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143 pages

English

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Originally published anonymously, it was later revealed that this classic work of political fiction was penned by Henry Brooks Adams, the renowned essayist and journalist best known for the autobiography The Education of Henry Adams. Though fictionalized, Democracy: An American Novel offers a gripping account of the vagaries and vicissitudes of political power that still rings true more than a century after it was first published.

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Publié par	The Floating Press
Date de parution	01 septembre 2010
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781775419112
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0134€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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DEMOCRACY
AN AMERICAN NOVEL
* * *
HENRY ADAMS

*

Democracy An American Novel First published in 1880 ISBN 978-1-775419-11-2 © 2010 The Floating Press
While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike.
Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
Contents
*
Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III Chapter IV Chapter V Chapter VI Chapter VII Chapter VIII Chapter IX Chapter X Chapter XI Chapter XII Chapter XIII Conclusion

*
First published anonymously, March 1880, and soon in variousunauthorized editions. It wasn't until the 1925 edition that Adamswas listed as author. Henry Adams remarked (ironically as usual),"The wholesale piracy of Democracy was the single real triumph of mylife."—it was very popular, as readers tried to guess who the authorwas and who the characters really were. Chapters XII and XIII wereoriginally misnumbered.
Chapter I
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FOR reasons which many persons thought ridiculous, Mrs. Lightfoot Leedecided to pass the winter in Washington. She was in excellent health,but she said that the climate would do her good. In New York she hadtroops of friends, but she suddenly became eager to see again the verysmall number of those who lived on the Potomac. It was only to herclosest intimates that she honestly acknowledged herself to be torturedby ennui. Since her husband's death, five years before, she had losther taste for New York society; she had felt no interest in the priceof stocks, and very little in the men who dealt in them; she had becomeserious. What was it all worth, this wilderness of men and women asmonotonous as the brown stone houses they lived in? In her despairshe had resorted to desperate measures. She had read philosophy in theoriginal German, and the more she read, the more she was disheartenedthat so much culture should lead to nothing—nothing.
After talking of Herbert Spencer for an entire evening with a veryliterary transcendental commission-merchant, she could not see that hertime had been better employed than when in former days she had passed itin flirting with a very agreeable young stock-broker; indeed, therewas an evident proof to the contrary, for the flirtation might lead tosomething—had, in fact, led to marriage; while the philosophy couldlead to nothing, unless it were perhaps to another evening of thesame kind, because transcendental philosophers are mostly elderly men,usually married, and, when engaged in business, somewhat apt to besleepy towards evening. Nevertheless Mrs. Lee did her best to turn herstudy to practical use. She plunged into philanthropy, visited prisons,inspected hospitals, read the literature of pauperism and crime,saturated herself with the statistics of vice, until her mind had nearlylost sight of virtue. At last it rose in rebellion against her, andshe came to the limit of her strength. This path, too, seemed to leadnowhere. She declared that she had lost the sense of duty, and that, sofar as concerned her, all the paupers and criminals in New York mighthenceforward rise in their majesty and manage every railway on thecontinent. Why should she care? What was the city to her? She couldfind nothing in it that seemed to demand salvation. What gave peculiarsanctity to numbers? Why were a million people, who all resembled eachother, any way more interesting than one person? What aspiration couldshe help to put into the mind of this great million-armed monster thatwould make it worth her love or respect? Religion? A thousand powerfulchurches were doing their best, and she could see no chance for anew faith of which she was to be the inspired prophet. Ambition? Highpopular ideals? Passion for whatever is lofty and pure? The very wordsirritated her. Was she not herself devoured by ambition, and was she notnow eating her heart out because she could find no one object worth asacrifice?
Was it ambition—real ambition—or was it mere restlessness thatmade Mrs. Lightfoot Lee so bitter against New York and Philadelphia,Baltimore and Boston, American life in general and all life inparticular? What did she want? Not social position, for she herself wasan eminently respectable Philadelphian by birth; her father a famousclergyman; and her husband had been equally irreproachable, a descendantof one branch of the Virginia Lees, which had drifted to New York insearch of fortune, and had found it, or enough of it to keep the youngman there. His widow had her own place in society which no one disputed.Though not brighter than her neighbours, the world persisted in classingher among clever women; she had wealth, or at least enough of it to giveher all that money can give by way of pleasure to a sensible woman in anAmerican city; she had her house and her carriage; she dressed well; hertable was good, and her furniture was never allowed to fall behind thelatest standard of decorative art. She had travelled in Europe, andafter several visits, covering some years of time, had returned home,carrying in one hand, as it were, a green-grey landscape, a remarkablypleasing specimen of Corot, and in the other some bales of Persian andSyrian rugs and embroideries, Japanese bronzes and porcelain. With thisshe declared Europe to be exhausted, and she frankly avowed that she wasAmerican to the tips of her fingers; she neither knew nor greatly caredwhether America or Europe were best to live in; she had no violent lovefor either, and she had no objection to abusing both; but she meant toget all that American life had to offer, good or bad, and to drink itdown to the dregs, fully determined that whatever there was in itshe would have, and that whatever could be made out of it she wouldmanufacture. "I know," said she, "that America produces petroleum andpigs; I have seen both on the steamers; and I am told it produces silverand gold. There is choice enough for any woman."
Yet, as has been already said, Mrs. Lee's first experience was not asuccess. She soon declared that New York might represent the petroleumor the pigs, but the gold of life was not to be discovered there by hereyes.
Not but that there was variety enough; a variety of people, occupations,aims, and thoughts; but that all these, after growing to a certainheight, stopped short. They found nothing to hold them up. She knew,more or less intimately, a dozen men whose fortunes ranged between onemillion and forty millions. What did they do with their money? Whatcould they do with it that was different from what other men did? Afterall, it is absurd to spend more money than is enough to satisfy allone's wants; it is vulgar to live in two houses in the same street, andto drive six horses abreast. Yet, after setting aside a certain incomesufficient for all one's wants, what was to be done with the rest? Tolet it accumulate was to own one's failure; Mrs. Lee's great grievancewas that it did accumulate, without changing or improving the qualityof its owners. To spend it in charity and public works was doubtlesspraiseworthy, but was it wise? Mrs. Lee had read enough politicaleconomy and pauper reports to be nearly convinced that public workshould be public duty, and that great benefactions do harm as well asgood.
And even supposing it spent on these objects, how could it do more thanincrease and perpetuate that same kind of human nature which was hergreat grievance? Her New York friends could not meet this questionexcept by falling back upon their native commonplaces, which sherecklessly trampled upon, averring that, much as she admired the geniusof the famous traveller, Mr. Gulliver, she never had been able, sinceshe became a widow, to accept the Brobdingnagian doctrine that he whomade two blades of grass grow where only one grew before deserved betterof mankind than the whole race of politicians. She would not find faultwith the philosopher had he required that the grass should be of animproved quality; "but," said she, "I cannot honestly pretend that Ishould be pleased to see two New York men where I now see one; the ideais too ridiculous; more than one and a half would be fatal to me."
Then came her Boston friends, who suggested that higher education wasprecisely what she wanted; she should throw herself into a crusade foruniversities and art-schools. Mrs. Lee turned upon them with a sweetsmile; "Do you know," said she, "that we have in New York already therichest university in America, and that its only trouble has always beenthat it can get no scholars even by paying for them? Do you want me togo out into the streets and waylay boys? If the heathen refuse to beconverted, can you give me power over the stake and the sword to compelthem to come in? And suppose you can? Suppose I march all the boys inFifth Avenue down to the university and have them all properly taughtGreek and Latin, English literature, ethics, and German philosophy.What then? You do it in Boston. Now tell me honestly what comes of it. Isuppose you have there a brilliant society; numbers of poets, scholars,philosophers, statesmen, all up and down Beacon Street. Your eveningsmust be sparkling. Your press must scintillate. How is it that we NewYorkers never hear of it? We don't go much into your society; but whenwe do, it doesn't seem so very much better than our own. You are justlike the rest of us. You grow six inches high, and then you stop. Whywill not somebody grow to be a tree and cast a shadow?"
The average member of New York society, although not unused to thiscontemptuous kind of treatment from his leaders, retaliated in hisblind, common-sense way. "What does the woman want?" he said. "Is herhead tu