Читать книгу Journal of a Residence in America - Fanny Kemble - Страница 37

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Forget all about it, except that I went about the town with Colonel——.

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went to see his Quaker wife, whom I liked very much.

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Drove all about New-York, which more than ever reminded me of the towns in France: passed the Bowery theatre, which is a handsome finely-proportioned building, with a large brazen eagle plastered on the pediment, for all the world like an insurance mark, or the sign of the spread eagle: this is nefarious! We passed a pretty house, which Colonel—— called an old mansion; mercy on me, him, and it! Old! I thought of Warwick Castle, of Hatfield, of Chequers, of Hopwood—old! and there it stood, with its white pillars and Italian-looking portico, for all the world like one of our own cit's yesterday-grown boxes. Old, quotha! the woods and waters and hills and skies alone are old here; the works of men are in the very greenness and unmellowed imperfection of youth: true, 'tis a youth full of vigorous sap and glorious promise; spring, laden with blossoms, foretelling abundant and rich produce, and so let them be proud of it. But the worst of it is, the Americans are not satisfied with glorying in what they are—which, considering the time and opportunities they have had, is matter of glory quite sufficient—they are never happy without comparing this their sapling to the giant oaks of the old world—and what can one say to that? Is New-York like London? No, by my two troths it is not; but the oak was an acorn once, and New York will surely, if the world holds together long enough, become a lordly city, such as we know of beyond the sea.

Went in the evening to see Wallack act the Brigand; it was his benefit, and the house was very good. He is perfection in this sort of thing, yet there were one or two blunders even in his melo-dramatic acting of this piece; however, he looks very like the thing, and it is very nice to see—once.