of such places as London and Paris. They contribute, essentially, to
national identity, and national tone, and national policy: in short,
to nationality—a merit in which we are almost entirely wanting. I
do not mean national sensitiveness, which some fancy is patriotism,
though merely provincial jealousy, but that comprehensive unity
of feeling and understanding, that renders a people alive to its
true dignity and interests, and prompt to sustain them, as well as
independent in their opinions. We are even worse off, than most
other nations would be without a capital, for we have an anomalous
principle of _dispersion_ in the state capitals. In nothing is
the American government more wanting, than in tone in all its
foreign relations. What American, out of his own country, feels
any dependance on its protection? No one, who has any knowledge of
its real action. Such an accumulation of wrongs may be made, as
to touch the community, and then it is ready enough to fight; but
the _individual_, who should urge his own injuries on the nation,
as a case that called for interference, would be crushed by the
antagonist interests of commerce, which is now the only collected and
concentrated interest of the nation. An Englishman, or a Frenchman,
goes into distant countries, with a consciousness that he leaves
behind him, a concentrated and powerful sentiment of nationality,
that will throw its protection around him, even to the remotest
verge of civilization, but the case is altogether different with
the American. If a man of reflection and knowledge, he knows that
there is no concentrated feeling, at home, to sustain him; that the
moment any case arises to set his claims to justice in opposition to
the trading interests, he becomes obnoxious to the plastic ethics
of commerce, and that there is no condensed community to sustain
the government, in doing what is clearly its duty, and what may
even be its inclination. Public opinion, half the time, is formed
in America, by downright, impudent simulations; for little more
is necessary than to assert, that Boston and Philadelphia think so
and so, to get New York to join the cry. Such things are not so
easily practised in a capital, where the intelligence of a nation
is concentrated, which is the focus of facts, and, where men become
habituated to the arts of the intriguing and selfish. I believe
Lord H—— is right, and that the want of a capital, on a scale
commensurate with that of the nation, is, indeed, one of the greatest
difficulties, with which we have to contend. We shall never become
truly a nation, until we get one. These notions will, probably, seem
odd, and certainly new to you, as indeed they are new to me; but
it is not a good mode of getting correct ideas of even oneself, to
remain always at one’s own fireside.
LETTER XXV.
J. E. DE KAY, ESQUIRE, NEW YORK.
Mr. Rogers came to me the other evening, on one of his friendly
visitations, and I went out with him, not well knowing what was to be
the result of it. We trot along the streets, together, he a little
on the lead, for he is a capital and an earnest walker, and I in the
rear, getting over the pavement at the rate of four miles the hour.
London has certain private ways, called passages I believe, by which
one can avoid the carriages and much of the streets, besides greatly
shortening the distances. We took to a line of these passages, and
came out in Leicester Square. Crossing this, we pursued our way as
far as the theatres, and entered that of Covent Garden. As I had
nothing to do, but to follow my leader, who had certain signals, by
means of which he appeared to go just where he pleased, I soon found
myself in a private box, quite near the stage, and nearly on a level
with the pit. There was a sedate elderly man in possession, already,
but he proved to be an acquaintance of my companion, who whispered a
few words, and then presented me to him, as to the vice chancellor,
Sir John Leach.
The play was intended to represent some of the sports and practices
of ancient London, but the chief merit was the scenery. As it is
fair to presume that the best authorities had been consulted, I had
a great deal of pleasure in looking at the quaint pictures that were
successively presented to us, by some of which, it was evident that
our progenitors built very much in the rude style that is still to be
seen in the towns of Picardy and Normandy, and that, whatever, London
may be now, she has not always been a wonder of the world.
The house was much larger than any of our own, it was better lighted,
and had a neater and fresher look, in despite of London and coal
dust. The audience was, quite evidently, composed of people of a
class much beneath the highest, still it had a well-dressed and
a respectable air, and, although its taste was sometimes to be
questioned, it was well mannered. In short, it was very much like
what our own better theatres used to exhibit, before the inroad of
the Goths. The playing was scarcely to be distinguished from what one
usually sees in America, though it was perhaps a little more decided
in its English tone. Mr. Charles Kemble was among the actors. The
circumstances that the lower tier was reserved for people in evening
dress, and that, the men sat with their hats off, gave the spectacle
an appearance of respectability and _comfort_ (to use an Anglicism)
that is now seldom seen in any of our own places of public resort.
It is an immense advantage to possess a National Theatre. Our
moralists have made a capital blunder in setting their faces against
the stage; since, while demonstrating their own inability to put it
down, they have thrown it almost entirely into the hands of those
who look only to pecuniary advantages. It should be patronized
and regulated by the state, as the best means of giving it a true
direction, and of checking, if not of totally repressing its abuses.
The common argument, that theatres are places of resort for the
vicious, and particularly for women of light manners, is built on
narrow views and great ignorance of the world. In many countries, the
_churches_ are used for the purposes of intrigue, and yet it would
hardly be thought a sufficient argument for abandoning them entirely.
The English government retains a supervision of the stage, a thing
that is well enough if well managed; but, in all countries in
which the institutions are not founded on the mass, the tendency
of censorships is to protect the systems, and, in order to do this
with the least odium, they get to be loose on points that are more
essential to a pure morality. Vice is frequently thrown out as a sop,
to keep the mass quiet under the restraints of despotism.
We are still too young and too provincial for a national theatre.
Nothing can be safer than to write or to talk in _praise_ of
America, and all it contains, more especially of its _things_, but
few men have yet nerve enough to tell an unpalatable truth. We have
a one sided liberty of speech and of the press, that renders every
one right valorous in eulogies, but even the pulpit shrinks from
its sacred duties, on many of the most besetting, the most palpable
and the most common of our vices. It is bold enough, as to vague
generalities, and sometimes as to personalities, but who ever sees
the caustic applied to the public? The stage, a little later, may be
made the most efficient corrective of American manners, but, in the
true spirit of village resentment and of provincial sensibilities, a
dramatist could hardly expose a failing, now, that the whole audience
would not be ready to cry out, “do you mean me sir?”
We are much laughed at, here, just now, for the manner in which
the press is resenting the late book of Captain Hall. No nation
is very philosophical under abuse, and certainly the English are
surprisingly thin-skinned for a people as proud, and possessing
so many just claims to greatness. The fact is, both nations are
singularly conceited on the subject of national character, giving
themselves credit for a good many exclusive qualities to which they
have no exclusive pretensions, and by dint of self glorification,
in which the presses of the two countries have been particularly
active, they have got, at last, to look upon every man who denies
their exaggerated demands, as a sort of robber. Perhaps no other
people praise themselves so openly, offensively and industriously as
those of England and America, and I have no doubt the newspapers are
a principal cause that this failing is so coarsely exhibited, for, as
to its mere existence, I fancy there is no great difference in the
amount of vanity, as between nations, or as between individuals.
I have been much surprised, however, at observing that, while all
America appears to be up in arms against Captain Hall, on account
of his hits at our manners, no one seems disposed to take up the
gauntlet in defence of the institutions! I know no writer who is
more vulnerable in his facts, or in his reasoning on politics,
than this gentleman, and yet, while so much ink is shed in behalf
of a gentility and civilization that it would become us rather to
improve and refine, than to defend, the glorious political facts of
the country, are treated as if unworthy of attention. Can all this
proceed from the circumstance that we are conscious the latter can
take care of themselves, while we secretly distrust the claims of
the former. No violence would be done to human nature if this should
actually be the case.
The greatest objection I have to the book of Mr. Hall, is that it
_insinuates_ more than it proves, or even asserts. This is the
worst species of detraction, for it admits of neither refutation
nor denial. But I cannot express to you the disgust I have felt,
as a looker on at a distance, at reading in the journals the mean
spirited anticipations of what Mr. Hall was to do for us, in the way
of raising the character of the nation, and the low personal abuse
that has succeeded, the moment it is found that these anticipations
are not realized. To be frank with you, one appears to be as
discreditable to the tone, feelings, tastes, and facts of the nation
as the other.
It would be next to impossible for an Englishman, on a short
acquaintance, to like the state of society that exists in America.
I never knew one that did, nor do I believe that it is agreeable to
any European, let him come from what part of Europe he will. It is
necessary that habit should smooth down many asperities, before this
can be the case; nor do I think that many Americans like England,
if they go beyond the outside, until time has done a similar office
in its favour. I am not disposed to quarrel with any Englishman,
who says frankly, your society is not to my liking; it wants order,
tone, finish, simplicity, and manliness; having substituted in their
stead, pretension, noise, a childish and rustic irritability, and
a confusion in classes. These defects are so obvious to a man of
the world, that one cannot but distrust the declarations that are
sometimes made to the contrary. Notwithstanding this admission,
I have little doubt that most of the books of travels that have
been published in England, and in which America has been held up
to ridicule, have been addressed to the prejudices of the nation;
written in that particular vein, because it has been believed it
would be more likely to please than any other. Very few of them
discover honesty of intention, a trait that is usually detected even
in the midst of blunders, but it happens that this work of Captain
Hall does possess this redeeming quality.[15]
The pronunciation of the stage is the same, here, as it is with
us. That of the world is not essentially different from the best
pronunciation of the Middle States, though, in many respects, much
better than that of what is now called their _society_. Certainly,
as a nation, we speak better than the English, but it is absurd to
set up the general language of the educated classes of America, as
being as pure as the language of the same classes here. I do not
make this remark in reference to those words whose pronunciation
varies, but in reference to those concerning whose provincialism
there can be no dispute. The women of this country have a distinct,
quiet, and regulated utterance, that is almost unknown in their own
sex in America. Their voices are more like _contr’altos_ than those
of our women, who have a very peculiar shrillness, and they manage
them much better. Indeed, we are almost in a state of nature on all
these points. The manners of the country are decidedly worse now, in
every thing, than they were thirty years since; a fact, that must
be attributed to the _pêle mêle_ produced by a rapid growth and
extraordinary prosperity.
While on the subject of representations, I will mention one that
has been a little out of the usual course, even for England. We
have had a birthday lately, and as George IV. seldom appears in
public, the festivities on this occasion have been more than usually
brilliant. One of the usages, here, is to bring out young females, by
presenting them at court, and, so particular are the true adherents
to etiquette, that I am told many young ladies, who have passed the
proper age, have been waiting two or three years for this ceremony,
in order to make their appearance in the world. At all events, every
one has seemed disposed to make the most of the opportunity that has
just offered, and we have had a greater show of magnificence, and a
much greater throng of courtiers, than it is usual to see, even in
this country, in which the king is probably as much flattered as
fettered.
As our residence is so near the palace, I had every facility for
seeing what was going on without putting myself to inconvenience. One
of the first movements was the march of the horse-guards from their
barracks to the palace. These troops have a widespread reputation
for size and magnificence. They are large men, certainly, but must
be next to useless in a campaign. Indeed, they are kept for state,
though they may be of service in quelling riots, in a town like
London; their appearance being well adapted to terrifying an unarmed
mob. In size, they are considerably beyond the French _gardes du
corps_, but the latter are very numerous, while there cannot be more
than a few hundred of the former. Nor are these all English, for,
walking behind two of them, the other day, I overheard them speaking
like foreigners. They are probably picked up, like the tall men of
Frederic, wherever they can be found. It is not impossible that there
may be a stray Yankee among them, as there are several in the French
army.
The march of these imposing troops was preceded by a fine band on
horseback, and the music was the signal for the crowd to collect.
There were two ways of entering the palace, one private, and the
other public. The princes, foreign ministers, accompanied by those
they were about to present, the great officers of the kingdom and
court, and certain of the privileged, used the former, while the
more common herd of courtiers went by the latter. The first were set
down in a court near what is called the _stable-yard_, and the latter
at the foot of St. James’ street.
There is a simple good sense, not to call it good taste, that
distinguishes the English from their more ambitious kinsmen,
our worthy selves, in all matters connected with names. This of
“stable-yard” is one in point; for with us it would be the “stadium,”
or the “gymnasium,” if, indeed, it escaped being called the “Campus
Martius.” The tendency is to exaggeration, in men, to whom learning,
modes, of living, and, indeed, most other things, are new, and the
mass being better educated than common with us, without, however,
being sufficiently educated to create a taste for simplicity, and, at
the same time, having an usual influence, we are kept a little more
on stilts in such matters than one could wish. This defect pervades
the ordinary language of the country too, and, sooner or later,
will totally corrupt it, if the proportion, of the unformed to the
formed, goes on increasing at the rate it has done for the last ten
years.[16]
I stood in the “stable-yard,” vulgar as the name will sound to “ears
polite,” witnessing the arrival of princes, ambassadors, and dukes,
and much struck with the magnificence of their carriages. Certainly,
I had seen nothing equalling it, in Paris, though the every day
style of the King of France, materially surpasses that of the King
of England. After all, I thought the gorgeous vehicles, with their
coronets rising above their tops, the gildings, and the lace, much
less pleasing than the simple perfection of the common carriages of
the country, in which every thing is beautiful, because nothing is
overdone. M. de Polignac, and Prince Esterhazy, were both present,
the one as the French, the other as the Austrian ambassador. The
Duke of Gloucester, the cousin and brother-in-law of the king,
came in state, as it is termed, having three footmen, in elaborate
liveries and wearing a sort of jockey caps, instead of hats, clinging
behind his carriage. He was himself, a fine looking man, with a good
prominent profile, and a full contented face, dressed in the uniform
of a field marshal.
But I soon tired of the mere raree show. Accompanied by a friend,
I went round to the line of carriages in St. James’s street, which,
by this time, could not set down the company nearly as fast, as the
vehicles arrived at the other end. There were in fact, two lines, one
in St. James’s street, and the other in Pall Mall, and overhearing
some one speak of the great length of the former, we determined
to walk to the other extremity of it, as the shortest method of
satisfying our curiosity; to receive the passing, instead of the
standing salute.
I should think, that this one line of carriages extended quite
two miles. In the whole distance, there was not a hackney coach,
for London is as unlike Paris, as possible, in this respect. The
carriages, for a great part of the distance, were drawn up quite
close to the side-walks, in order to leave the centre of the streets
free for the privileged to come and go, and, perhaps, also, to permit
a freer circulation of the crowd. In consequence of the wheels being
nearly in the gutters, and the English carriages being hung quite
low, our heads were almost on a level with those of the occupants
of the different equipages. In this manner, then, we walked slowly
along the line, examining the courtiers at our leisure, by broad
day-light, and much nearer than we could have got to most of them,
in the palace. The crowd took it all in very good part, appearing to
regard it as an exhibition to which, they were admitted gratis. Some
of the people, who, by the way, were well dressed, and well behaved
as a whole, stood looking in at the carriage windows, with quite as
much coolness as if they were the proprietors, chatting with their
own wives and daughters. Now and then, a footman would remonstrate
against the impertinence, but, in the main, the women seemed resigned
to their fate. Similar liberties with us, would be natural excesses
of democracy! For the reasons already mentioned, there was a larger
proportion than common, of young women to be presented, and it may be
questioned if the world could have offered a parallel to the beauty
and bloom, that were thus arrayed before our eyes, I have elsewhere
said that the English females have the advantage of ours in high
dress, and this was altogether a ceremony in which the advantage
was of their side. I do not think, that we could have shown as much
beauty, in precisely the same style, although, when one remembers the
difference between a scattered and a condensed population, it becomes
him to speak with caution, on a point so delicate.
The ancient court dress, particularly that of the women, has
undergone some changes, of late, I believe. I am told the hoop is
done away with, though it was not easy to ascertain the fact, to-day,
as I only saw the ladies seated. The _coiffures_ were good, and the
_toilettes_, as a matter of course, magnificent. Diamonds sparkled
among eyes scarcely less brilliant than themselves. In France,
diamonds are seldom used, except at court, though it is probable,
that they are oftener exhibited here, the court being so secluded. On
this occasion, however, they were seen in great quantities, enthroned
on some of the fairest brows of Christendom.
The men, with the usual exceptions of those who wore their regular
professional attire, were all in the well-known claret-coloured
coat, steel buttons, bags, swords, and embroidered vests. As many of
those who came alone, preferred walking to and from their carriages,
to waiting an hour for their approach, we had a good many of these
gentry in the streets, where they gave the crowd a little of the air
of a carnival masquerade. There is great simplicity in the dress of
the men of England, however; even on great occasions like this, much
of the more tawdry taste being reserved expressly for the footmen.
But, apart from the lovely faces of the young and fair of England,
the out door glory of the day, was borne away by the coachmen. Every
one of them had a new wig, and many of them capped the flaxens with
as rare specimens of castors, as ever came out of a shop. It would be
scarcely accurate to call these hats cocked, for they were altogether
too _coquet_ and knowing, for a term so familiar. Figure to yourself,
the dignity of a portly man of fifty, with a sky blue coat, laced on
all its seams, red plush breeches, white silk stockings, shoebuckles
as large as a muffin, a smug wig, a shovel nosed hat, edged with
broad gold lace, and a short snub nose of his own, as red as a
cherry, and you will get some idea of these dignitaries.
When we had returned from examining the long line of carriages, I met
one of the princesses, in a sedan chair, on her way from the palace
to her own residence. She was attended by six or eight footmen,
in the jockey caps, and scarlet liveries. Her face was pallid and
wrinkled, and as she was no longer young, her appearance had that
unearthly and unseemly look, that always marks the incongruity
between age and the toilet. Some of the most _uncomfortable_, (you
see how English I am getting,) some of the most _uncomfortable_
objects I have seen in Europe, have been women in the “sear and
yellow leaf,” tricked out for courts and balls, and bedizened with
paint and jewels. This is a folly, at least, which we have as yet
escaped, for if we do abandon society to those who had better be
practising their _gammes_, or kicking football on a college green, we
do not attempt to still the thoughts of the grave, by these glaring
and appalling vanities.
The scene closed with a procession of mail coaches, which, however
neat and seemly the set-outs, had too much the air of a cockney show,
to detain us from our dinner.
If the English are simple and tasteful in so much of their
magnificence, and, apart from its occasional ponderousness, these
are its prevailing characteristics, they are more than usually
studied and artificial, in extolling it, when all over. The papers
delight in the histories of great dinners, and fashionable balls;
and I have been solemnly assured, there are people, that get into
society, who are actually guilty of the meanness of paying for the
insertion of their names in the list of the company that is regularly
published. As to a drawing-room at court, it is a little fortune to
the newsfinders. A guinea introduces the name, five guineas insures
immortality to the dress, and ten brings in the carriage. This, you
will see, is making great men, and great women, on a principle still
unknown with us, where we manufacture them in such quantities, and
swear they are the best in the market.
LETTER XXVI.
TO JAMES STEVENSON, ESQ., ALBANY, N. Y.
The question is often asked, in what do the poor of England suffer
more than the poor of any other country? I am not sufficiently versed
in the details connected with the subject, to speak with authority,
but I can give you the impressions received, as a looker on.
In comparing the misery of England with that of the continent of
Europe, one must remember the great difference of climate. A man
suffers less at Naples, without a coat or a fire, and with three
_grani_ for his daily pittance, than is undergone in England,
beneath woollen, with ten _grani_ to furnish the “ways and means.”
These facts make a great moral difference in favour of England,
when we come to consider the merits of systems, though the physical
consequences may be against her.