“There might have been another reason for the aristocratic presumption of the American editor,” observed the physician. “The American may have kept a valet, while his French colleague was probably satisfied with the service of the garçon of his hotel. A thing of this sort separates an American man of letters from an European as effectually as if the ocean rolled its waves between them.”
“That must be the case,” resumed my friend; “for, if literary reputation were the sole basis of their respective ranks, I think our American editors would be obliged to give in.”
“And yet they pretend to pity the political ignorance of the French, and even the English; forgetting that those nations have two thousand years’ history on their backs, which must necessarily form the precedent to the great majority of their conclusions.”
“But have you not seen the famous Mr. Thistle?” demanded my friend. “I understand he keeps the crack house in Paris.”
“He certainly does,” replied the physician; “and there is at least something in his manner of entertaining people which appears to be frank and generous, though a great many of our first society think him excessively vulgar for not inviting them. The fact is, he can command better company in Paris than that of his own countrymen; and, under these circumstances, he is not to be censured for excluding those who otherwise would have excluded him. On the whole, I am rather glad that a character like his should be somewhere established in Europe; it is a living parody of the leading features of our aristocracy, illustrative of the true principle on which our ‘first people’ claim equality with the noblesse of Europe, and the conditions on which the latter are willing to admit it. Mr. Thistle, moreover, has quite a patrician bearing, which is truly burlesque when compared to the less than ordinary carriage of those who will have nothing to do with him, because they never associated with him in his own country.”
“And what does Mr. Thistle care for the slander-hurling tongues of his countrymen?—he whose mansion has been repeatedly graced by the presence of princes of the blood? And where is the fashionable American who, in spite of his fox-like protestations to the contrary, would not be glad to have the entrée of a house, the réunion of the best and most ancient society of Paris?”
“Mr. Thistle is not merely admitted into the best society, he is actually one of them; though the preliminary steps of his promotion are kept as secret as those of the candidates for admission into the oldest fraternity on earth, and perhaps somewhat humiliating, as are said to be the first introductions to that honourable body. One little fact, however, could not entirely be concealed from the world; which is this, that when the élite of the faubourg St. Germain, who first took him by the hand, put it to the vote what persons should be admitted to his parties, the master of the house himself was excluded.
“The most sensible American I met in Paris,” continued the physician, “was Mr. ***, a tailor from Boston; and the most insipid of my countrymen were those for whom he made the uniforms for presentation at court. These, in the absence of any fixed rule, (I have no doubt that, in case of Mr. Van Buren’s being ousted, a bill will be introduced into Congress prescribing the uniforms to be worn by American citizens abroad,) were altogether left to the fancy of the artist, who never failed to recommend to every inexperienced Yankee courtier to put a star on his coat, in opposition to the eagle worn by the servants of the American minister. In this manner, he assured his patrons, they would neither risk being taken for servants, nor would they have to be ashamed of wearing plain coats by the side of persons all decorated with ribbons. Those who held a high rank in the militia he always advised to be presented in the uniform of colonel, that being the lowest title a respectable American ought ever to assume in Europe; and a military dress being the best excuse for the natural brusquerie of men fresh taken from business. In this manner the shrewd Yankee tailor not only acquires a fortune, but also sees his reputation travel, with his coats, from shore to shore; there being Americans that will never cross the British Channel without a suit of military clothes, in case they should be invited to dine or breakfast with a nobleman.
“But I do not wish to dwell any longer on the absurdities of our people abroad, for we are in this respect just like the English; our true character being only to be found at home, where it developes itself under the immediate influence of our institutions. Nothing, therefore, could be more preposterous than to judge us by the specimens we send abroad; and it was a wise remark of Thomas Jefferson, though, I believe, sufficiently misunderstood by his countrymen, that an American who has lived above seven years in Europe is a stranger to his own country, and no longer fit for any office of responsibility, even if he should have been employed during all that time as a diplomatic agent of his government.”
“Thomas Jefferson,” observed my friend, “has said a number of clever things, and warned us against a great many mistakes into which we have since fallen. He particularly dreaded the influence of British example on our public and private character; and the result has proved that he was not mistaken.”