The Southern Literary Messenger, Vol. II., No. 3, February, 1836Various
General
The Southern Literary Messenger, Vol. II., No. 3, February, 1836
Various
American literature -- 19th century -- Periodicals
"I know nothing more exhilirating than to be suddenly ushered in the
night into a populous quarter of a great city. My recollection readily
conjures up the impressions made upon me under similar circumstances
in entering Paris, Madrid, Brussels, Milan, or gay and lively Naples.
The lower classes, with their good humor, their quaint drollery and
sprightliness, there offer the most agreeable objects of
contemplation. Here, however, there was in the corresponding classes
nothing pleasing, or even picturesque. All seemed in search of food,
of the means of intemperance, and of gratifying low and brutal
passions. The idea of amusement had evidently no place. The streets
swarmed with abandoned women, filthy in their dress, open, brutal, and
indecent in their advances. In the places of the guitar, the serenade,
the musical cries of chesnut-women, lemonade-sellers, and watermen,
the sounds here were harsh and grating: uttered in words ill
pronounced and nasally prolonged, or in an unintelligible and
discordant slang which I no longer recognized as belonging to my own
language. In the place of skilful musicians performing the favorite
airs of Mozart or Rossini, or the witty colloquies of the sententious
Punchinello, the poor were invited, in the nasal twang of clamorous
mountebanks to amuse themselves by a sight of the latest cases of
seduction, murder, suicide, and hanging, represented in the shadows of
the camera obscura. The dark masses of dwelling-houses had a confined,
narrow, gloomy, and lugubrious aspect. They were of brick, without
window-sills of marble or other colored stone; unpainted, and
unenlivened by blinds. They were closely shut, and the glimpses of
cheerfulness and domestic comfort {194} exhibited in our streets were
here unseen. All the shops were open to the weather: Many of them
having the whole front removed, and gas-lights blazing and streaming
like great torches, rather than with the puny and flickering
illumination seen in ours. The articles were completely exposed to
view at the side of the street; clothing, provisions, crockery,
hardware; whatever is necessary to the wants of man. The druggists,
with their variegated vases, as with us, cast the Iris hues of their
nauseous mixtures into the street. Sellers of cheap goods exposed them
in the windows, with their price labelled. The butchers hung out beef,
pork, sausages, and enormous coarse sheep, in a nearly whole state,
with sometimes the price affixed to the inferior portions, in order
that the poor might judge whether the price they had received for
their day's labor, would compass a meal of meat; or whether they
should seek a diet more suited to their means, of a neighboring
potato-merchant: or whether to turn in despair, as many of the most
wretched seemed to do, to accept the flattering invitation of the
magnificent gin-palace at the corner. It was the most splendid
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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