CHAPTER VIII.
Return Home.—A Passage from the Edinburgh Review, apologetical of American Federalism.—Speculation on the Subject.—Little Reward of Democracy in the United States.—The Higher Classes contending for the Purse.—Consequence of this Policy.—Declaration of an American Reviewer with regard to American Poets—their Reward in Europe.—Falling asleep.—The Nightmare.
“The earth has bubbles as the water has,
And these are of them.”
Macbeth, Act i. Scene 3.
On my return home, I found it impossible for me to go to sleep. The events of the day were yet fresh upon my mind, and I required some abstraction to set my thoughts to rest, and efface the disagreeable impressions produced by the conversation of the stranger. Undetermined as to the means of escaping from my own reflections, I searched the books and papers on my writing-table; where, unfortunately for my quiet, I happened to glance my eye on an American republication of the “Edinburgh Review,” and a few scattered numbers of the “Southern Literary Messenger.” I mechanically opened the first, and, as misfortune would have it, found my attention at once riveted by the following passage:—
“Purge the British constitution of its corruptions,” said Adams, “and give to the popular branch equality of representation, and it would be the most perfect institution ever devised by the wit of man.”
“Purge it of its corruptions,” replied Hamilton, “and it would become an impracticable government: as it stands at present, with all its supposed defects, it is the most perfect government that ever existed.”
These remarks, I thought, proceeding from the two saints by which the American Whigs still swear on solemn occasions, prove at least Hamilton to have been the abler statesman, though they are both clearly indicative of the spirit which pervaded some of the leading patriots of the revolution.
Anxious to learn the opinion of a British writer on so interesting a subject, I read on, and was struck with the following good-natured apology for the doctrines and sentiments of the old Federalists.
“The leaning of the Federalists towards monarchy and aristocracy,” says the reviewer, “has probably at all times been a good deal exaggerated by their antagonists. That there is, at the present time, hardly any such feeling, may be easily admitted; and it has probably been wearing out by degrees ever since the revolution, in proportion as men saw that realised without a struggle (!), which many in America, and still more in England, had deemed impossible,—the firm establishment of a republican government over many millions of people, with sufficient power to preserve order at home, and sufficient energy to maintain the relations of peace and war. But, at the first, no reasonable doubt can be entertained of the fondness for monarchical institutions which prevailed among the leading Federalists.”
The perusal of this passage, after a day spent, as I have described, in the city of New York, naturally gave rise to singular reflections. “What is it,” said I to myself, “that the Americans have established without a struggle? And wherein consists the stability of their republican institutions, if it be not in the fact that the people from year to year conquer them anew from the wealthy opposition? And, as regards the predilection for monarchical and aristocratic institutions, who that has observed the higher classes of Americans, at home or abroad, can doubt but that they are at this moment as strong as at the time of Thomas Jefferson?”
The old Federalists have not given up one of their former pretensions,—for there is no converting men in politics by argument; but they are probably satisfied that they must wait for a favourable opportunity of establishing them: they have become more cautious in their actions and expressions, because they now fear the people over whom they once expected to rule. All that I have been able to see in the United States convinces me that the wealthy classes are in no other country as much opposed to the existing government; and that, consequently, no other government can be considered as less permanently established, or more liable to changes, than that of the United States. And this state of danger the soft speeches of the Whigs try to conceal from the people by directing their attention almost exclusively to the financial concerns of the country. Wealth, in other countries,—as, for instance, in England,—acts as the vis inertiæ of the state; talent from above, and the wants of the labouring classes from below, acting as motors. In America the case is the reverse: the wealthy classes wishing for a change which the labouring ones resist; and talent, I am sorry to say, acting a subordinate part, ready to serve the cause of either party that promises to reward its exertions.
This, I am aware, is a sad picture of America, but nevertheless a true one; and I appeal to the history of the last half century, and to the biography of American statesmen, if an impartial one should ever be written, in confirmation of the general correctness of my statement. Exceptions to this rule exist, of course, in every State; but, without any particular predilection in favour of democracy, it is easy to perceive that these mostly occur on the popular side.
Whenever a man of talent or wealth embraces the cause of democracy, he becomes at once the butt of society, and the object of the most unrelenting persecution with all the “respectable” editors, lawyers, bankers, and business men in the large cities. To one democratic paper published in a city, there are generally from ten to twelve, sometimes twenty, Federal or Whig journals; which I take for the best possible proof that talent loves to be rewarded, and in republics, as well as in monarchies, naturally serves those who are best able to reward it.
The democrats have not the means of remunerating the services of their public men in the manner of the Whigs; for, with the exception of a few government offices, with mere pittances for salaries, and the election of senators and members of Congress,—persons “hired at the rate of eight dollars a day,”—all lucrative offices of trust and emolument are in the gift of the opposition, whose patronage, therefore, is a matter of infinitely higher consideration than that of the President and his cabinet.
The little pecuniary reward which the zealots and champions of democracy meet with in the United States, is, indeed, one of the reasons for which they are despised by their aristocratic opponents. “What talents,” argue the latter, “can a man possess who will give up all manner of business, and devote himself exclusively to politics, in order, near the close of his life, to sit down contented with the editorship of a penny paper, a membership of Congress, or an office of from twelve hundred to two thousand dollars a year? Success in life is the best proof of ability; and who that will look upon the respective condition of our political partisans can for one moment be doubtful as to which of them have the best side of the question?”
It is for such and similar reasons that they take every opportunity of railing against the increased patronage of the government; as if the government of the United States were something apart from the people,—a power which the people have to contend with, and against which, therefore, they must direct their concentrated efforts! And a considerable portion of the people are actually duped in that way; they imagine that what is taken away from the government is gained by the community, forgetting that the government is of their own choice, and that the men placed at the head of it rise or fall at their beck. They do not seem to be aware that, as long as the government of the United States remains elective, all executive power vested in it increases but the sovereignty of the people, and that the patronage of the government is essentially their own.
On the subject of patronage the aristocratic press of America is truly eloquent; that being the point for which it most contends, the lever of its patriotism. What, indeed, would become of the flower of statesmen of the present Whig party, if the government of the country, or the people who elect that government, could reward the advocacy of their cause as princely as the “wealthy and enlightened” opposition?—if money were at the command of the public servants, as it is at the disposal of those who manage the great financial concerns of the country? Hence the people are warned against putting the sword and the purse into the same hands. “Let the government have the sword,” say the Whigs, “provided we keep the purse.”
The purse is the point round which the whole system of politics turned ever since the origin of the country. The war for and against a bank did, indeed, agitate the United States before they were quite ushered into existence; and has continued to throw the elements of state into confusion, and to act in a truly corrosive manner on every true source of national grandeur. What effect it had on the progress of literature and the arts is exultingly shown in an article of “The Southern Literary Messenger;” a copy of which, as I observed before, I found by accident on my writing-table.
“The intellectual character of our republic,” says a writer in that clever periodical, in a paper bearing the title “Scriptural Anthology,” “makes rapid advances in improvement. A very few years ago it was seriously argued whether or not the air of America was favourable to the inspirations of genius; now our artists, actors, and poets bid fair to take the lead of their European rivals. If the former fall short in anything,
‘We ought to blame the culture, not the soil.’
It is now conceded on all sides that we have the stamina, or, (to speak in a business-like tone,) the raw material of the first quality. No doubt but we have had Homers in embryo, many a ‘mute inglorious Milton,’ and many a Tasso, ‘cabined, cribbed, and confined’ by oppressive circumstances. But in spite of all those proverbial obstacles, to most of which the American bard[14] is particularly liable, a poetical star sometimes gleams above our horizon. Such instances, it must be confessed, are rare; and in what part of the world is the advent of a good poet not a rare occurrence? With us but little encouragement is offered for any man to devote his time and talents to this branch of literature; and, without exclusive devotion, we are apt to suppose that excellence in any art or science is but seldom attained. But, with respect to encouragement, matters are beginning to take a change for the better;—in our literary world the golden age has been delayed to the last: poetical speculations, albeit of an airy and immaterial nature, now yield something substantial in the way of profit. Poets begin to have ‘a local habitation,’ not in the gaol or garret; and ‘a name,’ not synonymous with starvation. From being objects of cool regard or warm persecution, they have become quite the lions of the day; they visit foreign countries, associate with the nobility, and drink tea (or punch) in the serene presence of the royal family. Even at home, the study (!) of poetry has almost dared to compete with the absorbing calculations of compound interest; and many a clerk is ‘condemned to cross his father’s spirit,’ as Chaucer saith, by penning a stanza ‘when he should make out a bill.’”
This sort of reasoning, in which I am half inclined to believe the author was serious, together with the fact that the principal poets of America are really obliged to seek “a local habitation and a name” in Europe, may be considered as the best proof of the all-absorbing influence of the purse;—an influence which already acts restrictively on genius and talent of the highest order, and will, if it be not counteracted by a more generous system of legislation, and a different spirit diffused among the people, constantly absorb the main sources of thought and action, which give to every nation its individual life and character.
But I trust that the good sense of the people, the intelligence pervading the masses, and, above all, the high degree of morality and virtue which distinguishes the American above all other nations in the world, will be proof against the temptations of a handful of political sceptics; and that the country, blessed with Nature’s richest gifts, and selected by Providence for the noblest experiment tried by man, will fulfil its mission,—which is not only the civilization of a new world, but the practical establishment of principles which heretofore have only had an ideal existence.
Thus cogitating, I pulled my night-cap over my head, put out the candle, and fell fast asleep. Agitated as I had been during the whole day, my sleep could not remain undisturbed by dreams. I imagined myself somewhere near the Hudson or the Delaware, in the midst of a large, flourishing city, besieged, stormed, and finally carried by a victorious Western army, whose gallant leader dictated laws written in blood to the affrighted populace. A deputation of “leading citizens,” who had come to offer their riches as a ransom for their lives, he thus apostrophized in a stern and solemn voice:—“Fools that ye were to wish for artificial distinctions! Know that the origin of every aristocracy is the sword, not the purse, or the Jews would long ago have become the masters of the world! You have claimed the purse for yourself, and now the sword shall take it!”
END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.
LONDON:
PRINTED BY SAMUEL BENTLEY,
Bangor House, Shoe Lane.