Of Fine Buildings -
Which, Indeed, Are Comprised In Art - There Are None Deserving
Special Praise Or Remark.
It might well have been that New York
should ere this have graced herself with something grand in
architecture; but she has not done so.
Some good architectural
effect there is, and much architectural comfort. Of ruins, of
course, there can be none - none, at least, of such ruins as
travelers admire, though perhaps some of that sort which disgraces
rather than decorates. Churches there are plenty, but none that
are ancient. The costume is the same as our own; and I need hardly
say that it is not picturesque. And the time for the tombs of
celebrated men has not yet come. A great man's ashes are hardly of
value till they have all but ceased to exist.
The visitor to New York must seek his gratification and obtain his
instruction from the habits and manners of men. The American,
though he dresses like an Englishman, and eats roast beef with a
silver fork - or sometimes with a steel knife - as does an
Englishman, is not like an Englishman in his mind, in his
aspirations, in his tastes, or in his politics. In his mind he is
quicker, more universally intelligent, more ambitious of general
knowledge, less indulgent of stupidity and ignorance in others,
harder, sharper, brighter with the surface brightness of steel,
than is an Englishman; but he is more brittle, less enduring, less
malleable, and, I think, less capable of impressions. The mind of
the Englishman has more imagination, but that of the American more
incision. The American is a great observer; but he observes things
material rather than things social or picturesque. He is a
constant and ready speculator; but all speculations, even those
which come of philosophy, are with him more or less material. In
his aspirations the American is more constant than an Englishman -
or I should rather say he is more constant in aspiring. Every
citizen of the United States intends to do something. Every one
thinks himself capable of some effort. But in his aspirations he
is more limited than an Englishman. The ambitious American never
soars so high as the ambitious Englishman. He does not even see up
to so great a height, and, when he has raised himself somewhat
above the crowd, becomes sooner dizzy with his own altitude. An
American of mark, though always anxious to show his mark, is always
fearful of a fall. In his tastes the American imitates the
Frenchman. Who shall dare to say that he is wrong, seeing that in
general matters of design and luxury the French have won for
themselves the foremost name? I will not say that the American is
wrong, but I cannot avoid thinking that he is so. I detest what is
called French taste; but the world is against me. When I
complained to a landlord of a hotel out in the West that his
furniture was useless; that I could not write at a marble table
whose outside rim was curved into fantastic shapes; that a gold
clock in my bed-room which did not go would give me no aid in
washing myself; that a heavy, immovable curtain shut out the light;
and that papier-mache chairs with small, fluffy velvet seats were
bad to sit on, he answered me completely by telling me that his
house had been furnished not in accordance with the taste of
England, but with that of France.
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