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pubOne.info present you this new edition. FOR reasons which many persons thought ridiculous, Mrs. Lightfoot Lee decided 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 had troops of friends, but she suddenly became eager to see again the very small number of those who lived on the Potomac. It was only to her closest intimates that she honestly acknowledged herself to be tortured by ennui. Since her husband's death, five years before, she had lost her taste for New York society; she had felt no interest in the price of stocks, and very little in the men who dealt in them; she had become serious. What was it all worth, this wilderness of men and women as monotonous as the brown stone houses they lived in? In her despair she had resorted to desperate measures. She had read philosophy in the original German, and the more she read, the more she was disheartened that so much culture should lead to nothing- nothing.

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Publié par	Pub One Info
Date de parution	06 novembre 2010
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9782819943518
Langue	English

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DEMOCRACY AN AMERICAN NOVEL
By Henry Adams
Chapter I
FOR reasons which many persons thought ridiculous,Mrs. Lightfoot Lee decided to pass the winter in Washington. Shewas in excellent health, but she said that the climate would do hergood. In New York she had troops of friends, but she suddenlybecame eager to see again the very small number of those who livedon the Potomac. It was only to her closest intimates that shehonestly acknowledged herself to be tortured by ennui. Since herhusband's death, five years before, she had lost her taste for NewYork society; she had felt no interest in the price of stocks, andvery little in the men who dealt in them; she had become serious.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 inthe original German, and the more she read, the more she wasdisheartened that so much culture should lead to nothing—nothing.
After talking of Herbert Spencer for an entireevening with a very literary transcendental commission-merchant,she could not see that her time had been better employed than whenin former days she had passed it in flirting with a very agreeableyoung stock-broker; indeed, there was an evident proof to thecontrary, for the flirtation might lead to something— had, in fact,led to marriage; while the philosophy could lead to nothing, unlessit were perhaps to another evening of the same kind, becausetranscendental philosophers are mostly elderly men, usuallymarried, and, when engaged in business, somewhat apt to be sleepytowards evening. Nevertheless Mrs. Lee did her best to turn herstudy to practical use. She plunged into philanthropy, visitedprisons, inspected hospitals, read the literature of pauperism andcrime, saturated herself with the statistics of vice, until hermind had nearly lost sight of virtue. At last it rose in rebellionagainst her, and she came to the limit of her strength. This path,too, seemed to lead nowhere. She declared that she had lost thesense of duty, and that, so far as concerned her, all the paupersand criminals in New York might henceforward rise in their majestyand manage every railway on the continent. Why should she care?What was the city to her? She could find nothing in it that seemedto demand salvation. What gave peculiar sanctity to numbers? Whywere a million people, who all resembled each other, any way moreinteresting than one person? What aspiration could she help to putinto the mind of this great million-armed monster that would makeit 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?High popular ideals? Passion for whatever is lofty and pure? Thevery words irritated her. Was she not herself devoured by ambition,and was she not now eating her heart out because she could find noone object worth a sacrifice?
Was it ambition— real ambition— or was it mererestlessness that made Mrs. Lightfoot Lee so bitter against NewYork and Philadelphia, Baltimore and Boston, American life ingeneral and all life in particular? What did she want? Not socialposition, for she herself was an eminently respectablePhiladelphian by birth; her father a famous clergyman; and herhusband had been equally irreproachable, a descendant of one branchof the Virginia Lees, which had drifted to New York in search offortune, and had found it, or enough of it to keep the young manthere. His widow had her own place in society which no onedisputed. Though not brighter than her neighbours, the worldpersisted in classing her among clever women; she had wealth, or atleast enough of it to give her all that money can give by way ofpleasure to a sensible woman in an American city; she had her houseand her carriage; she dressed well; her table was good, and herfurniture was never allowed to fall behind the latest standard ofdecorative art. She had travelled in Europe, and after severalvisits, covering some years of time, had returned home, carrying inone hand, as it were, a green-grey landscape, a remarkably pleasingspecimen of Corot, and in the other some bales of Persian andSyrian rugs and embroideries, Japanese bronzes and porcelain. Withthis she declared Europe to be exhausted, and she frankly avowedthat she was American to the tips of her fingers; she neither knewnor greatly cared whether America or Europe were best to live in;she had no violent love for either, and she had no objection toabusing both; but she meant to get all that American life had tooffer, good or bad, and to drink it down to the dregs, fullydetermined that whatever there was in it she would have, and thatwhatever could be made out of it she would manufacture. “I know, ”said she, “that America produces petroleum and pigs; I have seenboth on the steamers; and I am told it produces silver and gold.There is choice enough for any woman. ”
Yet, as has been already said, Mrs. Lee's firstexperience was not a success. She soon declared that New York mightrepresent the petroleum or the pigs, but the gold of life was notto be discovered there by her eyes.
Not but that there was variety enough; a variety ofpeople, occupations, aims, and thoughts; but that all these, aftergrowing to a certain height, stopped short. They found nothing tohold them up. She knew, more or less intimately, a dozen men whosefortunes ranged between one million and forty millions. What didthey do with their money? What could they do with it that wasdifferent from what other men did? After all, it is absurd to spendmore money than is enough to satisfy all one's wants; it is vulgarto live in two houses in the same street, and to drive six horsesabreast. Yet, after setting aside a certain income sufficient forall one's wants, what was to be done with the rest? To let itaccumulate was to own one's failure; Mrs. Lee's great grievance wasthat it did accumulate, without changing or improving the qualityof its owners. To spend it in charity and public works wasdoubtless praiseworthy, but was it wise? Mrs. Lee had read enoughpolitical economy and pauper reports to be nearly convinced thatpublic work should be public duty, and that great benefactions doharm as well as good.
And even supposing it spent on these objects, howcould it do more than increase and perpetuate that same kind ofhuman nature which was her great grievance? Her New York friendscould not meet this question except by falling back upon theirnative commonplaces, which she recklessly trampled upon, averringthat, much as she admired the genius of the famous traveller, Mr.Gulliver, she never had been able, since she became a widow, toaccept the Brobdingnagian doctrine that he who made two blades ofgrass grow where only one grew before deserved better of mankindthan the whole race of politicians. She would not find fault withthe philosopher had he required that the grass should be of animproved quality; “but, ” said she, “I cannot honestly pretend thatI should be pleased to see two New York men where I now see one;the idea is too ridiculous; more than one and a half would be fatalto me. ”
Then came her Boston friends, who suggested thathigher education was precisely what she wanted; she should throwherself into a crusade for universities and art-schools. Mrs. Leeturned upon them with a sweet smile; “Do you know, ” said she,“that we have in New York already the richest university inAmerica, and that its only trouble has always been that it can getno scholars even by paying for them? Do you want me to go out intothe streets and waylay boys? If the heathen refuse to be converted,can you give me power over the stake and the sword to compel themto come in? And suppose you can? Suppose I march all the boys inFifth Avenue down to the university and have them all properlytaught Greek and Latin, English literature, ethics, and Germanphilosophy. What then? You do it in Boston. Now tell me honestlywhat comes of it. I suppose you have there a brilliant society;numbers of poets, scholars, philosophers, statesmen, all up anddown Beacon Street. Your evenings must be sparkling. Your pressmust scintillate. How is it that we New Yorkers never hear of it?We don't go much into your society; but when we do, it doesn't seemso very much better than our own. You are just like the rest of us.You grow six inches high, and then you stop. Why will not somebodygrow to be a tree and cast a shadow? ”
The average member of New York society, although notunused to this contemptuous kind of treatment from his leaders,retaliated in his blind, common-sense way. “What does the womanwant? ” he said. “Is her head turned with the Tulieries andMarlborough House? Does she think herself made for a throne? Whydoes she not lecture for women's rights? Why not go on the stage?If she cannot be contented like other people, what need is therefor abusing us just because she feels herself no taller than weare? What does she expect to get from her sharp tongue? What doesshe know, any way? ”
Mrs. Lee certainly knew very little. She had readvoraciously and promiscuously one subject after another. Ruskin andTaine had danced merrily through her mind, hand in hand with Darwinand Stuart Mill, Gustave Droz and Algernon Swinburne. She had evenlaboured over the literature of her own country. She was perhaps,the only woman in New York who knew something of American history.Certainly she could not have repeated the list of Presidents intheir order, but she knew that the Constitution divided thegovernment into Executive, Legislative, and Judiciary; she wasaware that the President, the Speaker, and the Chief Justice wereimportant personages, and instinctively she wondered whether theymight not solve her problem; whether they were the shade treeswhich she saw in her dreams.
Here, then, was the explanation of her restlessness,discontent, ambition, — call it what you will.