Description of an American Rout.--A Flirtation.--The Floor kept by
the same Set of Dancers.--Fashionable Characters.--An Unfortunate
Girl at a Party.--Inquiry instituted in her Behalf.--Anecdote of
two Fashionable Young Ladies at Nahant.--Aristocratic Feelings
of the Americans carried Abroad.--Anecdotes.--Reflections on the
Manners of the Higher Classes.--Anecdotes illustrative of Western
Politeness and Hospitality.--Kentucky Hospitality.--Hypocrisy of the
Higher Orders of Americans.--Aristocracy in Churches.--An American
Aristocrat compared to Shylock.--A Millionnaire.--Two Professional
Men.--Stephen Gerard.--A Gentleman of Norman Extraction.--Different
Methods resorted to for procuring Ancestors.--American and the
English contrasted.--A Country Representative.--Method of making
him desert his Principles.--Political Synonyms.--Contempt for
Democracy.--Expectations of the American Aristocracy.--Objections to
Waltzing.--Announcement of Supper.
“Imperial Waltz! imported from the Rhine,
(Famed for the growth of pedigrees and wine,)
Long be thy import from all duty free,
And hock itself be less esteem’d than thee!”
BYRON.
It was half-past ten when I made my appearance at Mrs. * * *’s “rout.”
The rooms were richly decorated, and the company in excellent spirits.
My friend had already arrived, and was talking to a young lady in one
of the corners of the dancing-room; which was called “a desperate
flirtation,” inasmuch as the young lady appeared to be past sixteen,
and not yet twenty, and the gentleman in circumstances which enabled
him to support a wife. Similar flirtations were going on in other parts
of the room; the married ladies being seated on benches or settees
near the walls, and acting, if not as judges, at least as recorders
of the events. The music, consisting chiefly of clarionets, flutes,
and horns, was stationed to great advantage in the entry; leaving not
only more room for the dancers in the parlour, but softening also the
harmony of sounds by the greater distance. The ladies, especially
those who danced, were, in point of dress, the exact copies of the
patterns issued weekly in the French metropolis; and the gentlemen,
though apparently timid in the presence of so many beauties, looked,
nevertheless, sufficiently smart and enterprising for men of business.
I looked for a while on the group of dancers, in hopes of perceiving
some slight variation, but was not a little annoyed by seeing
continually the same figures and the same dancers. I afterwards
communicated my surprise to my friend, but was told that I was in a
fashionable house, in which none but fashionable young ladies and
gentlemen could be expected “to have the floor;” and that if, from
courtesy, some other people had been invited, it was expected they
would have sufficient good sense not to obtrude themselves on the
notice of the company, and least of all to make themselves conspicuous
by joining in a quadrille or a waltz. “There are,” added he, “some
dozen of young girls here dying to show their ‘steps,’ but none of the
fashionable young men would risk his standing in society by bringing
them out; and, as for the young men of neither family nor wealth, who
are only asked because they are relations of the house, (a custom which
is by no means general in the United States,) they know their place too
well to be guilty of such an impropriety.
“Whenever one of our wealthy stockholders,” continued he, “invites a
poor devil to his house, the particular relation of entertainer and
guest changes nothing in the relative position of the parties: the rich
man still continues to assume the peculiar insolent condescension of a
patron; while the man without credit will exhibit in his conduct the
humiliating consciousness of his ‘insufficiency.’ If you took notice of
the manner in which the lady of the house courtesyed to the gentlemen
that were presented to her, you must have been able to distinguish
the capitalist from the poor beginner, or unsuccessful speculator, as
effectually as if their property had been announced with their names.
Every additional thousand produces a new smile; for it is impossible
for our people to consider a man independently of his circumstances.”
“This,” observed I, “is the fault of every practical nation, especially
of the English, who are the most purse-proud and exclusive people in
Europe.”
“I know that,” replied he: “but the English reward talent of every
description higher than any other nation in the world; so that money
is, in a certain sense, the just measure of capacity. In America, on
the contrary, there are but few branches of _industry_, and almost none
of _learning_, which are sure of meeting with an adequate remuneration
in money; so that, if men are merely judged by their wealth, the
meanest bank or counting-house clerk, or a common shopkeeper, has a
better chance of arriving at respectability than the most successful
scholar in the most difficult branches of human learning. Society, in
this manner, must become lower and lower every day; there being no
entailed estates or large hereditary possessions in the United States,
securing to a privileged class the necessary means and leisure for the
gratuitous pursuit of arts and sciences. And, as for the English being
exclusive, you forget that, when English people assume that character,
they possess generally the tact and _à-plomb_ necessary for carrying it
off; whereas, here you often meet the same spirit among people whose
wealth is _credit_ and _expectancy_, and whose manners and education
are identified solely with the desk and ledger. Thus the terms
‘patron’ and ‘client’ are in New York, for instance, synonymous with
‘creditor’ and ‘debtor;’ and as the banks, according to the prevalent
system of credit, must inevitably be the creditors of nine-tenths of
the community, every person connected with them--and, above all, a
stockholder, cashier, or president--must necessarily be a patrician.
The whole composition of our society is arithmetical; each gentleman
ranking according to the numerical index of his property. You need only
watch the conduct of the society in this room, and you will satisfy
yourself of the truth of my assertion.
“Do you know that lady in pink satin,” he continued, “who is talking to
the lady dressed in white, across that modest-looking woman with the
pale face, who is evidently embarrassed by this rudeness?”
I replied in the negative.
“The first,” he said, “is the daughter of an honest shoemaker, who
has become very rich by his industry, and is bitterly grieved by the
aristocratic haughtiness of his daughter. I have heard it asserted that
he often threatened her to hang up a last in his parlour, instead of a
coat of arms, to punish the ridiculous pretensions of his family.”
“Such a character,” said I, “would have done credit to a Dutch
burgomaster in the best times of the republic. But who is the lady thus
planted between two of her sex, who are determined to take no more
notice of her than if her chair were empty?”
“She is the wife of an American commodore,” replied he; “one of the
most gallant officers in the navy, who has shed his blood in his
country’s service. What further comment does this require?--what
greater proof would you have of the insufferable arrogance of our
moneyed aristocracy?”
“Let us follow that young lady, whose face I have never seen before in
society,” observed my friend after a short pause: “she looks as though
she had never been used to company, and will probably become the butt
of the aristocratic misses who keep possession of the floor.”
The unfortunate girl, led by a young man, who, to judge from his
manners, was a stranger in the city, had scarcely entered the
dancing-room before every eye was turned upon her, and the most
insolent, half-loud inquiry instituted as to “who she was,” and “where
she came from?”
“Do you know that girl?” demanded a young lady, who had just stopped
dancing, loud enough for her to hear.
“I never saw her before in my life, _I_ am sure,” replied the
_ballerina_ who had been addressed, with a toss of her head; “do _you_
know her?”
“Indeed I don’t; I wonder how she got here!” resumed the first.
Here a third lady walked up, and examined the dress of the stranger;
then, joining a small circle, “I am sure,” said she, in an audible
whisper, “it’s not worth seventy-five cents a yard.”
“And who is that unlicked cub that’s with her?” demanded another lady.
“Heaven alone knows!” answered a voice; “I dare say, just come from the
woods!”
“With his mouth full of tobacco!”
“I hope she isn’t going to dance; if she does, I shall leave the room.”
“I sha’n’t stay either.”
One half of this conversation the poor girl must have heard, as she
was standing close to the speakers, and could not even escape from the
sting of their remarks through the crowd that obstructed the passage;
for it is the custom in America, as in England, for people who give
parties to invite as many persons as possible, in order to have the
satisfaction of a full room. She was on the point of bursting into
tears; and yet the young, fashionable tigresses, of from sixteen to
twenty years of age, had not feeling enough to take pity on her. I
am aware that, in describing that of which I was an eye-witness, I
shall scarcely be believed by my English or German readers, because
it is almost impossible for an educated European to conceive the
degree of rudeness, insolence, and effrontery, and the total want of
consideration for the feelings of others, which I have often seen
practised in what is called the “first society” of the United States.
I have seen in Boston, or rather in Nahant, a small watering-place
in the neighbourhood of that city, two girls,--one the daughter of
a president of an insurance-office, and the other the child of a
merchant,--supporting their heads with their elbows, and in this
position staring at each other for several minutes across a public
table; each believing that her standing in society entitled her to the
longest stare, and that the other, being the daughter of a man of less
consideration and property, should have modesty enough to cast down her
eyes.
The same kind of feelings the Americans carry even across the Atlantic.
In Paris, Florence, Rome, and other places on the Continent, (in
England they have no particular practice of their own, but merely
follow in the wake of the nobility,) they form as many distinct sets
and coteries as at home; imitating, by degrees, every ridiculous
fashion of France and Italy, and endeavouring by their wealth to pave
the road to the highest society, and to keep from it the less fortunate
part of their countrymen. Two instances of this kind came to my
personal knowledge.
About three years ago, while a friend of mine happened to be in
Vienna, he met at Mr. S***’s, the United States’ consul, a party of
Americans, composed of a number of gentlemen and ladies from Boston,
Baltimore, and South Carolina. The conversation ran on different
topics, until one of the company introduced in his remarks the names
of some fashionable people of Boston with whom he professed to be
acquainted. Upon this, Mr. ***, descended from one of the wealthiest
and most vulgar aristocratic families of that place, and who pretended
to know “everybody,” whispered something into the consul’s ear, and
requested him to step with him into the next room. There, as my friend
afterwards learned, he assumed at once the rank and office of grand
inquisitor; cross-examining the poor consul as to “where he had picked
up that man?” and declaring finally that he must be an impostor, as
_he_ did not know him, nor _ever heard his name mentioned before_,
(this is the usual phrase employed by “respectable” Americans when
they wish to repudiate a person as not belonging to their set). After
he had thus discharged the duties of a high-born citizen, he resumed
his seat at a little distance from “the impostor,” and remained silent
for the rest of the evening. Poor Mr. ***, who was really a gentleman
of slender means, could not but perceive the prejudice which his
fellow-townsman had excited in the mind of his hospitable entertainer,
and soon afterwards left the company.
Another instance of this kind occurred at Munich between two Americans;
one a regular resident of the place for many years, and the other a
traveller, who imagined he had held a higher rank in America than his
compatriot. The latter, of course, immediately set out to communicate
his scruple to the consul, and the _attachés_ of the *** legation;
assuring them that the gentleman they had taken into favour was neither
a scholar nor a man of high standing, and was consequently not entitled
to their attention. All this was done while the other person was absent
from town, and for no other purpose than impressing the society of
Munich with the fact “that there is a great deal of aristocracy in
America, and that he himself was one of its noblest representatives.”
The American ministers in London, Paris, Berlin, and St. Petersburgh,
and the consuls in the different commercial cities of Europe, are
usually made the repositories of all the slander which one set or
_coterie_ may have in store against the other; and, as no peculiar
discretion is exercised by Americans in the treatment of high public
functionaries, the latter themselves do not often escape uninjured,
the public press furnishing the meanest scribbler with the means of
wreaking his vengeance.
The fact is, the _soi-disant_ higher classes of Americans, in quitting
the simple, manly, moral, industrious habits of the great mass of
the people,--habits which alone have won them the respect of the
world,--have no fixed standard by which to govern their actions, either
with regard to themselves or their fellow beings; no manners, customs,
modes of thinking, &c. of their own; no community of feelings; nothing
which could mark them as a distinct class, except their contempt for
the lower classes, and their dislike of their own country. How should
such an order of beings agree amongst themselves? How should they be
able to make themselves, or those around them, comfortable? There is
more courtesy in the apparent rudeness of the Western settler than in
the assumed politeness of the city stockholder,--more true hospitality
in the log-house of the backwoodsman, than in any of the mansions of
the presidents and directors of banks with whom it has been my good
fortune to become acquainted.
I remember, some years ago, when travelling with a distant relative
on the borders of the Mississippi, to have been approaching the
habitation of a farmer, whom, in company with his wife, we found on
horseback, ready to set out on a journey to the next market town for
the purpose of buying stores for his family. There was no tavern or
resting-place within seven miles of us; but, not wishing to intrude
upon their domestic arrangements, we passed the house and doubled our
speed, in order to be in time for dinner at the next village. The
farmer, however, did not suffer us to continue our journey without
having refreshed ourselves at his house; and, persuading us to come
back, he and his wife dismounted, and assisted in preparing and
ordering everything necessary for dinner. We of course protested
against their putting themselves to so much trouble for the sake of
strangers, who, in an hour or so, might have reached a place where they
could have procured a dinner for money. “Oh, I assure you, gentlemen,”
replied our entertainer, “I never suffer myself or my wife to be
_troubled_ either by strangers or friends; we merely discharge our
duty, without either inconvenience to ourselves, or putting others
under any sort of obligation. Lucy!” said he to a buxom girl that was
playing with one of the prettiest children I ever beheld, “you will see
that the gentlemen want nothing. Eliza! we must be off, or we shall
not get thither till dark. Good morning, gentlemen!”--“Good-b’ye,
gentlemen!” added his wife; both mounting their horses, and leaving us
to enjoy ourselves and our dinner as best we might.
What a picture of sincerity, honesty, confidence, frankness, and
unostentatious hospitality is this, compared to the formal invitations
to dinner, or a party, of one of the nabobs in the Atlantic cities!
Take, for instance, the case of a rich man in New York. He prepares
a week beforehand, and racks his brains as to what people he shall
invite that will do credit to his house, and what persons he may safely
exclude without injury to himself, and without offending them past
reparation. He has one dinner-party for one set of acquaintance, and
another for another. At the one he will act as host, at the other as
patron; the expense being in both cases proportionate to the rank of
his guests. Who under these circumstances would not rather prefer the
hospitality of the honest Kentuckian, whose Western friends averred
that he was truly kind, “for, when he had company, he simply went to
the side-board, poured out his glass, and then turned his back upon
them, not wishing to see how _they filled_?”
The fashionable people of the Atlantic cities, who give dinner and
evening parties either for the purpose of maintaining or acquiring a
high rank in society, have themselves little or no disposition for
company. With them society does not offer an agreeable and necessary
respite from toil; but is merely a means of acquiring influence,
&c. For this purpose it is not necessary to treat all persons with
equal sincerity and politeness. “_La politesse nous tient lieu du
cœur_,” say the French; but the fashionable people of the United
States manage to get on without either. There is nothing in the
composition of a fashionable American to compensate for the loss of
natural affections,--nothing in his manner to soften the egotism which
manifests itself in every motion, every gesture, every word which drops
from his lips. And the worst of it is, that he imagines all this to be
a successful imitation of English manners! He forgets entirely that, in
imitating the manners of the higher classes in England, he is very much
in the position of a sailor on horseback; showing by his whole carriage
that he is out of his element, and, though straining every nerve to
maintain his place, ready to tumble off at the first motion for which
he is not previously prepared.
As regards the exclusiveness of the higher classes, and especially
of the women, the instance before me was certainly one calculated to
excite my indignation, had I not known fashionable young ladies that
refused to walk in the streets of Philadelphia until the dinner-hour of
“the common people,” when they would be sure of having the side-walk to
themselves.
But what is all this, compared to the artificial distinctions
introduced into their churches? It has always been the pride of the
Catholic church in Europe to offer a place of worship to every man,
without distinction of rank, title, or wealth. The utmost a man pays
for a chair in any of the churches of France or Italy is one _sou_;
the fashionable American Catholics, however, imitate the practice of
those gentlemanly followers of Christ who choose to worship God in good
company. Thus the respectable Catholics of New York, “who do not wish
to be annoyed by the presence of an Irish mob,” being for the most
part composed of their own servants, have built a church for their own
specific use,--a snug little concern, just large enough for a _genteel_
audience to hear the Lord _en famille_.
In order to exclude effectually everything that might be disagreeable,
no one is allowed to stand in the aisles; so that those poor devils
who cannot afford to pay for a pew must be content to seek the Lord
elsewhere _among their equals_. On the whole, the principles which
govern the aristocracy of the Northern States of America are the very
counterpart of the sound maxims of Shylock with regard to the vulgar
herd of Christians. “I will buy with you, sell with you, talk with you,
walk with you,” (here might be added, _electioneer_ with you,) “and so
following; but I will not eat with you, drink with you, or pray with
you.”
“Come!” said my friend, “what are you reflecting about? Do not look
any longer on this tender victim of fashionable society. She is now
but serving her apprenticeship; but will soon rise to the rank of ‘an
ancient’ in the clique, and then treat every new-comer in precisely
the same manner she is treated now. Let me rather make you acquainted
with some of the lions that grace Mrs. ***’s party. Do you know that
gentleman with grey hair standing in the corner? It is Mr. ***,
originally of German extraction, who has changed his name in order to
warrant the supposition of his being descended from a Norman family.
He is a great public speaker,--that is, he speaks on all occasions;
and has assured his party, who of course look upon democracy as the
greatest curse of the country, that his father was a respectable man
long before Tamany Hall[8] was built. This declaration, no doubt,
secures to him the _entrée_ of the first society; and, if he do not
fail in business, the consideration of one of the oldest aristocrats of
the city.
“A little further from him, on the right,” continued he, “you will
notice a gentleman with a white cravat. He has always a little
_clientelle_ around him, for he is a _millionnaire_, descended from a
_millionnaire_! I know very little of him or his father, except that
the latter has made his money by successful speculations and great
saving,--two poetical circumstances worthy of being immortalized by
Washington Irving. Behind him is stationed Mr. ***, a gentleman of
great business tact, who writes his letters on the backs of those which
he receives; and is always particular in advising his friends with whom
he has dealings to get his name on a piece of paper. He is a silent
partner in half-a-dozen different concerns, and has the reputation of
obstinately refusing in all cases to receive less than a hundred cents
on a dollar.
“In the other corner of the room you will observe two gentlemen engaged
in conversation with a lady, who is evidently tired of their attention.
They are, as you might guess from this circumstance, nothing but
ordinary professional men, whose daily earnings are just sufficient
to keep them above water. They are merely invited from charity, being
distant relations of the lady of the house, who, by showing them up,
expects to improve their chance of success in business. One is a lawyer
with a small practice; and the other a physician, who, as he cannot
afford to keep a horse and gig, has as yet but little to do, but
will undoubtedly succeed in obtaining a large practice if he should
be successful in his attentions to Miss ***, a nice young girl of
thirty-two, with plenty of money to set up a carriage.”
“But,” said I, more than dissatisfied with my friend’s satirical
remarks, “how do you explain the generosity which some of the
wealthiest citizens in this country manifest towards the poor, and
especially to all charitable institutions?”
“There is,” replied he, “a sort of _public_ generosity among the rich
men in our Atlantic cities which delights in making donations to
public institutions of all kinds; but woe to those who have private
transactions with them!
“The public in America is always courted, even by the mushroom
aristocracy of New York. Stephen Gerard, who by the moneyed men of
the United States was considered as the quintessence of science and
virtue, so that a salutation ‘Go and do as Stephen Gerard!’ would at
any time have been equivalent to the ‘_Vaya Usted con Dios!_’ of the
Spaniards,--Stephen Gerard himself, I say, was obliged to give away
money to the poor, even during his lifetime!
“Besides, there is a good deal of satisfaction in giving away money
to the public, in a public way, in a country in which the public is
sovereign. It is a way of ingratiating one’s-self with one’s master,
and of acquiring notoriety and credit for wealth, and thereby an
indisputable claim to the highest respectability. When, in one of our
Atlantic cities, it is once known that a man is rich, that ‘he is very
rich,’ that he is ‘amazingly rich,’ that he is ‘one of the richest men
in the country,’ that he is ‘worth a million of dollars,’ that he is
‘as rich as Stephen Gerard, or John Jacob ***,’ the whole vocabulary of
praise is exhausted; and the individual in question is as effectually
canonized as the best Catholic saint.
“I often alluded to this species of money-worship, when alone with
my Northern friends; but they seemed to be surprised with the
simplicity of my remarks. They saw nothing in it that was not perfectly
commendable by common sense. ‘We imitate the English in that respect,
as in every other,’ was their excuse; ‘and, as is usual with us,
_improve_ upon them. We do not think John Bull understands the value of
money as well as ourselves; at least, he does not turn it to so good
an account. All that can be said against us is, that we do not value
_other things_ as highly as we ought to do;’ and with this species of
logic they seemed to be satisfied. But let us continue our tour.
“Do you observe that gentleman in tights, with large black whiskers? He
is one of the most fashionable and aristocratic gentlemen in the city.
I believe he served his apprenticeship in a baker’s shop, then went
into an auction-room, then became a partner in the firm, and lastly
took a house in Broadway, set up a carriage, and declared himself a
gentleman. Nine-tenths of all the people that are called ‘fashionable’
in New York have had a similar beginning; and yet, if you listen to
their conversation, you would swear they are descended in a direct line
from William the Conqueror.
“No people on earth are more proud of their ancestors than those
fashionable Americans who can prove themselves descended from
respectable fathers and grandfathers. Take, for instance, the case of
one of my young friends, who was sent to Europe by his family for the
sole purpose of discovering his ancestors; or that of an acquaintance
of mine in Boston, who has found a signet among the rubbish of his
household, and now swears that it belonged to his great-grandfather,
there being no other person to claim it; or that of Mr. ***, seated
yonder by the side of that elderly lady, who has bought a lot of Dutch
portraits in Europe,--all knights in armour,--in order to form a whole
gallery of ancestors; or that of Mr. ***, who has discovered some faint
analogy between _his_ name and that of a certain animal, which he now
uses as a coat of arms; and a hundred other examples I could quote.”
“The same ridiculous folly,” interrupted I, “you will find in England,
and especially in Scotland, among the gentlefolks.”
“But then,” interrupted my friend, “the English do not pretend to
be _republicans_; they never formally banished nobility and royalty
from their country in order to rake them up again from the rubbish of
another world; and the particular genius of their institutions is
not opposed to any real distinction in the way of family. Our people,
on the contrary, are obliged publicly to repudiate what they are most
anxiously striving to assert in private; and thus to add hypocrisy to
pretensions for which there is not the least apology in the history of
their country. But I must direct your attention to that portly-looking
gentleman in blue pantaloons, who, in my opinion, is by far the most
remarkable personage of the whole company. He wears boots; and his
hat and gloves, neither of which can be said to be entirely new, are
carefully deposited in the entry. Thus unencumbered, he will play one
of the best knives and forks at supper; although the lady of the house
herself will take his arm, and put him to his utmost good breeding. She
completely monopolises his conversation, and distinguishes him from the
crowd by the most studied politeness.”
“But what can be the cause of her attention?” demanded I; “is he so
very rich?”
“Not exactly,” replied he; “he is _barely respectable_.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean, in the language of New York, he is a man of moderate property.”
“Then I do not see the object of her civility to him.”
“She has indeed a different object from what you or any other
stranger would suspect. The gentleman is a country representative of
considerable talent; of whom the lady, who, like most of the nice
women in this city, is in the opposition, wishes to make a convert. A
good many unsuspecting ‘members of the assembly’ are spoiled by our
fashionable women; for the spirit of gallantry is stronger in our
yeomanry than among our aristocratic gentlemen of the town. Our country
representatives can argue for years, and argue well, against the
attempted usurpations of certain coteries of gentlemen; but they cannot
take up the cudgel against the ladies. It is in the best society where
our members learn to listen to the grossest abuse of the institutions
of their country without glowing with indignation or resentment; it is
there where they study patience in hearing the people’s favourites
traduced as ‘scoundrels,’ ‘villains,’ ‘pickpockets,’ ‘idiots,’ ‘fools,’
&c.; and it is in company of fashionable ladies that they learn to
consider patriotism as unbecoming a gentleman,--as a vice which ought
never to infect but the lowest orders of society.
“And it is principally because their patriotism cannot be translated
into an attachment to some ‘great and glorious personage’ that these
poor devils of representatives, who would have remained honest if they
had not been admitted into good society, become, by degrees, ashamed
of everything which is their own, from their heads down to the very
soles of their feet. At first they are made aware that they are not
so refined as some of the New York people, especially those who have
been in Europe; and that, in order to get rid of some of their boorish
manners, they must needs try to get into good society. Some neutral
friend procures them an introduction, and the women do the rest.
“One of the principal things they learn in good society is, to
consider politics as wholly uninteresting except to tavern-keepers on
election days; as a subject unworthy of the pursuit of a gentleman, and
a thing banished from people of fashion and good taste. When they speak
of it, or allude to it, accidentally in conversation, the good-natured
condescending smiles of the company convince them, without argument,
that they have been guilty of some impropriety. When they grow warm at
the mention of their country, the calmness of all around them teaches
them the absurdity of betraying emotion on so ordinary an occasion;
and, if they should ever by chance make use of the words ‘liberty,’
‘right,’ ‘independence,’ or forget themselves so far as to introduce
‘the people,’ they are left alone to enjoy these things by themselves.
“When, by this course of instruction, they have amended their manners
so far as no longer to be guilty of similar _gaucheries_, they are made
to improve their language, to smooth down the roughness of terms by
the substitution of more agreeable and palatable synonyms, and to set
a right value on certain expressions altogether unintelligible to the
great mass of the people.
“Thus the word ‘patriotism,’ as I told you before, is entirely
proscribed by the higher classes; they designate that virtue by
‘political zeal,’ and the patriot himself by ‘a successful politician.’
‘A popular candidate for office’ is equivalent to ‘a vagabond who has
no business of his own;’ ‘popularity’ means ‘the approbation of the
mob;’ and ‘popular distinction,’ ‘notoriety in vulgar pursuits.’ ‘A
public man’ is ‘an individual lost to society and to all its virtues;’
the term ‘liberty’ is synonymous with ‘licence of the mob;’ and
‘universal suffrage’ stands for ‘universal blackguardism.’
“It is to be observed, however, that all these significations apply
only to the members of the _democratic_ party; there never having been
a single man of fortune, in any of the Northern States, whose patriotic
intentions have once been made the subject of doubt or inquiry: for it
is easily understood why _a man of property_ should be attached to his
country; but the poor man has _no right_ to be so, and is therefore to
be justly suspected whenever he takes an interest in politics.
“Under these circumstances, you cannot wonder at our aspiring
people--and where is the man in this country that is _not_
so?--deprecating the idea of being called ‘democrats,’ and the
influence which ‘good breeding and fashionable society’ exercise on our
professional politicians. The gentleman I pointed out to you is just
serving his apprenticeship in the fashionable _salons_ of New York;
and there are already heavy bets making on his being brought over to
the opposition in less than a year. I have heard it said that he was
a ‘rank’ democrat when he first came to New York, but that the ladies
have already tamed him so far as to make him less _positive_ in his
opinions; and they hope, by the time they will teach him to wear white
gloves and ‘behave himself like a gentleman,’ to make him altogether
‘harmless.’
“When once come to that, it takes but very little to make him
_ashamed_ of serving the ‘riff-raff,’ and declare in favour of those
dignified opinions which are handed down to the Americans by the ablest
writers of Great Britain, and which the commercial aristocracy of the
United States apply to themselves in precisely the same manner as the
nobility of England. He is then likely to perceive ‘the _beauty_ of
those British institutions’ which ensure the complete submission of the
lower classes to the _superior_ orders,--‘which assign to every man his
proper place,’--which ‘teach the servants to be respectful to their
masters,’ &c. The admiration of England and of the British government
naturally begets a wish to establish, in America, a government after
the British model; for, in the same manner as the honest Boston baker
wished his native town to be raised to the rank of a city, in order
that at some future day it might rival ‘the ancient and famous city
of London,’ do our stockholders and stock-jobbers expect to become
‘ancient and far-famed families’ in ‘the great American empire,’ and to
outshine the brightest stars in the galaxy of the British nobility.”
“And yet,” observed I, “there are very few aristocratic Americans who
think America capable of national elevation. ‘We have gained nothing
by our independence of Great Britain,’ said a fashionable and learned
Bostonian, when the subject was started in the way of a national boast;
“on the contrary, we have lost in personal consideration.”
“And I have not the least doubt he spoke the truth, as far as
_related to himself_,” replied my friend. “Nothing can better prove
the corrupting influence of our fashions,” he continued, “than the
fact that most of the celebrated leaders of the present opposition
have commenced their career by advocating democracy, and finished by
betraying it. This is the price they have to pay for admission into
good society, from which democrats are naturally excluded.”
Here my friend was interrupted by the approach of the gentleman of the
house, who, in the most polite manner possible, inquired whether we
were entertained with the party.
“How could that be otherwise?” replied my friend; “I have never before
seen such a collection of pretty girls; I wish I could see them all
dance.”
“The room is not large enough for that,” said our entertainer, little
suspecting the meaning of my friend; “but next year I shall take
another house, and then there will be no more complaints of that sort.”
“With a little forbearance, a good many of those beautiful sylphs could
dance in _this_ room.”
“Quite a gallant speech that!” exclaimed the old gentleman: “one can
see that you come from the South.”
“There is nothing gives me more pleasure than to see young ladies amuse
themselves.”
“Just so, sir,--just so! only I cannot get reconciled to the _walse_.”
“And I,” observed my friend, “think the _waltz_ the finest dance in the
world.”
“Why, it may do tol--er--ably well for _some_ folks; but I have strong
doubts of its being an appropriate dance in this country.”
“And why that?”
“I shall tell you that in a moment,” said the old gentleman.
“You see, sir, that our young ladies are very fond of dancing; and
that, when once commencing, they are sure to go on the whole evening.
Well, sir, they take a partner,--a young fellow who is quite as fond
of dancing as they are,--and then they dance, or _waltz_, as you call
it, round and round, until they both get as warm as possible; and then,
sir----”
“And then, sir----”
“Why, then they go into a cold room, or into the open air, and catch
cold; that’s all. ’Tis but a week ago that my daughter recovered from
a severe cough. These, sir, are the fatal consequences of that dance
amongst us; and that’s the reason I don’t like it. It is not adapted
to our climate. Am I not right, sir?”
“Perfectly,” replied my friend.
“Health before everything; that’s my motto. But there is no use in
preaching to those girls; they _will_ have their own way in everything.”
“But you seem to forget that waltzing is becoming more and more the
fashion in England.”
“Is that really the case?” demanded the old gentleman; “then it cannot
be so bad after all,--the English have pretty good notions on all such
subjects,--if our girls would only take care of their health.”
Here the conversation was interrupted by a sudden rush of the company,
occasioned by the announcement of supper. At this important summons,
ladies and gentlemen, the wife of our entertainer with the pantalooned
country representative at their head, were pairing off in great haste,
to shape their course down to a large room on the ground-floor, which
during the first part of the evening had been kept carefully closed,
but was now thrown open for the more substantial amusement of the
party. This, however, is too important a subject to be treated as a
mere episode: it deserves a separate chapter.
FOOTNOTES:
[8] The great rendezvous and head-quarters of the democrats of the city
of New York.