My visit to Germany was protracted beyond the period I had originally
designed; and, during my absence, Mr. Slick had been constantly in
company, either “dining out” daily, when in town, or visiting from one
house to another in the country.
I found him in great spirits. He assured me he had many capital stories
to tell me, and that he rather guessed he knew as much of the English,
and a leetle, jist a leetle, grain more, p’raps, than they knew of the
Yankees.
“They are considerable large print are the Bull family,” said he; “you
can read them by moonlight. Indeed, their faces ain’t onlike the moon
in a gineral way; only one has got a man in it, and the other hain’t
always. It tante a bright face; you can look into it without winkin’.
It’s a cloudy one here too, especially in November; and most all the
time makes you rather sad and solemncoly. Yes, John is a moony man,
that’s a fact, and at the full a little queer sometimes.
“England is a stupid country compared to our’n. _There it no variety
where there it no natur_. You have class variety here, but no
individiality. They are insipid, and call it perlite. The men dress
alike, talk alike, and look as much alike as Providence will let ‘em.
The club-houses and the tailors have done a good deal towards this, and
so has whiggism and dissent; for they have destroyed distinctions.
“But this is too deep for me. Ask Minister, he will tell you the cause;
I only tell you the fact.
“Dinin’ out here, is both heavy work, and light feedin’. It’s monstrous
stupid. One dinner like one rainy day (it’s rained ever since I
been here a’most), is like another; one drawin’-room like another
drawin’-room; one peer’s entertainment, in a general way, is
like another peer’s. The same powdered, liveried, lazy, idle,
good-for-nothin’, do-little, stand-in-the-way-of-each-other,
useless sarvants. Same picturs, same plate, same fixin’s, same
don’t-know-what-to-do-with-your-self-kinder-o’-lookin’-master. Great
folks are like great folks, marchants like marchants, and so on. It’s a
pictur, it looks like life, but’ it tante. The animal is tamed here; he
is fatter than the wild one, but he hante the spirit.
“You have seen-Old Clay in a pastur, a racin’ about, free from harness,
head and tail up, snortin’, cavortin’, attitudinisin’ of himself. Mane
flowin’ in the wind, eye-ball startin’ out, nostrils inside out a’most,
ears pricked up. _A nateral hoss_; put him in a waggon, with a rael spic
and span harness, all covered over with brass buckles and brass knobs,
and ribbons in his bridle, rael jam. Curb him up, talk Yankee to him,
and get his ginger up. Well, he looks well; but he is ‘_a broke hoss_.’
He reminds you of Sam Slick; cause when you see a hoss, you think of his
master: but he don’t remind you of the rael ‘_Old Clay_,’ that’s a fact.
“Take a day here, now in town; and they are so identical the same, that
one day sartificates for another. You can’t get out a bed afore twelve,
in winter, the days is so short, and the fires ain’t made, or the room
dusted, or the breakfast can’t be got, or sunthin’ or another. And if
you did, what’s the use? There is no one to talk to, and books only
weaken your understandin’, as water does brandy. They make you let
others guess for you, instead of guessin’ for yourself. Sarvants spile
your habits here, and books spite your mind. I wouldn’t swap ideas with
any man. I make my own opinions, as I used to do my own clocks; and I
find they are truer than other men’s. The Turks are so cussed heavy,
they have people to dance for ‘em; the English are wus, for they hire
people to think for ‘em. Never read a book, Squire, always think for
yourself.
“Well, arter breakfast, it’s on hat and coat, ombrella in hand, (don’t
never forget that, for the rumatiz, like the perlice, is always on the
look out here, to grab hold of a feller,) and go somewhere where
there is somebody, or another, and smoke, and then wash it down with a
sherry-cobbler; (the drinks ain’t good here; they hante no variety in
them nother; no white-nose, apple-jack, stone-wall, chain-lightning,
rail-road, hail-storm, ginsling-talabogus, switchel-flip, gum-ticklers,
phlem-cutters, juleps, skate-iron, cast-steel, cock-tail, or nothin’,
but that heavy stupid black fat porter;) then down to the coffee-house,
see what vessels have arrived, how markets is, whether there is a chance
of doin’ any thin’ in cotton or tobacco, whose broke to home, and so
on. Then go to the park, and see what’s a goin’ on there; whether those
pretty critturs, the rads are a holdin’ a prime minister ‘parsonally
responsible,’ by shootin’ at him; or whether there is a levee, or the
Queen is ridin’ out, or what not; take a look at the world, make a visit
or two to kill time, when all at once it’s dark. Home then, smoke a
cigar, dress for dinner, and arrive at a quarter past seven.
“Folks are up to the notch here when dinner is in question, that’s a
fact, fat, gouty, broken-winded, and foundered as they be. It’s rap,
rap, rap, for twenty minutes at the door, and in they come, one arter
the other, as fast as the sarvants can carry up their names. Cuss
them sarvants! it takes seven or eight of ‘em to carry a man’s name up
stairs, they are so awful lazy, and so shockin’ full of porter. If a
feller was so lame he had to be carried up himself, I don’t believe on
my soul, the whole gang of them, from the Butler that dresses in the
same clothes as his master, to Boots that ain’t dressed at all, could
make out to bowse him up stairs, upon my soul I don’t.
“Well, you go in along with your name, walk up to old aunty, and make a
scrape, and the same to old uncle, and then fall back. This is done
as solemn, as if a feller’s name was called out to take his place in a
funeral; that and the mistakes is the fun of it. There is a sarvant at
a house I visit at, that I suspicion is a bit of a bam, and the critter
shows both his wit and sense. He never does it to a ‘somebody,’ ‘cause
that would cost him his place, but when a ‘nobody’ has a droll name,
he jist gives an accent, or a sly twist to it, that folks can’t help a
larfin’, no more than Mr. Nobody can feelin’ like a fool. He’s a droll
boy, that; I should like to know him.
“Well, arter ‘nouncin’ is done, then comes two questions--do I know
anybody here? and if I do, does he look like talk or not? Well, seein’
that you have no handle to your name, and a stranger, it’s most likely
you can’t answer these questions right; so you stand and use your eyes,
and put your tongue up in its case till it’s wanted. Company are all
come, and now they have to be marshalled two and two, lock and lock, and
go into the dinin’-room to feed.
“When I first came I was nation proud of that title, ‘the Attache;’ now
I am happified it’s nothin’ but ‘only an Attache,’ and I’ll tell you
why. The great guns, and big bugs, have to take in each other’s ladies,
so these old ones have to herd together. Well, the nobodies go together
too, and sit together, and I’ve observed these nobodies are the
pleasantest people at table, and they have the pleasantest places,
because they sit down with each other, and are jist like yourself,
plaguy glad to get some one to talk to. Somebody can only visit
somebody, but nobody can go anywhere, and therefore nobody sees and
knows twice as much as somebody does. Somebodies must be axed, if they
are as stupid as a pump; but nobodies needn’t, and never are, unless
they are spicy sort o’ folks, so you are sure of them, and they have all
the fun and wit of the table at their eend, and no mistake.
“I wouldn’t take a title if they would give it to me, for if I had one,
I should have a fat old parblind dowager detailed on to me to take in
to dinner; and what the plague is her jewels and laces, and silks and
sattins, and wigs to me? As it is, I have a chance to have a gall to
take in that’s a jewel herself--one that don’t want no settin’ off, and
carries her diamonds in her eyes, and so on. I’ve told our minister not
to introduce me as an Attache no more, but as Mr. Nobody, from the State
of Nothin’, in America, _that’s natur agin_.
“But to get back to the dinner. Arter you are in marchin’ order, you
move in through two rows of sarvants in uniform. I used to think they
was placed there for show, but it’s to keep the air off of folks a goin’
through the entry, and it ain’t a bad thought, nother.
“Lord, the first time I went to one o’ these grand let offs I felt
kinder skeery, and as nobody was allocated to me to take in, I goes in
alone, not knowin’ where I was to settle down as a squatter, and kinder
lagged behind; when the butler comes and rams a napkin in my hand, and
gives me a shove, and sais he, ‘Go and stand behind your master, sir,’
sais he. Oh Solomon! how that waked me up. How I curled inwardly when he
did that. ‘You’ve mistaken the child,’ sais I mildly, and I held out
the napkin, and jist as he went to take it, I gave him a sly poke in the
bread basket, that made him bend forward and say ‘eugh.’ ‘Wake Snakes,
and walk your chalks,’ sais I, ‘will you?’ and down I pops on the fust
empty chair. Lord, how white he looked about the gills arterwards;
I thought I should a split when I looked at him. Guess he’ll know an
Attache when he sees him next time.
“Well, there is dinner. One sarvice of plate is like another sarvice
of plate, any one dozen of sarvants are like another dozen of sarvants,
hock is hock, and champaigne is champaigne--and one dinner is like
another dinner. The only difference is in the thing itself that’s
cooked. Veal, to be good, must look like any thing else but veal; you
mustn’t know it when you see it, or it’s vulgar; mutton must be incog.
too; beef must have a mask on; any thin’ that looks solid, take a spoon
to; any thin’ that looks light, cut with a knife; if a thing looks like
fish, you may take your oath it is flesh; and if it seems rael flesh,
it’s only disguised, for it’s sure to be fish; nothin’ must be
nateral, natur is out of fashion here. This is a manufacturin’ country,
everything is done by machinery, and that that ain’t must be made to
look like it; and I must say, the dinner machinery is parfect.
“Sarvants keep goin’ round and round in a ring, slow, but sartain, and
for ever, like the arms of a great big windmill, shovin’ dish after
dish, in dum show, afore your nose, for you to see how you like the
flavour; when your glass is empty it’s filled; when your eyes is off
your plate, it’s off too, afore you can say Nick Biddle.
“Folks speak low here; steam is valuable, and noise onpolite. They call
it a “_subdued tone_.” Poor tame things, they are subdued, that’s a
fact; slaves to an arbitrary tyrannical fashion that don’t leave ‘em no
free will at all. You don’t often speak across a table any more nor you
do across a street, but p’raps Mr. Somebody of West Eend of town, will
say to a Mr. Nobody from West Eend of America: ‘Niagara is noble.’
Mr. Nobody will say, ‘Guess it is, it got its patent afore the “Norman
_Conquest_,” I reckon, and afore the “_subdued_ tone” come in fashion.’
Then Mr. Somebody will look like an oracle, and say, ‘Great rivers and
great trees in America. You speak good English.’ And then he will seem
surprised, but not say it, only you can read the words on his face,
‘Upon my soul, you are a’most as white as us.’
“Dinner is over. It’s time for ladies to cut stick. Aunt Goosey looks
at the next oldest goosey, and ducks her head, as if she was a goin’
through a gate, and then they all come to their feet, and the goslins
come to their feet, and they all toddle off to the drawin’ room
together.
“The decanters now take the “grand tour” of the table, and, like most
travellers, go out with full pockets, and return with empty ones. Talk
has a pair of stays here, and is laced up tight and stiff. Larnin’ is
pedantic; politics is onsafe; religion ain’t fashionable. You must tread
on neutral ground. Well, neutral ground gets so trampled down by both
sides, and so plundered by all, there ain’t any thing fresh or good
grows on it, and it has no cover for game nother.
“Housundever, the ground is tried, it’s well beat, but nothin’ is put
up, and you get back to where you started. Uncle Gander looks at next
oldest gander hard, bobs his head, and lifts one leg, all ready for a
go, and says, ‘Will you take any more wine?’ ‘No, sais he, ‘but I take
the hint, let’s jine the ladies.’
“Well, when the whole flock is gathered in the goose pastur, the
drawin’-room, other little flocks come troopin’ in, and stand, or walk,
or down on chairs; and them that know each other talk, and them that
don’t twirl their thumbs over their fingers; and when they are tired of
that, twirl their fingers over their thumbs. I’m nobody, and so I goes
and sets side-ways on an ottarman, like a gall on a side-saddle, and
look at what’s afore me. And fust I always look at the galls.
“Now, this I will say, they are amazin’ fine critters are the women
kind here, when they are taken proper care of. The English may stump the
univarse a’most for trainin’ hosses and galls. They give ‘em both plenty
of walkin’ exercise, feed ‘em regular, shoe ‘em well, trim ‘em neat, and
keep a beautiful skin on ‘em. They keep, ‘em in good health, and don’t
house ‘em too much. They are clippers, that’s a fact. There is few
things in natur, equal to a hoss and a gall, that’s well trained and in
good condition. I could stand all day and look at ‘em, and I call myself
a considerable of a judge. It’s singular how much they are alike too,
the moment the trainin’ is over or neglected, neither of ‘em is fit to
be seen; they grow out of shape, and look coarse.
“They are considerable knowin’ in this kind o’ ware too, are the
English; they vamp ‘em up so well, it’s hard to tell their age, and I
ain’t sure they don’t make ‘em live longer, than where the art ain’t
so well pract_ised_. The mark o’ mouth is kept up in a hoss here by the
file, and a hay-cutter saves his teeth, and helps his digestion. Well,
a dentist does the same good turn for a woman; it makes her pass for
several years younger; and helps her looks, mends her voice, and makes
her as smart as a three year old.
“What’s that? It’s music. Well, that’s artificial too, it’s scientific
they say, it’s done by rule. Jist look at that gall to the piany: first
comes a little Garman thunder. Good airth and seas, what a crash! it
seems as if she’d bang the instrument all to a thousand pieces. I guess
she’s vexed at somebody and is a peggin’ it into the piany out of spite.
Now comes the singin’; see what faces she makes, how she stretches her
mouth open, like a barn door, and turns up the white of her eyes, like
a duck in thunder. She is in a musical ecstasy is that gall, she feels
good all over, her soul is a goin’ out along with that ere music. Oh,
it’s divine, and she is an angel, ain’t she? Yes, I guess she is, and
when I’m an angel, I will fall in love with her; but as I’m a man, at
least what’s left of me, I’d jist as soon fall in love with one that
was a leetle, jist a leetle more of a woman, and a leetle, jist a leetle
less of an angel. But hullo! what onder the sun is she about, why her
voice is goin’ down her own throat, to gain strength, and here it comes
out agin as deep toned as a man’s; while that dandy feller along side
of her, is singin’ what they call falsetter. They’ve actilly changed
voices. The gall sings like a man, and that screamer like a woman. This
is science: this is taste: this is fashion; but hang me if it’s natur.
I’m tired to death of it, but one good thing is, you needn’t listen
without you like, for every body is talking as, loud as ever.
“Lord, how extremes meet sometimes, as Minister says. _Here_, how,
fashion is the top of the pot, and that pot hangs on the highest hook on
the crane. In _America_, natur can’t go no farther; it’s the rael thing.
Look at the women kind, now. An Indgian gall, down South, goes most
naked. Well, a splendiferous company gall, here, when she is _full
dressed_ is only _half covered_, and neither of ‘em attract you one mite
or morsel. We dine at two and sup at seven; _here_ they lunch at two,
and dine at seven. The words are different, but they are identical
the same. Well, the singin’ is amazin’ like, too. Who ever heerd them
Italian singers recitin’ their jabber, showin’ their teeth, and cuttin’
didoes at a great private consart, that wouldn’t take his oath he had
heerd niggers at a dignity ball, down South, sing jist the same, and
jist as well. And then do, for goodness’ gracious’ sake, hear that great
absent man, belongin’ to the House o’ Commons, when the chaplain says
‘Let us pray!’ sing right out at once, as if he was to home, ‘Oh! by all
means,’ as much as to say, ‘me and the powers above are ready to hear
you; but don’t be long about it.’
“Ain’t that for all the world like a camp-meetin’, when a reformed
ring-tail roarer calls out to the minister, ‘That’s a fact, Welly Fobus,
by Gosh; amen!’ or when preacher says, ‘Who will be saved?’ answers, ‘Me
and the boys, throw us a hen-coop; the galls will drift down stream on a
bale o’ cotton.’ Well then, _our_ very lowest, and _their_ very highest,
don’t always act pretty, that’s a fact. Sometimes ‘_they repudiate_.’
You take, don’t you?
“There is another party to-night; the flock is a thinnin’ off agin; and
as I want a cigar most amazin’ly, let’s go to a divan, and some other
time, I’ll tell you what a swoi_ree_ is. But answer me this here
question now, Squire: when this same thing is acted over and over, day
after day, and no variation, from July to etarnity, don’t you think
you’d get a leetle--jist a leetle more tired of it every day, and wish
for natur once more. If you wouldn’t I would, that’s all.”
End of Project Gutenberg’s The Attache, by Thomas Chandler Haliburton