Border and Bastille. George A. Lawrence
regretfully of certain rugged continental pavés execrated in days gone by; they, at least, had a firm bottom, more or less remote.
The public buildings of Washington do not attempt architectural display: with scarcely an exception, they are severely simple and square. But there is a certain grandeur in the masses of white marble, which is everywhere lavishly employed, and the Capitol stands right well—alone, on the crest of a low, abrupt slope, with nothing to intercept the view from its terraces, seaward, and up the valley of the Potomac. The effect will probably be better when wind and weather shall have slightly toned down the sheen of the fresh-hewn stones, so dazzling now as almost to tire the eye.
I lingered some time in the stranger galleries of Congress, but—"a plague on both their Houses"—there was no question of stirring interest before either. I had hoped to see at least one Representative committed to the custody of the Sergeant-at-Arms; but, on that day, the hardly-worked official had rest from his labors. Only a few hours later, an irascible Senator (from Delaware, I think) created a temporary excitement by defying first his political opponent, and then generally all powers that be, eventually displaying the revolver, which is the ratio ultima, of so many Transatlantic debates. I heard some "tall talking," enforced by much energy of gesture and resonance of tone; but not a period veiling on eloquence. The speakers generally seemed to have studied in the simple school of the "stump" or the tavern, and, when at a loss for an argument, would introduce a diatribe against the South, or a declaration of fidelity to the Union, very much as they might have proposed a toast or sentiment, supremely disregardful of such trifles as relevancy or connection. The retort—more or less courteous—seemed much favored by these honest rhetoricians, and appreciated by the galleries, who at such times applauded sympathetically, in despite of menace or intercession of Vice-President or Speaker. Nobody, indeed, took much notice of either of these two dignitaries; and they appeared perfectly reconciled to their position. You would not often find orators and audience understand one another more thoroughly; the easy freedom of the whole concern was quite festive in its informality.
Having secured a portion of my English letters (one or more were retained for the recreation, and, I hope, improvement of the post-official mind), nothing detained me in Washington beyond the fourth morning. I turned northwards the more cheerfully, because it involved escape from a certain chamber-maiden, to whose authority I was subjected at the Metropolitan—the most austere tyrant that ever oppressed a traveler. That grim White Woman might have paired with the Ancient Mariner—she was so deep-voiced, and gaunt, and wan. On the few occasions when I ventured to summon her, she would "hold me with her glittering eye" till I quailed visibly beneath it, utterly scorning and rejecting some mild attempts at conciliation. I am certain she suspected me of meditating some black private or public treachery; and I know there was joy in that granite heart when circumstances brought me, at last, in my innocence, before the bar of her offended country. On that fourth morning, however, the mood of Sycorax seemed to change; there was a ghastly gayety in her manner, and on her rigid lips an Homeric smile, more terrible than a frown. Then I pondered within myself—"If her hate be heavy to bear, what—what—would her love be?" The unutterable horror of the idea gave me courage that I might otherwise have lacked, to confess my intentions of absconding. But I avow that the liberality of the parting largesse is to be attributed to the meanest motives—of personal fear.
On the railway platform, shaking the mud of Washington from my drenched boots, I purposed never to return thither. But I reckoned without my future hosts, MM. Seward and Stanton, who, though I have trespassed on their hospitality, now for some weeks, seem still loth to let me go.
CHAPTER III.
CAPUA.
The southward approach to Baltimore is very well managed. The railroad makes an abrupt curve, as it sweeps round the marshy woodlands through which the Patapsco opens into the bay; so that you have a fair view of the entire city, swelling always upwards from the water's edge, on a cluster of low, irregular hills, to the summit of Mount Vernon. From that highest point soars skyward a white, glistening pillar crowned by Washington's statue. I have seldom seen a monument better placed, and it is worthy of its advantages. The figure retains much of the strength and grace for which in life it was renowned, and, if ever features were created, worthy of the deftest sculptor and the purest marble, such, surely, was the birthright of that noble, serene face.
No one, that has sojourned in Washington, can be ten minutes in Baltimore without being aware of a great and refreshing change. You leave the hurry and bustle of traffic behind at the railway station, and are never subjected to such nuisances till you return thither. Even in the exclusively commercial squares of the city there reigns comparative leisure, for, except in the establishments of government contractors, or others directly connected with the supply of the army, business is by no means brisk just now. You may pass through Baltimore street, the main artery bisecting the town from east to west, at any hour, without encountering a denser or busier throng than you would meet in Regent street, any afternoon out of the season, and, about the usual promenade time, the proportion of fair flâncuses, to the meaner masculine herd, would be nearly the same.
I betook myself to Guy's hotel, which had been recommended to me as quiet and comfortable: for many people it would have been too quiet. The black waiters carried the science of "taking things easy" to a rare perfection; they were thoroughly polite, and even kindly in manner, and never dreamed of objecting to any practicable order, but—as for carrying it out within any specified time—altra cosa. After a few vain attempts and futile remonstrances, the prudent and philosophical guest would recognize resignedly the absolute impossibility of obtaining breakfast, however simple, under forty-five minutes from the moment of commanding the same; indeed that was very good time, and I positively aver that I have waited longer for eggs, tea, and toast. I never tried abuse or reproach, for I chanced, early in my stay, to be present when an impatient traveler voided the vials of his wrath on the head of the chief attendant: insisting, with many strange oaths, on his right to obtain cooked food, of some sort, within the half-hour.
Years ago, I was amused, at the Gaietés, by a common-place scene enough of stage-temptation. Madelon, driven into her last intrenchments by the sophistries of the wily aristocrat, objected timidly, "Mais, Monseigneur, j'aime mon mari." For a moment the Marquis was surprised, and seemed to reflect. Then he said, "Tiens—tu aimes ton mari? C'est bizarre: mais—après tout—ce n'est pas defendu." As he spoke, he smiled upon his simple vassal—evidently wavering between amusement and compassion.
With just such a smile—allowing for the exaggeration of the African physiognomy—did "Leonoro" contemplate his victim, and me, the bystander, and then sauntered slowly from the room, without uttering one word. It was a great moral lesson, and I profited by it. But, in truth, there was little to complain of; the quarters were clean and comfortable, and one got, in time, as much as any reasonable man could desire. The arrangements are on the European system, i.e., there are no fixed hours for meals, which are ordered from the carte, and no fixed charge for board. I should have remained there permanently, had it not been for one objection, which eventually overcame my aversion to change. The basement story of the house was occupied by a bar and oyster saloon; the pungent testaceous odors, mounting from those lower regions, gave the offended nostrils no respite or rest; in a few minutes, a robust appetite, albeit watered by cunning bitters, would wither, like a flower in the fume of sulphur. Half-a-dozen before dinner, have always satiated my own desire for these mollusks; before many days were over, I utterly abominated the name of the species; familiarity only made the nuisance more intolerable, and I fled at last, fairly ostracised. How the habitués stood it was a mystery, till I recognized the fact, that there is no accident of pleasure or pain to which humanity is liable, no antecedent of rest or exertion, no untimeliness of hour or incongruity of place, which will render an apple or an oyster inopportune to an American bourgeois.