There is not one out of a thousand educated Americans, there is not one honest newspaper, that does not demand the immediate passing of the Copyright Bill; yet Congress turns a deaf ear to the wishes of the people with perfect impunity. This is one example among a hundred.
During four years the President has almost carte blanche. He can declare war and stop legislation. Mr. Glover Cleveland has already vetoed 120 bills. An authoritative democracy like this seems to present all the dangers of an absolute monarchy, without possessing, as a compensation, the advantages of fixity.
The position of this President is very curious. Imagine to yourself a king who, after four years' service, disappears into the obscurity of private life, is no more heard of than a late Lord Mayor unless he has been assassinated, and whose very features are forgotten, unless they have been perpetuated upon dollar bills and postage stamps.
The Presidential election, which takes place every fourth year, is the most feverish phase of the feverish American life. The whole nation becomes delirious. Several months before the day fixed, every mind is preoccupied with but one thing, the election. The newspapers are full of it; conversation has no other subject. Passions are let loose; intrigues are on foot; the most odious calumnies are circulated; men stop at nothing that may give the victory to their party. For three or four weeks prior to the election, the country is given over to processions, meetings, banners, stump speeches, torch-light marches. As soon as Fate has decided between the candidates, calm is restored, the fray ceases, arms are extended only in hand-shakings, the vanquished accept their defeat with as much bravery as they had displayed in the struggle, and everyone goes once more about his business.
The United States well deserve their name. The Union is a true and firm one. It reposes on contentment. It is composed of over thirty republics, republicæ in Republica. Each State has its governor and its two Houses of Legislature; that is to say, each governs itself in its own fashion. For instance, in certain States you cannot obtain a divorce except from an unfaithful wife; in another, you can obtain it by proving that your wife habitually has your chops served overdone. In one State, the law does not punish drunkenness as an offence; in another, the sale of alcoholic drinks is completely interdicted. The American States, all managing their own local government as they each see fit, live in perfect harmony one with another. That which makes the strength of America is, that everyone seems satisfied with the form of government.
I said just now that America possessed no great political orator or statesman, and that what went on at Washington scarcely awoke any interest in the people; but are not great political orators generally evoked by great public wrongs? Are not also sometimes great public wrongs evoked by great political orators? And when a nation lives in happiness and complete security, must not its politics necessarily be uninteresting? Happy the nation whose politics do not furnish the foreign press with sensational news!
I said also that I considered the people of England freer than the people of America. This demands an explanation. In advancing such an opinion, I mean to say that the English exercise more influence over the Government than do the Americans, and that they invest the agents of authority with much smaller powers. An American policeman, for in stance, is endowed with an authority which he can with impunity use in tyrannous fashion. The English policeman is the servant of the public; is responsible before the public for his acts; may be given in charge on the spot if he insults or roughly handles you; and may be prosecuted for making a false accusation against you.
Bureaucracy is much more tyrannical in America than in England. You meet at every turn with a man who lets you know that he has "certain instructions to carry out." You soon know what that means in a country where there are avec le ciel des accommodements. You get out of the difficulty by the aid of that irresistible argument, named "the dollar." In the trains, for instance, I have known the conductor refuse me permission to occupy a vacant bed by the side of my own, and which pleased me better than the one that had been assigned to me. "Your ticket bears a certain number, and I can't change it; I must carry out instructions." Useless to try and make him understand that the bed, being disengaged, it matters little to the company whether you occupy it or not. Orders must be obeyed. You pull a half-dollar piece out of your pocket, and the difficulty is surmounted. Regulations only come into existence to be trampled on as occasion requires.