_The American in England. By the Author of "A Year in Spain." 2 vols.
New York. Harper and Brothers._
Lieutenant Slidell's very excellent book, "A Year in Spain," was in
some danger of being overlooked by his countrymen when a benignant
star directed Murray's attention to its merits. Fate and Regent Street
prevailed. Cockney octavos carried the day. A man is nothing if not
hot-pressed; and the clever young writer who was cut dead in his
Yankee-land habiliments, met with bows innumerable in the gala dress
of a London _imprimatur_. The "Year in Spain" well deserved the
popularity thus inauspiciously attained. It was the work of a man of
genius; and passing through several editions, prepared the public
attention for any subsequent production of its author. As regards "The
American in England," we have not only read it with deep interest from
beginning to end, but have been at the trouble of seeking out and
perusing a great variety of critical _dicta_ concerning it. Nearly all
of these are in its favor, and we are happy in being able to concur
heartily with the popular voice--if indeed these _dicta_ be its
echoes.
We have somewhere said--or we should have somewhere said--that the old
adage about "Truth in a well" (we mean the adage in its modern and
improper--not in its antique and proper acceptation) should be
swallowed _cum grano salis_ at times. To be profound is not always to
be sensible. The depth of an argument is not, necessarily, its
wisdom--this depth lying where Truth is sought more often than where
she is found. As the touches of a painting which, to minute
inspection, are 'confusion worse confounded' will not fail to start
boldly out to the cursory glance of a connoisseur--or as a star may be
seen more distinctly in a sidelong survey than in any direct gaze
however penetrating and {193} intense--so there are, not unfrequently,
times and methods, in which, and by means of which, a richer
philosophy may be gathered on the surface of things than can be drawn
up, even with great labor, _c profundis_. It appears to us that Mr.
Slidell has written a wiser book than his neighbors merely by not
disdaining to write a more superficial one.
The work is dedicated to John Duer, Esq. The Preface is a very
sensible and a sufficiently well-written performance, in which the
Lieutenant while "begging, at the outset, to be acquitted of any
injurious prejudices" still pleads guilty to "that ardent patriotism
which is the common attribute of Americans, a feeling of nationality
inherited with the laws, the language, and the manners of the country
from which we derive our origin, and which is sanctioned not less by
the comparison of the blessings we enjoy with those of other lands,
than by the promptings of good feeling, and the dictates of good
taste." It is in the body of the book, however, that we must seek, and
where we shall most assuredly find, strong indications of a genius not
the less rich, rare, and altogether estimable for the simplicity of
its _modus operandi_.
Commencing with his embarkation at New York, our author succeeds, at
once, in rivetting the attention of his readers by _a succession of
minute details_. But there is this vast difference between the details
of Mr. Slidell, and the details of many of his contemporaries.
They--the many--impressed, apparently, with the belief that mere
minuteness is sufficient to constitute force, and that to be accurate
is, of necessity, to be verisimilar--have not hesitated in putting in
upon their canvass all the _actual_ lines which might be discovered in
their subject. This Mr. Slidell has known better than to do. He has
felt that the apparent, not the real, is the province of a
painter--and that _to give_ (speaking technically) _the idea of any
desired object, the toning down, or the utter neglect of certain
portions of that object is absolutely necessary to the proper bringing
out of other portions--portions by whose sole instrumentality the idea
of the object is afforded_. With a fine eye then for the picturesque,
and with that strong sense of propriety which is inseparable from true
genius, our American has crossed the water, dallied a week in London,
and given us, as the result of his observations, a few masterly
sketches, with all the spirit, vigor, raciness and illusion of a
panorama.
Very rarely have we seen any thing of the kind superior to the
"American in England." The interest begins with the beginning of the
book, and abides with us, unabated, to the end. From the scenes in the
Yankee harbor, to the departure of the traveller from England, his
arrival in France, and installment among the comforts of the Hotel
Quillacq, all is terse, nervous, brilliant and original. The review of
the ship's company, in the initial chapter of the book is exceedingly
entertaining. The last character thus introduced is so peculiarly
sketched that we must copy what the author says about him. It will
serve to exemplify some of our own prior remarks.
"Let me not forget to make honorable mention of the white-headed
little raggamuffin who was working his passage, and who, in this
capacity, had the decks to sweep, ropes to haul, chickens and pigs to
feed, the cow to milk, and the dishes to wash, as well as all other
jobs to do that belonged to no one in particular. As a proof of good
will, he had chopped off the tails of a dandy, velvet-collared, blue
coat, with the cook's axe, the very first day out. This was performed
at the windlass-bits, in full conclave of the crew, and I suspected at
the suggestion of a roguish man-of-war's-man, a shipmate of mine. The
tails were cut just below the pocket flaps, which gave them a sort of
razee look, and, in conjunction with the velvet collar, made the
oddest appearance in the world, as he would creep, stern first, out of
the long-boat after milking the cow. Blow high or blow low, the poor
boy had no time to be sea-sick. Sometimes he would get adrift in the
lee scuppers and roll over in the water, keeping fast hold of the
plates he was carying to the galley."
Some incidents at sea--such as the narrow escape from running down a
brig, and the imminent danger incurred by an English pilot--are told
with all the gusto of a seaman. Among other fine passages we may
particularize an account of British sailors on shore at Portsmouth--of
a family group on board a steamer--of the appearance of the Kentish
coast--of the dangers of the Thames--of the Dover coach--of some
groups in a London coffee-room--of a stand of hackney-coaches--of St.
James' Park--of a midnight scene in the streets--of the Strand--of
Temple-Bar--of St. Paul's and the view from the summit--of
Rothschild--of Barclay and Perkins' Brewery--of the Thames' Tunnel--of
the Tower--of the Zoological Gardens--of Robert Owen--of the habits of
retired citizens--and of the rural tastes of Englishmen. A parallel
between Regent Street and Broadway brings the two thoroughfares with
singular distinctness to the eye of the mind--and in the way of
animated and vivid description we can, at this moment, remember
nothing in the whole range of fact or fiction much superior to the
Lieutenant's narrative of his midnight entrance into London. Indeed we
can almost pardon a contemporary for speaking of this picture as
sublime. A small portion of it we copy--but no just idea of its total
effect can be thus gathered--an effect depending in a great measure
upon the gradual manner in which it is brought about.
"I know nothing more exhilirating than to be suddenly ushered in the
night into a populous quarter of a great city. My recollection readily
conjures up the impressions made upon me under similar circumstances
in entering Paris, Madrid, Brussels, Milan, or gay and lively Naples.
The lower classes, with their good humor, their quaint drollery and
sprightliness, there offer the most agreeable objects of
contemplation. Here, however, there was in the corresponding classes
nothing pleasing, or even picturesque. All seemed in search of food,
of the means of intemperance, and of gratifying low and brutal
passions. The idea of amusement had evidently no place. The streets
swarmed with abandoned women, filthy in their dress, open, brutal, and
indecent in their advances. In the places of the guitar, the serenade,
the musical cries of chesnut-women, lemonade-sellers, and watermen,
the sounds here were harsh and grating: uttered in words ill
pronounced and nasally prolonged, or in an unintelligible and
discordant slang which I no longer recognized as belonging to my own
language. In the place of skilful musicians performing the favorite
airs of Mozart or Rossini, or the witty colloquies of the sententious
Punchinello, the poor were invited, in the nasal twang of clamorous
mountebanks to amuse themselves by a sight of the latest cases of
seduction, murder, suicide, and hanging, represented in the shadows of
the camera obscura. The dark masses of dwelling-houses had a confined,
narrow, gloomy, and lugubrious aspect. They were of brick, without
window-sills of marble or other colored stone; unpainted, and
unenlivened by blinds. They were closely shut, and the glimpses of
cheerfulness and domestic comfort {194} exhibited in our streets were
here unseen. All the shops were open to the weather: Many of them
having the whole front removed, and gas-lights blazing and streaming
like great torches, rather than with the puny and flickering
illumination seen in ours. The articles were completely exposed to
view at the side of the street; clothing, provisions, crockery,
hardware; whatever is necessary to the wants of man. The druggists,
with their variegated vases, as with us, cast the Iris hues of their
nauseous mixtures into the street. Sellers of cheap goods exposed them
in the windows, with their price labelled. The butchers hung out beef,
pork, sausages, and enormous coarse sheep, in a nearly whole state,
with sometimes the price affixed to the inferior portions, in order
that the poor might judge whether the price they had received for
their day's labor, would compass a meal of meat; or whether they
should seek a diet more suited to their means, of a neighboring
potato-merchant: or whether to turn in despair, as many of the most
wretched seemed to do, to accept the flattering invitation of the
magnificent gin-palace at the corner. It was the most splendid
building in the neighborhood; built with some little architectural
elegance, whose effect was magnified by the unadorned character and
gloomy air of the surrounding edifices. A beautiful gas-light, in a
richly ornamented lamp, stood as an inviting beacon, visible in many
diverging directions. The windows were glazed with costly plate-glass,
bearing inscribed, in illuminated letters, the words--gin at
three-pence--generous wines hot-spiced;--and the door surrounded by
stained panes of rich dye, having rosettes, bunches of grapes, and gay
devices."
There are some few _niaiseries_ in the work before us, which, although
insufficient to affect its character as a whole, yet constitute a weak
point in what otherwise is beautiful, and cause us to regret
sincerely, the accidents which have admitted them. We may mention, in
especial, the too frequent introduction of the monosyllable "_how_,"
in such sentences as "they told how"--"it was related how"--"I was
informed how," &c. Mr. Slidell will find, upon self-scrutiny, that he
has fallen into this habit through the sin of imitation. The
Lieutenant, too, suffers his work to savor far too strongly of the
ship, and lets slip him no opportunity of thrusting upon the public
attention the fact of his particular vocation--insisting, indeed, upon
this matter with a pertinacity even ludicrous--a pertinacity which
will be exemplified in the following passage:
"_Unaccustomed as I had been in the larger vessels, in which I had
sailed of late_, to be thus unceremoniously boarded _on the hallowed
region of the quarter-deck_, this seemed to me quite a superfluous
piece of impertinence. The remains of my sentiment were at once washed
away, and _not minding a little honest salt-water_, I betook myself
forthwith to the substantial comfortings of the repast, which I found
smoking on the cabin table. Dinner was over: tea and conversation had
followed; the evening was already far advanced, and I began to yield
to the sleepy sensation _which the familiar roll of the sea inspired_.
Before turning in I ascended to the companionway to breathe the fresh
air, and see what progress we were making. _Familiar as I was with the
sight of ships in every possible situation_, I was much struck with
the beauty of the scene."
Again. Although the author evinces, in theory, a very laudable
contempt for that silly vanity so often inducing men to blazon forth
their intimacy with the distinguished; and although, in the volumes
now before us, he more than once directs the arrows of his satire at
the infirmity--still he is found not altogether free from it himself;
and, in one especial instance, is even awkwardly uneasy, lest we
should remain ignorant of his acquaintance with Washington Irving. "I
thought," quoth the Lieutenant, when there was no necessity for
thinking about any such matter, "I thought of the 'spectral box-coats'
of my inimitable friend Geoffrey Crayon; and would have given the
world in that moment of despondency, for one of his quiet unwritten
jokes, or one friendly pressure of his hand."
Upon Mr. Slidell's mechanical style we cannot bring ourselves to look
with favor. Indeed while running over, with some astonishment, a few
of his singularly ill-constructed sentences, we begin to think that
the sentiments expressed in the conclusion of his Preface are not, as
we at first suspected, merely the common cant of the _literateur_, and
that his book is actually, as he represents it to be, "the result of
an up-hill journey," and "a work which he regards with a feeling of
aversion." What else than great tedium and utter weariness with his
labor, could have induced our author to trust such passages as the
following to the critical eye of the public?
"The absence of intellectual and moral culture, in occupations which
rendered it unnecessary for those who worked only to administer food
to themselves and profit or luxury to the class of masters, could only
account for the absence of forehead, of the ornamental parts of that
face which was moulded after a divine model."
We perused this sentence more than once before we could fathom its
meaning. Mr. Slidell wishes to say, that _narrowness of forehead in
the rabble is owing to want of mental exercise--they being laborers
not thinkers_. But from the words of our author we are led to conclude
that some occupations (certainly very strange ones) rendered it
unnecessary for those who worked, to administer food to
themselves--that is, to eat. The pronoun "_it_," however, will be
found, upon examination, to refer to "moral culture." The repetition
of the word "only" is also disagreeable, and the entire passage is
overloaded with verbiage. A rigid scrutiny will show that all
essential portions of the intended idea are embodied in the lines
Italicised. In the original sentence are _fifty-four_ words--in our
own _eighteen_--or precisely one third. It follows, that if all the
Lieutenant's sentences had been abridged in a similar manner--a
process which would have redounded greatly to their advantage--we
might have been spared much trouble, and the public much time,
trouble, and expense--the "American in England" making its appearance
in a duodecimo of one hundred and ninety-two pages, rather than in two
octavos of five hundred and seventy-six.
At page 122, vol. I, we have what follows.
"My situation here was uncomfortable enough; if I were softly
cushioned on one side, this only tended, by the contrast, to increase
the obduracy of a small iron rod, which served as a parapet to protect
me from falling off the precipice, over which I hung toppling, and
against which I was forced with a pressure proportioned to the
circumstances of my being compressed into a space somewhat narrower
than myself; the seat having doubtless been contrived to accommodate
five men, and there being no greater anatomical mistake than to
suppose there would be more room because four of them were women."
'_If I were_,' in this sentence, is not English--but there are few
persons who will believe that "_if_" does not in _all_ instances
require the subjunctive. In the words "_a small iron rod which served
as a parapet to protect me from falling off the precipice over which I
hung, and against which I was forced," &c._ let us say nothing of the
{195} injudicious use of the word _parapet_ as applied to _a small
iron rod_. Passing over this, it is evident, that the second relative
pronoun "_which_," has for its antecedent, in strict syntactical
arrangement, the same noun as the first relative pronoun
"_which_"--that is to say, it has the word "_precipice_" for its
antecedent. The sentence would thus imply that Mr. Slidell was forced
against the precipice. But the actual meaning (at which we arrive by
guessing) is, that Mr. Slidell was forced against the iron rod. In the
words "_I was forced with a pressure proportioned to the circumstances
of my being compressed into a space," &c._ let us again be indulgent,
and say as little as possible of the tautology in "_pressure_" and
"_compressed_." But we ask where are the _circumstances_ spoken of?
There is only _one_ circumstance--the circumstance of being
compressed. In the conclusion of the passage where the Lieutenant
speaks of "a seat having doubtless been contrived to accommodate five
men, and there being no greater anatomical mistake than to suppose
there would be more room because four of them were women," it is quite
unnecessary to point out the "bull egregious"--a bull which could have
been readily avoided by the simple substitute of "_persons_" for
"_men_."
We must be pardoned for copying yet another sentence. We will do so
with the single remark that it is one of the most ludicrously
ill-arranged, and altogether ungainly pieces of composition which it
has ever been our ill fortune to encounter.
"I was not long in discovering that the different personages scattered
about the room in such an unsocial and misanthropic manner, instead of
being collected about the same board, as in France or my own country,
and, in the spirit of good fellowship and of boon companions,
relieving each other of their mutual ennuis, though they did not speak
a word to each other, by which they might hereafter be compromised and
socially ruined, by discovering that they had made the acquaintance of
an individual several grades below them in the scale of rank, or haply
as disagreeably undeceived by the abstraction of a pocket-book, still
kept up a certain interchange of sentiment, by occasional glances and
mutual observation."
Such passages as the foregoing may be discovered _passim_ in "The
American in England." Yet we have heard Mr. Slidell's English called
equal to the English of Mr. Irving--than which nothing can be more
improbable. The Lieutenant's book is an excellent book--but then it is
excellent _in spite of its style_. So great are the triumphs of
genius!