A Frenchman in America Part 25

Jesus arrived one evening at the gates of a certain city, and he sent his disciples forward to prepare supper, while he himself, intent on doing good, walked through the streets into the marketplace. And he saw at the corner of the market some people gathered together, looking at an object on the ground; and he drew near to see what it might be.

It was a dead dog, with a halter round his neck, by which he appeared to have been dragged through the dirt; and a viler, a more abject, a more unclean thing, never met the eyes of man. And those who stood by looked on with abhorrence. "Faugh!" said one, stopping his nose, "it pollutes the air." "How long," said another, "shall this foul beast offend our sight?" "Look at his torn hide," said a third; "one could not even cut a shoe out of it!" "And his ears," said a fourth, "all draggled and bleeding!" "No doubt," said a fifth, "he has been hanged for thieving!" And Jesus heard them, and looking down compa.s.sionately on the dead creature, he said: "Pearls are not equal to the whiteness of his teeth!"

If I understand the Gospel, the gist of its teachings is contained in the foregoing little story. Love and forgiveness: finding something to pity and admire even in a dead dog. Such is the religion of Christ.

The "Christianity" of the "unco guid" is as like this religion as are the teachings of the Old Testament.

Something to condemn, the discovery of wickedness in the most innocent, and often elevating, recreations, such is the favorite occupation of the Anglo-Saxon "unco guid." Music is licentious, laughter wicked, dancing immoral, statuary almost criminal, and, by and by, the "Society for the Suggestion of Indecency," which is placed under his immediate patronage and supervision, will find fault with our going out in the streets, on the plea that under our garments we carry our nudity.

The Anglo-Saxon "unco guid" is the successor of the Pharisee. In reading Christ's description of the latter, you are immediately struck with the likeness. The modern "unco guid" "loves to pray standing in the churches and chapels and in the corners of the streets, that he may be seen of men." "He uses vain repet.i.tions, for he thinks that he shall be heard for his much speaking." "When he fasts, he is of sad countenance; for he disfigures his face, that he may appear unto men to fast." There is not one feature of the portrait that does not fit in exactly.

The Jewish "unco guid" crucified Christ. The Anglo-Saxon one would crucify Him again if He should return to earth and interfere with the prosperous business firms that make use of His name.

The "unco guid's" Christianity consists in extolling his virtues and ignoring other people's. He spends his time in "pulling motes out of people's eyes," but cannot see clearly to do it, "owing to the beams that are in his own." He overwhelms you, he crushes you, with his virtue, and one of the greatest treats is to catch him tripping, a chance which you may occasionally have, especially when you meet him on the Continent of Europe.

The Anglo-Saxon "unco guid" calls himself a Christian, but the precepts of the Gospel are the very opposite of those he practices. The gentle, merciful, forgiving, Man-G.o.d of the Gospel has not for him the charms and attractions of the Jehovah who commanded the cowardly, ungrateful, and bloodthirsty people of his choice to treat their women as slaves, and to exterminate their enemies, sparing neither old men, women, nor children. This cruel, revengeful, implacable deity is far more to the Anglo-Saxon "unco guid's" liking than the Saviour who bade His disciples love their enemies and put up their swords in the presence of his persecutors. The "unco guid" is not a Christian, he is a Jew in all but name. And I will say this much for him, that the Commandments given on Mount Sinai are much easier to follow than the Sermon on the Mount. It is easier not to commit murder than to hold out your right cheek after your left one has been slapped. It is easier not to steal than to run after the man who has robbed us, in order to offer him what he has not taken. It is easier to honor our parents than to love our enemies.

The teachings of the Gospel are trying to human nature. There is no religion more difficult to follow; and this is why, in spite of its beautiful, but too lofty, precepts, there is no religion in the world that can boast so many hypocrites--so many followers who pretend that they follow their religion, but who do not, and very probably cannot.

Being unable to love man, as he is bidden in the Gospel, the "unco guid"

loves G.o.d, as he is bidden in the Old Testament. He loves G.o.d in the abstract. He tells Him so in endless prayers and litanies.

For him Christianity consists in discussing theological questions, whether a minister shall preach with or without a white surplice on, and in singing hymns more or less out of tune.

As if G.o.d could be loved to the exclusion of man! You love G.o.d, after all, as you love anybody else, not by professions of love, but by deeds.

When he prays, the "unco guid" buries his face in his hands or in his hat. He screws up his face, and the more fervent the prayer is (or the more people are looking at him), the more grimaces he makes. Heinrich Heine, on coming out of an English church, said that "a blaspheming Frenchman must be a more pleasing object in the sight of G.o.d than many a praying Englishman." He had, no doubt, been looking at the "unco guid."

If you do not hold the same religious views as he does, you are a wicked man, an atheist. He alone has the truth. Being engaged in a discussion with an "unco guid" one day, I told him that if G.o.d had given me hands to handle, surely He had given me a little brain to think. "You are right," he quickly interrupted; "but, with the hands that G.o.d gave you you can commit a good action, and you can also commit murder."

Therefore, because I did not think as he did, I was the criminal, for, of course, he was the righteous man. For all those who, like myself, believe in a future life, there is, I believe, a great treat in store: the sight of the face he will make, when his place is a.s.signed to him in the next world. _Qui mourra, verra._

Anglo-Saxon land is governed by the "unco guid." Good society cordially despises him; the aristocracy of Anglo-Saxon intelligence--philosophers, scientists, men of letters, artists--simply loathe him; but all have to bow to his rule, and submit their works to his most incompetent criticism, and all are afraid of him.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE POOR MAN'S SABBATH.]

In a moment of wounded national pride, Sydney Smith once exclaimed: "What a pity it is we have no amus.e.m.e.nts in England except vice and religion!" The same exclamation might be uttered to-day, and the cause laid at the Anglo-Saxon "unco guid's" door. It is he who is responsible for the degradation of the British lower cla.s.ses, by refusing to enable them to elevate their minds on Sundays at the sight of the masterpieces of art which are contained in the museums, or at the sound of the symphonies of Beethoven and Mozart, which might be given to the people at reduced prices on that day. The poor people must choose between vice and religion, and as the wretches know they are not wanted in the churches, they go to the taverns.

It is this same "unco guid" who is responsible for the state of the streets in the large cities of Great Britain by refusing to allow vice to be regulated. If you were to add the amount of immorality to be found in the streets of Paris, Berlin, Vienna, and the other capitals of Europe, no fair-minded Englishman "who knows" would contradict me, if I said that the total thus obtained would be much below the amount supplied by London alone; but the "unco guid" stays at home of an evening, advises you to do the same, and ignoring, or pretending to ignore, what is going on round his own house, he prays for the conversion--of the French.

The "unco guid" thinks that his own future safety is a.s.sured, so he prays for his neighbors'. He reminds one of certain Scots, who inhabit two small islands on the west coast of Scotland. Their piety is really most touching. Every Sunday in their churches, they commend to G.o.d's care "the puir inhabitants of the two adjacent islands of Britain and Ireland."

A few weeks ago, there appeared in a Liverpool paper a letter, signed "A Lover of Reverence," in which this anonymous person complained of a certain lecturer, who had indulged in profane remarks. "I was not present myself," he or she said, "but have heard of what took place,"

etc. You see, this person was not present, but as a good "Christian," he hastened to judge. However, this is nothing. In the letter, I read: "Fortunately, there are in Liverpool, a few Christians, like myself, always on the watch, and ever looking after our Maker's honor."

Fortunate Liverpool! What a proud position for the Almighty, to be placed in Liverpool under the protection of the "Lover of Reverence!"

Probably this "unco guid" and myself would not agree on the definition of the word _profanity_, for, if I had written and published such a letter, I would consider myself guilty, not only of profanity, but of blasphemy.

If the "unco guid" is the best product of Christianity, Christianity must be p.r.o.nounced a ghastly failure, and I should feel inclined to exclaim, with the late Dean Milman, "If all this is Christianity, it is high time we should try something else--say the religion of Christ, for instance."

[Ill.u.s.tration]

CHAPTER XXVI.

MILWAUKEE--A WELL-FILLED DAY--REFLECTIONS ON THE SCOTCH IN AMERICA--CHICAGO CRITICISMS.

_Milwaukee, February 25._

Arrived here from Detroit yesterday. Milwaukee is a city of over two hundred thousand inhabitants, a very large proportion of whom are Germans, who have come here to settle down, and wish good luck to the _Vaterland_, at the respectful distance of five thousand miles.

At the station I was met by Mr. John L. Mitch.e.l.l, the railway king, and by a compatriot of mine, M. A. de Guerville, a young enthusiast who has made up his mind to check the German invasion of Milwaukee, and has succeeded in starting a French society, composed of the leading inhabitants of the city. On arriving, I found a heavy but delightful programme to go through during the day: a lunch to be given me by the ladies at Milwaukee College at one o'clock; a reception by the French Club at Mrs. John L. Mitch.e.l.l's house at four; a dinner at six; my lecture at eight, and a reception and a supper by the Press Club at half-past ten; the rest of the evening to be spent as circ.u.mstances would allow or suggest. I was to be the guest of Mr. Mitch.e.l.l at his magnificent house in town.

[Ill.u.s.tration: A CITIZEN OF MILWAUKEE.]

"Good," I said, "let us begin."

Went through the whole programme. The reception by the French Club, in the beautiful Moorish-looking rooms of Mrs. John L. Mitch.e.l.l's superb mansion, was a great success. I was amazed to meet so many French-speaking people, and much amused to see my young compatriot go from one group to another, to satisfy himself that all the members of the club were speaking French; for I must tell you that, among the statutes of the club, there is one that imposes a fine of ten cents on any member caught in the act of speaking English at the gatherings of the a.s.sociation.

The lecture was a great success. The New Plymouth Church[3] was packed, and the audience extremely warm and appreciative. The supper offered to me by the Press Club proved most enjoyable. And yet, that was not all.

At one o'clock the Press Club repaired to a perfect German _Brauerei_, where we spent an hour in Bavaria, drinking excellent Bavarian beer while chatting, telling stories, etc.

I will omit to mention at what time we returned home, so as not to tell tales about my kind host.

In spite of the late hours we kept last night, breakfast was punctually served at eight this morning. First course, porridge. Thanks to the kind, thoroughly Scotch hospitality of Mr. John L. Mitch.e.l.l and his charming family, thanks to the many friends and sympathizers I met here, I shall carry away a most pleasant recollection of this large and beautiful city. I shall leave Milwaukee with much regret. Indeed, the worst feature of a thick lecturing tour is to feel, almost every day, that you leave behind friends whom you may never see again.

I lecture at the Central Music Hall, Chicago, this evening; but Chicago is reached from here in two hours and a half, and I will go as late in the day as I can.

No more beds for me now, until I reach Albany, in three days.

The railway king in Wisconsin is a Scotchman. I was not surprised to hear it. The iron king in Pennsylvania is a Scotchman, Mr. Andrew Carnegie. The oil king of Ohio is a Scotchman, Mr. Alexander Macdonald.

The silver king of California is a Scotchman, Mr. Mackay. The dry-goods-store king of New York--he is dead now--was a Scotchman, Mr.

Stewart. It is just the same in Canada, just the same in Australia, and all over the English-speaking world. The Scotch are successful everywhere, and the new countries offer them fields for their industry, their perseverance, and their shrewdness. There you see them landowners, directors of companies, at the head of all the great enterprises. In the lower stations of life, thanks to their frugality and saving habits, you find them thriving everywhere. You go to the manufactory, you are told that the foremen are Scotch.

I have, perhaps, a better ill.u.s.tration still.

[Ill.u.s.tration: TALES OF OLD SCOTLAND.]

If you travel in Canada, either by the Grand Trunk or the Canadian Pacific, you will meet in the last parlor car, near the stove, a man whose duty consists in seeing that, all along the line, the workmen are at their posts, digging, repairing, etc. These workmen are all day exposed to the Canadian temperature, and often have to work knee-deep in the snow. Well, you will find that the man with small, keen eyes, who is able to do his work in the railroad car, warming himself comfortably by the stove, is invariably a Scotchman. There is only one berth with a stove in the whole business; it is he who has got it. Many times I have had a chat with that Scotchman on the subject of old Scotland. Many times I have sat with him in the little smoking-room of the parlor car, listening to the history of his life, or, maybe, a few good Scotch anecdotes.

_In the train from Chicago to Cleveland_, _February 26_.