University of Virginia Library

LETTER XII.

To Mr. Thompson:—Dear Sir—I told you in my
last letter that I was gwine to the opery, and that I'd
tell you what I thought of 'em. Well, to tell you the
truth, I like the opery well enuff, all but the singin.
The scenery is very handsum, the actin is good, and
the fiddlin is fust rate; but so much singin spiles evry
thing. The opery what I went to see at the Chesnut
street theatre, was the Bohemian Gall, and the acters
was the celebrated Segwin Troop, as they call 'em, and
I spose they done it up as well as anybody else could
do it; but accordin to my notion, there's monstrous little
sense in any such carryins on. If operys didn't cum
from Paris, whar all the fashionable bonnets and evry
thing else comes from, and it wasn't considered unfashionable
not to admire 'em, I don't blieve ther's
many peeple in this country what would be willin to pay
a half a dollar a night to hear sich a everlastin caterwaulin
as they do make.

As soon as I got my tea, I went to the theatre, what
ain't a grate ways from my hotel, and after buyin a ticket
of a man in a little hole outside of the green dores, I
went in and tuck a seat on one of the cushioned benches
what they call boxes. Ther was a good many peeple
in the theatre and ever so many wimmin, all dressed
out as fine as they could be, and sum of 'em lookin
monstrous handsum.

Bimeby one of the fiddlers down in the place they
call the orkestry, tuck up his fiddle-stick, and rapped
on his desk, at which evry musicianer grabbed his instrument.
Then the man with the fiddle-stick, after

wavin it up and down three or four times, gin his fiddle
a scrape or two what seemed to set the whole of 'em
agwine; and sich another hurra's nest I never did hear
before. Sumtimes all of 'em stopped but one or two;
then they all struck up agin as hard as they could rip it.
Sumtimes the musick was low and soft as the voice of a
sick kitten, and then it was loud and terrible, as if all
the lions, bulls, jackasses, and hiennys in creashun had
got together, and was tryin to see which could make
the biggest racket. They seemed to have evry thing
in the world that would make a noise, from a base drum
to a jewsharp; and evry feller tried to do his best.
One old feller had a grate big fiddle of about one hundred
hoss power, and the way he did rear and pitch
and pull and jerk at it, was really distressin. The old
feller seemed to have the highstericks for fear he
couldn't make as much noise as the rest of 'em, and
he rolled his eyes and twisted his mouth about enuff to
frighten all the ladys out of ther senses. Bimeby they
all blowed out, and at the ring of the bell up went the
curtain.

Then the opery commenced, but for the soul of me I
couldn't hardly make out hed nor tail to it, though I
listened at 'em with all my ears, eyes, mouth, and nose.
The fust thing was a grand singin match by a whole
heap of Bohemian sogers and wimmin, 'bout nobody
could tell what. Then thar was a big fat feller named
Thadeus, what the bill sed was a Polish exile, what
had run away from his country, cum on and sung a song
'bout his troubles, but he put so many dimmy-simmy
quivers in it that nobody couldn't understand what hurt
him. 'Bout this time ther was a gang of Murrelite
lookin peeple, what they called Gipseys, made ther appearance.
The hed man among them was a old feller
named Devil's-hooff, what had the whitest teeth I ever
seed in a white man's hed. This old cus sot to robbin
the fat Polander the fust thing, but his wife, who seemed
to wear the trowsers, wouldn't let him; and after a little

singin the Gipseys agreed to take the fat exile into ther
gang, and hide him from his pursuers. Then the Gipseys
went to whar the Governor of Bohemia and his
peeple was, and while they was all singin and carryin
on, sumbody cum in and told them that a wild hog or
sum other varmint was 'bout to eat up the Governor's
baby. Then ther was a rumpus—his excellency and
all his sogers run about the stage and looked at one
another as much as to say, “Grate Heavens! what's to
be done;” til the fat Polander tuck up a gun what was
leanin agin the house, and run out and shot the varmint,
whatever it was, and brung in the baby safe and sound
to its mammy. Then they had another singin match.
The Governor was very much obleeged to the fat man
for savin his baby, and sung to him if he wouldn't take
sumthing to drink. Mr. Thadeus 'lowed he didn't care
if he did, and the licker was sot out; but the Governor
didn't have no better sense than to propose sum political
sentiment what didn't set well on the stummick of the
fat Polander, who throwd down his glass and spilled
the licker all over the floor. Then ther was a terrible
rumpus agin. The Governor made his sogers grab the
man what spilled the licker—with that, old Devil's-hooff
fell to singin and rearin and shinin, tryin to git his frend
out of the hands of the sogers—but they sung as loud
as he did, and tuck him, too, and put him in jail with
Mr. Thadeus. But while the Governor and his frends
was singin about it, old Devil's-hooff got out of the jail
and stole the baby what the fat Polander had saved, and
run off with it. They saw him with the baby in his
arms, but the sogers was afraid to shoot at him for fear
of killin it; and when the old rascal got across the
bridge he took out his jack-knife or sumthing else and
cut it down, so they couldn't foller him. Then all fell
to singin agin as hard as they could, like a barn-yard
full of chickens when a hawk has jest carried off one
of ther little ones. When they was about out of breth
they let the curtain down for 'em to rest.

Well, thinks I, if that's what you call a opery, I'd a
monstrous sight rather see a genuine old Georgia corn-shuckin
frollick, what ther's sum sense in.

Rite close beside me was a feller with three or four
galls, what kep all the time lookin round the house at
the peeple, with a kind of double-barreled spy-glass,
and gabblein and chatterin like a parsel of geese. They
was all dressed within a inch of ther lives, and the chap
had a red and blue morocco cap on, what sot rite tite
down to his hed like a ball-cover. He had a monstrous
small hed, and when he had the spy-glasses up to his
eyes he looked jest like a double-barreled percussion
pistol, and I had half a mind jest to tap him on the hed
with my cane to see if he wouldn't go off.

“Now, ladies,” ses he, “we've got to wait til that
baby grows to be a woman before we see any more of
the opery.”

“Dear me,” ses one of the galls, “I hope they won't
keep us waitin so long 'tween the acts as they always
do; for I'm so much delighted with the opery.”

“And me, too,” ses another one. “It's so refreshin
to hear sich delightful melody; I shall be very impatient.”

“It's exceedingly foin,” ses the feller with the percussion
cap, lookin round the theatre with his spy-glasses.
“I nevaw heard Segwin in better tune.
Fwazau is pwefectly delightful. But I must beg the
ladies to be patient.”

Thinks I, I'll be monstrous apt to be in old Georgia
agin before that baby grows to be a gall; but I can set
up as long as any of you, and, as I've paid my money,
I'm 'termined to see it out.

But I hadn't begun to git sleepy before up went the
curtain agin, and the racket commenced. Shore enuff,
thar was the baby grow'd to be a grate big gall, and
Mr. Thadeus, as fat as ever, was thar singin love to her.

They've both been with the gipseys ever sense, and
she's fell in love with the fat Polander. The queen of

the gipseys agrees to the match, and the raggymuffins
has a grand frollick and dance on the occasion. 'Bout
this time a Miss Nancy sort of a feller, what's sum
relation to the Governor, comes projectin about among
the gipseys, falls in love with the Bohemian gall, and
wants her to have him. The gipsey queen, who seems
to have sum spite agin the pore gall, steals a medal
from the booby lover, and puts it on her neck; when
the feller, findin he can't git her to have nothin to say
to him, has her tuck up for stealin, and carried before
the governor. The governor, who's had the blues like
the mischief ever sense he lost his baby, is 'bout gwine
to punish her, when he finds out by some mark that she
is his own daughter. Then he sings to her a heap, and
she sings to him, and he takes her home to his palace,
and wants her to marry his booby relation. But she's
got better sense; besides, she's hard and fast in love
with Mr. Thadeus, and won't have nobody else. Her
father won't consent for her to marry a wanderin gipsey,
and thar's the mischief to pay, with singin enuff for
a dozen camp-meetins, all mixed up so nobody can't
tell hed nor tail to it. 'Bout this time, Mr. Thadeus
shows the governor his last tailor's bill, or sumthing
else, that proves to his excellency that he was a gentleman
once, and he gives his consent to the match. Mr.
Thadeus and the Bohemian gall is monstrous happy,
and old Devil's-hooff and the governor and all of 'em
is takin another sing, when the queen of the gipseys
puts up one of her vagabones to shoot Mrs. Thadeus
that is to be; but the feller bein a monstrous bad shot
misses her and kills the queen, which puts a stop to her
singin, though the rest of 'em sing away til the curtain
draps.

And that's the eend of the opery of the Bohemian
Gall. I hain't go the squeelin and howlin and screechin
of them 'bominable gipseys out of my hed yet, and I
blieve if I was to live to be a hundred years old I
wouldn't go to another opery, unless it was one that

didn't have no singin in it. I like a good song as well
as anybody, and have got jest as good a ear for musick
as the next man, but I hain't got no notion of hearin
twenty or thirty men and wimmin all singin together,
in a perfect harrycane of noisy discord, so a body can't
tell whether they're singin “Hail Columbia” or “Old
Hundred.” Ther is sich a thing as overdoin any thing;
and if you want to spile the best thing in the world,
that's the surest way to do it. Well, for peeple what
ain't good for much else but music, like the French,
Germans, and Italians, a opery full of solos and duets
and quartets and choruses, as they call 'em, would do
very well, if they would only talk a little now and then,
so a body could know what they was singin about.
But to sing evry thing, so that a character can't say,
“Come to supper, your excellency!” without bawlin
out—“Co-ho-ho-me to-oo-oo sup-up-up-e-e-er, your-r-r
ex-cel-len-cy,” with about five hundred dimmy-simmy
quivers, so nobody can't tell whether he was called to
supper, or whether he was told that his daddy was ded,
is all nonsense. Let 'em sing whar ther is any sentiment—any
thing to sing about—but when ther is only
a word or two that is necessary to the understandin of
what comes after or goes before; and whar ther ain't
words enuff to make a stave of musick, what's the use
of disguisin 'em so that ther ain't neither sense nor musick
in 'em.

A body what never seed a opery before would swar
they was evry one either drunk or crazy as loons, if they
was to see 'em in one of ther grand lung-tearin, earbustin
blowouts. Fust one begins singin and makin all
sorts of motions at another, then the other one sets in
and tries to drown the noise of the fust, then two or
three more takes sides with the fust one, and then sum
more jines ïn with number two, til-bimeby the whole
crowd gits at it, each one tryin to out-squall the other,
and to make more motions than the rest. That sets the
fiddlers a-goin harder and harder—the singers straiten

out ther necks and open ther mouths like so many carpet-bags—the
fiddlers scrape away as if they was gwine
to saw their fiddles in two, wakin up the ghosts of all
the cats that ever was made into fiddle-strings, and
makin the awfulest faces, as if it was ther own entrels
they was sawin on—the clarineters and trumpeters
swell and blow like bellowses, til their eyes stick out
of ther heds like brass buttons on a lether trunk, and
the drummer nocks away as if his salvation depended
on nockin in the hed of his drum. By this time the
roarin tempest of wind and sound surges and sweeps
through the house like a equinoctial harrycane, risin
higher and higher and gittin louder and stronger, til it
almost blows the roof off the bildin, and you feel like
dodgin the fallin rafters. For my part I shall have to
go to singin-school a long time, and larn the keys from
the pianissimo of the musketer's trumpet, up to the
crashin fortissimo of a clap of thunder, before I shall
have any taste for a grand opery.

I've always had a great curiosity to see how the free
niggers git along in the Northern States. So after
breckfust this mornin, I ax'd the man what keeps the
books at the hotel whar was the best place to see 'em;
for I'd heard gentlemen what had been in Filladelfy say
that ther was whole squares in this city whar nobody
but niggers lived. The book-keeper told me if I wanted
to see free niggers in all ther glory, I must go down
Sixth street til I come to 'em.

Well, I started, and sure enuff, I hadn't gone many
squares before I begun to smell 'em, and never will I
forgit the sight I saw down in Small street, and sum
other streets in that neighborhood. Gracious knows,
if anybody wants to git ther simpathies excited for the
pore nigger, all they have got to do is to go to this part
of Filladelfy. I've been on the big rice plantashuns in
Georgia, and I've seed large gangs of niggers that had
the meanest kind of masters, but I never seed any pore
creaters in sich a state of retchedness in all my life. I

couldn't help but feel sorry for 'em, and if I was able,
I'd been willin to paid the passage of the whole generation
of 'em to Georgia, whar they could git good
masters that would make the young ones work, and
would take care of the old ones.

Thar they was, covered with rags and dirt, livin in
houses and cellars, without hardly any furniture; and
sum of 'em without dores or winders. Pore, miserable,
sickly-lookin creaters! it was enuff to make a abolitionist's
hart ake to see 'em crawlin out of the damp straw
of the cellars, to sun themselves on the cellar-dores til
they got able to start out to beg or steal sumthing to eat,
while them that was able was cussin and fightin about
what little they had. You couldn't hardly tell the men
from the wimmin for ther rags; and many of 'em was
diseased and bloated up like frogs, and lay sprawlin
about like so many cooters in a mud-hole, with ther red
eyes peepin out of ther dark rooms and cellars like
lizards in a pile of rotten logs.

This, thinks I, is nigger freedom; this is the condition
to which the filanthropists of the North wants to
bring the happy black peeple of the South! Well, one
of two things is certain:—either the abolitionists is a
grand set of hippocritical scoundrels, or they are totally
ignorant of the condition of the slaves what they want
to git away from ther masters. Materially considered,
the niggers of Georgia is as much better off than the
niggers of Pensylvany, as the pore peeple of America
is better off than the pore peeple of Ireland; and,
morally considered, the advantage is equally as great in
favor of the slaves of the South over the pore free niggers
of the North. For whar social equallity cannot
possibly exist, the black peeple are miserable jest in the
degree that they approach to equality in wealth and
edication with the whites, and are enabled to understand
their degraded position. What's the use to talk
about equallity when no such thing exists. Ther is as
much prejudice agin coler here as anywhar else. A

body sees that in ther churches, and theatres, and
courts, and evrywhar else. Nobody here that has any
respect for themselves, treats a nigger as ther equal, except
a few fannyticks, and they only do it to give the
lie to ther own feelins, and to insult the feelins of others.
At the South, the relation between the two races is understood
by both parties, and a white man ain't at all
jealous of the pretensions of his servants; but here,
ther is a constant jealous enmity existin between the
whites whose occupations brings 'em in contact with
'em, and the niggers, who is all the time aspirin to a
social equallity, what they never can attain til ther wool
grows strait and ther skins fade white. The races is,
naturally, social antagonists, and it is only in the relation
of master and servant that they can exist peaceably
together. Then, unless the abolitionists can put
'em back into Africa whar they come from, in a better
condition than they was when they found 'em, or unless
they is willin to take ther turn bein servants, they better
let 'em alone.

For my part, I've got as much feelin for the niggers
as anybody can have; but sense they are here among
us, and I've got to live with 'em, I prefer bein master
myself and treatin 'em well, to lettin them be masters
and takin the chances of ther treatin me well. But
one thing is monstrous certain, if my niggers wasn't
better off and happyer on my plantation than these
Northern free niggers is, I wouldn't own 'em a single
day longer. My niggers has got plenty of hog and
hommony to eat, and plenty of good comfortable clothes
to wear, and no debts to pay, with no more work than
what is good for ther helth; and if that ain't better than
freedom, with rags, dirt, starvation, doctor's bills, lawsuits,
and the five thousand other glorious privileges
and responsibili ies of free nigger citizenship, without
the hope of ever turnin white and becomin equal with
ther superiors, then I ain't no filossofer.

After lookin into sum streets that I wouldn't risk my

life in gwine through, and seein scenes of destitution
and misery enuff to make one's very hart sick, I went
back to my hotel. I spent the rest of the day lookin
about over the city with Mr. More, who wanted me to
go to the opery with him agin. But I couldn't stand
that, and after tea I paid my bill and got all reddy to
leave for New York to-morrow mornin, bright and early.
In a few hours more I will be in the great Gotham.
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