the answer. “To what class of men do you allude, in particular,
Mr. Brougham?” “To your foreign ministers, especially,” he said. I
thought this very extraordinary, and said as much, and, as something
might depend on the character of the individual, I begged him to name
one of those who left this impression behind him. He did, mentioning,
without reserve, a distinguished minister of the republic, who is
now dead. To all this, I could only say, that I supposed a mistaken
desire to make themselves agreeable must have been at the bottom of
such a course; and here the conversation dropped, by mutual consent.
I do not know whether this conversation will strike you as it struck
me, for I confess it would seem that we have some “country laid”
ministers, or our ministers have felt confident of having had very
“country laid” constituents.
Mr. Brougham was desirous of knowing how we contrive to print books
so cheaply, as he had understood we did, labour being so dear. He
had been told that Scott’s novels were sold for a dollar a copy. The
secret of this fact, is to be found in the meanness of execution,
the extent and the rapidity of the demand, and most of all, in the
circumstance, that the author is paid nothing. A reprint, moreover,
is not made from a manuscript, and has no alterations, and few
corrections. In addition to all this, the press correction of books,
is immeasurably more accurate and laboured in England, than in
America. Men of education are employed here, as proof readers, and,
perhaps, most of the popular authors of England, have very little
knowledge of the grammar of their own language. All these people must
be paid, and the money is charged against the work.
A novel, of no great merit, will bring its author four or five
hundred pounds in England, especially if it be at all supposed to
bring the reader in contact with the feelings and sentiments of the
“nobility and gentry.” So profound is the deference of those who live
in shadow, for those who are beneath the sun’s rays, in this country,
that the price of a lord’s pen, is considerably higher, than that of
a commoner’s! I dare say, it will be a new idea to you, to measure
literary merit by a pedigree, but it is a mode much practised here. A
lady of condition, lately offered a novel to a fashionable publisher,
and the answer was, “two hundred if anonymous, and five hundred with
the name of the author;” the latter, you will understand, having no
other value than that of rank, the book being a first effort. An
application was made to me, to contribute to an annual, and, by way
of inducement, I was shown a list of those who had engaged to write
for it, among whom, were six or eight lords. Curious to know, how far
these people submitted to vulgar considerations, I put the question,
and was given to understand, that they were not only paid as writers,
but paid as lords. The moon may not be made of green cheese, but rely
on it, could we get near enough to discover its substance, it would
turn out essentially different from any thing we imagine.
There was a boy, the heir of a very high title, at one of my late
breakfasts. He went away the first, to go to school, I fancy, and the
master of the house made the mistake of leaving us, while he went to
the ante-chamber, to see the lad off. When he returned, he came up
to me, with a momentous manner, and muttered, “three earldom’s in
the family!” I was compelled to compare this, with the total absence
of fuss about boys and girls of rank on the continent of Europe.
Just before we left Paris, at a child’s ball, a little girl, who was
selected to dance with one of the princes, was told by her mother, to
say, “monseigneur,” in speaking to her partner. After they had got a
little warmed with the exercise, the pretty little thing turned round
to the boy and said—“why am I to call you ‘_monseigneur_,’ are you a
bishop?” “_Je n’en sais rien, moi_,” was the answer. There is young
——, he is the heir of vast estates, of palaces without number, and of
a collection of pictures and statuary alone, that would constitute
a large fortune. There are five or six principalities in the family,
and when he is married, he is to take one of these titles, until he
succeeds to the ancient and historical distinctive appellation of
his race. But, at present, no one calls him by any thing but his
Christian name, although nearly a man!
It appears to me, that the nobles of this country, themselves,
make very little parade of their claims, but that the fuss comes
principally from those who deem it an honour to be their associates.
Nothing more deranges the philosophy of one of the true devotees of
rank here, than to find that others do not worship the idol with the
same zeal as himself.
LETTER XXI.
TO RICHARD COOPER, ESQUIRE, COOPERSTOWN.
Perhaps, I ought not to confess the weakness, but we have actually
been to see the tower. Luckily, the “lions” have been sold, so we
escaped the most vulgar part of the exhibition.
The tower proper, is a square building, with four turrets, or rather
towers at the angles, and is by no means large, though it is said to
be as ancient as the conquest. The Romans are thought to have had
a fortress, at, or near, its site. In addition to this building,
however, there is a little dingy town around it, principally built
of bricks, and surrounded by a ditch and walls. The latter have
regular bastions, and the former is wide, deep, and wet, feeling the
influence of the tides of the river, for the whole stand immediately
on its banks.
This place has been so often described, that I shall say little
beyond our general impressions. It struck us as much less imposing
than Vincennes, though venerable by time and associations. The tower
itself will not compare with the donjon of Vincennes, its French
counterpart, and the adjuncts, are equally below those of the Tower
of Paris.
The collection of armour disappointed us greatly, being altogether
less interesting, than the fine specimens of the _musée de
l’artillerie_, near the church of St. Thomas d’Aquin; a museum of
whose existence nine Frenchmen in ten seem to be profoundly ignorant,
while it is one of the most curious things in Europe. Unfortunately,
some musty antiquarian has lately robbed the armour of the tower,
of all claims to be considered genuine, or as appertaining to the
persons of the great men, on whose effigies it is displayed, and
therein he has annihilated most of its interest. “Where ignorance is
bliss, ’tis folly to be wise.” I wish, with all my heart, the man had
not been half so learned, for, like a novel by Scott, or a play by
Shakspeare, in this case the fiction was probably more interesting,
than the reality. We ought not to quarrel with truth, however, since
there is little danger of our getting too much of it.
Of course, we looked at the regalia, but with little interest, for
it is not handsome, and I suspect most of the stones are false. The
precaution is used, of showing it by the light of a lamp. A crown,
notwithstanding, is a famous sight for the English multitude. I would
rather take, at random, one of the cases of precious articles, in
the Louvre, or at the _Jardins des Plantes_, than the imperial crown
of Great Britain. What between the Stuarts, and some of the later
princes, your _bonâ fide_ jewels must have been made of steel to
withstand their rapacity. Depend on it, had the crown been worth any
thing, James II. would have looked to it, although he ran away from
his kingdom.
There are some curious old implements of war, here; but, by no means
as many, or as rare, as in the collection at Paris. They showed us
the axe with which Anna Boleyn was beheaded, and, sure enough, it was
a weapon to make quick work of a “little neck.” I was most struck
with a sword or two, that I could not hold at arm’s length, and which
would really seem to demonstrate, that as our minds expand, our
bodies shrink. Will the day ever come when matter shall disappear
altogether, to give place to the ethereal essence of the spirit? The
sight of these swords, and of that of some of the armour, is the
first position proved, in demonstrating the existence of giants, and
where are they to-day?
I went to dine with —— ——, on our return. This gentleman had been
civil enough to send me two or three invitations, and I now went
a little out of my way to manifest a sense of his persevering
politeness. I was the first there; but a large party came pouring in
immediately after, not a soul of whom had I ever seen before. The
old Earl of ——, the Earl of ——, the son of the chief of the Irish
volunteers, and his wife, Lord ——, Sir —— ——, and many others were
announced, in quick succession. Finding it awkward to stand in a
crowd with no one to speak to, I looked at the pictures, of which the
house was full. While engaged in this way, a young man came up and
spoke to me. It was civil in him, for it appeared to me that he saw
I was a stranger; the only stranger in the party, and wished to be
polite accordingly. We conversed a few minutes, at a window, that was
a little removed from the rest of the company.
They have become punctual at London, and I do not think it was
fifteen minutes from the time I entered, before dinner was announced.
Each of the men took a lady, for there happened to be pretty nearly a
tie, and disappeared, leaving my companion and myself standing where
we were, by the window. He seemed uneasy, and I thought the movement,
a rare specimen of extreme delicacy of deportment. The only stranger,
and he old enough to be the father of some of the young men who had
dashed ahead of him, was left standing in the drawing-room, as if he
were a part of the furniture! I looked hard at my companion, to see
if he had the family physiognomy, but he had not, and then I ventured
to observe, “that if we were to dine with the rest of them, it might
not be amiss to follow.”
As we are endeavouring to trace national manners, I will relate
an anecdote that occurred just before I left Paris. Madame de ——
invited G—— to a great dinner, where he was the only stranger, with
the exception of an unexpected guest. That person happened to be
Count Capo d’Istrias, the president elect of Greece. Just before
dinner was announced, G—— removed to a little distance from the lady
of the house, for his invitation had been so worded as to give him
reason to think that the entertainment was a compliment to himself,
and he could not for an instant dream of preferring claims in
competition with M. Capo d’Istrias. Madame de —— took the arm of the
president elect, and walking towards him, she did him the favour to
present him to Mad. de Talleyrand, who was of the party, and whom he
had the honour of leading to the dinner table. These are trifles, but
they are just the trifles that mark the difference between the social
tact of London, and that of Paris.
I could not divest myself of the idea, that had I been any thing but
an American, this cutting neglect would not have occurred; and when
I found that precisely the lowest seat at the table was left for
me, I endeavoured to recall that passage in Holy Writ, where one is
directed to take the lowest place at a feast, as a course good for
the soul. Although we have no established religion in America, I will
be bold enough to say, that no one else, that day, bethought him of
this text.
My companion, after all, proved to be a connexion of the family,
for the seat, at the foot of the table, had been left for him. The
master of the house sat at the other end, and the mistress in the
centre, according to the French mode; so you will perceive I was
literally _in extremis_, at this banquet. So much care having been
taken of myself, I felt curious to see in what manner the others had
been provided for. A swarthy, dark-haired common-looking young man
sat on the right of the mistress of the house, while old Lord ——, who
was a full general in the army, occupied a more humble situation.
This young man was also a soldier, for I heard him talking of a
campaign he had made, but, by his years, he could not have been more
than a colonel, at most, if as high in the army. Of course he must
have been of a political or social rank higher than either of the two
earls, and this, in England, would give him precedence of his own
father! I believe he was the Duke of ——.
A handsome, well-mannered young man sat on my left. Indeed, our end
of the table was pretty much occupied by the boys, and I began to
apprehend a roasting on account of a few gray hairs that time is
scattering around my temples. They were well-behaved lads, however;
I suppose, on account of their being in parliament, as I found, by
the conversation, was the case with the whole of them. They had all
been rowing on the Thames, that morning, and as I had urged the oar
myself, in my time, we had at least something to talk about.
The black-haired dignitary gave an account of the death of some
officer, whom he had seen shot in battle. He had himself found the
body, after the affair; and, he added, “it had been stripped by the
French soldiers.”—“Why not by our own?” put in my young neighbour,
rather pithily. “Because I do not think any of ours had been near
it,” was the answer; but it sounded like an _arrière pensée_.
It appeared well on the part of my neighbour, to suggest the doubt,
and I fell into discourse with him. He had discovered that I was an
American, by a remark of my right-hand companion, who knew the fact,
and he soon began to speak of the difference in language between the
English and Americans. He told me he had just come from Paris, and
that, while strolling in the Palais Royal, he had been struck with
the pronunciation of three men, who were walking before him. Their
dialect was provincial, and he had been at a loss to discover from
what part of England they had come, when he ascertained, by their
discourse, they were Americans. I told him we had social _castes_
in America, as in England, though they were less strongly marked
than common; and that men, of course, betrayed their associations
in nothing sooner than in their modes of speech. He admitted the
justice of this distinction; but I question if he had ever before
thought of America, except as a jumble of a whole people in one
_omnium gatherum_. He made a remark that I felt to be just, and one
could wish it might be made in the ears of all those who concoct
the president’s and governors’ messages, of the critics, and of the
writers of the whole nation. He said he was struck with the manner in
which we used the word “our.” We did not say “America,” but “_our_
country,” “_our_ people,” “_our_ laws,” “_our_ this,” “_our_ that,”
“_our_ t’other.” I had been disagreeably impressed, myself, with
the same peculiarity, for it is clearly bad, since “_the_ country,”
“_the_ laws,” “_the_ institutions,” could mean no other than those of
the country in discussion, and would be in better taste. I did not
admit this, however, for I had been put at the foot of the table,
on account of that country, and one never receives scurvy treatment
even for a defect or a misfortune that cannot be helped, that he does
not begin to defend it. I told my young critic that it was all for
want of a name, the term “United States” being too long, and that
the institutions favoured the notion of a right of property in every
thing national. He acquiesced in the reasons, which no doubt are the
true ones, but he did not appear the more to admire the taste; an
opinion that, between ourselves, he entertains in common with some
others.
This young man amused me with the entire coolness with which he
complimented me on my English being as good as usual. These people
are so accustomed to think of us as inferiors, that the bad taste of
telling a man in society, “really, now, I do not see but you know how
to speak, or to use a fork, or to drink your wine, or to go through
the manual of polite life, quite as well as one of us,” never appears
to strike them. One gets a good many of these oblique compliments,
here. My young neighbour was modest, and sensible, but he made this
obvious blunder.
My brother statue began to speak of America, and his right-hand
neighbours listened a little too superciliously for men who had so
unceremoniously exalted themselves, and I longed for an opportunity
to let them understand whereabouts America lay, and the sort of
stuff of which she was made. Chance favoured me, for my neighbour
happened to express his apprehensions that the difficulties of
Europe might bring about a war, to which America would become a
party. “I trembled” he said, “the other day, when the Navarino
affair took place, for a war would compel us to impress; and then
America _might_ think fit to resent it.” I told him that impressment,
continued a week, out of American vessels, would undeniably
produce a war. “Why cannot the two governments amicably settle
the matter, by admitting a mutual, search in each other’s ships?”
“Such a privilege would be nominal as respects us, as we could not
profit by it; the institutions would forbid impressment.” “It is a
thousand pities the question cannot be settled.” “We hold it to be
settled, already, by the law of nations and common sense. The right
to impress is not an international but a municipal right, and,
of course, can be exercised legally only within the jurisdiction
of the nation using it. England has no more claim to follow her
seamen into our territory, than to follow her criminals. If we were
to send constables to London to arrest thieves, or on board ships
on the high seas, we should soon hear of it. Jurisdictions cannot
conflict, in this manner, or there is an end of the immunities of
national character.” “What is then to be done?” “You ask us to
concede a favour, and a high favour, that of subjecting the citizen
to impositions and trouble for your sole benefit. Now, I think a
scheme can be suggested by which the matter may be disposed of.” By
this time, every ear was pricked up, and attentive, I proceeded—“As
for permitting English officers to be the judges of the matter, it is
out of the question. We never can concede, and never ought to concede
that point. But give us a _quid pro quo_ and we may be induced to
pass laws that shall purge our shipping, as near as may be, of your
seamen.” “What could we offer?” “There is the island of Bermuda; you
hold it, solely, as a hostile port to be used against us; I think for
the peaceable possession of that island, our government would make
some sacrifice, and”—here I paused a moment, between a reluctance to
hurt my brother statue’s _amour propre_, and the recollection of my
own attitude on the pedestal, the latter prevailing—“and, by way of
inducement to make the arrangement you ought to remember that twenty
years hence, England will not be able to hold it.”[7]
The dose worked particularly well. Head went to head, until the idea
passed up the table, quite beyond the salt. I heard Lord E—— exclaim
“it is too bad!” I did not think it half as bad, however, as putting
a foot on the neck of a stranger, and, moreover, it was true.
The effect of the hint, was quickly apparent, for we were no sooner
in the drawing-room than I was approached by half a dozen lords, and
I dare say if the dinner were to be gone over again, the bearings and
distance from the salt would have been materially altered. I shook
the dust off my feet, in quitting that house.
I believe I have not told you an adventure at another house. This was
at a dinner given by a merchant; a man of the city, but who does not
live in the city, for the _cits_ are now fairly rooted in the west
end. When dinner was announced the master of the house formally bowed
to me, and mentioned my name. This is an invitation, all over the
world, to take the _pas_. I advanced accordingly, and offered my arm
to the lady; but she very cooly refused it, presenting me to a Mrs.
Somebody who sat by her, and took the arm[8] of some one else. As
this person certainly had no title, and was an Englishman, and much
younger than myself, I was at a loss to discover his claims. It would
have been better had the good man and his wife understood each other,
previously, for the effect was to make me appear _tant soit peu_
ridiculous.
LETTER XXII.
TO JACOB SUTHERLAND, ESQUIRE.
I have had a singular conversation with a foreigner. This person
is a cosmopolite, a —— by birth, who has lived much in England
and America, and our discourse had reference to the opinions and
expectations that prevail here concerning our own national character
and national destiny. As my companion had no doubts as to the manner
in which his communication would be received, he spoke without
reserve.
He commenced by saying that a very general impression existed in
England that the man of America was not equally gifted, in mind,
with the man of Europe. This is merely the old opinion continued
to our own times, and I was fully aware of its existence. Captain
Hall, when he says that there is _no want of natural ability_ in the
American people, but that their deficiencies proceed from defective
educations, is merely addressing his remark to this prejudice. Almost
every English traveller, who has written of the republic, betrays
the existence of the same notion, in some way or other. But it is
so easy for an American, who is not completely blinded by national
vanity, to ascertain these truths, by concealing his origin, while
travelling in the stage-coaches, that, to me, it is matter of
surprise any one who has visited England should be ignorant of them.
Almost every American, whose name reaches this country, in
consequence of its being connected with any thing that is thought
creditable, is incontinently claimed as an expatriated European.
You can have no notion of the extent to which this prejudice is
carried. I do assure you, that I have myself heard a respectable man,
here, affirm that, in one of the counties of England, he had been a
school-fellow of Washington, before the latter emigrated! Mr. Irving
figures in biographical notices here, as a native of Devonshire, and
even my own humble claims have not been overlooked, as by a sketch
of a pretended life, which now lies on my table, my origin is traced
to the Isle of Man, and in an elaborated sort of Blue Book, which
contains a list of English writers, I find myself enrolled among
men, who have far more reason to be ashamed of me, than I have to
be ashamed of them. I have been asked quite lately, if Macdonough
were not an Irishman, and I believe, my affirmation that poor
Allen, who was killed in the Argus, was an American, was absolutely
discredited. I met with an assertion, some time since, in one of the
journals here, that “Commodore Rodgers was a Scotch baker, of the
name of Gray!” The periodical publications of the day, are filled
with spurious histories of most of our distinguished men, during the
revolution, replete with the usual scurrility and untruths; and even
the last war, brought with it, the same touches of amiable veracity.
The national prejudices of England, are freely commented on, by all
other people. Prejudice, however, belongs to man, rather than to
communities, and I am inclined to think France has almost as many
as this country, though they are of a different quality, and are
infinitely better cloaked. In making this comparison, I always except
the subject of America, for that is a point on which an Englishman
usually ceases altogether, to be either just, or discerning.
One of the traits which the English attribute to us, is a greater
disposition than common to lie. I have no hesitation in saying, that
this nation deems our own, addicted to this vice, altogether out
of the ordinary way. On this point, there can be no mistake, for
Captain Hall, Mr. De Roos, and several other recent writers, even by
exonerating us from the charge, betray its existence; but we have
high clerical authority for it, that will settle the matter. I quote
Bishop Heber; he is speaking of the American sailors. “They are
not so grievously addicted to lying, as they were once said to be.
_They have less animosity against the English than formerly, and
their character seems to have recovered its natural English tone._”
Dr. Heber might have been puzzled to explain, in what the _natural_
English character differs from any other, on principles that would
harmonize with the thirty-nine articles, of which, I believe, we
possess a tolerably accurate copy, in our own church. But, putting
orthodoxy out of the question, and not descending to a too rigid
construction of words, how was this notion of the American people,
and especially of their seamen, obtained? I think, I can explain it.