Part 7

Some very false notions exist in America, on the subject of the liberty of the press. We give it by far too much latitude, perhaps not so much in the law itself, as by opinion and in the construction of the law. The leaning is in favour of publication; firstly, because man is inherently selfish, and he cares little what private wrongs are committed in feeding the morbid appetites of the majority; and, secondly, by confounding a remedy with diet. When power is to be overturned, the press becomes a sure engine, and its abuses may be tolerated, in order to secure the inestimable advantages of liberty; but liberty attained, it should not be forgotten, that while arsenic may cure a disease, taken as daily food it is certain death. Every honest man appears to admit that the press, in America, is fast getting to be intolerable. In escaping from the tyranny of foreign aristocrats, we have created in our bosom a tyranny of a character so unsupportable, that a change of some sort is getting to be indispensable to peace. Truth appears to be no longer expected. Nor is this all. An evident dishonesty of sentiment pervades the public itself, which is beginning to regard acts of private delinquency with a dangerous indifference; and acts, too, that are inseparably connected with the character, security, and a right administration of the state; political jockeyship being now regarded very much as jockeyship of another order is notoriously esteemed by those who engage in it. In this respect, England has the advantage of us, for here the arts of politics are exercised with greater _ménagement_, being confined to the few; whereas, in America, acting on the public, they require public demoralization to be tolerated.

In ferocity and brutality I think the English press, under high excitement, much worse than our own; in general tone and manliness, greatly its superior. In both cases the better part of the community is exposed to the rudest assaults from men who belong to the worst. In England, the public is generally spared the impertinence of personal, editorial controversies, a failing of rusticity, and the press is but little used for the purposes of individual malice; while in America, it is a machine, half the time, which, under the pretence of serving the public, in addition to pecuniary profit, is made to serve the ambition, or to gratify the antipathies, of the editor, who obtains, through its use, an importance and power he could, probably, never obtain in any other manner. This distinction is a consequence of presses being stock-property in England, which is not owned by the editors; while in America, the man who writes is master of the limited establishment. It is his machine of personal advancement.

There is one point connected with this subject, on which we admit a degradation unknown to all other countries. Every community is obliged to submit to the existence of its own impurities, but we imbibe those which are generated in the most factitious and high-wrought, and, consequently, the most corrupt state of society, in christendom. This is another of the evils arising from a want of pride and national character, the people which is thrown into convulsions by the worthless strictures of any foreign traveller, on their elegance and tastes, permitting the very putridity of foreign corruption to fester in and pollute its bosom!

LETTER XX.

TO JAMES STEVENSON, ESQ., ALBANY, N. Y.

All this time, the business of eating and drinking goes on. There is, indeed, too much of it for me; the late hours, and the small, heated, and crowded rooms of London, compelling me to decline a good deal more than half the civilities that are offered. One thing has struck me, as at least odd. Coming, as I did, into this country, without letters, (those sent by Mr. Spenser, excepted,) I had no right to complain, certainly, had I been permitted to go away entirely without a visit; but I have been noticed by more than I had the smallest right to expect; and yet, among all those who have knocked at my door, I am by no means certain there is a single tory! I except the case of Sir Walter Scott, for we were previously acquainted. As we met first in society, the attention was, perhaps, necessary on his part, though I am far from supposing he would have thought himself bound to cut me because I am an American, although I have some reason for thinking that even he does not view us with very friendly eyes.[6] I do not know the political opinions of Mr. Sotheby, though he is evidently too mild a man to feel strong antipathies on this account; but, I believe, these two excepted, not only every man who has visited me, or asked me to his house, and nearly every man whom I have met at dinners and breakfasts, has been a whig! Is this accident, or is it really the result of feeling?

I have dined in the last month, among other places, twice at Lansdowne-house, and once with Lady ——, who lives in good style here, and keeps a better sort of table, though a widow. Her house was very much like all the second class houses here, with a dining-room below, and the drawing-rooms on the first floor, being a little larger than a second class American town residence!

At table, we had two or three members of the lower house, a Frenchman, and myself. The conversation turned, after the mistress of the house had retired, on the French revolution, which was discussed, with all the usual allusions to national character, ferocity, levity, and jacobinism, just as cooly as if a Frenchman did not make one of the company. The poor fellow sat on thorns the whole time, keenly alive to the awkwardness of his situation, and looking hard at me, the only one who did not join in the discourse, and the only one who appeared to remember his existence.

This indifference to the feelings of others, is a dark spot on the national manners of England. The only way to put it down, is to become belligerent yourself, by introducing pauperism, radicalism, Ireland, the Indies, or some other sore point. Like all who make butts of others, they do not manifest the proper forbearance, when the tables are turned. Of this, I have had abundance of proof, in my own experience. Sometimes, these remarks are absolutely rude, and personally offensive, as a disregard of one’s national character, is a disrespect to his principles, but as personal quarrels on such grounds, are to be avoided, I have uniformly retorted in kind, if there was the smallest opening for such retaliation. Sometimes, the remarks are the result of kind feelings, and a misapprehension of facts, when I have always endeavoured to set the matter right. All foreigners complain of the English, in this respect; though so far as my little experience goes, I think, in general, the very highest classes do not merit the opprobrium they receive on this account, although extraordinary things of the sort are told of even them. Down as low in the social scale, as the third or fourth sets, the commercial classes in particular, the failing amounts almost to intolerance.

We, that is to say, the men, were still at Lady ——’s table, when the raps at the front door, announced evening company. It is necessary to understand the eloquence of a London knocker, to appreciate the melody that followed. Two or three messages were sent to the guest most at home, to summon us to the drawing-room, but the French revolution was in the way. At length, we got rid of the bloody tragedy, and mounting to the first floor, found a room already full of company.

I had the honour of being introduced to Lady ——, who came nearer to a dandy in petticoats in her manner, than any woman I ever met with. I can only liken her apparent affectations of speech, to those one sometimes hears on the stage; a lisping, drawling superciliousness, that may be understood, but cannot be described. She is the only instance I have yet met with, of an English woman of rank, who had not an unpretending, simple manner of utterance, for most of them speak the language, not only well, but with a quiet dignity, that is very agreeable. Indeed, I should say, the women of this country, as a rule, speak with great precision and beauty, though they often appear cold and repulsive.

A countrywoman of ours, at ——, was always talking of this Lady ——. Of course, I supposed they were intimate, the official characters of their husband’s bringing them necessarily much together. I alluded, therefore, to Mrs. ——, as one of her acquaintances. “——” “——,” she repeated, with that exquisite lisp of hers, “I do not think I know them.” I wish I could impart to paper, the consummate affectation of her manner, as she said this, for it was quite as admirable in its way, as the coolness with which she denied an acquaintance, that I was certain, in the nature of things, she could not readily have forgotten. I was soon tired of this, and stole away at the first opportunity.

There was at table to-day, Mr. —— ——, the —— —— ——. He is a distinguished commoner, a member of parliament, and a rich landholder. I was surprised to find, this person speaking very much in the worst _drawing-room_ manner, of our New England dialect. I do not mean, that he said “dooze” and “ben,” and “nawthin,” for his pronunciation was not amiss, but he had the mean intonation, and sing-song utterance, that we so well understand in America. I should have pronounced him one of us, in a minute, had I not known who he was. This is the second instance of the kind, I have met with here. _Au reste_, he was a benevolent, sensible, modest man, and, as I thought, without prejudice against America. I love such Englishmen.

I have breakfasted, lately, with Sir James Macintosh, Mr. Sharp, Mr. —— ——; and two or three others. At the house of the first, I met Mr. Winn, a prominent whig; and at the latter’s, we were the host, Lord S——, Sir —— ——, and myself. Mr. Rogers was also present, on most of these occasions. At Mr. Sharp’s, were Lord ——, a young tory for a novelty, and Lord ——, a lad, who is the heir of Lord L——. I had seen the former in Paris.

You will be amused with one of my discoveries. I was offered an egg, with the recommendation, that it was “a country laid egg.” I had thought myself, until that moment, deeply versed in the mystery of cooking and eating eggs, whether _à la coq_, or, in _omelettes_. Never before, had I heard, that an egg laid in the country, was better than one laid in a town! I was once told, (it was when a boy,) that the fashion in cooking eggs, like every thing else, was running from one extreme to the other, provincial ignorance having been suddenly enlightened, and from boiling them as hard as bullets, we had exaggerated the new mode by barely warming them through. An egg should be cooked, _à la coq_, just enough to allow the centre of the yolk to run while warm, and to become hard when cold. It should always be eaten from the shell, both because it is better taken in that way, and because it is not gentlemanly to be making messes, and more especially unsightly messes, at tables The wine glass or egg-glass, is an abomination, and altogether a most vulgar substitute for the egg-cup, and one quite unfit to be seen any where but in a steamboat, or a tavern frequented by _gulpers_. All men accustomed to polite life will agree to this, but how many know the difference between a “town-laid” and “a country-laid egg?” You see by these little incidents how far a new country may be from an advanced state of civilization, notwithstanding it possesses gallowses.

The conversation at Mr. L——’s, whom I had known in America, turned on the begging mission of Bishop Chase of Ohio. One of the gentlemen gave an account of this prelate’s church statistics that startled me a little. The population of the state was set down at pretty near a million, and the clergy at less than a dozen! I ventured to say that this must be a mistake, unless clergymen of the Protestant Episcopal Church were exclusively meant. There is always a period in the first settlement of a region where there is a deficiency in the spiritual ministrations, but the accounts should not go forth unaccompanied by the explanations, for they tend to mislead. The statements relative to drunkenness, got up for effect by the Temperance Societies at home, are giving us an undeserved reputation for that vice, of which I feel convinced we have, relatively, _among the native population_, as little as any other nation I have visited, and much less than most of them. I feel persuaded there is a party in America that wishes to see these misstatements propagated, in order to bring free institutions into disrepute, a party that embraces a large portion of the trading foreigners, and verily they achieve their object, for democracy and drunkenness are closely associated in the minds of millions of the well-intentioned in this hemisphere. If free principles do prevail, it will be under the providence of God, and through their own energies; for those who spout loudest in their praise at home, and even carry out their doctrines to untenable extremes, take the least heed of any thing that does not immediately affect their own personal interests, and as for the government it actually throws its weight into the hostile scale on this side of the Atlantic, opposing its own friends and rewarding its enemies. This is a singular state of things, but such is the result not only of my own observations, but of those of various intelligent countrymen of ours, who have seen much more of Europe than myself. Were I an office seeker, I would at once resort to the meannesses that obtain for an American the outward favours of the aristocracies of Europe, whatever may be their secret opinions, as the most certain method of being deemed worthy of the confidence of the government at Washington, and of obtaining a reputation in the circles at home.

I have lately had an extraordinary proof of what I now tell you. At one of the dinner’s at Lansdowne-house, Mr. Brougham was present. He came late, and took his seat at the table opposite to the end at which I sat. Of course we had no conversation during dinner. As we were retiring to the drawing-room, Lord Lansdowne did me the favour to present me to this distinguished man. The introduction took place at the dining-room door, and we walked across an ante-chamber together, when the usual compliments and civilities passed. We had no sooner reached the ladies and made our bows, than Mr. Brougham turned to me, and abruptly demanded—“What is the reason so many of your people desert the distinctive principles of your government, when they come to Europe?”

I have been thus particular in relating the circumstances under which this extraordinary question was put, for I think they prove what was uppermost in the mind of Mr. Brougham, and the strong impression that had been left by the circumstance to which he alluded. It is quite evident that this impression must have been unfavourable either to the institutions, or to the candour of the national character.

I hoped the fact was not so. “My experience would say it is,” was the answer. “To what class of men do you allude, in particular, Mr. Brougham?” “To your foreign ministers, especially,” he said. I thought this very extraordinary, and said as much, and, as something might depend on the character of the individual, I begged him to name one of those who left this impression behind him. He did, mentioning, without reserve, a distinguished minister of the republic, who is now dead. To all this, I could only say, that I supposed a mistaken desire to make themselves agreeable must have been at the bottom of such a course; and here the conversation dropped, by mutual consent.

I do not know whether this conversation will strike you as it struck me, for I confess it would seem that we have some “country laid” ministers, or our ministers have felt confident of having had very “country laid” constituents.

Mr. Brougham was desirous of knowing how we contrive to print books so cheaply, as he had understood we did, labour being so dear. He had been told that Scott’s novels were sold for a dollar a copy. The secret of this fact, is to be found in the meanness of execution, the extent and the rapidity of the demand, and most of all, in the circumstance, that the author is paid nothing. A reprint, moreover, is not made from a manuscript, and has no alterations, and few corrections. In addition to all this, the press correction of books, is immeasurably more accurate and laboured in England, than in America. Men of education are employed here, as proof readers, and, perhaps, most of the popular authors of England, have very little knowledge of the grammar of their own language. All these people must be paid, and the money is charged against the work.

A novel, of no great merit, will bring its author four or five hundred pounds in England, especially if it be at all supposed to bring the reader in contact with the feelings and sentiments of the “nobility and gentry.” So profound is the deference of those who live in shadow, for those who are beneath the sun’s rays, in this country, that the price of a lord’s pen, is considerably higher, than that of a commoner’s! I dare say, it will be a new idea to you, to measure literary merit by a pedigree, but it is a mode much practised here. A lady of condition, lately offered a novel to a fashionable publisher, and the answer was, “two hundred if anonymous, and five hundred with the name of the author;” the latter, you will understand, having no other value than that of rank, the book being a first effort. An application was made to me, to contribute to an annual, and, by way of inducement, I was shown a list of those who had engaged to write for it, among whom, were six or eight lords. Curious to know, how far these people submitted to vulgar considerations, I put the question, and was given to understand, that they were not only paid as writers, but paid as lords. The moon may not be made of green cheese, but rely on it, could we get near enough to discover its substance, it would turn out essentially different from any thing we imagine.

There was a boy, the heir of a very high title, at one of my late breakfasts. He went away the first, to go to school, I fancy, and the master of the house made the mistake of leaving us, while he went to the ante-chamber, to see the lad off. When he returned, he came up to me, with a momentous manner, and muttered, “three earldom’s in the family!” I was compelled to compare this, with the total absence of fuss about boys and girls of rank on the continent of Europe. Just before we left Paris, at a child’s ball, a little girl, who was selected to dance with one of the princes, was told by her mother, to say, “monseigneur,” in speaking to her partner. After they had got a little warmed with the exercise, the pretty little thing turned round to the boy and said—“why am I to call you ‘_monseigneur_,’ are you a bishop?” “_Je n’en sais rien, moi_,” was the answer. There is young ——, he is the heir of vast estates, of palaces without number, and of a collection of pictures and statuary alone, that would constitute a large fortune. There are five or six principalities in the family, and when he is married, he is to take one of these titles, until he succeeds to the ancient and historical distinctive appellation of his race. But, at present, no one calls him by any thing but his Christian name, although nearly a man!

It appears to me, that the nobles of this country, themselves, make very little parade of their claims, but that the fuss comes principally from those who deem it an honour to be their associates. Nothing more deranges the philosophy of one of the true devotees of rank here, than to find that others do not worship the idol with the same zeal as himself.

LETTER XXI.

TO RICHARD COOPER, ESQUIRE, COOPERSTOWN.

Perhaps, I ought not to confess the weakness, but we have actually been to see the tower. Luckily, the “lions” have been sold, so we escaped the most vulgar part of the exhibition.

The tower proper, is a square building, with four turrets, or rather towers at the angles, and is by no means large, though it is said to be as ancient as the conquest. The Romans are thought to have had a fortress, at, or near, its site. In addition to this building, however, there is a little dingy town around it, principally built of bricks, and surrounded by a ditch and walls. The latter have regular bastions, and the former is wide, deep, and wet, feeling the influence of the tides of the river, for the whole stand immediately on its banks.

This place has been so often described, that I shall say little beyond our general impressions. It struck us as much less imposing than Vincennes, though venerable by time and associations. The tower itself will not compare with the donjon of Vincennes, its French counterpart, and the adjuncts, are equally below those of the Tower of Paris.

The collection of armour disappointed us greatly, being altogether less interesting, than the fine specimens of the _musée de l’artillerie_, near the church of St. Thomas d’Aquin; a museum of whose existence nine Frenchmen in ten seem to be profoundly ignorant, while it is one of the most curious things in Europe. Unfortunately, some musty antiquarian has lately robbed the armour of the tower, of all claims to be considered genuine, or as appertaining to the persons of the great men, on whose effigies it is displayed, and therein he has annihilated most of its interest. “Where ignorance is bliss, ’tis folly to be wise.” I wish, with all my heart, the man had not been half so learned, for, like a novel by Scott, or a play by Shakspeare, in this case the fiction was probably more interesting, than the reality. We ought not to quarrel with truth, however, since there is little danger of our getting too much of it.