Part 8

Of course, we looked at the regalia, but with little interest, for it is not handsome, and I suspect most of the stones are false. The precaution is used, of showing it by the light of a lamp. A crown, notwithstanding, is a famous sight for the English multitude. I would rather take, at random, one of the cases of precious articles, in the Louvre, or at the _Jardins des Plantes_, than the imperial crown of Great Britain. What between the Stuarts, and some of the later princes, your _bonâ fide_ jewels must have been made of steel to withstand their rapacity. Depend on it, had the crown been worth any thing, James II. would have looked to it, although he ran away from his kingdom.

There are some curious old implements of war, here; but, by no means as many, or as rare, as in the collection at Paris. They showed us the axe with which Anna Boleyn was beheaded, and, sure enough, it was a weapon to make quick work of a “little neck.” I was most struck with a sword or two, that I could not hold at arm’s length, and which would really seem to demonstrate, that as our minds expand, our bodies shrink. Will the day ever come when matter shall disappear altogether, to give place to the ethereal essence of the spirit? The sight of these swords, and of that of some of the armour, is the first position proved, in demonstrating the existence of giants, and where are they to-day?

I went to dine with —— ——, on our return. This gentleman had been civil enough to send me two or three invitations, and I now went a little out of my way to manifest a sense of his persevering politeness. I was the first there; but a large party came pouring in immediately after, not a soul of whom had I ever seen before. The old Earl of ——, the Earl of ——, the son of the chief of the Irish volunteers, and his wife, Lord ——, Sir —— ——, and many others were announced, in quick succession. Finding it awkward to stand in a crowd with no one to speak to, I looked at the pictures, of which the house was full. While engaged in this way, a young man came up and spoke to me. It was civil in him, for it appeared to me that he saw I was a stranger; the only stranger in the party, and wished to be polite accordingly. We conversed a few minutes, at a window, that was a little removed from the rest of the company.

They have become punctual at London, and I do not think it was fifteen minutes from the time I entered, before dinner was announced. Each of the men took a lady, for there happened to be pretty nearly a tie, and disappeared, leaving my companion and myself standing where we were, by the window. He seemed uneasy, and I thought the movement, a rare specimen of extreme delicacy of deportment. The only stranger, and he old enough to be the father of some of the young men who had dashed ahead of him, was left standing in the drawing-room, as if he were a part of the furniture! I looked hard at my companion, to see if he had the family physiognomy, but he had not, and then I ventured to observe, “that if we were to dine with the rest of them, it might not be amiss to follow.”

As we are endeavouring to trace national manners, I will relate an anecdote that occurred just before I left Paris. Madame de —— invited G—— to a great dinner, where he was the only stranger, with the exception of an unexpected guest. That person happened to be Count Capo d’Istrias, the president elect of Greece. Just before dinner was announced, G—— removed to a little distance from the lady of the house, for his invitation had been so worded as to give him reason to think that the entertainment was a compliment to himself, and he could not for an instant dream of preferring claims in competition with M. Capo d’Istrias. Madame de —— took the arm of the president elect, and walking towards him, she did him the favour to present him to Mad. de Talleyrand, who was of the party, and whom he had the honour of leading to the dinner table. These are trifles, but they are just the trifles that mark the difference between the social tact of London, and that of Paris.

I could not divest myself of the idea, that had I been any thing but an American, this cutting neglect would not have occurred; and when I found that precisely the lowest seat at the table was left for me, I endeavoured to recall that passage in Holy Writ, where one is directed to take the lowest place at a feast, as a course good for the soul. Although we have no established religion in America, I will be bold enough to say, that no one else, that day, bethought him of this text.

My companion, after all, proved to be a connexion of the family, for the seat, at the foot of the table, had been left for him. The master of the house sat at the other end, and the mistress in the centre, according to the French mode; so you will perceive I was literally _in extremis_, at this banquet. So much care having been taken of myself, I felt curious to see in what manner the others had been provided for. A swarthy, dark-haired common-looking young man sat on the right of the mistress of the house, while old Lord ——, who was a full general in the army, occupied a more humble situation. This young man was also a soldier, for I heard him talking of a campaign he had made, but, by his years, he could not have been more than a colonel, at most, if as high in the army. Of course he must have been of a political or social rank higher than either of the two earls, and this, in England, would give him precedence of his own father! I believe he was the Duke of ——.

A handsome, well-mannered young man sat on my left. Indeed, our end of the table was pretty much occupied by the boys, and I began to apprehend a roasting on account of a few gray hairs that time is scattering around my temples. They were well-behaved lads, however; I suppose, on account of their being in parliament, as I found, by the conversation, was the case with the whole of them. They had all been rowing on the Thames, that morning, and as I had urged the oar myself, in my time, we had at least something to talk about.

The black-haired dignitary gave an account of the death of some officer, whom he had seen shot in battle. He had himself found the body, after the affair; and, he added, “it had been stripped by the French soldiers.”—“Why not by our own?” put in my young neighbour, rather pithily. “Because I do not think any of ours had been near it,” was the answer; but it sounded like an _arrière pensée_.

It appeared well on the part of my neighbour, to suggest the doubt, and I fell into discourse with him. He had discovered that I was an American, by a remark of my right-hand companion, who knew the fact, and he soon began to speak of the difference in language between the English and Americans. He told me he had just come from Paris, and that, while strolling in the Palais Royal, he had been struck with the pronunciation of three men, who were walking before him. Their dialect was provincial, and he had been at a loss to discover from what part of England they had come, when he ascertained, by their discourse, they were Americans. I told him we had social _castes_ in America, as in England, though they were less strongly marked than common; and that men, of course, betrayed their associations in nothing sooner than in their modes of speech. He admitted the justice of this distinction; but I question if he had ever before thought of America, except as a jumble of a whole people in one _omnium gatherum_. He made a remark that I felt to be just, and one could wish it might be made in the ears of all those who concoct the president’s and governors’ messages, of the critics, and of the writers of the whole nation. He said he was struck with the manner in which we used the word “our.” We did not say “America,” but “_our_ country,” “_our_ people,” “_our_ laws,” “_our_ this,” “_our_ that,” “_our_ t’other.” I had been disagreeably impressed, myself, with the same peculiarity, for it is clearly bad, since “_the_ country,” “_the_ laws,” “_the_ institutions,” could mean no other than those of the country in discussion, and would be in better taste. I did not admit this, however, for I had been put at the foot of the table, on account of that country, and one never receives scurvy treatment even for a defect or a misfortune that cannot be helped, that he does not begin to defend it. I told my young critic that it was all for want of a name, the term “United States” being too long, and that the institutions favoured the notion of a right of property in every thing national. He acquiesced in the reasons, which no doubt are the true ones, but he did not appear the more to admire the taste; an opinion that, between ourselves, he entertains in common with some others.

This young man amused me with the entire coolness with which he complimented me on my English being as good as usual. These people are so accustomed to think of us as inferiors, that the bad taste of telling a man in society, “really, now, I do not see but you know how to speak, or to use a fork, or to drink your wine, or to go through the manual of polite life, quite as well as one of us,” never appears to strike them. One gets a good many of these oblique compliments, here. My young neighbour was modest, and sensible, but he made this obvious blunder.

My brother statue began to speak of America, and his right-hand neighbours listened a little too superciliously for men who had so unceremoniously exalted themselves, and I longed for an opportunity to let them understand whereabouts America lay, and the sort of stuff of which she was made. Chance favoured me, for my neighbour happened to express his apprehensions that the difficulties of Europe might bring about a war, to which America would become a party. “I trembled” he said, “the other day, when the Navarino affair took place, for a war would compel us to impress; and then America _might_ think fit to resent it.” I told him that impressment, continued a week, out of American vessels, would undeniably produce a war. “Why cannot the two governments amicably settle the matter, by admitting a mutual, search in each other’s ships?” “Such a privilege would be nominal as respects us, as we could not profit by it; the institutions would forbid impressment.” “It is a thousand pities the question cannot be settled.” “We hold it to be settled, already, by the law of nations and common sense. The right to impress is not an international but a municipal right, and, of course, can be exercised legally only within the jurisdiction of the nation using it. England has no more claim to follow her seamen into our territory, than to follow her criminals. If we were to send constables to London to arrest thieves, or on board ships on the high seas, we should soon hear of it. Jurisdictions cannot conflict, in this manner, or there is an end of the immunities of national character.” “What is then to be done?” “You ask us to concede a favour, and a high favour, that of subjecting the citizen to impositions and trouble for your sole benefit. Now, I think a scheme can be suggested by which the matter may be disposed of.” By this time, every ear was pricked up, and attentive, I proceeded—“As for permitting English officers to be the judges of the matter, it is out of the question. We never can concede, and never ought to concede that point. But give us a _quid pro quo_ and we may be induced to pass laws that shall purge our shipping, as near as may be, of your seamen.” “What could we offer?” “There is the island of Bermuda; you hold it, solely, as a hostile port to be used against us; I think for the peaceable possession of that island, our government would make some sacrifice, and”—here I paused a moment, between a reluctance to hurt my brother statue’s _amour propre_, and the recollection of my own attitude on the pedestal, the latter prevailing—“and, by way of inducement to make the arrangement you ought to remember that twenty years hence, England will not be able to hold it.”[7]

The dose worked particularly well. Head went to head, until the idea passed up the table, quite beyond the salt. I heard Lord E—— exclaim “it is too bad!” I did not think it half as bad, however, as putting a foot on the neck of a stranger, and, moreover, it was true.

The effect of the hint, was quickly apparent, for we were no sooner in the drawing-room than I was approached by half a dozen lords, and I dare say if the dinner were to be gone over again, the bearings and distance from the salt would have been materially altered. I shook the dust off my feet, in quitting that house.

I believe I have not told you an adventure at another house. This was at a dinner given by a merchant; a man of the city, but who does not live in the city, for the _cits_ are now fairly rooted in the west end. When dinner was announced the master of the house formally bowed to me, and mentioned my name. This is an invitation, all over the world, to take the _pas_. I advanced accordingly, and offered my arm to the lady; but she very cooly refused it, presenting me to a Mrs. Somebody who sat by her, and took the arm[8] of some one else. As this person certainly had no title, and was an Englishman, and much younger than myself, I was at a loss to discover his claims. It would have been better had the good man and his wife understood each other, previously, for the effect was to make me appear _tant soit peu_ ridiculous.

LETTER XXII.

TO JACOB SUTHERLAND, ESQUIRE.

I have had a singular conversation with a foreigner. This person is a cosmopolite, a —— by birth, who has lived much in England and America, and our discourse had reference to the opinions and expectations that prevail here concerning our own national character and national destiny. As my companion had no doubts as to the manner in which his communication would be received, he spoke without reserve.

He commenced by saying that a very general impression existed in England that the man of America was not equally gifted, in mind, with the man of Europe. This is merely the old opinion continued to our own times, and I was fully aware of its existence. Captain Hall, when he says that there is _no want of natural ability_ in the American people, but that their deficiencies proceed from defective educations, is merely addressing his remark to this prejudice. Almost every English traveller, who has written of the republic, betrays the existence of the same notion, in some way or other. But it is so easy for an American, who is not completely blinded by national vanity, to ascertain these truths, by concealing his origin, while travelling in the stage-coaches, that, to me, it is matter of surprise any one who has visited England should be ignorant of them.

Almost every American, whose name reaches this country, in consequence of its being connected with any thing that is thought creditable, is incontinently claimed as an expatriated European. You can have no notion of the extent to which this prejudice is carried. I do assure you, that I have myself heard a respectable man, here, affirm that, in one of the counties of England, he had been a school-fellow of Washington, before the latter emigrated! Mr. Irving figures in biographical notices here, as a native of Devonshire, and even my own humble claims have not been overlooked, as by a sketch of a pretended life, which now lies on my table, my origin is traced to the Isle of Man, and in an elaborated sort of Blue Book, which contains a list of English writers, I find myself enrolled among men, who have far more reason to be ashamed of me, than I have to be ashamed of them. I have been asked quite lately, if Macdonough were not an Irishman, and I believe, my affirmation that poor Allen, who was killed in the Argus, was an American, was absolutely discredited. I met with an assertion, some time since, in one of the journals here, that “Commodore Rodgers was a Scotch baker, of the name of Gray!” The periodical publications of the day, are filled with spurious histories of most of our distinguished men, during the revolution, replete with the usual scurrility and untruths; and even the last war, brought with it, the same touches of amiable veracity.

The national prejudices of England, are freely commented on, by all other people. Prejudice, however, belongs to man, rather than to communities, and I am inclined to think France has almost as many as this country, though they are of a different quality, and are infinitely better cloaked. In making this comparison, I always except the subject of America, for that is a point on which an Englishman usually ceases altogether, to be either just, or discerning.

One of the traits which the English attribute to us, is a greater disposition than common to lie. I have no hesitation in saying, that this nation deems our own, addicted to this vice, altogether out of the ordinary way. On this point, there can be no mistake, for Captain Hall, Mr. De Roos, and several other recent writers, even by exonerating us from the charge, betray its existence; but we have high clerical authority for it, that will settle the matter. I quote Bishop Heber; he is speaking of the American sailors. “They are not so grievously addicted to lying, as they were once said to be. _They have less animosity against the English than formerly, and their character seems to have recovered its natural English tone._” Dr. Heber might have been puzzled to explain, in what the _natural_ English character differs from any other, on principles that would harmonize with the thirty-nine articles, of which, I believe, we possess a tolerably accurate copy, in our own church. But, putting orthodoxy out of the question, and not descending to a too rigid construction of words, how was this notion of the American people, and especially of their seamen, obtained? I think, I can explain it.

The English were accustomed to consider themselves the most skilful mariners of the earth. When their American competitors boasted of their own ships, that they could outsail those of England, and that their general qualities were better, verifying all by alleged facts, the latter, as a matter of course, were deemed lies. Were a hundred English ship-masters to assert to-day, that their vessels could outsail ours, the American seamen would have no more charity, but, at once, set them down as dealers in fiction. During the long wars, our shipping was the prey of the belligerents, the English, as the most numerous, doing it the most harm; vexing commerce, by impressing the seamen, and as often carrying off the native, as their own subjects. These acts created a bitter feeling, and the American government, influenced by a miserable penny-saving policy, which cost more in the end, than a prompt resistance, almost abandoned the seamen to themselves; writing long diplomatic notes, instead of arming. I know, by personal observation, that many of our ship-masters of that day, boasted they had mislead English squadrons and cruizers, by false information, for it was the only means they had, of avenging themselves.

Conversing with Mr. ——, he informed me that, for some time, an acquaintance of ours, a captain in the British navy, was supposed to have been killed in the attack on Fort Bowyer. On my asking how the information had been obtained, he quite unconsciously answered—“Oh! it was only the report of an American captain.” I laughed at him, for this confession, and he frankly admitted an opinion prevailed in England, that the American ship-masters were greater liars than usual.

Our facts are astounding, and, when related, appear marvellous to foreigners. _Au reste_, the Americans, more particularly those of New England, are a gossipping people, and though the gossip may not be a liar, he necessarily circulates much untruth. In this manner, the American lies with his tongue, while the rest of the world lie only in their thoughts. But lying is one of the commonest vices of humanity.