I advise travellers never to take servants out of their fatherland into
strange countries, especially if they imagine they shall save by
it,--now-a-days always a prime object. This piece of economy belongs to
the class of those, _one_ of which costs more than _four_ pieces of
extravagance; besides which, one hangs a load round one's neck which is
burthensome in various ways.
These wise reflections are excited in me by my old valet, who seems
inclined to fall into the English spleen because he finds so many daily
difficulties here;--above all, in getting soup for his dinner, the
thought of which beloved aliment of his home calls tears into his eyes.
He reminds me of the Prussian soldiers, who, amid streams of Champagne,
beat the French peasants for not setting Stettin beer before them.
True it is that the English of the middle classes, accustomed to
substantial flesh diet, are not acquainted with the Northern broths and
soups: what goes under that name in England is an expensive extract of
all sorts of peppers and spices from both Indies, like that brewed in a
witches' cauldron. The face of my faithful liegeman, at the first
spoonful of this compound he put into his mouth, would have been worthy
to figure in Peregrine Pickle's antique repast, and turned my anger into
loud laughter. Yet I see beforehand that his devotion to me will be
wrecked on this rock; for our Germans are, and ever will be, curious
beings; holding longer than any others to the accustomed,--be it faith,
love or soup.
In the absence of society, the various Clubs, (to which, contrary to
former custom, a stranger can now gain admittance,) are a very agreeable
resource. Our ambassador introduced me into two of them,--the United
Service Club, into which no foreigners are admitted except ambassadors
and military men,--the latter of the rank of staff-officers: and the
Traveller's Club, into which every foreigner of education, who has good
introductions, is admitted; though every three months he is made to
undergo the somewhat humiliating ceremony of requesting a fresh
permission, to which he is held with almost uncivil severity.
In Germany, people have as little notion of the elegance and comfort of
Clubs, as of the rigorous execution of their laws which prevail here.
All that luxury and convenience, without magnificence, demand, is here
to be found in as great perfection as in the best private houses. The
stairs and rooms are covered with fresh and handsome carpets, and rugs
(sheepskins with the wool nicely prepared and dyed of bright colours)
are laid before the doors to prevent drafts; marble chimney-pieces,
handsome looking-glasses (always of one piece,--a necessary part of
solid English luxury), a profusion of furniture, &c. render every
apartment extremely comfortable. Even scales, by which to ascertain
one's weight daily--a strange taste of the English--are not wanting. The
numerous servants are never seen but in shoes, and in the neatest livery
or plain clothes; and a porter is always at his post to take charge of
great-coats and umbrellas. This latter article in England deserves
attention, since umbrellas, which are unfortunately so indispensable,
are stolen in the most shameless manner, be it where it may, if you do
not take particular care of them. This fact is so notorious that I must
translate for your amusement a passage from a newspaper, relating to
some Society for the encouragement of virtue, which was to award a prize
for the most honourable action. "The choice," continues the author, "was
become extremely difficult; and it was nearly determined to give the
prize to an individual who had paid his tailor's bill punctually for
several years; when another was pointed out, who had twice sent home an
umbrella left at his house. At this unheard-of act," adds the
journalist, "the company first fell into mute wonder that so much virtue
was still found in Israel; but at length loud and enthusiastic applause
left the choice no longer doubtful."
In the elegant and well-furnished library there is also a person always
at hand to fetch you the books you want. You find all the journals in a
well-arranged reading-room; and in a small room for maps and charts,[20]
a choice of the newest and best in their kind. This is so arranged that
all the maps, rolled up, hang one over another on the wall, thus
occupying but a small space; and each is easily drawn down for use by a
little loop in the centre. A pull at a loop at the side rolls up the map
again by a very simple piece of mechanism. The name of each country is
inscribed in such large letters on the mahogany staff on which the map
is rolled, that it may be read with ease across the room. By this
contrivance a great number of maps may be hung in a very small closet,
and when wanted, may be found and inspected in a moment, without the
slightest trouble, or derangement of the others.
The table,--I mean the eating,--with most men the first thing, and with
me not the last,--is generally prepared by a French cook, as well and as
cheaply as it is possible to have it in London. As the Club provides the
wines, and sells them again to each member, they are very drinkable and
reasonable. But 'gourmands' must ever miss the finest wines, even at the
best tables in London. This arises from the strange habit of the English
(and these people, too, stick faster to their habits than an oyster to
its shell,) of getting their wines from London wine-merchants, instead
of importing them from the places where they grow, as we do. Now these
wine-merchants adulterate their wine to such a degree, that one who was
lately prosecuted for having some thousand bottles of port and claret in
his cellars which had not paid duty, proved that all this wine was
manufactured by himself in London, and thus escaped the penalty. You may
imagine, therefore, what sort of brewage you often get under the
high-sounding names of Champagne, Lafitte, &c. The dealers scarcely ever
buy the very best which is to be had in the native lands of the several
wines, for the obvious reason that they could make little or no profit
of it; at best they only use it to enable them to get off other wine of
inferior quality.
Excuse this wine-digression, which to you, who drink only water, cannot
be very interesting; but you know I write for us both, and to me the
subject is I confess not unimportant. "_Gern fuhre ich Wein im Munde._"
But let us back to our Clubs.
The peculiarity of English manners may be much better observed here, at
the first 'abord,' than in the great world, which is everywhere more or
less alike; whereas the same individuals, of whom it is in part
composed, show themselves here with much less restraint. In the first
place, the stranger must admire the refinement of convenience with which
Englishmen sit: it must be confessed that a man who is ignorant of the
ingenious English chairs, of every form, and adapted to every degree of
fatigue, indisposition, or constitutional peculiarity, really loses a
large share of earthly enjoyment. It is a positive pleasure even to see
an Englishman sit, or rather lie, in one of these couch-like chairs by
the fire-side. A contrivance like a reading-desk attached to the arm,
and furnished with a candlestick, is so placed before him, that with the
slightest touch he can bring it nearer or further, push it to the right
or the left, at pleasure. A curious machine, several of which stand
around the large fire-place, receives one or both of his feet; and the
hat on his head completes the enchanting picture of superlative comfort.
This latter circumstance is the most difficult of imitation to a man
brought up in the old school. Though he can never refrain from a
provincial sort of shudder when he enters the brilliantly lighted saloon
of the Club-house, where dukes, ambassadors and lords, elegantly
dressed, are sitting at the card-tables, yet if he wishes to be
'fashionable' he must keep on his hat, advance to a party at whist, nod
to one or two of his acquaintances; then carelessly taking up a
newspaper, sink down on a sofa, and, not till after some time,
'nonchalament' throw down his hat (which perhaps has all the while been
a horrid annoyance to him); or, if he stays but a few minutes, not take
it off at all.
The practice of half lying instead of sitting; sometimes of lying at
full length on the carpet at the feet of ladies; of crossing one leg
over the other in such a manner as to hold the foot in the hand; of
putting the hands in the arm-holes of the waistcoat, and so on,--are all
things which have obtained in the best company and the most exclusive
circles: it is therefore very possible that the keeping on the hat may
arrive at the same honour. In this case it will doubtless find its way
into Paris society, which, after being formerly aped by all Europe, now
disdains not to ape the English,--sometimes grotesquely enough,--and, as
is usual in such cases, often outdoes its original.
On the other hand, the English take it very ill of foreigners, if they
reprove a waiter who makes them wait, or brings one thing instead of
another, or if they give their commands in a loud or lordly tone of
voice; though the English themselves often do this in their own country,
and much more in ours, and though the dining-room of the Club is in fact
only a more elegant sort of 'restauration,' where every man must pay his
reckoning after he has dined. It is regarded not only as improper, but
as unpleasant and offensive, if any one reads during dinner. It is not
the fashion in England; and, as I have this bad habit in a supreme
degree, I have sometimes remarked satirical signs of displeasure on the
countenances of a few Islanders of the old school, who shook their heads
as they passed me. One must be on one's guard, generally, to do things
as little as possible unlike the English, and yet not to try to imitate
them servilely in everything, for no race of men can be more intolerant.
Most of them see with reluctance the introduction of any foreigner into
their more private societies, and all regard it as a distinguished
favour and obligation conferred on us.
But of all offences against English manners which a man can commit, the
three following are the greatest:--to put his knife to his mouth instead
of his fork; to take up sugar or asparagus with his fingers; or, above
all, to spit anywhere in a room. These are certainly laudable
prohibitions, and well-bred people of all countries avoid such
practices,--though even on these points manners alter greatly; for
Marshal Richelieu detected an adventurer who passed himself off for a
man of rank, by the single circumstance of his taking up olives with his
fork and not with his fingers. The ridiculous thing is the amazing
importance which is here attached to them. The last-named crime is so
pedantically proscribed in England, that you might seek through all
London in vain to find such a piece of furniture as a spitting-box. A
Dutchman, who was very uncomfortable for the want of one, declared with
great indignation, that an Englishman's only spitting-box was his
stomach. These things are, I repeat, more than trivial, but the most
important rules of behaviour in foreign countries almost always regard
trivialities. Had I, for example, to give a few universal rules to a
young traveller, I should seriously counsel him thus:--In Naples, treat
the people brutally; in Rome, be natural; in Austria, don't talk
politics; in France, give yourself no airs; in Germany, a great many;
and in England, don't spit. With these rules, the young man would get on
very well. What one must justly admire is the well-adapted arrangement
of every thing belonging to the economy of life and of all public
establishments in England, as well as the systematical rigour with which
what has once been determined on is unalterably followed up. In Germany,
all good institutions soon fall asleep, and new brooms alone sweep
clean; here it is quite otherwise. On the other hand, every thing is not
required of the same person, but exactly so much, and no more, as falls
within his department. The treatment of servants is as excellent as
their performance of their duties. Each has his prescribed field of
activity; in which, however, the strictest and most punctual execution
of orders is required of him, and in any case of neglect the master
knows whom he has to call to account. At the same time, the servants
enjoy a reasonable freedom, and have certain portions of time allotted
to them, which their master carefully respects. The whole treatment of
the serving classes is much more decorous, and combined with more
'égards,' than with us; but then they are so entirely excluded from all
familiarity, and such profound respect is exacted from them, that they
appear to be considered rather as machines than as beings of the same
order. This, and their high wages, are no doubt the causes that the
servants really possess more external dignity than any other class in
England, relatively to their station.
In many cases it would be a very pardonable blunder in a foreigner to
take the valet for the lord, especially if he happened to imagine that
_courtesy_ and a good address were the distinguishing marks of a man of
quality. This test would be by no means applicable in England, where
these advantages are not to be found among the majority of persons of
the higher classes; though there are some brilliant exceptions, and
their absence is often redeemed by admirable and solid qualities.
In the men, indeed, their arrogance, often amounting to rudeness, and
their high opinion of themselves, do not sit so ill; but in the women,
it is as disgusting and repulsive, as, in some other of their
countrywomen, the vain effort to ape continental grace and vivacity.
I once before praised the admirable spirit of adaptation and arrangement
which pervades all establishments here. As a sample, I will give you the
organization of the card-room in the Traveller's Club-house. This is not
properly a gaming club, but, as its name denotes, one expressly for
travellers. Such only can become actual members of it as have travelled
a certain prescribed number of miles on the Continent, or have made yet
more distant expeditions. In spite of this, one does not perceive that
they are become less English, which, however, I do not quarrel with. At
the Travellers' Club, then, short whist and ecarté are played very high,
but no hazard.
In our Casinos, 'Ressources,' and so on, a man who wishes to play must
first laboriously seek out a party; and if the tables are full, may have
to wait hours till one is vacant. Here it is a law that every one who
comes may take his seat at any table at which a rubber has just ended,
when he who has played two consecutive rubbers must give up his place.
It is pleasant, too, to a man who has lost, and fancies that the luck
goes with the place, to quit it and seek better fortune in another.
In the centre of the room stands a 'bureau' at which is posted a clerk,
who rings whenever a waiter is wanted; brings the bill;[21] and, if any
contested point occur, fetches the classical authorities on whist; for
never is the slightest offence against the rules of the game suffered to
pass without the infliction of the annexed punishment. This is rather
annoying to a man who plays only for amusement; but yet it is a wise
plan, and forms good players. The same clerk distributes the markers to
the players to obviate the great annoyance of meeting with a bad payer,
the Club is the universal payer. Actual money does not make its
appearance, but every man who sits down to play receives a little basket
of markers of various forms, the value of which is inscribed upon them,
and which the clerk enters in his book; as often as he loses, he asks
for more. Each player reckons with the clerk, and either proves his
loss, or, if he has won, delivers up the markers. In either case he
receives a card containing a statement of the result, and the duplicate
of the reckoning in the account-book.
As soon as any one is indebted more than a hundred pounds, he must pay
it in the following morning to the clerk; and every man who has any
demands can claim his money at any time.
None but a nation so entirely commercial as the English can be expected
to attain to this perfection of methodizing and arrangement. In no other
country are what are here emphatically called 'habits of business'
carried so extensively into social and domestic life; the value of time,
of order, of despatch, of inflexible _routine_, nowhere so well
understood. This is the great key to the most striking national
characteristics. The quantity of material objects produced and
accomplished--_the work done_--in England, exceeds all that man ever
effected. The causes and the qualities which have produced these results
have as certainly given birth to the dulness, the contracted views, the
_routine_ habits of thought as well as of action, the inveterate
prejudices, the unbounded desire for, and deference to, wealth, which
characterize the mass of Englishmen.
It were much to be wished that in our German cities we imitated the
organization of English Clubs, which would be very practicable as to the
essentials, though our poverty would compel us to dispense with many of
their luxuries. In this case we ought to repay the English like for
like, and not prostrate ourselves in puerile slavish admiration of their
money and their name; but while we treated them with all civility, and
even with more courtesy than they show to us, yet let them see that
Germans are masters of their own house, particularly as many of them
only come among us either to economize, or to form connexions with
people of rank, from which their own station at home excluded them, or
to have the satisfaction of showing us that in all arrangements for
physical comfort we are still barbarians compared with them.[22]
It is indeed inconceivable, and a proof that it is only necessary to
treat us contemptuously in order to obtain our reverence, that, as I
have remarked, the mere name of Englishman is, with us, equivalent to
the highest title. Many a person, who would scarcely get admission into
very inferior circles in England, where the whole of society, down to
the very lowest classes, is so stiffly aristocratical, in the various
states of Germany is received at Court and fête by the first nobility;
every act of coarseness and ill-breeding is set down as a trait of
charming English originality, till perhaps, by some accident, a really
respectable Englishman comes to the place, and people learn with
astonishment that they have been doing all this honour to an ensign 'on
half pay,' or a rich tailor or shoemaker. An individual of this rank is,
however, generally, at least civil, but the impertinence of some of the
higher classes surpasses all belief.
I know that in one of the largest towns of Germany, a prince of the
royal house, distinguished for his frank, chivalrous courtesy, and his
amiable character, invited an English Viscount, who was but just
arrived, and had not yet been presented to him, to a hunting-party; to
which His Lordship replied, _that he could not accept the invitation, as
the prince was perfectly unknown to him_.
It is true, that no foreigner will ever have it in his power so to
requite a similar civility in England, where a grandee considers an
invitation to dinner (they are very liberal of invitations to routs and
soirées, for the sake of filling their rooms) as the most signal honour
he can confer upon even a distinguished foreigner,--an honour only to be
obtained by long acquaintance, or by very powerful letters of
introduction. But if by any miracle such a ready attention were to be
paid in England, it would be impossible to find a single man of any
pretensions to breeding, on the whole Continent, who would make such a
return as this boorish lord did.[23]
_November 21st._
I called yesterday morning on L---- to execute your commission, but did
not find him at home. Instead of him, I found to my great joy a letter
from you, which I was so impatient to read, that I set myself down in
his room, and read it attentively two or three times. Your affection,
which strives to spare me everything disagreeable, and dwells only upon
those subjects which can give me pleasure, I acknowledge most
gratefully. But you must not spare me more than you are convinced you
can do without detriment to our common interests. You estimate my
letters far more highly than they deserve; but you may imagine that, in
my eyes, it is a very amiable fault in you to overvalue me thus. Love
paints the smallest merit in magic colours. I will, however, do myself
the justice to believe that you, who have had such ample opportunities
of knowing me, may find in me qualities which shrink from the rude touch
of the world. This consoled me,--but your expression "that all you wrote
appeared to you so incoherent, that you thought the grief of parting had
weakened your intellects," gave me great pain. Do I then want phrases?
How much more delightful is that natural, confidential talk, which flows
on without constraint and without effort, and _therefore_ expresses
itself admirably. I am particularly delighted at your sentiments
concerning what I tell you; they are ever exactly such as I expect and
share.
Accompany your friend to the capital:--it will amuse you, and at the
same time you will find many opportunities of promoting our interests.
'Les absens ont tort;' never forget that. I must disapprove B----'s
levity. He has no solicitude about his reputation, though he be in fact
an angel of virtue and benevolence; he who cares not what is said of
him,--perhaps even laughs at it,--will soon find that the malignity of
men has left him in the same condition as to reputation as Peter
Schlemil was with regard to his shadow. At first he thought it nothing
to forego a thing so unsubstantial: but in the end he could scarcely
endure existence without it. Only in the deepest solitude, far from all
the world, striding restlessly with his seven-league boots from the
north pole to the south, and living for science alone, did he find some
tranquillity and peace. At the conclusion of your letter I see but too
clearly that melancholy gains the upper hand,--and I could say something
on that subject too,--'mais il faut du courage.' In every life there are
periods of trial, moments when the bitterest drops in the cup must be
drained. If the sun do but illumine the evening, we will not murmur at
the noontide heat.
But enough of these serious subjects: let me now turn your attention
from them, by leading you to the Haymarket Theatre, which I lately
visited, when the celebrated Liston enchanted the public for the
hundred-and-second time in Paul Pry, a sort of foolish lout. The actor,
who is said to have made a fortune of six thousand a-year, is one of
those whom I should call natural comic actors, of the same class as were
Unzelmann and Wurm in Berlin, and Bösenberg and Döring in Dresden; men
who, without any profound study of their art, excite laughter by a
certain drollery of manner peculiar to themselves, an inexhaustible
humour, 'qui coule de source;' though frequently in private life they
are hypochondriacal, as it is said to be the case with Liston.
The notorious Madame Vestris, who formerly made 'furore,' was also
there. She is somewhat 'passée,' but still very fascinating on the
stage. She is an excellent singer, and still better actor, and a greater
favourite of the English public even than Liston. Her great celebrity,
however, rests on the beauty of her legs, which are become a standing
article in the theatrical criticisms of the newspapers, and are often
displayed by her in man's attire. The grace and the exhaustless spirit
and wit of her acting are also truly enchanting, though she sometimes
disgusts one by her want of modesty, and coquettes too much with the
audience. It may truly be said in every sense of the words, that Madame
Vestris belongs to all Europe. Her father was an Italian; her mother a
German and a good pianoforte player; her husband, of the illustrious
dancing family of France, and herself an Englishwoman: any chasms in her
connexion with other European nations are more than filled up by
hundreds of the most 'marquant' lovers. She also speaks several
languages with the utmost fluency. In the character of the German 'broom
girl' she sings
"Ach, du lieber Augustin,"
with a perfect pronunciation, and with a very 'piquant' air of
assurance.
To-day I dined with our ambassador. This prevented my visiting the
theatre, which I have too much neglected. I have resolved to attend it
with more constancy, in order that I may gradually give you a tolerably
perfect report of it, though in detached descriptions.
We were quite 'en petit comité,' and the company unusually animated and
merry. We had a certain great 'gourmand' among us, who took a great deal
of joking, 'sans en perdre un coup de dent.' At last Prince E---- told
him that whenever he went to purgatory his punishment would undoubtedly
be to see the blessed eat, while he was kept fasting. * * *
Lord ---- was there too. He treats me in the most friendly manner to my
face, but, I am told, loses no opportunity of injuring me in society. *
* *
A man of warmer heart would have spoken to me face to face of this
supposed wrong. 'Diplomates,' however, have too much fishes' blood in
their organization. * * *
Happily, I can laugh at all such 'menées:' for a man who seeks nothing
and fears little, who interests himself in the great world only in so
far as it affords him opportunities for making experimental observations
on himself and others; who is, as to necessaries at least, independent,
and has a few but faithful friends,--such a man it is difficult
seriously to injure. Experience too has cooled me;--my blood no longer
flows with such uncontrollable impetuosity; while my lightheartedness
has not deserted me, still less the capacity of loving intensely. I
therefore enjoy life better than in the bloom of youth, and would not
exchange my present feelings for that early tumultuous vehemence. Nay,
in such a frame of mind, I feel not the least dread of old age, and am
persuaded that when that period of life arrives, it will turn to us many
a bright and beautiful side whose existence we suspect not, and which
those only never find who want to remain youthful for ever.
I lately met with some pretty English verses which I translated, after
my fashion, with a thought of you, my best friend, who too often regret
departing youth. These are the delightful lines:
Ist gleich die trübe Wange bleich,
Das Auge nicht mehr hell,
Und nahet schon das ernste Reich,
Wo Jugend fliehet schnell!
Doch lächelt Dir die Wange noch,
Das Auge kennt die Thräne noch,
Das Herz schlägt noch so warm und frei
Als in des Lebens grünstem Mai.
So denk' denn nicht, dass nur die Jugend
Und Schönheit Segen leiht--
Zeit lehrt die Seele schönre Tugend,
In Jahren treuer Zärtlichkeit.
Und selbst wenn einst die Nacht von oben
Verdunkelnd Deine Brust umfängt,
Wird noch durch Liebeshand gehoben
Dein Haupt zur ew'gen Ruh' gesenkt.
O, so auch blinkt der Abendstern,
Ist gleich dahin der Sonne Licht,
Noch sanft und warm aus hoher Fern',
Und Tages-Glanz entbehrst Du nicht.--[24]
Yes, my beloved Julia, thus has time taught us, in years of tenderness,
that nothing can have so genuine a value as that. We have now before us
an evening star, whose mild light is far more delightful than that
mid-day sun which often rather scorches than warms.
I drove home with L----, and we had a long conversation by the snug
fireside on the affairs of our country. * * *
L---- is very kind to me, and I am doubly attached to him; first, for
his own amiable and honourable character; secondly, for the sake of his
excellent father, to whom we owe more real gratitude than to ----, though
he had no other motive than his own impartial love of justice.
_November 23d._
A strange custom in England is the continual intrusion of the newspapers
into the affairs of private life. A man of any distinction not only sees
the most absurd details concerning him dragged before the public,--such
as where he dined, what evening party he attended, and so forth, (which
many foreigners read with the greatest self-complacency,)--but if
anything really worth telling happens to him, it is immediately made
public without shame or scruple. Personal hostility has thus 'beau jeu,'
as well as the desire of making profitable friends. Many use the
newspapers for the publication of articles to their own advantage, which
they send themselves. The foreign embassies cultivate this branch with
great assiduity. It is easy to see what formidable weapons the press
thus furnishes. Fortunately, however, the poison brings its antidote
with it. This consists in the indifference with which the public
receives such communications. An article in a newspaper after which a
Continental would not show himself for three months, here excites at
most a momentary laugh, and the next day is forgotten.
About a month ago the papers made themselves extremely merry about the
duel of a noble lord here; who, according to their representation of the
matter, had not cut a very heroic figure. They made the most offensive
remarks, and drew the most mortifying inferences as to the calibre of
his valour; and all this had not the smallest perceptible effect in
disabling him from presenting himself in society with as much ease and
unconcern as ever. They have tried to give me too a 'coup fourré.' * * *
But I have served under an old soldier, and learned from him always to
have the first and loudest laugh at myself, and not to spare an
inoffensive jest at myself and others. This is the only safe way of
meeting ridicule in the world: if you appear sensitive or embarrassed,
then indeed the poison works; otherwise it evaporates like cold water on
a red-hot stone. This the English understand to perfection.
This evening I spent, true to my determination, in Drury Lane, where, to
my infinite astonishment, old Braham appeared, still as first singer,
with the same applause with which I saw him, even then an old man,
perform the same part for his own benefit the day before my departure
from England, twelve years ago. I found little difference in his
singing, except that he shouted rather more violently, and made rather
more 'roulades' in order to conceal the decline of his voice. He is a
Jew, and I am firmly convinced the everlasting one,[25] for he does not
seem to grow old at all. 'Au reste,' he is the genuine representative of
the English style of singing, and, in popular songs especially, the
enthusiastically adored idol of the public. One cannot deny to him great
power of voice and rapidity of execution, and he is said to have a
thorough knowledge of music: but a more abominable style it is
impossible to conceive.
The Prima Donna was Miss Paton, a very agreeable, but not a first-rate
singer. She is well-made, and not ugly, and is a great favourite with
the public. What would appear extraordinary among us,--she is married to
Lord W---- L----, whose name she bears in her own family and in
private.[26] On the stage, however, she is Miss Paton again, and paid as
such, which is not unacceptable to her lord.
The most striking thing to a foreigner in English theatres is the
unheard-of coarseness and brutality of the audiences. The consequence of
this is that the higher and more civilized classes go only to the
Italian opera, and very rarely visit their national theatre. Whether
this be unfavourable or otherwise to the stage, I leave others to
determine.
English freedom here degenerates into the rudest license, and it is not
uncommon in the midst of the most affecting part of a tragedy, or the
most charming 'cadenza' of a singer, to hear some coarse expression
shouted from the galleries in stentor voice. This is followed, according
to the taste of the bystanders, either by loud laughter and approbation,
or by the castigation and expulsion of the offender.
Whichever turn the thing takes, you can hear no more of what is passing
on the stage, where actors and singers, according to ancient usage, do
not suffer themselves to be interrupted by such occurrences, but declaim
or warble away, 'comme si rien n'était.' And such things happen not
once, but sometimes twenty times, in the course of a performance, and
amuse many of the audience more than that does. It is also no rarity for
some one to throw the fragments of his 'gouté,' which do not always
consist of orange-peels alone, without the smallest ceremony on the
heads of the people in the pit, or to shail them with singular dexterity
into the boxes; while others hang their coats and waistcoats over the
railing of the gallery, and sit in shirt-sleeves; in short, all that
could be devised for the better excitement of a phlegmatic _Harmonie_
Society of the workmen in Berlin, under the renowned Wisotsky, is to be
found in the national theatre of Britain.
Another cause for the absence of respectable families is the resort of
hundreds of those unhappy women with whom London swarms. They are to be
seen of every degree, from the lady who spends a splendid income, and
has her own box, to the wretched beings who wander houseless in the
streets. Between the acts they fill the large and handsome 'foyers,' and
exhibit their boundless effrontery in the most revolting manner.
It is most strange that in no country on earth is this afflicting and
humiliating spectacle so openly exhibited as in the religious and
decorous England. The evil goes to such an extent, that in the theatres
it is often difficult to keep off these repulsive beings, especially
when they are drunk, which is not seldom the case. They beg in the most
shameless manner, and a pretty, elegantly dressed girl does not disdain
to take a shilling or a sixpence, which she instantly spends in a glass
of rum, like the meanest beggar. And these are the scenes, I repeat,
which are exhibited in the national theatre of England, where the
highest dramatic talent of the country should be developed; where
immortal artists like Garrick, Mrs. Siddons, Miss O'Neil, have
enraptured the public by their genius, and where such actors as Kean,
Kemble, and Young, still adorn the stage.
Is not this--to say nothing of the immorality--in the highest degree low
and undignified? It is wholly inconsistent with any real love of art, or
conception of its office and dignity. The turbulent scenes I have
described above scarcely ever arise out of anything connected with the
performance, but have almost always some source quite foreign to it, and
no way relating to the stage.
Farewell!
Ever your L----.