In 1848, Lamartine was the model Republican of France, and was the chosen guardian of the infant French Republic of that year. With such a guardian, the ward soon came to grief. The Republic disappeared, and its counsellor and guide now turns up an Imperialist of the first water — an obsequious champion of the establishment of a monarchy upon the ruins of the Republic of Mexico.
The sublime audacity and inflation of Lamartine's defence of Napoleon's usurpation reminds a New York contemporary of a poor lunatic, whose crazy vagaries used to amuse that city some years ago, and who was in the habit of going to the Battery, looking out to sea, and exclaiming, "Europe, attention! by nations, right wheel!" "I, alone, in France," cries Lamartine, "comprehend," etc. The New York lunatic mentioned by our contemporary was a prophet compared to the French madman. The wave of civilization, wealth, and influence, which has hitherto flowed from east to west, will one day flow black from west to east, and then it will be, sure enough, "Europe, attention! by nations, right wheel! " Perhaps Lamartine has sense enough to discern the prospective relations of the old and new world, only he is imbecile enough to imagine that it can be arrested by his pen. Mrs. Partington, sweeping back the Atlantic with a broom, was wise in comparison.
This funny Frenchman declares that the globe is the property of man; but "the new continent is the property of Europe." He urges Europe to take possession of her rights. These rights consist in the mines of gold, the cotton, corn, wheat, flour, potatoes, which are raised in America. We had always supposed they belonged to the people of this continent, but it seems not. They belong to Europe, and to Lamartine, as one of the inhabitants thereof. We congratulate him on at last owning something. He tried for a long time to induce Americans to pay his debts, and, having found moral suasion unsuccessful, is now going to put an execution into the hands of Napoleon, who has been a constable in his time.
He says we have no eloquence, no architecture, no literature, no fine manners, no taste for art, no orders, no liberty. But it is curious that we do have all the staple products which he mentions,--the gold, corn, cotton, etc.,--and if they afford a pretext for seizing on Mexico, why not on the United States, or, at all events, Texas and California? That would be in the interests of civilization, would it not? The French might be so good as to help themselves to staples which they cannot produce, and give us in exchange that which we have not,--French eloquence, French literature, French manners and French liberty? Perhaps Jonathan, who is something of a merchant, may see the advantage of that commercial transaction, but, as at present advised, we guess not.
M. De Lamartine, indeed, has so poor an opinion of our character that he says we rejoice to cut down "the grand aristocratic trees of the forest with the joy of men envious of the superiority of nature." What a singular conception! We had always supposed that we were proud of the superiority of American nature, and boasted much over Europe on that account. If our grand forests, mountains, rivers, waterfalls, and the like, belonged to Europe, we might be a little envious, but as our own we respect them. We cut down the trees, it is true, not so much because they are aristocrats as because they are in our way, just as we would cut down Napoleon if he were in the same position. We want the land they grow on for the corn, potatoes, cotton, etc., which, Lamartine says, belong to Europe. We want the trees for fencing, houses and other purposes more useful than ornamental. We assure M. de Lamartine that we do not envy the trees, and if Europe comes here to take our staples we will leave enough of them standing to hang thieves and robbers on.
The gallant old creature, among other charges against us, says that our "circles of men are tempered neither by good feeling nor politeness toward women." Why, we had always prided ourselves on deference and courtesy to the female sex. We may not be as moral as the French in our relations to women, but we are, at least, obliging and good natured. We give them up our seats in the concerts and railway cars, without expecting a thank'ee; we allow them to hold Woman's Rights Conventions, to wear our coats and breeches, and even to shoot us when we do not conduct ourselves with propriety. Can we learn better manners from the nation which showed so much "politeness and good temper" to Marie Antoinette and thousands of her sex?
