little or no time for relaxation, and instead of exhibiting that
frank manly cheerfulness, and heartiness of feeling, that have been
so much extolled, they appear sullen, discontented, and distrustful.
There is far less confidence and sympathy between classes, than I
had expected to see, for, although a good understanding may exist
between the great landholder, and the affluent yeoman who pays him
rent and farms the soil, the social chain appears to be broken
between those below the latter and their superiors. I do not mean
that the rich are obdurate to the sufferings of the poor, but that
the artificial condition of the country has choked the ordinary
channels of sympathy, and that the latter, when known at all, are
known only as the _poor_. They are the objects of duties, rather than
fellow-creatures living constantly within the influence of all the
charities, including those of communion and rights, as well as those
which are exhibited in donations.
There is one large class of beings, in England, whose condition I
should think less enviable than that of Asiatic slaves. I allude to
the female servants of all work, in the families of those who keep
lodging-houses, tradesmen, and other small house-keepers. These poor
creatures have an air of dogged sullen misery that I have never seen
equalled, in any other class of human beings, not even excepting the
beggars in the streets. In our lodgings at Southampton there was one
of these girls, and her hand was never idle, her foot seemed to know
no rest, while her manner was that of wearied humility. We were then
fresh from home, and the unmitigated toil of her existence struck
us all most painfully. When we spoke to her kindly, she seemed
startled, and looked distrustful and frightened. A less inviting
subject for sympathy could scarcely be imagined, for she was large,
coarse, robust, and even masculine, but even these iron qualities
were taxed beyond endurance.
I should not draw a picture like this, on the authority of a single
instance. I have seen too much to corroborate the first impressions,
and make no doubt that the case of the woman at Southampton was the
rule, and that instances of better treatment make the exceptions. In
one of my bachelor visits here, I had lodgings in which there was a
still more painful example. The mistress of this house was married
and had children, and being a lazy slattern, with three sets of
lodgings in the house, her tyranny exceeded all I had ever before
witnessed. You are to understand that the solitary servant, in these
houses, is usually cook, house-maid, and waiter. When the lodger
keeps no servant, she answers his bell, as well as the street door
knocker, and goes on all his errands that do not extend beyond a
proper distance. The girl was handsome, had much delicacy of form and
expression, and an eye that nature had intended to be brilliant and
spirited. She could not be more than twenty-two or three, but misery
had already driven her to the bottle. I saw her only at the street
door, and on two or three occasions when she answered my own bell, in
the absence of my man. At the street door, she stood with her eyes
on the carpet, and when I made my acknowledgments for the trouble she
had taken, she curtsied hurriedly, and muttered the usual “Thankee,
sir.” When she came into my room it was on a sort of drilled trot,
as if she had been taught a particular movement to denote assiduity
and diligence, and she never presumed to raise her eyes to mine, but
stood the whole time looking meekly down. For every order I was duly
thanked! One would think that all this was hard to be borne, but,
a day or two before I left the house, I found her weeping in the
street. She had disobliged her lazy exacting mistress, by staying
out ten minutes too long on an errand, and had lost her place. I
took the occasion to give her a few shillings as her due for past
services, but so complete was her misery in being turned away without
a character, that even the sight of money failed to produce the usual
effects. I make little doubt she took refuge in gin, the bane of
thousands and tens of thousands of her sex, in this huge theatre of
misery and vice.
The order, method, and punctuality of the servants of England are
all admirable. These qualities probably contribute quite as much to
their own comfort as to that of their masters and mistresses. It is
seldom that well-bred persons, anywhere, are unkind to their menials,
though they are sometimes exacting through ignorance of the pain they
are giving. The tyranny comes from those who always appear to feel a
desire to revenge their own previous hardships, on the unfortunate
creatures whom chance puts in their power. I do not know that the
English of condition are unkind to their domestics; the inference
would fairly be that they are not; but there is something, either in
the system that has unfortunately been adopted, or in the character
of the people, which has introduced a distance between the parties
that must be injurious to the character of those who serve.
On the continent of Europe the art of managing domestics appears
to be understood much better than it is here. A body servant is
considered as a sort of humble friend, being treated with confidence
but without familiarity, nor can I say I have often witnessed
any want of proper respect on the part of the domestics. The old
Princesse de ——, who was a model of grace and propriety in her
deportment, never came to see my wife, without saying something kind
or flattering to her _femme de chambre_, who usually admitted her
and saw her out. A French servant expects to be spoken to, when you
meet on the stairs, in the court, or in the garden, and would be hurt
without a “_bon jour_” at meeting, or an “_adieu_” at parting. A
French Duke would be very apt to take off his hat, if he had occasion
to go into the porter’s lodge, or into the servant’s hall; but I
think very little of this courtesy would be practised here. It is our
misfortune to try to imitate the English in this, as in other things,
and I make little question, one of the principal reasons why our
servants are so bad, is owing to their not being put on the proper
footing of confidential dependants.
The comparison between the condition of the common English
house-servant, and that of the American slave, is altogether in
favour of the latter, if the hardship of compelled servitude be kept
out of view. The negro, bond or free, is treated much more kindly
and with greater friendship, than most of the English domestics; the
difference in colour, with the notions that have grown up under them,
removing all distrust of danger from familiarity. This is not said
with a view to turn the tables on our kinsmen for their numberless
taunts and continued injustice; for, with such an object, I think
something more original and severe might easily be got up; but simply
because I believe it to be true. Perhaps the servants of no country
have more enviable places than the American slaves, so far as mere
treatment and the amount of labour are concerned.
One prominent feature of poverty, in England, is dependent on causes
which ought not to be ascribed to the system. If a man can be content
to live on a few grapes, and a pound of coarse bread, and to go
without a coat, or a fire, in a region like that of Naples, it does
not necessarily follow, that another ought to be able to do the same
things in a country in which there are no grapes, in which a fire
is necessary, and a coat indispensable. The high civilization of
England, unquestionably contributes also to the misery of the very
poor, by augmenting their wants, though it adds greatly to the
comforts of those who are able to sustain themselves. As between the
Americans and the English, it is not saying much, under the peculiar
circumstances of their respective countries, that the poor of the
former are immeasurably better off than the poor of the latter; but,
apart from certain advantages of climate in favour of the south
of Europe, I am not at all certain that the poor of England, as a
body, do not fare quite as well as the poor of any other part of
Christendom. I know little more of the matter, however, than meets
the eye of an ordinary traveller; but, taking that as a guide, I
think I should prefer being a pauper in England, to being a beggar
in France. I now speak of physical sufferings altogether, for on all
points that relate to the feelings, admitting that the miserable
still retain any sentiment on such points, I think England the least
desirable country, for a poor man, that I know.
The notion that so generally prevails in America, on the subject
of the independence and manliness of the English, certainly does
not apply to the body of the poor, nor do I think the tradesmen,
in general, have as much of these qualities, as those of France.
The possession of their franchises, at a time when such privileges
were rare, may have given some claims to a peculiar character of
this nature, but while the pressure of society has been gradually
weighing heavier and heavier on the nation, creating the dependence
of competition and poverty, in lieu of that of political power,
the other countries of Europe have lessened their legal oppression,
until, I think, the comparison has got to be in their favour. I
should say there is quite as little manly independence, in the
intercourse between classes, here, as in any country I have visited.
It is a common result of temporal advantages and civilization, and,
perhaps, to be accounted for on obvious principles, that they should
fail to bestow the happiness at which we profess to aim. I do not
think that either the English or the Americans are a happy people.
The possession of a certain physical civilization soon becomes
necessary to our wants, but we rather miss them when they are lost,
than enjoy them when possessed. In this particular, Providence has
singularly equalized the lot of men, for being mere creatures of
habit, advantages of this kind neutralize themselves. The sort of
happiness that is dependent solely on material things, after the
first wants are supplied, is purely relative, and the relation is to
our knowledge, rather than to any standard that exists in nature. He
who has appeased his hunger with bread, and slaked his thirst with
water, is just as well off, so far as his appetites are concerned, as
he who has eaten a _râgout_, and drunk Johannisberger. This is said,
however, solely in reference to hunger and thirst, for I make little
doubt character a good deal depends on diet, and that the art with
which materials are put together, is of more consequence than the
viands themselves.
Human happiness would seem to be dependent on three primary
causes—the intellect, the affections, and that which is physical.
A certain portion of all, with their accompanying misery, is
unquestionably the general lot, though so unequally distributed.
But, making the proper allowances for a common nature, we are to
distinguish between the consequences of particular conditions of
society. The greatest obstacle to all our enjoyments is worldly
care, and as we increase what is deemed our civilisation, we augment
the cares by which they are to be acquired or retained. There is,
certainly, a medium in this matter, as in every thing else, but as
few are disposed to respect it, it may be set down as unattainable
in practice. I believe more people are unhappy because they cannot
possess certain indulgences, or because, when possessed, they have
been bought too dear, than because they never knew them at all.
It has long struck me that the term “happy country” is singularly
misapplied, as regards America; and, I believe, also as regards this
country. It is true, it has a conventional meaning, in which sense it
may be well enough; but, comparing the people of France, or Italy,
with those of England, or the United States, all external symptoms
must be treacherous, or the former have greatly the advantage. By
placing incentives before us to make exertions, the El Dorado of our
wishes is never obtained, and we pass our lives in vain struggles to
reach a goal that recedes as we advance. This, you will be apt to
say, is the old truism of the moralist, and proves as much against
one nation, as against another. I think the latter position untrue.
Competition may be pushed so far as to neutralize all its fruits, by
inciting to envy and strife. In America, for instance, all the local
affections are sacrificed to the spirit of gain. The man who should
defend the roof of his fathers, against an inroad of speculators,
would infallibly make enemies, and meet with persecution. Thus is he
precluded from one source of happiness that is connected with the
affections; for, though the law might protect him, opinion, which is
stronger than law, would sooner or later drive him from his fireside.
I know very well this is merely a consequence of a society in the
course of establishing itself, but it shows how vulnerable is our
happiness.
But, putting all theory out of the question, neither the English nor
the Americans have the air and manners of a happy people, like the
French and the Italians. The first have a sullen, thoughtful look,
as if distrustful of the future, which gives one the idea that their
enjoyments are deferred to a more favourable opportunity; while
the two last seem to live as time goes on. Something of this is
probably owing to temperament, but temperament itself has, in part,
a moral origin. As to the Americans, there are very many reasons
for their want of happiness. The settlement of an immense country
snaps the family ties, though the constant migration has the effect
to produce an amalgamated whole. The tendency of things generally,
with us, is to destroy all individuality of character and feeling,
and to concentrate every thing in the common identity. One would
be set down for an aristocrat, who should presume to enjoy himself
independently of his neighbours. It is true, that so far as gain is
concerned, there is an exception, the absence of restriction giving
free exercise to personal efforts; but when money is obtained by
individual enterprise, it must be used, in a greater degree than
common, in conformity with the feeling of the nation. One disposed
to cavil at the institutions, might almost fancy the public had a
jealousy of a man’s possessing kinsmen that were not thrown into the
general stock. But this weakness of the family tie, in America, is
to be ascribed to other causes, among which the constant migrations,
as I have just observed, have a conspicuous place. Let the reason be
what it will, the effect is to cut us off from a large portion of the
happiness that is dependent on the affections.
Then the whole Anglo-Saxon race is deficient in the enjoyments that
are so much dependent on the tastes. While there is even a vein
of higher poetical feeling than common among a few exceptions,
as if nature delighted in extremes, the mass have little relish
for poetry, scarcely any good music, and appear to be absolutely
wanting in those sentiments which throw so much grace around the
rustic amusements of other countries. One might account for these
peculiarities in the Americans, by their fanatical origin, and
peculiar physical condition, but they are almost as true as respects
England itself, as they are with us. The Germans, and other northern
nations, the nearest to us in extraction, have a wild poetry in their
most vulgar superstitions that is not found here. They cultivate
music, and have a deep feeling for it, as an art. This single fact is
coupled with one of the highest enjoyments with which we are gifted.
The music of America is beneath contempt. We are probably worse off
in this particular, than any other civilized people, though certainly
improving. The English, though greatly our superiors, are much behind
all the other European nations, with which I am acquainted. The music
of the people has a cast of vulgarity about it, like our own, that
of itself denotes a want of feeling for the art. Even the French, by
no means a people of poetical tastes, are greatly their superiors in
music. One seldom hears a vulgar air even among the _bas peuple_. I
make little doubt, that, in time, we shall surpass the English in
this art.
All these peculiarities diminish the enjoyments of the English;
but, it strikes me, that the principal reason why these people and
the Americans are less happy than usual, is to be found in the fact
that, by admitting civilization, men admit cares, whose moral evils
are not compensated for, until one reaches a degree of cultivation
far above the level of mediocrity. There is, unquestionably, much
physical suffering, all over Europe, that is virtually unknown with
us, but the remarks just made are meant to apply to those who are
removed from the first wants of life. Both England and America strike
me as being countries of facts rather than of feelings. It is almost
purely so, but the English have one great advantage over us, in
being a country of ideas, if not of sentiments and affections. The
difference is owing to our youth.
_Passons au deluge_:—Speaking of the music of England, you are not
to understand that there is no good music here. The gold of the
country attracts the first artists of Europe, as a matter of course;
but even the cultivated English have, quite obviously, not much more
feeling for the art than we have ourselves. As a greater portion
travel, their tastes are a little more cultivated than those of our
people, but nothing strikes one sooner, than the obvious difference
in feeling between an English audience, at the opera, and one on the
continent of Europe.
Still, the street music of London is positively the best in the
world. The improvement in the last few years, even, is quite
apparent. Respectable artists, such as would gladly be received in
our orchestras, walk the streets, and play the music of Rossini,
Mozart, Beethoven, Meyerbeer, Weber, &c. &c. beneath your windows.
London is not as well arranged for this species of enjoyment as
the towns of the continent, for there are no courts in which the
performers can get away from the clamour of the streets; but, about
eight, the carriages cease, every body being at dinner, and most
of the more private places are quite silent. Since the weather has
become mild, I have frequently paused in my evening walks, to listen
to airs that have come from the harp, violin, and flageolet, and have
almost fancied myself in Venice, or Naples, though surrounded by the
dingy bricks of London. A party of French have found us out, and they
come regularly, twice a week, and play old French airs beneath the
windows; favours that are seldom conferred on private houses, the
public hotels being their usual stopping places. The secret of this
unusual feature in the town, is in the fact, that where an Italian,
or a Frenchman, though filled with enthusiasm, would bestow a few
sous, the Englishman, with immoveable muscles, throws out half a
crown. Walking to a dinner, the other evening, I heard a grand piano,
on which some one was playing an overture of Rossini’s, accompanied
by a flageolet, and, going a little out of my way to ascertain the
cause, I found the artist in the street, seated before the open
windows of a hotel. He trundled the machine about on a sort of
wheelbarrow, and his execution was quite equal to what one usually
hears in society.
I cannot describe to you the influence these sweet sounds,
especially when they revive the recollections of other and more
genial lands, have over the feelings. These are the moments in which
men may be said truly to live, and half an hour of such delight is
worth a year passed in listening to the prices of lots, and to the
variation of the markets. Music is certainly a good _article_!
LETTER XXVII.
TO JACOB SUTHERLAND, ESQ., GENEVA.
Amid the affected disdain, that is so often assumed by the press and
orators of England, when there is occasion to allude to America,
a lively jealousy of the growing power of the republic is easily
discovered. But, one at a distance, like yourself, may not be aware
of the extent to which this feeling is allied with apprehension
of Russia. The wise policy of Alexander created affinities of an
alarming nature between the government of Russia and that of America,
and, mingled with a reluctance to give us fair words and honest
treatment, that goes nigh to choke them, the statesmen, here, are
beginning to feel the necessity of counteracting some of the bad
consequences of their own former blunders.
Heaven bless the Quarterly Review, say I! Although I am far from
boasting of the mental independence of the republic, for few men
can be more strongly impressed with the dangerous character of the
practice that so generally prevails at home, of reasoning and feeling
on all questions of polity like Englishmen, instead of Americans,
I do believe the Quarterly Review has done more towards alienating
the feelings of America from Great Britain, than the two wars, the
commercial rivalries, the orders in council, impressment, the Henry
plot, and all the other points of national dissension, united. This
may sound extravagant, but I am not the only person of this way of
thinking; and it is certain; the facts being too notorious to admit
of dispute, that several of our prominent men, who were formerly most
subject to the Anglo-mania, have beep converted to a more healthful
state of feeling, in consequence of their having been, accidentally,
personal sharers in the abuse that has been so lavishly heaped on
the nation. I have laughed, heartily, at the writhings of a certain
instructor, under whom you and I, when boys, were condemned to hear
all things English lauded to the skies, but who, having been roughly
handled, as a writer, in this very Quarterly, has since come out
manfully in vindication, as it is called, of the country, or, in
other words of its _things_, and, in reality, of himself.
This is a species of independence of which their will never be
a lack. Let us, be grateful, however, for this much, and thank
our stars and the Quarterly, accordingly. When I rejoice in the
alienation of the feelings of America from England, it is not that
I could wish to see our own nation on worse terms with this, than
with any other, but, under the full conviction that we must pass
through some such process of alienation, before we shall ever
get to consider the English in the only mode that is either safe
or honourable for one independent people to regard another. The
constant infusion of new prejudices and partialities, by the agency
of emigrants, and the manner in which we are obliged to depend on
England for our literature, has rendered the change singularly slow,
nor does it strike me that what is actually going on, is taking
the right direction. We no longer believe that an English apple is
better than an American apple, it is true; or even an English hog,
or a horse; but, we do not the less believe in English political
principles, although nothing can be more apparent than the fact
that these principles have been established as a consequence of a
factitious, and, in some measure, a fortuitous condition of society,
to which our own system is, perhaps, more antagonist than that of any
other Christian state.
Keeping the question of our moral dependence out of view, and
returning to this country, I think the jealousy of Russia is about
to produce a change of policy as respects America. It is quite
impossible for one never out of America, to appreciate the nature and
extent of the interest that all the higher classes, here, feel in
their foreign policy. In America, we are almost in a state of nature,
as regards every thing of the sort, the world furnishing no example
perhaps of a people so much neglecting all the great interests that
are not placed immediately before their eyes.[17] Did the people of
the United States understand their true situation, the intentions,
expectations, and wishes of this part of the world, they would at
once exhibit a naval force, that should demonstrate the hazards of
incurring their just resentment.