The morning
newspapers contain reports of last night's speeches which are amusing in one
respect, at all events, as affording specimens of the different versions which
may be given of the same matter. A “citizen” who was kind enough to come in to
shave me, paid me some easy compliments, in the manner of the “Barber of
Seville,” on what he termed the “oration” of the night before, and then
proceeded to give his notions of the merits and defects of the American
Constitution. “He did not care much about the Franchise — it was given to too
many he thought. A man must be five years resident in New York before he is
admitted to the privileges of voting. When an emigrant arrived, a paper was
delivered to him to certify the fact, which he produced after lapse of five
years, when he might be registered as a voter; if he omitted the process of
registration, he could however vote if identified by two householders, and a
low lot,” observed the barber, “they are — Irish and such like. I don't want
any of their votes.”
In the afternoon a
number of gentlemen called, and made the kindest offers of service; letters of
introduction to all parts of the States; facilities of every description — all
tendered with frankness.
I was astonished to
find little sympathy and no respect for the newly installed Government. They
were regarded as obscure or undistinguished men. I alluded to the circumstance
that one of the journals continued to speak of “The President” in the most
contemptuous manner, and to designate him as the great “Rail-Splitter.” “Oh
yes,” said the gentleman with whom I was conversing, “that must strike you as a
strange way of mentioning the Chief Magistrate of our great Republic, but the
fact is, no one minds what the man writes of any one, his game is to abuse
every respectable man in the country in order to take his revenge on them for
his social exclusion, and at the same time to please the ignorant masses who
delight in vituperation and scandal.”
In the evening,
dining again with my friend the banker, I had a favorable opportunity of
hearing more of the special pleading which is brought to bear on the solution
of the gravest political questions. It would seem as if a council of physicians
were wrangling with each other over abstract dogmas respecting life and health,
whilst their patient was struggling in the agonies of death before them! In the
comfortable and well-appointed house wherein I met several men of position,
acquirements, and natural sagacity, there was not the smallest evidence of
uneasiness on account of circumstances which, to the eye of a stranger,
betokened an awful crisis, if not the impending dissolution of society itself.
Stranger still, the acts which are bringing about such a calamity are not
regarded with disfavor, or, at least, are not considered unjustifiable.
Among the guests
were the Hon. Horatio Seymour, a former Governor of the State of New York; Mr.
Tylden, an acute lawyer; and Mr. Bancroft. The result left on my mind by their
conversation and arguments was that, according to the Constitution, the
Government could not employ force to prevent secession, or to compel States
which had seceded by the will of the people to acknowledge the Federal power.
In fact, according to them, the Federal Government was the mere machine put
forward by a Society of Sovereign States, as a common instrument for certain
ministerial acts, more particularly those which affected the external relations
of the Confederation. I do not think that any of the guests sought to turn the
channel of talk upon politics, but the occasion offered itself to Mr. Horatio
Seymour to give me his views of the Constitution of the United States, and by
degrees the theme spread over the table. I had bought the “Constitution” for
three cents in Broadway in the forenoon, and had read it carefully, but I could
not find that it was self-expounding; it referred itself to the Supreme Court,
but what was to support the Supreme Court in a contest with armed power, either
of Government or people? There was not a man who maintained the Government had
any power to coerce the people of a State, or to force a State to remain in the
Union, or under the action of the Federal Government; in other words, the
symbol of power at Washington is not at all analogous to that which represents
an established Government in other countries. Quid prosunt leges sine arms? Although
they admitted the Southern leaders had meditated “the treason against the Union”
years ago, they could not bring themselves to allow their old opponents, the
Republicans now in power, to dispose of the armed force of the Union against
their brother democrats in the Southern States.
Mr. Seymour is a
man of compromise, but his views go farther than those which were entertained
by his party ten years ago. Although secession would produce revolution, it
was, nevertheless, “a right,” founded on abstract principles, which could
scarcely be abrogated consistently with due regard to the original compact. One
of the company made a remark which was true enough, I dare say. We were talking
of the difficulty of relieving Fort Sumter — an infallible topic just now. “If
the British or any foreign power were threatening the fort,” said he, “our
Government would find means of relieving it fast enough.” In fact, the Federal
Government is groping in the dark; and whilst its friends are telling it to
advance boldly, there are myriad voices shrieking out in its ears, “If you put
out a foot you are lost.” There is neither army nor navy available, and the
ministers have no machinery of rewards, and means of intrigue, or modes of
gaining adherents known to European administrations. The democrats behold with
silent satisfaction the troubles into which the Republican triumph has plunged
the country, and are not at all disposed to extricate them. The most notable
way of impeding their efforts is to knock them down with the “Constitution”
every time they rise to the surface and begin to swim out.
New York society,
however, is easy in its mind just now, and the upper world of millionnaire
merchants, bankers, contractors, and great traders are glad that the vulgar
Republicans are suffering for their success. Not a man there but resented the
influence given by universal suffrage to the mob of the city, and complained of
the intolerable effects of their ascendency — of the corruption of the
municipal bodies, the venality of electors and elected, and the abuse, waste,
and profligate outlay of the public funds. Of these there were many
illustrations given to me, garnished with historietts of some of the civic
dignitaries, and of their coadjutors in the press; but it did not require proof
that universal suffrage in a city of which perhaps three fourths of the voters were
born abroad or of foreign parents, and of whom many were the scum swept off the
seethings of European populations, must work most injuriously on property and
capital. I confess it is to be much wondered at that the consequences are not
more evil; but no doubt the time is coming when the mischief can no longer be
borne, and a social reform and revolution must be inevitable.
Within only a very
few hundreds of yards from the house and picture-gallery of Mons. B––– the
representative of European millions, are the hovels and lodgings of his equals
in political power. This evening I visited the house of Mons. B–––, where his
wife had a reception, to which nearly the whole of the party went. When a man
looks at a suit of armor made to order by the first blacksmith in Europe, he
observes that the finish of the joints and hinges is much higher than in the
old iron clothes of the former time. Possibly the metal is better, and the
chasings and garniture as good as the work of Milan, but the observer is not
for a moment led to imagine that the fabric has stood proof of blows, or that
it smacks of ancient watch-fire. If he were asked why it is so, he could not
tell; any more perhaps than he could define exactly the difference between the
lustrous, highly-jewelled, well-greaved Achaian of New York and the very less
effective and showy creature who will in every society over the world pass
muster as a gentleman. Here was an elegant house — I use the word in its real
meaning — with pretty statues, rich carpets, handsome furniture and a gallery
of charming Meissoniers and genre pieces; the saloons admirably lighted
— a fair fine large suite, filled with the prettiest women in the most
delightful toilets, with a proper fringe of young men, orderly, neat, and well
turned-out, fretting against the usual advanced posts of turbaned and jewelled
dowagers, and provided with every accessory to make the whole good society; for
there was wit, sense, intelligence, vivacity; and yet there was something
wanting — not in host or hostess, or company, or house — where was it ?— which
was conspicuous by its absence. Mr. Bancroft was kind enough to introduce me to
the most lovely faces and figures, and so far enable me to judge that nothing
could be more beautiful, easy, or natural than the womanhood or girlhood of New
York. It is prettiness rather than fineness; regular, intelligent, wax-like
faces, graceful little figures; none of the grandiose Roman type which Von
Raumer recognized in London, as in the Holy City, a quarter of a century ago. Natheless,
the young men of New York ought to be thankful and grateful, and try to be
worthy of it. Late in the evening I saw these same young men, Novi Eboracenses,
at their club, dicing for drinks and oathing for nothing, and all very friendly
and hospitable.
The club-house is remarkable as the mansion of a happy man
who invented or patented a waterproof hat-lining, whereby he built a sort of
Sallustian villa, with a central courtyard, a l'Alhambra, with fountains and
flowers, now passed away to the New York Club. Here was Pratt's, or the defunct
Fielding, or the old C. C. C.'s in disregard of time and regard of drinks — and
nothing more.
SOURCE: William Howard Russell, My Diary North and
South, p. 19-23
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