Читать книгу The Adventures of My Cousin Smooth - Timothy Templeton - Страница 5

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"Dear Uncle—Once upon a time you were called Sam; but now that the reign of Pierce is upon us it is difficult to tell what you may not be called. Not long since you were the son of greatness, you are now the shadow of Pierce—the man whose little light posterity will snuff out. I have thought of you frequently, Uncle: I have seen you in sorrow looking back upon the past, and my heart has beat with sympathy as I saw you contrast it with the present. Once patriotism stood on manly feet, now Bunkam reigns. Politics are turned into drum-sticks, parties are lost for want of a policy, principles are buried in the market-place. Mr. Smooth has been long accustomed to hard knocks and crooked places; but anything so crooked as Mr. Pierce staggers his digestion. If the concentrated wisdom of the nation riots here (thought I as I entered the city) who can gainsay my coming? I knew the atmosphere I entered had foul malaria in it; the city I found as straight as the face of parties on the other hand was deformed. But being in the federal city, I became forcibly impressed with the fact, that your smallest man has the largest expectations, though he will not object to become the nation's drone. Having made this wonderful discovery, I took up my line of march for the National Hotel, a gorgeous palace where an uncouth million meet to revel in cheap luxury. So large was the house that a pilot to guide me through its thousand galleries to bed was an indispensable necessity. I was fatigued, and cared not where I hung up. Large as was the establishment, everything looked so costly that I became cautious lest what I sat down upon might become soiled, in which event I might be compelled to pay the shot with a short locker; or, should the case go before Pierce, he might in the profundity of his wisdom exile me to some remote spot on the Mosquito coast. I walked into the establishment like one who feels himself an independent citizen, and then commenced looking at the place and the people, as the people commenced looking at me. Returning looks, and question-asking, seemed the fashion. 'Stranger!' said a well dressed but rather inquisitive individual, 'you must, to be anybody in this place, smother yourself in dignity, and eat dough-nuts of Southern make. Large quantities of this diet are made now at the White House; in fact Pierce has turned the establishment into a factory, where that article is manufactured ad libitum, and all are expected to eat.' I thought the person who thus accosted me had large experience of matters in general, for he gave me a slanting wink and a cunning nudge, which I rendered into an insinuation to stand treat. I affected not to understand him, and edging aside a pace, made a bold effort to gain the long and very expensive mahogany counter that stretched half across the office, and behind which glowed out the figure of a fat citizen, whom I stared right in the face. You cannot get cleverly through this world without brass; if in your face you have enough to establish a foundery, so much the better. It is indispensable in political matters; and, whether right or wrong, the reader can best judge. I have thought the smaller the politician, the larger were his dealings in the article. No one could be more cautious how they scandalized their neighbours than I am; this, Uncle Sam, you well know; but I question the policy of being delicate during the reign of Pierce, whose cabinet recalls to my mind the story of the clacking hen, that forever kept up a noise without laying one egg. To make your way in Washington, you must storm and put to route a whole platform of valiant gentlemen, who have become political images in brass. As they love you, Uncle Sam, so also would they live upon you, die upon you, be buried at your expense, and their friends be very angry were you not a mourner at the funeral. This I, Smooth, declare an honest fact, notwithstanding the high respect I entertain for all those patriotic gentlemen who would take such care of my Uncle's affairs.

"Now, this very phlegmatic and good natured citizen, who stood: behind the mahogany, had a face as broad and placid as a town-clock seen by moonlight. His figure, too, was tightly driven into a suit of extravagant cloth, and altogether presented the appearance of having quite recently escaped from the hands of James, his tailor. It was not in the power of man to analyze his character from what he said, for what he said meant nothing, when judged by the world's wisdom; but you saw that James had succeeded in making him in love with himself. Should he chance to read this imperfect sketch, he will excuse me when I say he seemed a person brought up to himself, and entertaining the hope that at no distant day he would become a very important character—perhaps outshine General Pierce himself. He looked at me, and I looked at him; then he grinned at me, and I grinned at him. At last I said, I reckoned we might draw the game. I then added, that from the look of the establishment I could not be wrong in assuming that they did a large business in the way of feeding hungry politicians and honester people. 'You may stake some on that, old feller,' says he, with a suspicious leer. His nasal was somewhat strong, so I put him down as from Vermont State, perhaps from the more mountainous part of it. As if shy of my patronage he upon the counter, pompous, spread his hands, as if the mahogany was all his. This seeming indifference rather touched my dignity, which was of tender quality, so I cast upon him a look he could not misinterpret, inquiring if he could tie a body up for the night in a spare corner. 'You may bet on that! got a spare pin we can hook ye on somehow, I reckon;' he ejaculates, sprawling his elbows, and making a support of his fleshy hands, from between which his face peered like a soft pumpkin sorely squeezed. In this position he stared, and stared, until his countenance assumed an anxiety, equalled only by that of a stump lecturer about inaugration time—say one, who had hoped for the mission to the court of St. James, but as a matter of patriotism would not decline the Dublin Consulship. At length he condescended to say, with an air of languishing endurance, that 'he could do me up brown, in the way of comfortable quarters.' I thanked him for his great kindness, said I wanted to exercise a judicious economy, and could not do the extensive, like those persons sprawling in easy arm chairs at the left hand corner, to whom I pointed, and who, like Mr. President Pierce's representatives abroad, were making a great noise to no purpose. After looking quizically at the tie-up under my arm, then at my tall white hat, and again at the coarse weave of my homespun, he inquired if that (pointing to the bundle) constituted my baggage. Instantly I told him it was none of his business; that there was no occasion for his feeling so large, though Mr. Pierce was President. He made an upright of himself, and very civilly rejoined that there was no place this side of Cape Horn—and he doubted if there was on the other side—where it was so necessary to see the colateral as this Washington. He was proceeding to say much more, and something about the doubtful character of General Pierce and his friends, when I interrupted by saying, I thought he must have forgotten my name. 'Smooth is my name,' I reiterated, 'of the Young American party, the party that intends doing up the manifest destiny for mankind.'

"'Manifest destiny never pays debts: must see the collateral 'afore we tie ye up! Fact is, stranger, we must have the hold-fast for fear of the shot falling short. The General has got so many tin-less friends, who visit Washington on a small affair of business (here he gave his shoulders a significant shrug), that a body has to keep a sharp eye in the wind.' Suddenly he began to drum on the mahogany, screw his face into a disc of puckers, and look so wise. So glad did he seem, that he whistled Yankee Doodle with the variations, looked every which way, and then laughed right out at what he called Smooth's outfit.

"'Needn't laugh at the fixens—old feller!' says I, 'Uncle Sam and me are going into the tin business, and Sam, being a generous old butt, will stand all the treats and hotel bills. Besides that, I was born in the very sand heap where Tom Coffin was raised.'

"'Who cares for Tom' says he, turning aside, and making a polite bow to a thirsty senator from the far west: the senatorial gent bent his neck over, and approaching with his lips the ear of the important individual, whispered something from out the smallest corner. This something, when translated into decent English, might be rendered thus:—If justice and gin slings are administered at your bar, pray direct me the way to it! The fat man pointed up a narrow, dark, and very long passage; and then suddenly turning to me, he said: 'If Tom Coffin lived now-a-days, when politics went on the fast, he wouldn't be worth shooks, he not having a vote, nor wanting an office under the new administration.' 'Now, stranger,' says I, directing a look as if I was going to strike something at him, 'don't make such a fuss about the needful—look'a here!' I just plumps out Uncle Zack Brewster's letter, and having fascinated his eye, tells him how Cochran and Riggs 'll do the dust. Like an hydraulic current let loose did the fellow prick up his ears: then he said, 'do tell,' with a musical emphasis that seemed so full of credit. Again he drew a long breath, and a seriousness came over his face that could only be likened to that of a South Carolina locomotive when drawing a whole convention of secessionists, who, having failed in devising means to dissolve the 'federal union,' were returning homeward very melancholy.

"'Never doubted Mr. Smooth's word,' says he, with simple dryness—'but, notwithstanding, painful is the experience that office-holders and seekers, though always kind to Uncle Sam, and tenacious of his dignity and cashbag, seldom maintain the same earnestness for their own when legitimates are left in the key-hole.'

"'You mean that the General's friends don't shine over on the square?'

"'Precisely so!—Mr. General Pierce himself is a sort of mixed stripe; but his friends (and he has regiments of them!), all fighters in the Mexican war when he was brigadier, expect so much something material for themselves that all outsiders are forgotten. Now and then the General is sorry to inform his many friends that he is a little ill; to which a voice here and there is heard to say that he is not inclined to do the clean thing.'

"Well, I saw what the feller wanted; so I pulled out a fist full of shiners, just to show him what Young America could do. The seeing the dimes smoothed him down into the most agreeable amiability. His face loomed out with good natur, his feelings seemed coming right from his inards; and he struck up Yankee Doodle by way of an offset.

"'Pooty full, Mr. Smooth,' he generously remarked, 'but we must try accommodate you somehow! We'll tuck you away in a spare corner, high up!'

"'That's a good soul,' said I—'know'd ye warn't a bad sort of fellow—when a body understood how to get the good out!'

"'Apartments for Solomon Smooth, Esq., from Cape Cod,' he said, mutteringly, looking over his book, and drumming with his fingers on the page. Mr. Smooth, in proof of his fast principles, will have no objection to tying up in the seventh story?'

"'Rather stiff that, Major! Young America can do most anything—hang up on a pin if it be necessary to accommodate, but don't just like the moon for a bedfellow.'

"'Won't trouble you with a bedfellow, Mr. Smooth,' he, grinned out, shaking all over his broad sides.

"It being well understood in Washington that great men were most condescending, while little men, with large expectations, were most aspiring, there was nothing left but to cut a course between the two. As for the latter quality of gentlemen, they never stood at trifles, and when they failed to get the big business, had not the slightest objection to the small—which was the doing all Mr. President Pierce's thinking. Therefore, be it known that, with a full knowledge of this sad state of affairs, did I write down:—'Mr. Solomon Smooth, from Cape Cod:' which, when down, looked like the footprints of a hen that, having dipped her claws in an inkstand, had waddled across the page. Thus ended my induction at the National.