot ignore the many virtuous
italians, who accelerated the civilization of the two hemispheres;
and the last, though useless efforts made by italians for the rights
of a suffering plurality; Mr. Headly, I say, proceeds his foregoing
lines with the following: “How such things weaken one’s faith in man,
and make him scorn his own nature, that is capable of such stone-like
indifference to human suffering! These italians, as a mass, I do not
like. They are exceedingly civil, but heartless--frank in manners, but
capable of great duplicity in action--fiery-hearted, but not steadily
brave, and selfish to any amount of meanness. In a word, you cannot
trust them.” But, let us come to the point.
Genoa is a haven where the fourth of the population are strangers; and
those who go to the italian opera, are strangers. Without mistake we
can calculate that, in that theatre, more than the half of spectators
must have been strangers. Mr. Headly says in his pamphlet, that Clara
Novello was an english woman; and he does not know if the man who
placed his hands on the patient, was an italian or not. But, were such
a man an italian, he can no more disgrace the whole italian nation,
than a Mr. Ballard can disgrace the whole Union, with his cowardly
crime, against the noble minded Miss Amelia Norman. That the spectators
in that italian theatre, must have thought the case of the so called
dying man, not in such an urgent situation as Mr. Headley did, the very
coolness with which the other man held the patient, proves it. But, if
Mr. Headley did really think the man was dying; why did not his good
american heart, force him to run to his succor? Or, at least, if he was
morally suffering, and gazing passively at the dying man as well as the
rest of those italians; why he does not suppose all those italians,
though idle as he, not to have suffered his very undecided, and painful
situation?
I was in Virginia; strangers were suspected as being abolitionists:
some strangers had been mobbed, and hung on mere suspicion. In passing
by a crowd of people assembled for an election, and seeing many persons
around two men, one white and the other black, the former holding the
second, bound with a rope like Jesus Christ, when he was dragged to
Golgotha, and the white, thinking his old prisoner an escaped slave,
with the smile of an expected gain, for which he appeared to me like
another Judas, I approached the crowd; and seeing that the poor old
black man was suffering, the rope being too tight, I remarked with
pity to those, who were laughing at his sufferings, that the rope was
torturing the poor human being! Suddenly the whole crowd felt the same
charity, and pity I felt; and many went immediately to the magistrate,
telling him they doubted the man being a slave, and soon they found he
was a free black. I was in that place as a foreigner fallen from the
clouds; no body was there to protect me, had a malicious man, for the
sake of mischief, whispered, that I was an abolitionist. Mr. Headley
could not have such an apprehension in Italy, had he acted with the
impulse of his good heart.
Incapacity, timidity, and indecision, which cramp the finest feelings
of the human heart, disappear in an instant from a crowded assembly,
as soon as one, among them, springs forward the first, to do a good
action. The bravest soldiers left the field of a nearly gained battle,
because their general had, at that moment, the apprehension of death;
and coward soldiers gained battles, because their general was brave,
daring the whole time they were fighting. A motley crowd of people are
less than soldiers; and an unexpected event in a place of pleasure,
will paralyze their very faculties. Had I remained passive as Mr.
Headley, I would not have felt the pleasure in seeing that, that crowd
of americans had a heart as well as I; and that, if they did not feel
sooner the pity which I felt, it was because they were habituated to
see slaves in like situation, and not by want of a good heart. Were it
necessary, I would bring many like instances which happened to me in
America. But, my object, here, is neither a wish to write of my good
actions, nor that of judging the whole mass of americans by such little
things, or little casualties.
However, as the english Clara Novello went on with her sweet strain,
the man near, held the patient down, and the people seemed to overlook
the painful sight, I am rather inclined to think, that the patient must
have been an epileptic, perhaps known as such by every one in that
italian theatre, or, at least, believed by them an epileptic, a malady
for which no remedy has yet been found, and the best thing is, to leave
him alone, until the spasm will pass over.
Were I controverting all the little incidents upon which, as it seems,
Mr. Headley places too much consideration; this work, which I intend
to have printed in the form of a small pamphlet, would grow to a big
volume. I will only say here, that a writer who intends to give an idea
of Italy, and of the Italians, should have taken a quite different
ground, though he says: “I have gone over these little things, because
they are the best illustration of italian character.” So, a people who
has its enemies in the house, a people from whom to expect freedom
is to expect the impossible, impossible, I say, because France with
her pretended freedom, England with her selfishness, Russia with her
despotism, and all the european despotical alliance, diabolically
blessed, and sanctioned by what they call christian religion, did,
and always would unite with Austria, to crush Italy--her people is
judged by little things, which travelers, meet on their way. Every time
the italians attempted to shake off the yoke of foreign tyrants, the
tyrants oppressing the very italian princes, who rule italian blood,
the pope, and his accomplices rendered grace to God, when they heard
that their jealous enemies, I mean the protesants, gave to italian
princes, ropes to hang the italian Catos, who attempted to place on
the italian soil, italian princes, free of foreign servitude. But,
this yet uncivilized world, in which the friends of humanity are
misrepresented, is still doomed to look without feeling at victims,
who honor our degraded race!--May the true God, who is in heaven,
listen to my prayer! A short prayer, but a true one!--Foreigners who
call us effeminate, must be effeminate themselves, unless they are
so ignorant as to call Brutus an effeminate, because they find him
in chains with a slave, and forced to work with the last of men!
Travelers, and Mr. Headley blame italians, because they find under that
sky, worthy of a better fortune, beggars, and wretches “selling their
rich ornaments that were the objects of their ancestors’ affection,
and veneration, like the trinkets of a toy shop.” But, you, spoiled
children of more happy governments, you should not, at least, laugh
at our nakedness!--And the pretty piedemontese who gave you a fall,
Mr. Headley, because her necessity forced her to stand before you with
a little pewter dish in her hand, most humbly asking for a few sous,
rather as charity, than as a recompense of her mountain songs; instead
of throwing her the coppers, and thinking her inspiration nothing but
a love of money, your good, american heart should have prompted a
feeling, if not mixed with tears, at least, with a smile of sympathy,
which would have been, by far, more pleasing to an italian heart, than
your few coppers. That poor delicate female was singing not for the
love of money, a love which wrongs rather too much this country of
America. She charmed you for the urgent necessity of hunger! And who
knows that the loaf of bread she bought with your few coppers, had
not been mixed with her innocent and bitter tears? And that hunger is
originated from the continual plunders which the despotical foreign
powers in Italy, and surrounding Italy, are unlawfully forcing on us
to maintain an exorbitant army, with which to distress us. Who knows,
that the father of the poor piedmontese had not been hanged for having
claimed the rights of man, the very rights to which God did create us?
The other ragged woman to whom your american navy taught how to say:
‘God damn’ without knowing the meaning of it, would prove, that if
such americans are found in Italy, passing their christian time with
such women, your americans must have looseness of morals as much as my
italians. But, as I think the cursing women in Broadway cannot take off
the merit of the american ladies, you have no right to think that my
mother, and sisters are not ladies! Sins are committed in every part
of this world; but, as we know there are virtuous people, we should
exclude the greater number, or, at least, think ourselves no better. We
are all fine nations, indeed, in this pretended christian world! But,
since we cannot fling the first stone, we have no right to laugh at
the faults of our neighbor, nor to tell, that our neighbor has not our
virtues, or morals.
Mr. Headley has now already passed the half of his time he spent in
Italy, which is to say, three months: and though during these three
months, he never went out of Genoa, he says that nothing is more
stupid than an italian soiree. Had he said a genoese soiree, Mr.
Headley would have only offended the citizens of Genoa, who gave him
hospitality: but, to offend the whole of Italy, who had never had
the pleasure of seeing him, nor he the displeasure of seeing their
stupidity, it is what we call a gratuitous offense.--Not pleased
therefore, in finding them excessively stupid, he believes that ten
dollars would pay, each evening, all the expenses the governor is
at, in the entertainment!--Were I saying the same against the kind
americans who honored me, every one would be right in thinking, that
I must have accepted their invitations, rather for their refreshments
than for the pleasure of their conversation. And here, I must copy Mr.
Headley’s outline of the italian soirees:--“Splendid rooms, brilliantly
illuminated, any quantity of nobility--dancing, waltzing, promenading,
ice creams, hot punch,” no hot corn, Mr. Headley? “and late hours make
up the description. It is gay, and brilliant, but without force or
wit.” And here, benevolent reader, a stranger, who does not know the
italian language, dares to say of having found no wit! And, because the
kind italians had no other way to please the happy gentleman of this
New World, seeing he could not understand their language, they gave him
dancing, waltzing, promenading, ice cream and hot punch: and because
these things could not amount to ten dollars, he blames, them because
the scanty refreshments had not been supplied by wit, with which nature
did not favor those poor italian brains! The american lady, I have
already quoted, says in her Alida: “Superfluous refinements in eating,
and drinking are among the enjoyments least important to a rational
being. Do not let us poison a feast to a neighbor, by the mortifying
reflection that he can make no similar return. An evil spirit of
competition is thus awakened, and all true hospitality destroyed.”
While Mr. Headley claims as an american, a beautiful english lady,
whose charms had been transmitted from her american mother, he sadly
writes of not having found in Italy not a really pretty woman; and the
only one he met, who was called the belle of the city, it was, what he
would term, of the doll kind. And mind here, benevolent reader, that
the Italy of Mr. Headley, is nothing else but the city of Genoa! He has
not yet gone out of it.
To define beauty, I have nothing else to say, that a beauty is the
beauty of different men, who have different sight, and different
feeling. The artist will always draw it as he feels it himself. But,
he who pretends to settle rules on beauty, must needs not know what
beauty is. The beauty of one’s eyes cannot be the beauty of another,
though rules we find settled by different nations. The Venus of De
Medici is a greek beauty, whom a greek would love in preference to any
italian, english, french, chinese, or indian beauty. But the chinese
will always prefer the chinese, as well as the indian the wild one. He
who compares the music of Hyden or Mozart, with the music of Rossini
or Bellini, shows too plainly, he does not understand the art. He who
wishes to see pretty women, has only to step into the car, and in a few
hours he will see in Baltimore a great many. But, if he delays five
or six years longer, he might meet there the ugliest in the world, so
the glory of the world is transient. Once, in passing through a small
city of France, all the women I saw in that place were so pretty, that
I thought to have fallen into the garden of Armida. Still, though we
know that every dog has its happy days, there are travelers who did
not pass but six months in Italy, running through ten cities of that
populous country, who, like Mr. Headley, asserted not to have seen one
single pretty italian lady. I did pass myself more than six months in
one single city of America, without having met one pretty lady, when to
my astonishment, I met in that very city, on a public walk, beauties as
cheerful as the sun. To bless this being of war, called man, nature did
scatter beauties in every part of this singular planet.
However, though Mr. Headley would never consent with the plurality of
travelers, who praised the black-eyed beauties of Italy, after having
resided in the city of Genoa nearly five months, passed one day in
Civita Vecchia, only calculating how long it would take him to get out
of it, seen from a steamboat “villainous towns” on the shores from
Genoa to Naples, the last month which he spent in this last city,
where his turn through Italy closes, caused him to change a little the
language he used before: “It is not the partiality one naturally feels
for his country women, that governs me,” says Mr. Headley in his twenty
first letter; “when I say, that the beautiful women with us stand
to them in the proportion of five to one.” And at the close of his
pamphlet he added: “A beautiful eye, and eyebrow are more frequently
met here than at home. The brow is peculiarly beautiful--not merely
from its regularity, but singular flexibility. It will laugh of itself,
and the slight arch always heralds, and utters beforehand the piquant
thing the tongue is about to utter; and then she laughs so sweetly!”
That Mr. Headly did tread on the toe of the italian as well as of the
american ladies, without intending to hurt them, or thinking that his
heavy boots had prevented them from dancing; with the following lines,
taken from his twenty-second, and last letter, I want to prove that,
if he did hurt them, he had not done it maliciously. Yes; in spite
of his great faults, which I found in his letters on Italy, and the
italians, I am inclined to think him a kind, sincere, and ingenuous
gentleman. “I said in my last letter,” says Mr. Headly, “I would speak
of the manners of the italian women, which was the cause of their being
so universally admired by foreigners. This alone makes an immense
difference between an italian, and an american city. Broadway, with
all its array of beauty, never inclines one to be lively and merry.
The ladies (the men are worse of course) seem to have come out for any
other purpose, than to enjoy themselves. Their whole demeanor is like
one sitting for his portrait. Every thing is just as it should be, to
be looked at. Every lady wears a serious face, and the whole throng, is
like a stiff country party. The ladies here, on the contrary, go out
to be merry, and it is one perpetual chatter, and laugh on the public
promenade. The movements are all different, and the very air seems gay.
I never went down Broadway, at the promenade hour alone with the blues,
without coming back, feeling bluer; while I never returned from a
public promenade in Italy, without rubbing my hands, saying to myself,
‘Well, this must be a very comfortable world, after all, for people
do enjoy themselves in it amazingly.’ This difference is still more
perceptible on personal acquaintance. An italian lady never sits, and
utters common-places with freezing formality. She is more flexible, and
indeed, if the truth be said, better natured, and happier than too many
of my countrywomen. She is not the keen look-out, lest she should fail
to frown every time propriety demands.
“There is no country in the world where woman is so worshipped, and
allowed to have her own way as in America, and yet there is no country,
where she is so ungrateful for the place, and power she occupies. Have
you never in Broadway, when the omnibus was full, stepped out into
the rain to let a lady take your place, which she most unhesitatingly
did, and with an indifference in her manner as if she considered it
the merest trifle in the world you had done? How cold, and heartless
her ‘thank ye,’ if she gave one! Dickens makes the same remark with
regard to stage coaches--so does Hamilton. Now, do such a favor for
an italian lady, and you would be rewarded with one of the sweetest
smiles, that ever brightened on a human countenance. I do not go on the
principle that a man must always expect a reward for his good deeds;
yet, when I have had my kindest offices, as a stranger, received as if
I were almost suspected of making improper advances, I have felt there
was little pleasure in being civil. The ‘grazie, Signore,’ and smile
with which an italian rewards the commonest civility, would make the
plainest woman appear handsome in the eyes of a foreigner.”
The above lines of Mr. Headley, though rather too severe ones, will,
with time, benefit the american ladies more, than any thing said by
foreigners: not because Mr. Headley was the first to observe it; Mr.
Headley, being an american, cannot be thought of having any bad feeling
towards his country-women. However, though I am a stranger in America,
I will give more justice to the american ladies, and heal their toe,
since I see them created to cheer us with their charming Polka:
waiting, in the mean time, until steam, and tourists will have rendered
them better, and better.
My purpose here is to demonstrate that the ladies’ faults in America,
are the faults of those who keep suspenders to their pantaloons. The
american ladies are disposed to gentility as well as any lady in the
world; and were, here, italian ladies, who had changed their italian
custom, I could not, nor I should wonder for it. I will say here,
_en passant_: the contrast between the american ladies, and american
gentlemen is so great, for which I had often thought the two sexes in
America, must be of different nations.
How can we blame the american ladies for being so reserved, when the
american gentlemen check them at the moment of their most kind, and
woman like impulse, and feelings? I have known american gentlemen, who
would not marry the woman they love, were she not unkind with every
other gentlemen around her: and many did judge woman’s love towards
them, as far as she was unmerciful towards other gentlemen. And
erroneously thinking that love is blind, they would not believe that a
woman would love them, because she finds faults with them. A gentleman
was to be married to a belle in the south of this Union. Another
gentleman seeing the portrait of the future present wife, was asked by
a friend, there present, if he knew the original, to which he answered,
that such a star could not be mistaken. The promised, and happy young
lady, passing her little index through the breast of her portrait,
said: ‘and this is the milky-way.’ Such witty, and innocent remark was
thought indelicate by her lover, and it had nearly broken the match!
I have seen more jealousy in the cold looks of american gentlemen, than
in the showing, and often exaggerated feeling of italian gentlemen.
American ladies, often shrink with fright, lest they be thought
unfaithful to him, whom they love; and in proportion of the population,
I think there are more fights, and murders, originated from jealousy
in America, than in Italy. The death of Mr. Andrienne, by the hand of
an american husband, is one of the most cold murders which had ever
disgraced our race.
Is a foreigner engaged to be married with an american lady? Nothing is
forgotten to force the lady to break the match. And here I will say
nothing of the false articles, which I read myself in the newspapers,
against foreign gentlemen, respectable, and respected by every one who
had the honor of being acquainted with the slandered foreigners. I have
seen american ladies, in receiving any kindness from gentlemen, looking
first at their husbands, before rendering thanks to the gentleman,
who was polite to her. Yes: the coldness of the american lady is not
natural to her; and were she acting otherwise, she would be blamed; and
Mr. Headley himself would think her as a lady without dignity. Still,
the ladies of New York are pearls when compared with the ladies in the
interior of this Union, where foreigners are very rarely seen.
Step into a car, into a steamboat; and the very gentleman who complains
of the indifference, and coldness with which american ladies receive
the kindness of gentlemen, is the first to spoil them. Once, being in a
car, and not thinking that the back department of it, and always more
comfortable, was exclusively for the ladies, seeing almost all the
places vacant, I went there, and seated myself; when the agent of that
train, with a loud voice, and manners to make the ladies understand he
had no difficulty of being rude with his own sex to please the ladies,
said to me with a voice of command, that the place was only for the
ladies. ‘It is not my intention,’ I answered him, ‘to intrude myself
among your ladies: but, you should be more polite to an inoffensive
stranger, when you find him innocently breaking your rules, by telling
him in a whisper, that he is mistaken.’
I wonder to find the american ladies good as they are with like
gentlemen, spoiling them continually. The american lady must have
an uncommon mind, not to think herself a being far superior to all
gentlemen in bones, flesh, and blood. And how can she think otherwise,
while the ladies have a reciprocal regard between themselves, the
gentleman thinks it derogatory to himself to be polite with another
gentleman? However, as my wish is to be just with the american
gentlemen also, and the acquaintances who honor me in America, I must
say that: although there are some of my sex, who think that a gentleman
is not obliged to be polite to the politeness of those whom he thinks
his inferiors, the generality of american gentlemen are now as civil as
any civilized nation in the world; and during the time excepted, when
they are before ladies, in which time they think it unmanly to have
any regard between themselves, the aristocrat of money, who does not
answer politeness for politeness, may be suffered by them; but he is
not imitated by republicans: and the republicans in America form the
greater number.
I saw gentlemen with ladies touching the shoulder of other gentlemen,
telling the latter to give up their seats for the ladies, and them,
without acknowledging the least thank. In a public place every
gentleman would always be pleased to give up his seat to a lady; but,
to command him to do so, he who gives up, falls from his dignity;
and he who takes it, shows a want of feeling. If the giver feels
naturally more moral pleasure in ceding it, is it not better to wait
the moment in which the gentleman, seeing the lady standing by him,
will immediately offer her his seat? Not long ago, a lady stepping with
her daughter into a car, touched on the shoulder a gentleman before
me, telling him to leave the two places he occupied, and give them up
for herself, and her daughter: and with the imperial countenance of
Elizabeth, queen of England, showed to him another place before him,
where another gentleman occupied two other places. The gentleman did
all she wanted, without saying one word, with such a patience, though
dejected generosity, which caused me to grieve for my own sex. Few
days after, two ladies stepping in the same car, where I occupied
two places, fearing of being commanded like the gentleman for whom I
grieved, I offered the vacant place next mine to the nearest lady,
standing by me. She answered that she would receive both places in
order to sit together with her friend. In asking the lady if she
commanded me to do so, or if she would be thankful for giving up my
place, and she answering that she would be thankful, I gave it up, and
went to seat myself with another gentleman.
That the american ladies would not be inferior in kindness to any
italian lady, I have no doubt, could they believe that we, of the
fighting tribe, are not dogs respecting them. Nevertheless, I have a
high respect towards the american ladies, as far as a good heart is
concerned, though a bad custom injures too much their sensible left
side: and as it is the best side of woman, I would not like to see
the american ladies so badly treated by their very bad teachers, who,
like heedless fathers, complain of their children, who would be good,
had they not spoiled them. Yes: the american ladies are naturally
good children. And, were only one single lady, who would thank me by
having said such a truth in their defence, I would call myself fully
rewarded for my trouble in defending them. But, were they all bad,
and at the same time, were they all thanking me for having said a
falsehood, I would be very sorry for it. The american lady to whom I
gave up my place with the dignity of a man, and not with the dejection
of a commanded dog, showed me one of her most thankful, and charming
smiles, not for the place I ceded to her; but, for having given her
a good lesson. And the woman who acknowledges her fault with such a
smile, were she properly and tenderly managed, she would be an angel.
If my kindest offices to ladies did hurt my feeling, when I was not
acquainted with the american custom, I felt ashamed when I offered them
to gentlemen, who received it as if they thought me their inferior: and
then, I repented of having been polite to them. Still, we must mind the
_ne quid nimis_ in politeness also: and, indeed, there are some who are
so excessively polite among other nations, with whom politeness becomes
excessively uncomfortable.
However, I always see something good, among the faults of man. Indeed,
I feel more pleased in seeing rather an excess of politeness towards
ladies, even to those who do not deserve it, than not enough of it
to them. And to the lady, whose education taught her how to place
a distinction between selfesteem, and selfishness, kindness to her
creates kindness. Besides, the politeness which american gentlemen have
for women, it is of that kind, which must please the ladies. It is a
generous service as a gentleman, before careless parents, would give to
their naughty, spoiled child. The most uncouth man fails not in tact
of gentility, when he gives any service to ladies. It is a national,
generous, and natural politeness, for which females must always feel
themselves at home. Blackguards here, would not stare in the face of a
lady, passing by; and I am so much pleased of it that, were I seeing
in the streets such a blackguard, I would join with all my heart the
american gentlemen to reprove the scamp.
Every human being who is not deprived of its senses is created for good
purposes: and the difference of characters among different nations is
what it forms the beauty of this earth. Human faults are not originated
from nature; they are but the evil of false education. I do not think
that one nation is naturally better than another: on the contrary; that
which seems a fault to us, it might be a virtue, were it placed in its
proper light. Though now, we feel ourselves, generally, in a better
condition than those passed times of darker ages, perfection seems only
granted to our posterity. We are spoiled boys yet, taught by worse
teachers, offending, and insulting each other for no other reason, but
because we do not understand ourselves. We may boast of never speaking
of our personal virtues; but, in speaking badly of other nations, we do
not see that we praise ourselves hypocritically.
And here, since american ladies have been introduced, I feel it my duty
to defend them from an unjust blame. I have heard american and foreign
gentlemen saying, they dislike learned ladies. Such gentlemen, I
suppose, must not have sufficient learning themselves, to discriminate
between a learned lady, and a lady who pretends to learning. A learned
lady is always modest; and adapts herself to the capacity of those with
whom she converses, unless her insufficient learning had not told her,
that, nothing is more disagreeable in a lady than pretensions; and
nothing more becoming than modesty. The learning which does not teach
us how to know ourselves, is not learning. That a gentleman does not
find himself at home with ladies more instructed than he is, in such a
case, it is not the fault of the learned ladies: it is his own, by not
having cultivated his mind as well as the ladies did.
Exceptions aside, such is the fact: in America the ladies are generally
more cultivated in real instruction, than the gentlemen: and he who did
study a little greek, and latin (which is but lost time, unless he be
thoroughly acquainted with these two dead languages) thinking himself
above the education of ladies, looks to his charming country women with
such an air of superiority of mind, as if they were fit only to chat
but of balls, ribbons, dresses, and all the nonsense of empty heads,
rather too much introduced in conversation by the gentlemen who, when
they find it useless to speak of Mr. Henry Clay, or Mr. Polk, they
leave poetry, history, painting, music, languages, and philosophy to
their fair partners to enjoy it, if they like, in their own private
closet.
And here, I hope, no fellow of my sex will marvel, if I do not think
philosophy incompetent with the fair sex. There have been hypocrites,
who made of philosophy a bugbear. Philosophy is nothing else but good
sense, reason, or wisdom. Philosophy, in our age, it is that sense
of justice to which all men, and women, who have integrity, when
they think, judge, and compare by themselves, they do agree without
pretension of being more learned than others. The philosopher speaks
for better information, and not for the price of being considered more
learned than his neighbor. The philosopher is modest: if he speaks of
divinity, he does not say to his contender: You have not yet studied
the bible enough: and so of mathematics, geology, or astronomy. The
philosopher may point out the deficient knowledge which his contender
might have of the science; but, he will never ask the impolite
question, if he knows the science on which they are discussing.
Philosophy, now a days, is no more under the banner of stoicism,
peripateticism, cynism, or platonism, which were, at those times,
nothing better, than religious sects. In our days, every one, who is
able to demonstrate a truth, is a philosopher. And since the reasoning
faculties were given to woman as well as to man, I do not see why man
would not permit woman to reason as well as himself?
Once, being invited to an evening party in Virginia, I was so much
pleased in the conversation of a young lady, that, had I not seen many
gentlemen smiling and looking askance at us, I think the interesting
subject we had on hand, would have taken all our evening time, before
we could arrive to the conclusion of it: and nothing is more agreeable
at an evening party, when we have matter on hand to keep off the
chilling silent look. But, as the smiles at us, were too many, we
postponed our subject for another time. So, the young lady, turning
to the next gentleman, who was very fond of riding, spoke with him
of his beautiful horse, and I went into the adjoining room to drink
with several gentlemen a glass of madeira. After having drunk to our
health, the gentlemen asked me if I had enough of the learned young
lady. I had not yet answered the question, when another gentleman said,
that he would not give three straws for all the learned ladies of the
world. I answered the gentlemen, that I was very much pleased of her
conversation; and could I spend every evening with ladies like her, I
would give up the practice of pouring out my sight on books, because
such conversations would give me more information, than what I could
get in my own closet.
It is a fact: while out of ten ladies you find nine, who know two
modern languages, besides their english; out of ten gentlemen, you
can scarcely find two. It is not because I teach the italian language
that I praise the study of languages; I praise my profession, because
I think it the most useful, and the most able to develop the faculties
of human understanding. I cannot deny that few american ladies, as
gentlemen, study also imperfectly the greek, and latin languages, and
for which I do not see why their parents do not wish rather, that
their young ladies would study the sanscrit, the ancient persic, or
the hebrew. But, the plurality of the american ladies, studying modern
languages from foreigners, who know well the very languages of their
own country, the young ladies, I say, do not lose their time, like
the plurality of gentlemen in learning greek, and latin from native
americans, who get the professorship in colleges, because they have
friends in this country. Hence the study of greek, and latin becomes a
necessary thing in the american colleges: nay, it is a faculty, without
which, a student cannot receive his diploma. And the foreigners, who
would be the most useful as professors of modern languages in colleges,
have but a blank name of professors. So, the student, who can get
his diploma without any of the modern languages, study only what he
is compelled to do; and the foreign professors, having neither fee,
nor pupils, stand there to fill up the required number of professors,
without which those colleges could not be called universities.
Out of one hundred american ladies, who learned modern languages from
me, I cannot reckon five gentlemen. I have no doubt that in America
there must be good professors of greek, and latin, as well as among any
other nation in the world; but, a dead language will always be a dead
language, even from the mouth of the best professor; and a Buscheron,
the deceased professor of the latin language in Turin, Italy, was one
of those rare birds which does not appear on this earth, but during
one thousand years, if it does: and when it does, such a bird, I mean
such a professor, might be unable to impart his latin to others. But,
no person is perfect here, below the moon, and the want of literature
in the american gentlemen is counterbalanced by many virtues, for which
I have as much sympathy towards them, as I have towards my countrymen.
The mercantile business in which they are thrown, gives them such
an extensive knowledge of the world, which does supply, in great
measure, their deficiency of languages, or of books. They know what
is passing in Europe, Africa, Asia, New Holland, and South America.
They are patient, industrious, brave, and active. I have seen american
gentlemen going to bed wealthy, and on the next morning, when they
found themselves reduced to beggary, sustaining their misfortune with
manly fortitude, noble composure, and getting anew into business with
such cheerfulness, as if nothing had happened to them. Such an eulogy
is the greatest which can be given to any civilized nation. As it is
the truth, I feel happy to say so. From a nation who does possess such
virtues, we must expect great things: and the republic of America has
my best wishes.
Had a foreigner said of America, what Mr. Headley said of Italy, and
the Italians, I do not know with what words many americans would have
called such a foreigner. And, although that which Mr. Dickens said of
America in his Notes, is nothing to compare to what Mr. Headley said of
Italy. Mr. Headley himself introducing an english lady in his fifteenth
letter, he wrote: “She tells me that Dickens is getting out a work
reflecting on us in a manner that will throw his Notes on America,
entirely in the shade. She says she supposed our rapturous reception
of him, was occasioned by the fear we had of his pen. Shade of Hector
defend us! this is too much. However, we deserve it, or rather those
of my countrymen deserve it, who out-did Lilliput, in their admiration
of the modern Gulliver; for I plead not guilty to the charge of fool
in that sublimest of all follies ever perpetrated by an intelligent
people. I will cry ‘bravo’ to every pasquinade Dickens lets off on that
demented class, which cried out every time they saw that buffalo-skin
over-coat appear: ‘The Gods have come down to us.’”
We feel the blows of others, but, we are not conscious of those we give
to our christian neighbors. I, on the contrary, wish not to be blinded
by my patriotic feeling, as italian, in judging Mr. Headley; as he
judged Mr. Dickens with his patriotic feeling. I look to his ‘Italy
and the Italians,’ as being a production of a gentleman who wrote for
the only impulse of writing, without thinking that, while he wished
to exhibit his wit on the shoulders of those who had kind feeling for
him, his expressions did unjustly cut quick flesh, as quick as his
own; without thinking, I say, that the feeling of the italians is not
inferior to the feeling of the americans. Travelers may come here, or
go to Italy, and spend their wit as much as they please. Man is man in
every part of the world: and to dishonor a nation with the purpose of
praising ours, shows either a poor heart--a bad, or hasty judgment. As
I think Mr. Headley a gentleman with a good heart, had he not already
published his letters by the newspapers, he would have altered the
expressions of his pamphlet; I have no doubt of it.
In his twelfth letter, Mr. Headley, writing of Byron, says, that
Byron had always on his table the bible, Machiavelli, Shakspeare,
and Alfieri. “Byron,” says Mr. Headley, “loved Machiavelli for his
contempt of mankind, making them all a flock of sheep to be led, or
slaughtered at the will of one haughty man.” Had Mr. Headley read
all the works of Machiavelli, the master of statesmen, and so little
known, or disregarded by the american senators; he would not have
repeated with the english, such an unjust slander against Machiavelli.
_Il principe_ is but a long irony. And here, let me be permitted to
say, that the word Machiavelism should be taken off from the english,
and american dictionaries, unless such a virtuous italian, who took
off the mask from the face of tyrants, and showed to nations how ugly
they are, be still thought by the english, and american literati, as
a writer, who intended to favor arbitrary power. Machiavelli was as
noble, and sincere in his sentiments of republicanism as Brutus, or
Cato themselves. The english, and american lexicographers had been very
much mistaken in saying that the word Machiavelism is synonymous of
political cunning, and artifice.
Had I demonstrated in this chapter nothing else but, that writers
should not go into other countries with a spirit of wishing to show
themselves superior to other nations, it will always do something good
to the future American Literature. A man of letters is indebted to
all nations for his discrimination, and wisdom; and unless he writes
with the feeling of a citizen of the world, his writings will never
attain the purpose to profit mankind in general, and himself, without
which a National Literature will always be in the clutches of national
selfishness. We cannot write of heaven without looking to heaven.
We are all children of one single destination: and we cannot expect
civilization, until all nations will give to each other the hand of
brotherly love. That God intended to improve the race of man with the
time to come, the different characters of different nations show God’s
infinite wisdom. Consult the best physicians, and they will demonstrate
to you, that children from parents of different nations, having the
qualities of their father and mother, are cleverer than those children
whose parents are both of the same nation. The intermarriages of
different nations with so many different propensities, must, of course,
bring the race of man to a great improvement, and for which the mind of
the posterity must excel ours with the times to come.