The Nobleman’s Journal becomes more and more Aristocratic.--Wistar
Parties in Philadelphia.--Literary Gentlemen in Philadelphia.--The
Girard College.--Character of the late Stephen Girard.--The
Quakers.--Their Aristocratic Sentiments.--Quaker Dress.--Philadelphia
Ladies.--Good Living in Philadelphia.--The Mansion-house in
Third-street.--Apostrophe to the Fashionable Young Men and to the Men
of Family.
“Still stranger much, that when at last mankind
Had reach’d the sinewy firmness of their youth,
And could discriminate and argue well
On subjects more mysterious, they were yet
Babes in the cause of freedom, and should fear
And quake before the gods themselves had made;
But above measure strange that neither proof
Of sad experience, nor example set
By some, whose patriot virtue had prevailed.
Can even now, when they are grown mature
In wisdom, and with philosophic deeds
Familiar, serve t’ emancipate the rest!”
COWPER’S _Task_, Canto v.
The journal of my friend I found was too long for publication. Besides,
I could discover his aristocratic propensities to grow stronger and
stronger in exact proportion to his intercourse with the higher
classes; so that I was obliged to omit his notes on the society of
Philadelphia and Baltimore, in order to find room for his observations
on Washington. Two circumstances, however, I must not suffer to pass
unnoticed; his admiration of the Quakers, and his dislike of the Wistar
parties,--a sort of half literary, half fashionable, weekly convention
of gentlemen, at which a tolerable supper is added to a great deal of
indifferent conversation on ordinary topics.
“There is,” says my friend, in one of his notes, “a much greater
number of literary and scientific gentlemen in Philadelphia than can
be found in any other city of the United States; but they are, as yet,
far from forming ‘a republic of letters.’ As long as literary and
scientific men without fortune are merely tolerated by their wealthy
but less clever colleagues; as long as science and literature in the
United States are judged, not by their high intrinsic value, but by the
advantages which may result from them in the common transactions of
life; as long as arts and sciences remain without influential patrons
or public consideration, it is in vain to attempt their promotion by
pampering poets and painters with a weekly supper. These ‘literary
_réunions_,’ as they are called in Philadelphia, are not calculated to
put a man of letters at his ease, or to elicit new thoughts by familiar
conversation. On the contrary, they are stiff, unsociable, full of that
_gênante étiquette_ which prevails in all the higher American coteries
to the exclusion of mirth and familiarity. The Athenæum and Garrick
clubs in London contain daily a thousand times better opportunities
of improvement to young literary men, than the Wistar parties of
Philadelphia in the course of a century. There are, in fact, no
establishments similar to those in the United States; though there are
_very respectable_ gambling clubs in New York, Philadelphia, Baltimore,
and even in the godly city of Boston.”
“The newly established Girard College,” observes my friend in another
note, “will not prove so great a blessing to the Philadelphians as
is generally imagined. With the munificent donation of its founder,
and the truly royal splendour of its execution, it will, I am afraid,
become after all little more than an ordinary school of arts and
trades. The whole system of education in the United States, and the
tone of society, must materially change, before an institution like
the Polytechnic School of France can possibly succeed in forming
scholars in the higher departments of science. The peculiar foundation
and organization of Girard College does not seem to me to be much
calculated to improve the system of hand-to-mouth learning produced
by the material tendency, and the desire of pecuniary gain and
profit, which form the index to the character of the greater part
of professional men in America. The founder himself, though in many
respects a public-spirited, and in his own way a clever man, had but
a vulgar appreciation of genius, and a very high respect for money.
This is undoubtedly the reason why he chose none but wealthy men for
trustees of the college which was to bear his name, though it is more
than probable some literary men might have been found in the United
States, who, without being able to give _bonds_, would have proved of
some advantage in establishing and organizing a college.
“All I have heard of that vain old Frenchman confirms me in the opinion
that, even in his acts of generosity, he was but a vulgar plebeian;
never consulting the feelings of those he wished to benefit, but first
wounding with a rude hand their inmost soul, in order afterwards to
apply the healing plaster in the shape of a bank-note. Thus, he would
lecture one of his most faithful servants engaged to be married, on
the vexations and follies of matrimony; drawing in a brutal manner
the veil from nature’s holiest mysteries, and refusing to give him
aid and protection, until, perceiving that his victim, dreading the
consequences of his temper, remained, like some obedient cur, silent
at the abuses of his master, he signed a bank-check in his favour to
the amount, I believe, of some thousand pounds. I have heard other
anecdotes about him of a similar nature, from which I could not help
drawing the conclusion that it was his peculiar delight to make his
friends and clients forswear every other god and goddess before he
introduced them to the temple of Mammon;--or did the cunning Gaul
do so from a knowledge of the society in which he wished to gain an
ascendency? What reason, after all, had the Philadelphians to be proud
of such a man? And what difference is there between an American banker
leaving several millions of dollars to a rich and populous city, in
order that his name may be perpetuated by the building of a school; and
an honest English boot-black, who leaves an hundred thousand pounds for
the establishment of an hospital?[15]--I can see none; unless it be
that the act of the former proceeded from vanity, while that of the
latter took its origin in charity and true Christian piety.
“The most interesting part of Philadelphia society are the Quakers;
as a body the most singular, as individuals the most respectable,
Christians in the United States. I do not here speak of their religious
tenets, which are sufficiently known to the world; but of the fact
of their being throughout a moral people, by mutual support almost
universally in easy circumstances, and from their habits of industry
and frugality seldom led into temptation. No other Christian society
is held together by such strong ties of affection and brotherhood; no
other set of men bear in their manners, habits, dress, and character
so strongly the imprints of their faith. They carry their religion--a
thing unknown in these times of moral and political advancement--into
every act of their private and public lives; and, though they sometimes
obtrude it in a manner not the most pleasant or refined on the notice
of strangers, show at least on all occasions that Christianity with
them is a living principle, not an abstract doctrine to be remembered
only on the Sabbath.
“I like aristocracy in every shape, whenever it has a solid
foundation; but I despise aristocratic pretensions in a vulgar rich
man. The aristocracy of the Quakers consists not so much in wealth
as in family, and this circumstance has given to the society of
Philadelphia a tone decidedly superior to that of New York. Though
much more exclusive and less hospitable than the New-Yorkers, the
Philadelphians are more agreeable and elegant in their manners. They
have more of the _à-plomb_ of gentlemen. There is less motion and
more dignity in their carriage; and you can see, from an hundred
little circumstances, that the higher classes have the advantage of a
generation over the ordinary run of aristocrats in the United States.
“The Quakers, who are still among those who directly or indirectly
influence the fashions of society, have introduced a patrician
simplicity in dress, manners, and habits, which forms a singular
contrast with the gaudy ostentatious display of wealth with which one
is occasionally struck in New York. The Philadelphia ladies dress with
more taste than any others in the Union; they walk, dance, sing, and
talk better than those of the Northern cities; and their manners in
general are more finished. They do not study Latin and Greek, like
some of the New England belles; but they prattle French and Spanish,
and sometimes Italian, with tolerable facility. They cultivate the
_agrémens_ of society; while a great portion of the Northern women
puzzle their heads, and those of their admirers, with philosophy and
the classics. Yet it is but justice to say, that the women of New
England, even those of the highest classes, remain unsurpassed as wives
and mothers, and set, in this respect, the example to all other females
in the United States.
“In point of shape, the ladies of Philadelphia are believed to be
unrivalled; their necks, shoulders, and waists being admirably wrought,
and their hands and feet of the most aristocratic littleness. Their
complexions are not so clear and fresh as those of the women of New
England; but the expression of their countenances is more _distinguée_,
inclining somewhat towards the Spanish. I was also told that they had
a taste for the romantic; several ‘droll’ engagements taking place
annually, and a small number of run-away matches furnishing from time
to time sufficient matter for the _chronique scandaleuse_ of the town.
Things of this kind are of rare occurrence in the North; though, as
I observed during my stay in Boston, there is no lack of imagination
on the part of the _women_. But where should a young Bostonian find
time to run away with a lady? What business or matter-of-fact man is
sufficiently amiable for a woman to risk her reputation on his account?
“The Quaker ladies, in general, are renowned for their beauty. They
dress plainly, but in the richest materials; showing that their
aristocracy consists in substance, not in forms. The colour of
their dresses, which is usually of a light grey, is not ill suited
to a fair complexion; but the cut is too Old-English not to form a
glaring contrast with the Paris fashions weekly imported into the
United States. At the time of William Penn, the Quaker dress was not
distinguished from the fashions of the day by all that was inelegant,
odd, contrary to the prevailing taste; and on that account did not
obtrude itself on every one’s notice. But at present the case is
reversed; the very simplicity of the apparel becomes an arrogant
distinction, or may at least be considered as such by those who do not
look upon it as a part of their religious creed. Every man or woman
owes something to society, so that a total disregard of its established
rules and customs is usually considered as proceeding either from
extreme vulgarity, or a degree of elevation which need not descend to
the level of others: a wise person avoids the dilemma.
“For this reason, and perhaps also because the French fashions of the
day are far more becoming to a pretty face, and exhibit _taille_,
_tournure_, &c. to much greater advantage, a portion of ‘the Society of
Friends’ have of late relaxed from their original severity, and adopted
certain unobjectionable parts of Parisian millinery. The selection they
made shows their tact and sense of propriety; and it is now a common
saying with travelled men, that, in order to see a well-dressed lady,
one must either see a Parisian woman of the higher classes, or a ‘_gay
Quakeress_ of Philadelphia.’ The gentlemen, too, begin to trim their
hats, and allow the fashionable scissors to be applied to their coats,
without dreading the immediate downfal of Christianity. They are also
said to have grown more attentive to ladies; having at last arrived at
the conviction that the hearts of women are more easily attached by the
silken thread of trifling cares and attentions, than by the chain-cable
of constant toil and sacrifice.
“A number of Quakers of Philadelphia occupy themselves exclusively
with science and literature; few of them are not members of some
charitable or other association for the benefit of mankind. Yet they
have, from the commencement of the revolutionary war, been denounced
as _Tories_: partly because they did not take an active part in the
struggle for independence; and partly because, as politicians, they
have always been in favour of a federal government. If it be true
that family, education, and even property, are, from the principle of
self-preservation, inclined towards a strong protective government,
the Quakers as a body must naturally be advocates of Conservatism;
but in a country like America, where political principles and parties
are constantly changing, where the power of the government and the
opposition are so nearly balanced, and where the clashing interests of
society sometimes completely paralyze the course of politics adopted by
the Congress of the nation, I can see no evil come from a small part of
the community being attached to existing forms, or united, if this were
possible, for the purpose of resisting the rapidity of public events.
“The American government, as I have often said, requires, more than
any other, a strong opposition. The aristocratic and democratic
principles mutually excite and increase one another, like positive
and negative electricity in the metallic plates of a galvanic chain;
only, that from time to time they require _cleaning_. Each principle
without the presence of the other would soon degenerate; and it is,
in this situation of public affairs, perhaps a fortunate circumstance
that there should exist at least _one_ class of society capable of
representing with some sort of dignity the aristocratic element of
State.
“The time, after all, must come when the United States will have
their history; when the present will be linked to the past; when the
names of American statesmen and patriots will go for something in the
estimation of the public. Then the influence of family will and must be
felt by the people as the historical representative of their political
existence. This period is now delayed by the apparent opposition
between the higher and lower classes; but it will arrive as soon as
the real _élite_ of society will _join_ the lower orders against the
tyranny of mediocrity--in the shape of the government of the rich
_bourgeoisie_.
“The society of Philadelphia is, on the whole, better than that of
Boston or New York. There is less vulgar aristocracy than in other
Northern cities. Not that I mean to say that there are not people to
be found in Boston and New York that could rival the Philadelphians
in point of ‘gentility;’ but in the good ‘city of brotherly love’
there is, probably owing to a seasonable admixture of a large number
of European, and especially French families, a higher tone, greater
elegance, and, in every respect, more _agrémens_. The New-Englanders
are an arguing people, and annoy you, even in society, with
mathematical and political demonstrations. The Philadelphians have more
taste, and _have the best cooks in the United States_.
“There is nothing more aristocratic than the keeping of an excellent
cook; nothing so vulgar as not to care what one is eating or drinking.
‘_Dis-moi ce que tu manges, et je te dirai qui tu es_,’ said the
celebrated author of ‘_La Physiologie du Goút_;’ and, certes, no
Philadelphian will in this respect be found wanting in the scale. There
is a nice little house in Third-street, kept by a man, or, as I should
say, ‘a gentleman,’ who spent upwards of an hundred thousand dollars
in Europe in learning how to eat and drink, and who is now teaching
the same science to a select circle of his countrymen; charging them
for his trouble a little less than some of the quack professors of the
culinary art in New York and Boston, who think a dinner excellent when
it consists of joints, and show their barbarism by putting ice in
their claret.
“Mr. H--d, of the Mansion-house in Philadelphia, has been long enough
in Europe to know the difference between gravy and melted butter; and
if every American that goes to Europe to improve himself would _only
learn as much_, there would be no harm, and much substantial benefit,
arising from it to the country. I have, at his house, eaten fricassees
that would have done credit to old Véry;--his son inherited the money,
not the taste of his father;--and sauces with which, as Prince Puckler
Muskau has it, ‘a man could have eaten his own grandfather!’ In short,
one is more comfortable at the neat little house in Third-street, than
anywhere else in the United States. An Englishman himself could live
there without missing any of the luxuries of his own country, if the
bar-keeper were not a stupid old negro, and Mr. H--d, jun. more of a
gentleman than a landlord.
“A word in parting to you,” says my German traveller, apostrophising
the fashionable young men of Philadelphia; “you are much mistaken if
you take the terms ‘idler,’ and ‘gentleman,’ for synonymous. There
is a vast difference between a gentleman of leisure, and a vagrant
that walks up and down Chestnut-street, and stares women out of
countenance. You seem to think that a certain bold unabashed look
marks the gentleman of _ton_,--the fashionable rake, whose position in
society enables him to disregard the prejudices of the multitude. You
pamper your fancy in the _salons_, in order afterwards to feed upon a
common pasture. This is but a miserable way of imitating the refined
_roué_ of Europe. If you cannot affect sentiment, conceal at least your
passion, or curb your inordinate fancy. There is nothing so vulgar as
imagination without taste.--And you men of family, without fashion!
study aristocracy in the classics, rather than in the newspaper
polemics of the day; or, if this should prove too tedious, read the
history of the Italian republics. There was a time in Florence when
every nobleman was obliged to have a trade, and yet Florence produced
the _Medici_; why should you be ashamed to imitate so high an example?
or are you afraid lest all your tradespeople should wish to become
noblemen?”[16]
FOOTNOTES:
[15] Mr. Day, of the firm of Day and Martin.
[16] Trade and traffic are less popular in Philadelphia than in other
parts of the Union; the young men delighting in being called “gentlemen
of leisure.”
PART III.
CONTAINING A TRIP TO WASHINGTON, AND A SHORT STAY IN THE METROPOLIS.
CHAPTER I.
Journey to Baltimore.--Arrival in the City.--Barnum’s Hotel.--The
Washington Letter-writer.--His Views of Politics.--Arrival
in Washington.--Street Manners of the People.--Hotels and
Boarding-houses.--High Life in the Metropolis.--The Epicure House.
“Quando si parte il giuoco della zara
Colui che perde si riman dolente
Ripetendo le volte e tristo impara;
Con l’altro se ne va tutta la gente.”
DANTE.
One morning, early in the month of March, I left Philadelphia in a
steamer for Baltimore. It was a frosty cold day, and we were obliged
to have a fire in the cabin; round which the gentlemen--the ladies
occupying, as usual, a separate, more elegantly furnished room,--formed
at first a small, but, in proportion as the company increased, a larger
circle. The manners of the people had already a touch of the South in
them: scarcely would a gentleman approach the stove before those who
were already seated made room for him; an attention which, trifling as
it was, marked a certain consideration for the feelings of others,
which it is always gratifying to notice wherever we are. The captains
of the boats from Philadelphia to Frenchtown, and from Newcastle to
Baltimore,--the distance from Frenchtown to Newcastle is made on a
railroad,--were noted for their civility to the passengers; and, on the
whole, I do not remember having travelled more at my ease in any part
of the United States.
We arrived in Baltimore early in the afternoon of the same day; and the
greater part of the company putting up at Barnum’s hotel, I concluded
to go thither also. On entering the spacious bar-room I at once asked
for a separate room, and ordered my luggage to be taken up to it; but
was told “that I must not be in a hurry,” and that no room could be
given away to any gentleman without the bar-keeper having made his
“calculation.” I then perceived that the gentlemen, one after the
other, stepped up to him, telling him their names; which he put down on
a slate, together with the number of rooms they asked for, precisely
in the same manner as the burgomaster of some small town in Germany
would set down the names of the officers of a regiment which is to be
quartered upon it. It finally became my turn to speak.
“What’s your name, sir?” demanded the bar-keeper.
“Mr. ***,” said I, taking care to omit the “De.”
“Are you alone, sir?”
“Yes; but that is the reason I want a room by myself.”
“All single rooms are engaged long ago. I shall have to put you in a
room with one or two other gentlemen.”
“Then I shall not stay here.”
“You may do as you please; but I cannot accommodate you better. We have
to turn away people every day, and we _must_ serve our old customers.”
“You had better stop here,” whispered one of the gentlemen in my ear;
“you will be satisfied with the house in every other respect, and I am
quite sure you will not be able to do better in Baltimore.”
“But, sir,” said I to the bar-keeper, “cannot you manage to put me into
a room with only one other person?”
“I will see what I can do for you, but I cannot promise; I must first
make my _calculation_.”
“And you will of course put me together with a _gentleman_?”
“Nobody stops here but gentlemen; you need not have any scruples about
_that_,” replied the bar-keeper rather indignantly.
I thought it best to be silent if I wanted to sleep that night at
all, and thus quietly awaited my sentence. At last the bar-keeper had
completed the distribution of the rooms; and began to call out the
names of the gentlemen, telling each the number of the room he was
to occupy. When he called out my name he smiled; and turning to me
with a sarcastic expression, “We have to put you in a room with one
gentleman,” said he; “but, should you stay longer, we can to-morrow
give you a room by yourself.” I bowed in token of acknowledgment, and
betook myself at once to the quarters assigned to me.
“Also going to Washington?” demanded my chum as I entered the room.
“Yes, sir; are you going?”
“I am _obliged_ to go,” replied he (with an air of importance); “I am
always there during the session of Congress.”
“Perhaps I have the honour of addressing a senator?”
“No, not exactly.”
“Or a representative?”
“Nor that either.”
“Then you must have some business there?”
“Certainly, sir; I am a correspondent of the New York ***.”
“Oh! you write the letters from Washington for that paper?”
“Precisely so; and it is a more difficult task to write a good letter
than to make a bad speech.”
“No doubt of that, sir; you may often be employed in making the best of
a bad argument.”
“What do you mean, sir?”
“I mean, by improving what has been said by a senator or
representative.”
“Not only that, but it is _we_ that give the cue to every argument.
Our representatives take up a question as they find it stated in the
papers.”
“And it is you that govern the country?”
“It’s the press, sir, and nothing but the press, which governs a free
people.”
“But is not the press liable to error?”
“All human institutions are; but _we_ have such abundant means of
correcting and preventing it, that it is almost impossible for us to be
in the wrong. In the first place, _our_ press has the money by which
(drawing himself up to his full height) it can secure the best talents;
and, secondly, our people are too ‘cool’ to be easily wrought into a
passion. We are a ‘calculating’ people.”
“But your papers are full of personal abuse. Do you think _that_ an
advantage?”
“Not exactly; but it is unquestionably a great help--a seasoning of
dull editorials. Our people have so much ordinary conversation in the
course of the day, that, if it were not for the slander contained in
our newspapers, they would not be amused at all. _Papers_, sir, are
‘the eating, drink, and fuel’ of the Americans; and on that account
they can never be too hot for them.”
“But very high seasoning marks a bad taste; I should think the best
papers on what is called ‘the aristocratic side’ would scorn personal
abuse.”
“Quite the reverse, sir, I assure you. It’s the only means of
attracting notoriety, and of pleasing our first people. Besides, it
would be useless to play the part of a gentleman in _that respect_,
when all the rest are blackguards. We want strength, sir! strength! and
nothing but strength!--none of your ‘milk and molasses’ productions, of
which a man can make neither head nor tail. If we give a man a beating,
we do not want him to get up again; ‘we go the whole hog.’ When we
attack a man, we assail at once his moral, political, religious, and
domestic relations. Every little helps, you know. ‘Give a dog a bad
name, and hang him!’ says the proverb, and it is just so with our
politicians.”
By this time I began to be afraid of the man, lest, if he should not
“steal my purse,” he might publish me in the papers. He looked, indeed,
like a desperate fellow; though his self-sufficiency was quite amusing,
and the smacking of his lips and the stroking of his chin, with which
he accompanied every one of his sayings, were sufficiently ludicrous to
destroy the effect of the ferocious manner in which he paced the room.
I therefore made no farther reply, but began to dress for supper. This
untimely cessation of conversation seemed to annoy him, as it probably
prevented him from showing off, and impressing me with a proper respect
for his station. He therefore drew a parcel of papers from his pocket,
and throwing them violently on the table--
“Here,” exclaimed he, “is the last news. I dare say you know it
already. We have triumphed in every part of the country. Our State is
carried ‘high and dry.’”
“I do not care much about politics,” replied I.
“You don’t?” said he. “Why, then, do you stay in the country?”
“Cannot you imagine a man to have any other business but politics?”
“Oh, certainly, sir! a man may be a merchant, a doctor, or a tradesman;
but, I mean, how do you _amuse_ yourself? I for my part should go mad
if I had not politics to divert myself.” (With pride,) “I _need_ not be
a politician, thank God! I have money enough without it; but I _love_
politics on account of the pleasure they give me. I glory in them!
There is such fun in being on the side that beats. One hundred and
fifty guns, sir, are to be fired from Albany to New York, and from New
York back again to Albany, in honour of our last victory. Where is the
pleasure to be compared to that, sir? To carry a whole State ‘smack,
smooth, and no mistake!’”
“But it must be very annoying to be beaten.”
“That never occurs to me, sir. I never stay long with the beaten party.
If you study our politics, you will always find that our most ‘talented
men’ desert a party just before it is going to break up. We always like
to be on the conquering side. That’s the way to ‘get along’ in this
country, sir, if you want to be a politician. But is there no bell in
this room? I’ll see how long it will take _to raise a waiter_.”
“What do you want, sir?” grinned a negro almost instantaneously.
“Some brandy and water and half-a-dozen cigars: I am going to write an
article.”
“Then I do not wish to disturb you,” said I, grateful for an
opportunity of escaping from the room.
Scarcely was I half an hour down in the reading-room before a huge bell
rang for supper. I expected, as usual, a rush into the dining-hall;
but was much surprised in perceiving the quiet gentlemanly manner in
which every one took his seat. The supper was excellent, and, what is
more, it was well served. I began to perceive that I had fallen into
good hands, and was only sorry that an establishment in every respect
so unexceptionable should have adopted the vexatious custom of having
the roll of travellers called by the bar-keeper, in the manner of some
surly sergeant, before accommodating them with a room. A great deal of
unpleasant feeling arises from mere mistakes in forms, which may easily
be corrected by a little attention to the usages of the world, and
which, therefore, cannot be sufficiently recommended to innkeepers.
Early the next morning I found myself safely seated in one of the huge
railroad cars which leave Baltimore every morning for Washington. This
railroad, I believe, is one of the worst in the United States; the
travelling on it being excessively tedious, the stoppages frequent,
and the rate very slow. I believe we did not go faster than seven or
eight miles an hour, so that we required nearly half a day to complete
a journey of about forty English miles. Nothing can be more barren than
the country through which the railroad is laid; and the approach to the
metropolis is anything but striking, although the entrance is by the
way of the Capitol.
Washington is, indeed, a city _sui generis_, of which no European who
has not actually seen it can form an adequate idea. Mr. Serullier,
formerly minister of France, used to call it “a city of magnificent
distances;” but, though this be true, I should rather call it “a city
without streets.” The Capitol, a magnificent palace, situated on an
eminence called Capitol-hill, and the White-house, the dwelling of the
President, are the only two specimens of architecture in the whole
town; the rest being mere hovels, and even the public buildings,
such as the Treasury, War and Navy Departments, and the General
Post-office, little superior to the most ordinary dwelling-houses in
Europe. The whole town is, in fact, but an appendix to those two public
buildings, a sort of ante-chamber either to the Capitol or to the house
of the chief magistrate. If such a town were situated in Europe, one
would imagine those buildings to be the residences of princes, and the
rest the humble dwellings of their dependants.
The only thing that approaches a street in Washington is Pennsylvania
Avenue, a sometimes single, sometimes double row of houses,
leading from the Capitol to the White-house. In this street are
the two principal hotels of the city, and a considerable number of
boarding-houses. The former are two large barracks, capable of holding
each from one hundred and fifty to two hundred people; the latter are,
for the most part, mean insignificant-looking dens, in which a man
finds the worst accommodations at the most exorbitant prices, and must
often be glad to be accommodated at all.
The most aristocratic inn in Washington is Gadsby’s, though I consider
this “to be a mere matter of taste;” the pretensions to aristocracy
resting on four clean walls, and a triple row of galleries in the
court, which render the distribution of the rooms convenient, and the
rooms themselves agreeable and airy. In every other respect I found no
difference between Gadsby’s and Brown’s, or even Fuller’s, which is
further up towards the President’s house; and, in comparison to other
first-rate hotels in the United States, the fare and accommodations in
all of them are altogether beneath mediocrity. Gadsby, by the by, keeps
an excellent assortment of wines, and he is himself a very gentlemanly
and agreeable man.
Among the boarding-houses there is, I believe, a good deal of
aristocratic classification, owing to the different sets of senators
and representatives who establish their clubs in them. Some also there
are whose pretensions to gentility are principally founded on the
landladies being descended from some ancient family, or on their being
related to some distinguished members of Congress. In short, every
boarding-house marks a particular shade of aristocracy; the Southern
(those for Southern members) being the most refined, and each of them,
in spite of the bad living, the focus of a particular coterie.
There is also a hotel in Pennsylvania Avenue, called “The NATIVE
American;” probably for the accommodation of such members of Congress
and their friends as think themselves entitled to worse fare than can
be obtained at other places, for having the aristocratic preference
of birth--no matter where, and of whom, in the United States,--over
every unfortunate stranger _directly_ descended from Europe. I am not
disposed to quarrel with any American for _enjoying his birth_; though
I cannot but think that the American Indians are much more entitled
to be called “Native Americans” than any descendant from an English,
Scotch, Irish, German, French, Dutch, Swedish, Spanish, or Portuguese
family that happens to be born in the Union.
The first thing that struck me in Washington was the unusual number of
persons perambulating the streets without any apparent occupation, of
which every other American city, with the exception of Philadelphia,
seems to be entirely drained. If there be poor and idle persons walking
the streets of New York, Boston, or Baltimore, it is, I am sorry to
say, generally owing to some late arrival from Europe,--some of the
steerage passengers being yet left without employment. Washington,
however, is a city of _American_ idlers,--a set of gentlemen of such
peculiar merit as well to deserve a public comment. They live in what
is called “elegant style,” rise in the morning at eight or nine, have
breakfast in their own rooms, then smoke five or six cigars until
twelve, at which time they dress for the Senate; few gentlemen ever
honouring the _House of Representatives_ with their presence, except
just before leaving the Capitol.
The Senate of the United States is, indeed, the finest drawing-room
in Washington; for it is there the young women of fashion resort for
the purpose of exhibiting their attractions. The Capitol is, in point
of fashion, the opera-house of the city; the House of Representatives
being the crush-room. In the absence of a decent theatre, the Capitol
furnishes a tolerable place of rendezvous, and is on that account
frequented during the whole season--from December until April or
May--by every lounger in the place, and by every _belle_ that wishes to
become the fashion.
After speaking and talking is over in the Senate, the idlers commence
the regular performance of eating, which is no sort of amusement to
any one in America who is obliged to dine at an ordinary. For this
reason they club together in numbers from four to six, to dine at their
rooms; single dinners being too expensive, and the people who have the
means of entertaining in Washington being not sufficiently numerous to
secure every dandy a place at a private gentleman’s table.
The routs in Washington, in spite of the small rooms and the economy
of refreshments, are delightful, lasting generally from nine in the
evening until two in the morning; after which the _élégants_, wholly
exhausted from the uncommon exertion of being agreeable four or five
hours in succession, repair to some cellar or beef-shop, not quite so
well furnished as the common resorts of cabmen and omnibus drivers in
London, but which the aristocratic taste of the young men elevates into
“refectories.”
It is in these cellars that a stranger may become acquainted with “real
life in Washington.” In the best part of the season, when speeches are
plenty and cash flush, the idlers’ “refectories” keep open the whole
night; the regular eating and drinking, and, as I was informed, also
the _gambling_, never commencing until twelve o’clock.
One of these establishments,--the best of the kind I believe in the
metropolis,--“the Epicure House,” as it is termed, was recommended to
me as doing canvass-back ducks in the neatest style, and being always
the resort of the most fashionable company. This recommendation,
joined to the fact that nothing can be obtained at an inn after the
hour of eleven,--a practice which adds much to the convenience of the
_innkeepers_,--induced me to try the skill of a coloured cook, and
to have a peep at the young men that were called “the first” in the
law-giving city.
On inquiring the way, I was pointed to a house forming the corner
opposite to Gadsby’s hotel, to which was attached a lamp which gave
exactly as much light as was necessary in order not to break one’s
neck in descending the staircase which led to the entrance, but
left the establishment itself in precisely that sort of obscurity
which is always desirable for a place serving as a rendezvous for
_comme-il-faut_ people. On entering it,--it being only a little after
eleven,--I found the room, which was divided into boxes after the
manner of a common English eating-house, nearly empty; a few persons
only eating scolloped oysters or drinking punch, but a number of black
imps slinking about in evident expectation of better business. I
hesitated at first whether I should take a seat, the appearance of the
table-cloths, cruets, &c. being far from inviting; though the bar was
stocked with bottles bearing the inscriptions--“Sillery champaign,”
“Klause Johannisberger,” “Marcobrunner,” “Hermitage,” &c.
The bar-keeper, perceiving my want of resolution, came forward, and
accosted me in the most polite terms.
“You wish, perhaps, for a private room, sir? If you do not want it
longer than after midnight, I can give you the one adjoining. At twelve
I expect a party who may want it until three or four in the morning.”
“Thank you; I do not like to take possession of a room which I am
obliged to give up in three quarters of an hour. Have you none other?”
“I have yet another room up stairs; but it is occupied by a
dinner-party, which is not likely to break up till two or three in the
morning.”
“You keep very late hours, then?”
“Why, sir, we commence late. If you stop here till two o’clock, you
will see this room crowded. This evening all the gentlemen are at Mrs.
***’s, who gives nothing but tea and cakes; which, as you may imagine,
is not precisely the thing for young men that are dancing the whole
evening. Many of them are yet _growing_, and, as is usually the case
with such gentlemen, have an excellent appetite.”
“And so they come here to sup?”
“They do me that honour, sir; and I do my best to accommodate them.”
(What a polite publican, thought I, if he were not a mulatto!) “And
what have you fit to eat?” demanded I.
“Fine canvass-back ducks, oysters, and venison. Canvass-back ducks are
prime; just the season. Shall I show you into the other room?”
“No, I would rather take a duck here; but you must give me a clean
table-cloth.”
“Certainly, sir. What sort of wine will you take? hock, champaign,
claret, madeira, or sherry? I have got some first-rate Johannisberger
and some of Lynch’s claret.”
“Have you champaign in pint bottles?”
“At your service, sir.--John! put a clean table-cloth at No. 3. Do you
want the papers in the mean while?”
In less than fifteen minutes one of the best specimens of that
inestimable bird, the canvass-back duck, for which the Americans might
justly be envied by European princes, was placed before me, “with the
usual trimmings,” consisting of jelly, butter, beets, and pickles,
together with a small bottle of the Napoleon brand champaign. The whole
was served in good order; and I could not but wonder that in a place
of so mean and unfashionable an appearance a person should find such
excellent accommodations. What would Mr. Stuart have said if his good
fortune had led him to the Epicure House in Washington? I can assure
him that in no other place in the United States could he have eaten
canvass-back ducks more deserving of praise and comment.
Hardly had I commenced eating, before a noisy uproarious set of
men entered the premises, singing and swaggering, and calling in a
stentorian voice for cheese and _crackers_.[17]
“What a d--d shabby party that was!” exclaimed a young man, dressed in
the latest New York fashion, with dirty gloves, and his shirt-collar
turned down with perspiration; “one of your regular _Boston_ ones.[18]
I believe nothing was handed round but lemonade and spunge-cake, and of
that there was scarcely enough for the ladies.”
“Why did you not go up stairs?” cried another; “there were plenty of
sandwiches, besides a large basin of toddy.”
“How could he have found time for that; he was all attention to Miss
***; were you not, John?” ejaculated a little creature dressed in boots.
“Ah! are you here?” cried John; “we lost you at the door; how did you
get here?”
“On my legs,” replied the little fellow. “Did you expect me to pay
two dollars to one of those rascally niggers for the pleasure of a
_ride_?”[19]
“But did you wear boots at the ball?”
“Certainly not; I took them off in the entry, and put them on again as
I came out. I always carry my shoes in my pocket when I go to a party.”
“That’s regular Boston fashion!” shouted the company. “How much do you
make by it a year?”
“I _save_ by it more than a hundred dollars; and ‘a dollar saved is a
dollar earned,’ says Franklin.”
“But what do you do with your boots at the party?”
“I _hide_ them as well as I can; I have only lost one pair in Boston.
They were taken away by mistake; but I advertised them in the papers,
and got them back again. But I say, John! how do you stand with Miss
***? All right, hem?”
“For mercy’s sake, don’t bother me now!” cried John; “I am too dry to
talk.” (Turning to a bronze-faced mulatto boy, “Why, you cursed little
imp, cannot you bring me the whisky punch I ordered?”) “To dance a
cotillon lasting three hours! Those girls’ feet don’t seem ever to get
tired.”
“And a German cotillon, too,” rejoined a tall gentlemanly figure, who
appeared to be a Southerner; “if it had not been for the mazurka, which
some of our ladies still object to, because there is too much whirling
and dancing on the heels in it, I should not have had a moment’s rest.
I wonder how the women can stand it!”
“And then the _gallopade_! why, that alone wears out a pair of shoes,”
cried the Bostonian; “the mazurka only requires _heeling_.”
“They ought to make you president of the savings’ bank!” observed the
Southerner.
“That is,” said John, “if he understands saving other people’s money as
well as his own.”
By this time the waiter returned with the punch, a huge lump of cheese,
and a basket of biscuits, which was immediately seized upon and
devoured, as if the persons present were the half-starved crew of some
American whaler just returned from a three years’ cruise round Cape
Horn.
“I say, Jim,” said John, “did you taste the wine?”
“I did,” replied Jim; “but I could not swallow it. It was not worth
three dollars a dozen.”
“I believe it was Sicily madeira.”
“Heaven knows _what_ sort of madeira it was; I took to the toddy.
“If these ladies had not kept me going, I should have done so too.”
“That’s the pleasure of courting,” said Jim tauntingly.
“Why, a man has to come to it some time or other,” said John.
“Miss *** is certainly a pretty girl; but, if I were in your place, I
should not like her flirting in Washington. Washington is the worst
place for a young lady in the United States. It is altogether too
European.”
“I do not like it myself,” observed the Southerner; “nor the custom
of our fashionable women to bring their daughters here just as they
have left the boarding-school, in order to introduce them to the _beau
monde_.”
“And to teach them the gallopade and the mazurka, which is setting a
premium on _foreigners_,” said John with some bitterness.
“Don’t be angry,” cried Jim. “You don’t expect to be cut out by a
German or a Pole, do you?”
“You may go to ---- with your insinuation,” cried John: “what I object
to in the society of Washington is, that it teaches women to _amuse_
themselves; or, rather, that it obliges _us_ to amuse _them_.”
“That is rather bad,” interrupted a thin pale-looking gentleman
with spectacles; “as it must necessarily interfere with our serious
pursuits.”
“Such as drinking punch, and playing cards,” observed the Southerner.
“I mean _literary_ pursuits,” said the man with spectacles.
“Oh yes! we forgot that. Mr. *** writes the _on dits_ for the New
York ***; of course he has no time to throw away upon women. ‘Time is
money,’ says Franklin.--I say, George, did you win or lose at whist?”
“I won twenty dollars.”
“Then you neither lost your time nor your money.”
“If that’s the case, George must pay the punch,” shouted the company.
“George is going to do no such thing,” replied the littérateur.
“Then let us toss up for it,” proposed Jim.
“That would not do,” objected John; “he, as a Yankee, would have the
advantage in _guessing_.”
“I think it best,” said George, “for every man to pay his own
reckoning.” So saying, he called the waiter, paid for his punch, and,
without uttering another syllable, left the party to settle their
accounts after their own manner.
“What a selfish, unsociable, stingy fellow that is,” cried Jim; “would
not even toss up for it! and yet--would you believe it?--he is engaged
to one of the prettiest girls in New England.”
“She probably marries him for his literary reputation. Boston women are
sometimes in love with that!” said John. “But let us now toss up for
the reckoning.”
“It’s all paid,” observed the waiter, pointing to the Southerner.
“Just like him; always throwing away his money!” muttered John,
pocketing his piece. Jim made a bow, and swore he would be revenged:
but all finally agreed to go home, visibly contented.
Scarcely had they left, before a large party of about fifteen or twenty
young men, among whom there appeared to be some Europeans, entered
the room, swearing that they had been done out of a regular meal,
and that they were now going to make up for it. “Let us have three or
four canvass-back ducks, and some of Lynch’s claret,” cried one of
them; “the devil take the stuff they call toddy! I had as lief swallow
prussic acid,--it has given me the cramp in my stomach.”
“If you had drunk it here,” grinned the waiter, “you would feel all the
better for it; we make that article first-rate.”
“Hold your tongue!” cried the gentleman, “and do as you are bid.”
“All right, sir!” said the negro, and went to speak to the cook.
“Can we go into the other room?” demanded one of the party.
“Gentlemen are dining there,” replied the bar-keeper.
“Gambling you mean, don’t you?”
“It’s no business of mine to inquire _what_ they are doing; they have
been there ever since dinner.”
“Then they must leave soon, and we may have the room.”
“I don’t think they will,” rejoined the bar-keeper. “Whenever they come
to dine, they generally stay for breakfast.”
“And the room adjoining?”
“Is already engaged. I expect the gentlemen every minute.”
The party cast an inquiring look at one another, and then gathered
round a small table as well as they could, quietly awaiting the arrival
of the supper.
In less than fifteen minutes from this time, it being nearly twelve
o’clock, the whole room was filled to overflowing with the most motley
assemblage of persons I ever beheld in my life. It was a group worthy
of being preserved on canvass. Besides the party already mentioned,
there were gathered round the chimney a parcel of Kentuckians, a giant
race of men, full of strange oaths and tobacco-juice, discussing
politics, and betting heavily on the issue of certain matters then
under debate. Their language, surely, was not altogether intelligible
to me; but what I _did_ understand convinced me that they are justly
reputed for their wit and humour. One of them--standing, I should
judge, six feet two--was a good-natured punster, who, in spite of
the serious turn their conversation had taken, kept the company in a
continual roar of laughter.
Round the bar was stationed a more noisy and less original set of men;
such as a person might see in any of the larger gin-shops of London
on a Saturday evening. They were vulgar and “uproarious,” smoked bad
cigars and spit promiscuously round the room, while the Kentuckians
showed their better breeding by always hitting the same spot. A third
party, evidently composed of _young bucks_, dressed in the latest
London fashions, with perfumed hair and real French kid gloves, were
discussing the merits of women; which they did _con amore_, using all
the English slang they had collected from the newspapers, or from
fashionable novels, and taking great pains to appear as outlandish as
possible. The intervals between these clusters were filled up with
single gentlemen, of all ages and descriptions, and in every possible
state of consciousness,--from that of a perfect knowledge of “the
thousand natural shocks this flesh is heir to,” to that of the most
total oblivion, and triumph “o’er a’ the ills o’ life.”
What gave a peculiar character to this little pandemonium was the
continual apparition and vanishing of the black, brown, and yellow
waiters; all shining with perspiration, and leaving, as they passed,
something not altogether unlike the odour of brimstone behind them.
These exhalations, the steam of the viands, the smell of rum, brandy,
and tobacco, independent of the corrupt, sultry air produced by the
presence of a large number of persons in a small room, soon obliged me
to quit the scene of merriment; and, in half an hour later, I found
myself safely in bed at Gadsby’s.
FOOTNOTES:
[17] A small biscuit, not a firework.
[18] Parties without supper are, in Washington and the Southern States,
called “Boston parties;” for what reason it is impossible to say, the
Boston parties being generally renowned for their rather ostentatious
suppers.
[19] “Ride” is in America constantly used for “drive.”
CHAPTER II.
Corps Diplomatique in Washington.--What a Fashionable Lady thinks of
an Ambassador.--The Secretary of the Treasury.--Popularity-hunting
of American Statesmen.--Its influence on National Politics.--Mr.
Woodbury’s Hospitality to Literary Men.--Henry Clay.--Thomas
H. Benton.--Salis Wright.--James Buchanan.--Extraordinary
Dinner-bell.--Office-hunters in Washington.--State of Finance of the
City.--Anecdote of General Jackson and the Office-seeker.--General
Character of Washington Society compared with that of other American
Cities.
O momentary grace of mortal man,
Which we more hunt for than the grace of God!
Who builds his hope in air of your fair looks,
Lives like a drunken sailor on a mast;
Ready, with every nod, to tumble down
Into the fatal bowels of the deep.
_King Richard III._ Act iii. Scene 5.
The next day I looked over my letters of introduction, which, being
principally addressed to members of the cabinet and the _corps
diplomatique_, I determined to deliver in person. The influence of
the diplomatic agents in Washington on the moral and social habits
of the people, is much greater than their effect on the politics of
the State; the executive power of the President and Council being
not only limited by the Senate, but also indirectly by the House of
Representatives, and the manifestation of public opinion at the annual
elections. A minister in Washington is, with regard to his diplomatic
agency, pretty much confined to official acts, such as may at any
time be made public: his influence with a particular member of the
cabinet, or with the President himself,--his success with a particular
coterie,--his intrigues against any person that may have rendered
himself obnoxious to his government, are of little or no avail at the
Congress, with which, as yet, no foreign diplomatist has attempted a
political relation. But, in point of fashion, their power is unlimited;
their decisions being quoted as oracles, and their manners made the
standard of society. In Washington, no party is considered fashionable
unless graced by some distinguished senator, and a few members of the
_corps diplomatique_. Between the latter and the senators exists yet
this relation, that every senator has a right to introduce a gentleman
to a foreign minister, either personally, or by leaving his card
together with that of his friend; a privilege which is denied to the
more vulgar members of the House of Representatives.
As far as I was able to ascertain the influence of foreign residents in
Washington, it was confined, with the representative of the greatest
power in Christendom, to setting the example of genuine hospitality
in the shape of the most prosperous dinner parties given in the
metropolis,--his _attachés_ I believe, went _fox_-hunting in the
outskirts of the city; with the representative of the land of chivalry
and tigers, to setting the example of taste in the shape of regular
_soirées musicales_; in the clever and witty envoy extraordinary and
minister plenipotentiary of a northern power, to introducing the
fashion of dancing _on the heels_,[20]--which, by the by, was a pretty
little manœuvre on the part of the old gentleman, who had long ago lost
the use of his _toes_ by the gout; in the representative of a literary
court, to the privilege of spouting literature and science to a _sober_
audience, &c. The ministers of the Italian courts, who had the longest
string of titles printed on their cards, had no distinct influence,
except in setting the fashion of eating and drinking gracefully--at
another man’s table.
To understand the humour and good cheer which reign among the _corps
diplomatique_ in Washington, it is sufficient to know that it consists
almost wholly of bachelors, who, according to the _étiquette_ of the
place, enjoy the privilege of inviting _ladies_ to their parties.[21]
This is certainly an enviable distinction; and, if anything can
reconcile a man to living in single blessedness, it is, I am sure, an
ambassadorship in the American metropolis. Yet, great as the advantages
of such a situation are to the ministers of England, Russia, and even
France, they prove a source of incessant vexation to the envoys of
minor powers. I was told of several of the ministers who lived in
houses of such frail construction as to make the ladies afraid of
walking into them, much less to attempt a dance; they said that “they
regretted extremely that it was not in their power to give parties, it
being useless to send out invitations when the ladies vowed they would
not come.”
In what light ambassadors are held _by the ladies_ will appear from
the following anecdote:--At a dinner party to which most of the
representatives of the greater powers and some of the smaller ones
were invited, one of them, a jolly old bachelor of the English school,
attempted a song, which so much gratified the ladies, that it was
proposed every gentleman present should, in turn, follow the example.
Russia and some other great powers immediately obeyed the summons; but
when the turn came to the representative of a new court, he indignantly
exclaimed, “_Mon roi ne m’a pas envoyé ici pour chanter._”--“Well,”
answered a lady, “if _you_ will not sing, we shall ask your gallant
king to send us somebody else who _will_.”
Being made acquainted with the _étiquette_ of Washington, I ordered a
carriage, and inquired the directions of the persons on whom I wished
to call.
“Bless your soul, sir!” cried the landlord, “that is not at all
necessary in this city; all you have to do is to tell the name of the
person you wish to call on to the ‘driver,’ and he will carry you there
with the greatest possible speed.”
“That may be with regard to the President’s house and the residences of
foreign ministers; but I have also letters to some of the senators, and
even representatives of Congress.”
“That don’t signify,” rejoined the landlord. “These black fellows not
only know the residences of every senator and distinguished member of
Congress, but also those of the higher public officers, clerks, editors
of newspapers, &c. Once under the care of a black ‘driver,’ it is quite
needless for you to know the direction of a single gentleman in this
city.”
With this piece of information I “embarked,” as the Americans say,
“on board of a Washington hack,”--the usual means of conveyance for
gentlemen; and in a short time found myself _tête-à-tête_ with the
editor of one of the first papers. I found him a plain unassuming
gentleman, though he enjoyed the reputation of being a man of
extraordinary talents. He regretted that he could not be of more
service to me during my short stay in the city; but, notwithstanding,
promised to introduce me personally to some of the most distinguished
senators of his party. “I have nothing to do with the rest,” added
he; “but I dare say you have letters to some of them, and one will
cheerfully introduce you to all the others.” He then unceremoniously
excused himself with pressing business, invited me to dine with him
_sans cérémonie_ on the Sunday following, in company with a select
number of _his party_, and almost bowed me out of the room.
“A singular character!” said I to myself, as I again stepped into my
carriage and ordered the coachman to proceed to Mr. Woodbury, the
secretary of the Treasury. “I have, after all, done wrong to omit the
_De_.”
I was so fortunate as to find Mr. Woodbury at home, and was at once
ushered into the parlour. I found him surrounded by his family,
equally distinguished for beauty and accomplishments. Mr. Woodbury is
a gentleman very nearly, or quite, fifty years of age, of agreeable
address and kind manners; though, probably owing to his being born
and brought up in New England, a little ceremonious. It has been the
fashion in America for the last eight or ten years to decry “the
secretary of the Treasury,” and to impeach even his honesty; as if the
money withdrawn from the United States’ bank had filled his coffers and
those of the President.
Mr. Woodbury is a man of great tact for business, and of the most
indefatigable application; but the style of his official documents is
often laborious and cumbrous, with an occasional attempt at laconism,
which renders the fault still more apparent. But, notwithstanding
this imperfection, his annual reports contain a vast deal of
information, and the most minute statistical details of the progress
of agriculture, manufacture, and commerce, not only of America, but of
every other country. To judge fairly and impartially of the ability
of Mr. Woodbury as a head of department, it is necessary to consider
that every question which has agitated the country ever since the
elevation of General Jackson, has turned on the subject of finance,
and that therefore the secretary of the Treasury was placed in the most
difficult and conspicuous position of any public man in the United
States, the President himself scarcely excepted.
Mr. Woodbury has been represented, not only in America, but also in
England, as a cunning politician and popularity-hunter. This reproach,
as far as I have been able to judge,--and I believe I have had as good
an opportunity of observing Mr. Woodbury, and the course of public
events, as any one who has felt himself called upon to publish his
lucubrations to the world,--is altogether malicious and groundless.
Mr. Woodbury owes his elevation to his firmness of character and his
sincere attachment to republican institutions. So far from courting
public favour, he is but too frequently wanting in those trifling
attentions and nice observances which insure popularity. I ought yet to
observe that Mr. Woodbury has a taste for letters, which he manifests
in the best possible manner, by being kind to those who have more
leisure than he to cultivate them. Mr. Willis,--the same that dined
at the Duke of Gordon’s,--Dr. L***, and a number of minor stars, are
indebted to his kind hospitality; and I myself can testify to his
condescension even to ordinary men.
What I have said on the subject of Mr. Woodbury’s popularity naturally
induces me to say a few words on the peculiar character of American
politicians. The question proposed by a member of that body is
generally this:--“What measure can we carry to defeat our antagonists?”
neither party appearing to have any fixed political tenets further
than refer to the public revenue, which is a home question with every
man and every party. On this account we often see in the United States
the Democratic party assume the very principles they once denounced
in the Federalists; and, on the other hand, the Federalists profess
the doctrines which they most abhorred in the Democrats. The fact is,
very few senators, representatives, and men in office have a clear
understanding of the vast importance of the principles they maintain;
nor do they seem to have a correct notion of republicanism, _as
contrasted with other forms of government_. But then, how many of them
possess an adequate knowledge of history--even of their own country?
They all have, indeed, a certain republican instinct, or what the
Americans call a correct _feeling_, of what is compatible with the
text of their constitution; but not many of them, I believe, take a
philosophical view of their government, such as would enable them to
reduce the whole to a _system_, and to perceive accurately the bearing
of every new question on the principles laid down in the national
charter. Nor would such a metaphysical knowledge of the constitution
materially benefit a partisan leader, who never asks what is right or
wrong in the abstract, but merely “What do _my constituents_ consider
as right or wrong? What is the opinion of the public on this subject?”
When a new question is proposed, he thrusts out his _feelers_, to feel
the public pulse; and, having ascertained that, he makes his speeches
accordingly, in order that the people may see that he is actively
engaged on their side; for on the side that beats he _must_ be, or he
is “a ruined man.”
This sort of moral cowardice, which more or less pervades all classes
of society, and of which the example is set in Congress, is certainly
one of the worst features of American politics; and would almost make
a man doubt the beneficial influence of republican institutions on the
developement of mind and character, if their numerous blessings in
other respects did not prove them capable of insuring the happiness of
a people.
When I thus speak of American politicians, I do not mean to draw
envious comparisons between them and European statesmen. I belong
neither to that class of Europeans that cannot pronounce the name
of America without a grudge, nor to that class of fashionable and
travelled Americans that cannot find anything in their own country
equal to Europe. On the contrary, I maintain that there is quite as
much intelligence, application, and certainly of virtue, in the members
of the cabinet at Washington, as can be found in the ministerial
council of any European prince. And I say this, fully aware of its
producing more sneers among the higher classes in America than in
Europe.
If the conduct of every European minister were inquired into, like
that of a head of department in Washington,--if his private and
public transactions were canvassed with the same unrelenting severity
as in America,--if he had to account for every one of his acts, not
merely to Parliament, or, in course of time, to a limited number
of electors, but to the people at large, speaking annually through
the ballot-boxes,--then, I am afraid, few would be found capable of
sustaining their position for a single year.
An American statesman has the most difficult position of any one in
the world, for he has to solve a great and intricate problem in the
presence of a multitude of spectators, who are never to see that he
is puzzled, and who never have the patience to wait for the end, but
condemn a measure from the first moment its immediate results do not
answer their expectations. For this reason few men in America, even if
they possess the talent, have the _courage_ to propose a radical reform
of abuses, or to work some signal good, unless the execution of it is
sure to be _step by step_ applauded by large majorities. It is this
courting of popularity which is the bane of even the best statesmen
in the United States; but it is in part forced upon them,--it is the
_conditio sine quâ non_ of their usefulness.
From the secretary of the Treasury I drove to the lodgings of Mr. Henry
Clay, the celebrated senator from Kentucky. I found this extraordinary
man, who was then already a little past his prime, the very type of
what passes in Europe, ever since the clever caricatures of Mrs.
Trollope, as “an American character.” Mr. Clay stands upwards of six
feet; has a semi-Indian, half-human half-savage countenance, in which,
however, the intellectual strongly preponderates over the animal. His
manners, at first sight, appear to be extremely vulgar; and yet he is
graceful, and even dignified, in his intercourse with strangers.
He chews tobacco, drinks whisky punch, gambles, puts his legs on the
table or the chimney, and spits, as an American would say, “like a
regular Kentucky hog-driver;” and yet he is all gentleness, politeness,
and cordiality in the society of ladies. Add to this that his organs
of speech are the most melodious; and that, with great imagination
and humour, he combines manly eloquence, and the power of sarcasm in
the most extraordinary degree; and it will easily be conceived why he
should have been able to captivate high and low,--_l’homme du salon_,
and the “squatter” in the Western wilderness.
[Illustration: HENRY CLAY.]
Much as Mr. Clay is esteemed in America, I do not think the people have
as yet done justice to his talents. These, to be sure, are, owing to
his advanced age, on the decline; but even the _remnants_ of a mind
like Clay’s are great, and entitle him to be ranked among the greatest
living statesmen. He was for a long time the advocate of the system
of internal improvements, combated with so much success by General
Jackson. He advocated successively the establishment of national roads
and canals, the continuance of a United States’ bank, the tariff,
and, in short, every measure conducive to centralization. That this
system, while it strengthens the government, and introduces order and
uniformity into the administration of the country, diminishes, at the
same time, the liberties of the individual States, and, in general, ill
agrees with the principles of a pure democracy, such as are laid down
in the American constitution, no one, who is not himself interested in
the question, can reasonably deny; but it would be equally absurd to
suppose every man who is an advocate of a central measure, to be at
once an enemy to republican institutions, and a traitor to his country.
Mr. Clay advocated every measure he proposed, not as a mere partisan,
but as a statesman who clearly saw its first and ultimate bearings on
national politics. His is a mind of vast conceptions, which, if it
had not at one time speculated too much in elections,--I allude to
the trick he played at the election of Mr. John Quincy Adams,--might
have long ago enabled him to fill the station to which his unfortunate
ambition a little too early aspired.
From Mr. Clay I called upon Mr. Thomas H. Benton, the democratic
senator from Missouri. This gentleman is altogether in a false
position; for he is, in my opinion, as much over-rated by his friends
as he is under-rated by his enemies. I was the bearer of a letter to
him by one of his most intimate friends, and a person of high standing
and much influence in the country; and yet the reception I met with
was cold and ceremonious,--his manners forced, and almost ludicrously
dignified. The truth is, Mr. Benton behaves on most occasions like a
man who has not yet found his level in society; being continually on
his guard lest he might not be done justice to, and afraid lest his
unrestrained familiar manners might derogate from the estimation in
which he is held by the public. The first impression that he makes
upon a stranger I should judge to be decidedly unfavourable, though he
greatly improves upon acquaintance, and, as he drops his dignity, shows
his truly estimable points of character. As Mr. Benton’s democracy is
probably proof against the seductions of Europe,--a thing I would not
assert of one American out of ten,--I would recommend to him a trip to
Paris,--not to London,--in order that he might learn to carry himself
with a little more ease. It would vastly improve his manners and
general appearance, and perhaps make him find favour even with _female_
philosophers.[22]
Mr. Benton is perhaps the most unfortunate speaker in the Senate; not,
indeed, as regards the substance of his discourses, most of which are
clever and full of information; but with regard to his disjointed,
broken, sometimes loud, and again sometimes scarcely audible,
delivery. This is undoubtedly the reason why his speeches are so much
under-rated, though they contain more solid matter of statistics and
history than can be found in the perhaps more eloquent efforts of his
colleagues. Mr. Benton is a most uncommonly laborious man, and is
constantly collecting facts, not only in America but also in Europe,
in support of his political doctrines; though his partiality for
France, and his eternal and irksome comparisons between the republic
under the consulate of Bonaparte and the confederation of the United
States, rather injure than establish his theories with a considerable
portion of the American public. Another fault with which Mr. Benton has
been reproached consists in his indelicate allusions to his personal
prowess. Every one knows that Mr. Benton is as brave as Cæsar; but
it is not necessary that he himself should refer to it. An appeal to
arms in a deliberative assembly is always vulgar, if not absolutely
savage; and ought to be avoided in the most studious manner, not only
by every man of religion and principle, but also by every gentleman
of good taste. There is, as yet, too much bullyism in the legislative
assemblies of America; many worthy representatives forgetting that it
is easier to fight for, than to establish by argument, the correctness
of a political principle. On the whole, Mr. Benton is a clever
politician, an industrious collector of statistics, and, with the
exception of his delivery, a most skilful debater in Congress. He has,
during a certain period, been almost the only and valiant defender of
General Jackson’s policy in the Senate; and has, by his perseverance,
honesty, and good faith, become universally popular among the labouring
classes, whose interests he has during his whole life constantly and
successfully advocated.
My next visit was to Mr. Salis Wright, senator from the State of New
York, the avowed democratic champion of that State, and indeed a man of
the most extraordinary talents. He is one of those men whose urbanity
and frankness the Americans indicate by saying, “he has not a bit of
starch in him.” Mr. Wright is a statesman, not a mere politician;
and will, if his talents be properly placed before the public, play
an important part in the history of his country. He and Mr. Calhoun
are almost the only two senators free from the “Congressional” sin
of making everlasting speeches. He is always concise, rigorously
logical, and, what is very rare in an American politician, singularly
free from personal abuse. His mind is of that rigid composition
which does not allow him to depart, for one instant, from the point
under consideration; and hence, instead of indulging himself in
irrelevant rhapsodies, sneers, and side-thrusts at the character of his
antagonists, he confines himself strictly to his argument; a method
which, if it were imitated by every senator, would enable them to
transact the same business in about the one-seventh part of the time
now needed, saving annually a sum of not less than a million of dollars.
Mr. Wright’s delivery is rapid, but distinct; proving that every
thought is digested and arranged, and flowing from a well-stored mind.
In his private life he is not a fashionable, but a plain, unassuming,
modest gentleman; who, notwithstanding his own brevity, possesses that
most extraordinary talent of powerful minds--of listening patiently
to the tedious prosings of others. I saw him, in his own room, listen
to an endless recital of an Indian campaign given by an officer in
the army, without even once heaving a sigh, though the thermometer
ranged at 96°; his room being one of the closest in the whole city of
Washington. At last, having listened to the hero for more than an hour,
he told him patiently that he found his story exceedingly entertaining;
but, having a few words to say to one of his friends waiting in the
parlour, he should be obliged to leave him for a few moments, in order
to afterwards hear the conclusion of so interesting a narrative. I must
yet observe that Mr. Wright is seldom seen at the crack parties in
Washington, and is, therefore, not in the way of being much noticed by
foreign tourists.
My next call was on my old acquaintance, Mr. Buchanan, senator from
Pennsylvania. This is a gentleman of plain common sense, agreeable and
dignified manners, and the most resolved unchangeable disposition. As
a speaker, he does not attempt to soar on the wings of genius; but
his arguments being always founded on experience and practical good
sense, and his unimpeachable honesty being proverbial, he is always
sure of producing effect. Mr. Buchanan never had the character of an
office-seeker, though he has always been one of the most strenuous
defenders of General Jackson’s policy; and is even now rarely seen at
the White-house or the levees of the cabinet ministers. And yet in his
externals he is the most courtier-like senator in Congress; his dress
and manners being always what a master of ceremonies at any European
court could wish them to be in order to usher him into the presence
of his royal master. In addition to this, Mr. Buchanan is a bachelor,
and not yet past the age at which bachelors cease to be interesting;
which accounts sufficiently for his being universally beloved, even
by those who are opposed to him in politics. Indeed, I heard it
positively asserted, more than four years ago, that he was “too much of
a gentleman,” and “had remained too long in the Senate,” to continue
much longer an advocate of democracy. This was evidently among the
_on dits_, which, as far as regards the conclusion, had not the least
foundation in it. Mr. Buchanan is, at this moment, as sound a democrat
as ever; proving the vanity and falsehood of Cowper’s assertion, that
“----the age of virtuous liberty is past,
And we are deep in that of cold pretence;
Patriots are grown too shrewd to be sincere,
And we too wise to trust them.”
On my return to the inn I found a numerous assemblage of gentlemen
waiting on the piazza for the ringing of the dinner-bell; which, at
Gadsby’s owing to the vast extent of the premises, is affixed to a
small steeple on the top of the house, in order that it may warn not
only the gentlemen who may be engaged in politics in their rooms, but
also those who may be lounging anywhere within a quarter of a mile
from the place of feeding. During the time the table was setting, the
dining-room itself was carefully locked, in order “to prevent impatient
people from spoiling the looks of it” before it was quite ready. While
thus in expectation of the things that were to come, I asked the
bar-keeper how many senators and representatives had taken rooms in the
house; as, from the number of gentlemen present, it was quite evident
his inn was full.
“Only two, sir,” replied he.
“And what is the reason you have so few?”
“Because our terms are too high; they can get board cheaper
at a boarding-house. We entertain generally but transient
people,--lobby-members; gentlemen with their families, who come here
to spend the season; now and then a letter-writer, though these are
usually stopping at Brown’s; and perhaps occasionally a spy.”
“And are all these men better able to pay for their board than senators
and representatives of Congress?”
“Whether they be better able to pay, I know not; they seem at least to
be _more willing_ to do so. If they have not got money, they ‘_hire_’
it. Washington is the _‘ruination’ place_ of the United States. Many a
man comes here in tolerable circumstances, and leaves the place as a
beggar, with his money spent, and his business neglected. So much for
politics!”
“That’s no very flattering picture of your town.”
“Why, sir,” said one of the gentlemen near me, “how many persons do you
think are solvent in this city?”
“I will hope a great many.”
“I do not think,” replied he, “there are six persons in town able to
pay their debts, if their estates were to be settled to-morrow. The
corporation itself has more debts than it can conveniently manage.
There is not a city in the Union as badly off as ours.”
“And then what a continual influx of paupers!” interrupted the
bar-keeper; “all coming here to seek office, to see the President, and
to avail themselves of their acquaintance with one or the other member,
to obtain a place for themselves or one of their relations. Would you
believe that people come here from a distance of from six hundred to a
thousand miles, to hunt an appointment of six hundred dollars a year;
and that, in order to enable them to get home again, after they have
spent their last farthing, the President is often obliged to pay their
passage out of his own pocket?”
“I can testify to that,” said one of the gentlemen; “General Jackson
has done so more than once. When they first come here, they expect
nothing less than an appointment of two thousand dollars a year; but
by degrees their expectations become more moderate: they would then be
satisfied with a clerkship; by and by with a still more subordinate
station; and at last they would be glad if any one would pay their
bill, and enable them to get home again. I remember a most remarkable
story, which was current here shortly after the election of General
Jackson, and which is singularly characteristic of the notions of our
people as respects the power of the executive.
“One morning, scarcely a fortnight after the General’s arrival at
the White-house, a shabby-genteel looking man presented himself at
his parlour, and, after the usual salutation and shaking of hands,
expressed his joy at seeing the venerable old gentleman at last hold
the situation of chief magistrate of the country, to which his
bravery, his talents, and his unimpeachable rectitude fully entitled
him. ‘We have had a hard time of it,’ said he, ‘in our little place;
but our exertions were unremitting: I myself went round to stimulate
my neighbours, and at last the victory was ours. We beat them by a
majority of ten votes, and I now behold the result of that glorious
triumph!’ The General thanked him in terms of studied politeness,
assuring him that he would resign his office in an instant if he
did not think his election gave satisfaction to a vast majority of
the people; and at last regretted his admirer’s zeal for the public
weal should have been so severely taxed on his account. ‘Oh, no
matter for that, sir!’ said he; ‘I did it with pleasure,--I did it
for myself and for my country’ (the General bowed); ‘and I now come
to congratulate you on your success’ (the General bowed again). ‘I
thought, sir,’ continued he, ‘that, as you are now President of the
United States, I might perhaps be useful to you in some official
capacity.’ (The General looked somewhat embarrassed.) ‘Pray, sir,
have you already made a choice of your cabinet ministers?’--‘I have,’
was the reply of the General.--‘Well, no matter for that; I shall
be satisfied with an embassy to Europe,’--‘I am sorry to say there
is no vacancy.’--‘Then you will perhaps require a head-clerk in the
department of State?’--‘These are generally appointed by the respective
secretaries.’--‘I am very sorry for that: then I must be satisfied
with some inferior appointment.’--‘I never interfere with these: you
must address yourself to the heads of departments.’--‘But could I not
be postmaster in Washington? Only think, General, how I worked for
you!’--‘I am much obliged to you for the good opinion you entertain of
me, and for your kind offices at the last election; but the postmaster
for the city of Washington is already appointed.’--‘Well, I don’t
particularly care for that; I should be satisfied With being his
clerk.’--‘This is a subject you must mention to the postmaster.’--‘Why,
then, General,’ exclaimed the disappointed candidate for office,
‘haven’t you got an old black coat?’ You may well imagine that the
General gave him one.
“As extravagant as this story appears, I can assure you that there
are at any time in Washington hundreds of persons seeking employment
of some sort or other; nine-tenths of whom return home disappointed,
cursing the ingratitude of those whom they have elevated by their
suffrages, and who are now so monstrously ungrateful as to suffer them
to gain a livelihood by common labour. All these men finish by joining
the opposition, expecting to be treated with more consideration by the
next administration.”
Scarcely had he finished, before the bell, or rather the tocsin,
sounded for dinner. In an instant the whole company, consisting of more
than a hundred persons, were seated at table,--the dinner, including
soups and desserts, being served at once,--and in less than ten minutes
the greater portion of them began already to disperse. I had seen much
fast eating in the United States, especially on board of steam-boats;
but nothing to compare to the rapidity with which meals are despatched
in Washington. What astonished me most was, that most of the gentlemen,
very unlike those of Boston, New York, or Philadelphia, did not leave
table in order immediately to attend to business; but merely to walk or
stand on the piazza, smoke, read the papers, or talk politics.
Washington, as I observed before, is the only city of idlers in the
whole Union; and, for a man that is not a manufacturer or a merchant,
quite an agreeable residence. Despite of its ridiculous extent, and the
miserable and scattered situation of the dwelling-houses, it is a focus
of intellect, and contains more resources for a man of education than
any other Transatlantic city. It is in Washington where the national
mind is formed; where local prejudices vanish under the influence of
more enlarged political views; where, if I may use the expression,
the totality of the American people absorbs the provincialism of the
different sections of the country. It is the only city in the United
States, north of the Potomac, where a man is not bored with the
everlasting talk of business,--where the _markets_ are not considered
the most important topic of conversation.
Literary and professional men, though they are tolerated in other
American cities, and, from vanity and ostentation, occasionally shown
up, or, as a clever writer on diplomacy has it, “used by the ladies as
a pepper-box,” find their level only in Washington. Even statesmen like
Webster, Clay, Calhoun, Wright, &c. are at home only listened to from
complacency, unless they touch upon a subject immediately affecting
the interest of their particular State; but, arrived in Washington,
they find themselves at once drawn into a circle of attraction, which
not only furnishes food for their minds, but, from the nature of its
composition, acts as a stimulus on their energies. Washington, in fine,
is the only place in America where talent is esteemed on account of
itself,--not because it enables the person endowed with it “to get
handsome things.”
To call a man “visionary,” or to consider his talents useless to
society, because he cannot immediately reduce them into “shoes and
stockings for paupers,” marks a low estimate of humanity; and, in spite
of the greatest political progress, a backward state of civilization.
I have heard gentlemen in the Northern States boast of having worked
sixteen hours a day in a manufactory, or in a store, as if they had
actually benefited the world with their manual labour. The thought
never struck them that they might have been more useful to society
by employing poor men to do the same work for them, and reserving
their faculties, if such they had, for some occupation that had some
relish of intellect in it. As long as the rich men in America think it
more creditable to themselves to compete with the wages of the poor
by assuming a part of their labour, than by cultivating the higher
branches of knowledge to increase the floating intellect, American
society may abound in common sense, but it will prove the grave of
talent and genius. All this, fortunately, does not apply to Washington,
in which the mass of property is really so small in proportion to the
intellect that governs it, as to leave a large balance in favour of the
latter.
It cannot be doubted but that the vastness of material interests in
the Northern States crushes the loftier aspirings of the mind, though
it may be favourable to a certain degree of elementary instruction and
general information very well compatible with a total neglect of the
higher branches of knowledge, and the absence of taste. It is certainly
a matter of rejoicing, not only for the Americans, but for every
philanthropist, that there should exist at least one country in the
world emphatically to be termed “the land of beef and pudding, clean
shirts, and whole stockings for all;” but in these things does not yet
consist the ultimate happiness of a people, or its capacity for great
and generous actions.
That the great mass of the American people are further advanced, not
only in politics, but in general civilization, than any nation of
Europe, the English themselves not excepted, no one acquainted with
the state of society in the United States will venture to deny: the
question only is, whether that advanced position contains also the
germ of further progress; and whether the direction civilization is
taking in America is sure of leading to the developement of the higher
faculties. A nation may, like the Germans, be too exclusively engaged
in learned and literary pursuits, and thereby neglect to provide for
those physical comforts which, after all, contribute so much to men’s
happiness; but it is also possible to give to the latter more than
their full share of attention, to the total neglect of every noble and
disinterested pursuit.
The apology one continually hears in the United States, “We are a
young people,”--“you cannot expect us to be as far advanced as other
nations,”--“we have not yet the means,” &c.--are, as regards the
Eastern and Atlantic States, nothing but idle cant. The _West_ may
excuse itself for the want of refinement by the prodigious amount
of labour and personal exertion incidental to the settlement of a
wilderness; but the Northern and Eastern people have no such excuse
for being altogether absorbed in money-making. There is more property
accumulated in Boston, New York, and Philadelphia than in any German
town of the same extent; the intercourse with Europe is constant; the
treasures of science and literature as much unlocked to the Americans
as to any other people; and if, notwithstanding all this, these
departments remain still neglected, it can only be because there is
no real taste for them, and because _other pursuits are more sure of
securing the respect of society_. As long as the salary of a head-clerk
in a respectable counting-room surpasses that of a professor of
mathematics and astronomy in the first and oldest American university,
and as long as the company of the latter is hardly considered good
enough for a wholesale dealer in dry goods or an auctioneer, it is
useless to talk of being “a young people,” “of having no time for
literary pursuits,” &c. The age of the nation has nothing to do with
it; it is _the taste of the higher classes_, who rather imitate the
follies of fashionable European life, than the European student in his
closet or the munificence of his patron.
“What a boor that fellow is!” exclaimed a Boston lawyer, half audibly,
at a fashionable party in that city, pointing to a young man wearing
boots.--“But, sir, they are dress boots,” said I; “I have seen them
worn by English gentlemen.”--“Oh, then I have no objection to them!”
The young man who wore them had just returned from England, and was
showing off his new fashion. Why do the hundreds and thousands of
young Americans that overrun Europe, and put ministers and consuls
in requisition to be presented at the different courts, not visit
the more humble dwellings of men of letters, or the _ateliers_ of
artists, and on their return show off something else than their
heels?--_Answer._ “Because the heels are most likely to be observed;
and a man more easily pardoned for ignorance or stupidity than for
unacquaintance with the usages of Europe.” The Americans in Europe just
float on the surface of society, and it is consequently only the froth
of it which they afterwards transplant to their own country.
Washington, as I have said before, is a city to which people come to
_spend_ money, not to _make_ it. The hum and bustle of business nowhere
obtrude themselves on one’s ears, men’s minds are occupied with more
enlarged views of society; and conversation, instead of being confined
to a narrow circle of common-place observations, spreads over topics
of political and historical interest. In addition to these advantages,
one can already notice in Washington Southern manners and Southern
hospitality. Nothing, indeed, is easier than to be introduced into
the best society; a single letter of introduction answering all the
purpose. Some of the _habitués_ seem to make it their business to
procure invitations to parties for strangers. “What party is there
to-night?” you hear a gentleman ask in the morning.--“It is Mrs. ***’s.
Are you invited?”--“I have not the honour of being introduced.”--“Will
you give me your card?”--“With pleasure;” and in an hour or so your
invitation is left at the bar of your hotel. Many of these parties are
indeed supperless, a circumstance much complained of by the dancers:
but then the general tone is agreeable; the people having far less
pretensions, and being much more natural in their manners, than either
the New-Yorkers or the Philadelphians.
FOOTNOTES:
[20] The mazurka.
[21] My friend speaks of the year 1833.
[22] The reader will remember with what severity Miss Martineau
commented on his talents, though she had only seen him once or twice
_en passant_.
CHAPTER III.
The Library of Congress.--Conversation with several Members of
Congress.--Practice of Public Speakers in Washington.--Mr. Van Buren’s
Method of parrying an Invective.--Discussion of General Jackson’s
Character.--Jackson and Wellington’s similarity of Character.--Mr. Van
Buren’s Character.--Instability of American Institutions.--Insecurity
of Property the Consequence of it.--Want of Enthusiasm in the
Higher Classes.--Their Toad-eating in Europe.--Cooper’s last
Publication.--Vanity of boasting of the Natural Resources of the
Country.--Thin-skinnedness of the Americans when attacked by European
Critics.--Toad-eating to the People.--Necessity of establishing a
Moral Quarantine for all Americans returning from Europe.--Americans
ashamed of their Institutions.--Anecdote of a vulgar rich American and
the Grand Duke of Tuscany.--Democratic Twaddles.--Advantages of a poor
Capital.
* * * * *
“Ambition rends, and gaming gains a loss;
But making money, slowly first, then quicker,
And adding still a little through each cross,
(Which _will_ come over things,) beats love or liquor,
The gamester’s counter, or the statesman’s _dross_.
_O gold! I still prefer thee unto paper,
Which makes bank credit like a bark of vapour._”
BYRON’S _Don Juan_., Canto xii. 4.
Being engaged in the evening, I spent the time from four till five in
the afternoon in visiting the library of Congress at the Capitol. I
was introduced to the librarian by one of the members, and found him
exceedingly obliging. The collection of books, manuscripts, newspapers,
&c. is of course small, the number of works in any one department being
probably insufficient to form a scholar: yet, for the entertainment
of the members, and for such current and useful instruction as may
be desirable for the purpose of reference, it is probably more than
sufficient; and thus it well answers the purpose of its founders.
After taking from one of the windows a fine view of the city, which
looks more like a newly settled colony than the capital of a powerful
country, I took a walk with two senators and a member up and down the
macadamised road, called the Pennsylvania Avenue, which leads from the
Capitol to the President’s house; this being the fashionable promenade,
business street, habitable quarter, and sum total of the whole American
metropolis.
The two senators belonged to the democratic party, it being a rare case
for a Whig ever to associate with a Democrat, and _vice versâ_; the
member of the House belonged to the same class of politicians.
“What sort of speech was it Mr. *** made to-day?” demanded one of the
senators of the member.
“Clever enough, I believe; but nobody listened to it. Mr. *** speaks
too much.”
“And on all occasions, probably?”
“Precisely so.”
“Then I do not wonder no one likes to hear him: it is the worst
possible taste to be always up. A man has to be very careful with
that. The older members do not like the younger ones to speak more on
a question than is absolutely necessary. This privilege is entirely
reserved for the veterans. A young man of talent must be cautious how
he shows off; or they will make a dead set at him, and hunt him down.
The best practice is to speak seldom, and only on great occasions.”
“But you know,” observed the member, “a man must give some signs
of life, or he will not be re-elected. Most of our speeches are
manufactured for home-consumption. We ‘let fly’ at them in the House,
then print it, and then send a couple of thousand copies of it to our
constituents. Uncle Sam, you know, pays the postage.”[23]
“None of us has a right to complain about that,” replied the senator:
“speeches are made on both sides; each party possessing the same right,
and making the same use of the privilege of franking.”
“But then our party does not make near as long speeches as the Tories:
it is only the higher classes of society will read a discourse filling
more than seventeen columns in a newspaper.”
“But how do they get people to listen to them?” demanded I.
“They don’t,” answered the member. “We just let him speak on, and
employ our time in reading the newspapers, writing letters, conversing
with one another, talking to some gentleman in the lobby, or in reading
some interesting book. We always find some useful occupation: it is
only the greenhorns listen to a long speech, with a view to catch an
idea.”
“Reading is sometimes practised with great success,” observed the
senator, “while a personal attack is made upon a gentleman. Mr. Van
Buren,[24] for instance, is in the habit of reading a novel as often as
a Whig or Tory senator gets up to pour out his abuse against him. In
this manner he is not only able to weather the storm without getting
angry, but to show at the same time his contempt for the invective.”
“That is a capital plan. I presume he occasionally looks over the
book?” said the member with a laugh.
“Only when the abuse is very heavy; and then it is done with the most
placid countenance, just to let his antagonist know how little he can
shake him. It serves in the place of a reply, and keeps his party all
the while in countenance.”
“But what must a member or a senator do to obtain a hearing from his
colleagues?” demanded I.
“Why, he must have friends, either political or personal, and he must
know how to keep his audience in good humour; a task which is more
difficult than you imagine.”
The conversation then turned upon General Jackson, and the prospects of
the opposition.
“General Jackson,” said one of the senators, “understands the people of
the United States twenty times better than his antagonists; and, if his
successor have but half the same tact, the Whigs may give up the hope
of governing the country for the next half century.”
“You ought not to say ‘_tact_,’” interrupted the other senator, “for
that alone will not do it; he must have the same manners as our present
President. General Jackson has a peculiar way of addressing himself to
the feelings of every man with whom he comes in contact. His simple,
unostentatious manners carry into every heart the conviction of his
honesty; while the firmness of his character inspires his friends with
the hope of success. His motto always was, ‘_Never sacrifice a friend
to an enemy_;’ or, ‘_Make yourself strong with your friends, and you
need not fear your foes._’ These things, however, must be _born_ with
a man; they must be spontaneous, and felt as such by the people, or
they lose the best part of their effect. All the tact in the world will
not answer the same purpose; for, in exactly the same proportion as
we perceive a man is prudent, we become cautious ourselves,--and then
farewell to popularity!
“When the people give their suffrages to a man, they never do so
on a rigid examination of his political principles; for this task
the labouring classes of any country neither have the time nor the
disposition, and it is wholly needless to attempt to persuade them to
a different course by a long and tedious argument. The large masses
act in politics pretty much as they do in religion. Every doctrine is
with them, more or less, a matter of _faith_; received, principally,
on account of their trust in the apostle. If the latter fail to
captivate their hearts, no reasoning in the world is capable of filling
the vacancy: and the more natural and uncorrupt the people are, the
less are they to be moved by abstract reasoning, whether the form of
government be republican, monarchical, or despotic.”
“Precisely so,” ejaculated the member. “General Jackson is popular,
just because he is General Jackson; so much so, that if a man were to
say a word against him in the Western States, he would be ‘_knocked
into eternal smash_.’”
“And this sort of popularity,” continued the senator, “our Northern
people consider as the mere consequence of the battle of New Orleans.
The battle, and General Jackson’s military character, had undoubtedly
a great deal to do with it; but they were not of themselves sufficient
to elevate him to the Presidency. In a country in which so large a
portion of the people consider the acquiring of a fortune the only
rational object of pursuit,--in which so great and so exclusive an
importance is attached to money, that, with a few solitary exceptions,
it is the only means of arriving at personal distinction,--a character
like Jackson’s, so perfectly disinterested, and so entirely devoted to
what he at least deemed the good of his country, could not but excite
astonishment and admiration among the natural, and therefore more
susceptible, people of the Western States. The appearance of General
Jackson was a phenomenon, and would at the present time have been one
in every country. He called himself ‘the people’s friend,’ and gave
proofs of his sincerity and firmness in _adhering_ to his friends, and
of his power to protect them. The people believed in General Jackson
as much as the Turks in their prophet, and would have followed him
wherever he chose to lead them. With this species of popularity it is
in vain to contend; and it betrays little knowledge of the world, and
the springs of human action, to believe those who possess it men of
ordinary capacity.
“What the French call ‘_le génie du caractère_,’ which is the true
talisman of popular favour, is perhaps the highest talent with
which mortals can be endowed. It is a pure gift of Heaven, and has
accomplished the noblest deeds in history. When Napoleon reproached
Voltaire with not having sufficiently appreciated the character of
Mahomed, whom the French poet introduced in the drama of the same
name as a mere impostor, he felt that none but a great mind could
have conceived and executed what to ordinary men would have appeared
absurd or chimerical; and that he who had the power to instil a lasting
enthusiasm for a new cause into millions, and on that enthusiasm to
establish an empire which has spread over half the world, must have
been more than a mere charlatan, for he must have been possessed of a
thorough knowledge of human character. This is a thing a man cannot
acquire by study, if he do not possess it by intuition; and hence it
can neither be defined nor understood by men not similarly gifted, who,
applying their own scale to what is truly incommensurable, are always
astonished at the success of those whom they were all their lives
accustomed to look upon as second or third rate men.
“Have we not heard it objected to Napoleon, that he could not write an
elegant epistle? Do the French not pity Shakspeare for having been
so little of a scholar, and so inelegant in his expressions? And yet
wherein consisted the particular genius of these men, so entirely
opposite to one another, if it was not, principally, in the perfect
knowledge which truly intuitively they possessed of human character?