Washington is an interesting city to any of us. It seems to become more and more interesting the oftener we visit it. Perhaps the reader has never been there? Very well. You arrive either at night, rather too late to do anything or see anything until morning, or you arrive so early in the morning that you consider it best to go to your hotel and sleep an hour or two while the sun bothers along over the Atlantic. You cannot well arrive at a pleasant intermediate hour, because the railway corporation that keeps the keys of the only door that leads into the town or out of it take care of that. You arrive in tolerably good spirits, because it is only thirty-eight miles from Baltimore to the capital, and so you have only been insulted three times (provided you are not in a sleeping car—the average is higher there): once when you renewed your ticket after stopping over in Baltimore; once when you were about to enter the “ladies’ car” without knowing it was a lady’s car; and once when you asked the conductor at what hour you would reach Washington.
You are assailed3 by a long rank of hackmen who shake their whips in your face as you step out upon the sidewalk; you enter what they regard as a “carriage,” in the capital, and you wonder why they do not take it out of service and put it in the museum: we have few enough antiquities4, and it is little to our credit that we make scarcely any effort to preserve the few we have.
You reach your hotel, presently—and here let us draw the curtain of charity—because of course you have gone to the wrong one. You being a stranger, how could you do otherwise? There are a hundred and eighteen bad hotels, and only one good one. The most renowned5 and popular hotel of them all is perhaps the worst one known to history.
It is winter, and night. When you arrived, it was snowing. When you reached the hotel, it was sleeting6. When you went to bed, it was raining. During the night it froze hard, and the wind blew some chimneys down. When you got up in the morning, it was foggy. When you finished your breakfast at ten o’clock and went out, the sunshine was brilliant, the weather balmy and delicious, and the mud and slush deep and all-pervading. You will like the climate when you get used to it.
You naturally wish to view the city; so you take an umbrella, an overcoat, and a fan, and go forth7. The prominent features you soon locate and get familiar with; first you glimpse the ornamental8 upper works of a long, snowy palace projecting above a grove9 of trees, and a tall, graceful10 white dome11 with a statue on it surmounting12 the palace and pleasantly contrasting with the background of blue sky. That building is the capitol; gossips will tell you that by the original estimates it was to cost $12,000,000, and that the government did come within $21,200,000 of building it for that sum.
You stand at the back of the capitol to treat yourself to a view, and it is a very noble one. You understand, the capitol stands upon the verge13 of a high piece of table land, a fine commanding position, and its front looks out over this noble situation for a city—but it don’t see it, for the reason that when the capitol extension was decided14 upon, the property owners at once advanced their prices to such inhuman15 figures that the people went down and built the city in the muddy low marsh16 behind the temple of liberty; so now the lordly front of the building, with, its imposing17 colonades, its projecting graceful wings, its picturesque18 groups of statuary, and its long terraced ranges of steps, flowing down in white marble waves to the ground, merely looks out upon a sorrowful little desert of cheap boarding houses.
So you observe, that you take your view from the back of the capitol. And yet not from the airy outlooks of the dome, by the way, because to get there you must pass through the great rotunda20: and to do that, you would have to see the marvelous Historical Paintings that hang there, and the bas-reliefs—and what have you done that you should suffer thus? And besides, you might have to pass through the old part of the building, and you could not help seeing Mr. Lincoln, as petrified21 by a young lady artist for $10,000—and you might take his marble emancipation22 proclamation, which he holds out in his hand and contemplates24, for a folded napkin; and you might conceive from his expression and his attitude, that he is finding fault with the washing. Which is not the case. Nobody knows what is the matter with him; but everybody feels for him. Well, you ought not to go into the dome anyhow, because it would be utterly25 impossible to go up there without seeing the frescoes26 in it—and why should you be interested in the delirium27 tremens of art?
The capitol is a very noble and a very beautiful building, both within and without, but you need not examine it now. Still, if you greatly prefer going into the dome, go. Now your general glance gives you picturesque stretches of gleaming water, on your left, with a sail here and there and a lunatic asylum28 on shore; over beyond the water, on a distant elevation29, you see a squat30 yellow temple which your eye dwells upon lovingly through a blur31 of unmanly moisture, for it recalls your lost boyhood and the Parthenons done in molasses candy which made it blest and beautiful. Still in the distance, but on this side of the water and close to its edge, the Monument to the Father of his Country towers out of the mud—sacred soil is the customary term. It has the aspect of a factory chimney with the top broken off. The skeleton of a decaying scaffolding lingers about its summit, and tradition says that the spirit of Washington often comes down and sits on those rafters to enjoy this tribute of respect which the nation has reared as the symbol of its unappeasable gratitude32.
The Monument is to be finished, some day, and at that time our Washington will have risen still higher in the nation’s veneration33, and will be known as the Great-Great-Grandfather of his Country. The memorial Chimney stands in a quiet pastoral locality that is full of reposeful34 expression. With a glass you can see the cow-sheds about its base, and the contented35 sheep nimbling pebbles36 in the desert solitudes37 that surround it, and the tired pigs dozing38 in the holy calm of its protecting shadow.
Now you wrench39 your gaze loose, and you look down in front of you and see the broad Pennsylvania Avenue stretching straight ahead for a mile or more till it brings up against the iron fence in front of a pillared granite40 pile, the Treasury41 building-an edifice42 that would command respect in any capital. The stores and hotels that wall in this broad avenue are mean, and cheap, and dingy43, and are better left without comment. Beyond the Treasury is a fine large white barn, with wide unhandsome grounds about it. The President lives there. It is ugly enough outside, but that is nothing to what it is inside. Dreariness44, flimsiness, bad taste reduced to mathematical completeness is what the inside offers to the eye, if it remains45 yet what it always has been.
The front and right hand views give you the city at large. It is a wide stretch of cheap little brick houses, with here and there a noble architectural pile lifting itself out of the midst—government buildings, these. If the thaw46 is still going on when you come down and go about town, you will wonder at the short-sightedness of the city fathers, when you come to inspect the streets, in that they do not dilute47 the mud a little more and use them for canals.
If you inquire around a little, you will find that there are more boardinghouses to the square acre in Washington than there are in any other city in the land, perhaps. If you apply for a home in one of them, it will seem odd to you to have the landlady48 inspect you with a severe eye and then ask you if you are a member of Congress. Perhaps, just as a pleasantry, you will say yes. And then she will tell you that she is “full.” Then you show her her advertisement in the morning paper, and there she stands, convicted and ashamed. She will try to blush, and it will be only polite in you to take the effort for the deed. She shows you her rooms, now, and lets you take one—but she makes you pay in advance for it. That is what you will get for pretending to be a member of Congress. If you had been content to be merely a private citizen, your trunk would have been sufficient security for your board. If you are curious and inquire into this thing, the chances are that your landlady will be ill-natured enough to say that the person and property of a Congressman49 are exempt50 from arrest or detention51, and that with the tears in her eyes she has seen several of the people’s representatives walk off to their several States and Territories carrying her unreceipted board bills in their pockets for keepsakes. And before you have been in Washington many weeks you will be mean enough to believe her, too.
Of course you contrive52 to see everything and find out everything. And one of the first and most startling things you find out is, that every individual you encounter in the City of Washington almost—and certainly every separate and distinct individual in the public employment, from the highest bureau chief, clear down to the maid who scrubs Department halls, the night watchmen of the public buildings and the darkey boy who purifies the Department spittoons—represents Political Influence. Unless you can get the ear of a Senator, or a Congressman, or a Chief of a Bureau or Department, and persuade him to use his “influence” in your behalf, you cannot get an employment of the most trivial nature in Washington. Mere19 merit, fitness and capability53, are useless baggage to you without “influence.” The population of Washington consists pretty much entirely54 of government employees and the people who board them. There are thousands of these employees, and they have gathered there from every corner of the union and got their berths55 through the intercession (command is nearer the word) of the Senators and Representatives of their respective States. It would be an odd circumstance to see a girl get employment at three or four dollars a week in one of the great public cribs without any political grandee56 to back her, but merely because she was worthy57, and competent, and a good citizen of a free country that “treats all persons alike.” Washington would be mildly thunderstruck at such a thing as that. If you are a member of Congress, (no offence,) and one of your constituents58 who doesn’t know anything, and does not want to go into the bother of learning something, and has no money, and no employment, and can’t earn a living, comes besieging59 you for help, do you say, “Come, my friend, if your services were valuable you could get employment elsewhere—don’t want you here?” Oh, no: You take him to a Department and say, “Here, give this person something to pass away the time at—and a salary”—and the thing is done. You throw him on his country. He is his country’s child, let his country support him. There is something good and motherly about Washington, the grand old benevolent60 National Asylum for the Helpless.
The wages received by this great hive of employees are placed at the liberal figure meet and just for skilled and competent labor61. Such of them as are immediately employed about the two Houses of Congress, are not only liberally paid also, but are remembered in the customary Extra Compensation bill which slides neatly62 through, annually63, with the general grab that signalizes the last night of a session, and thus twenty per cent. is added to their wages, for—for fun, no doubt.
Washington Hawkins’ new life was an unceasing delight to him. Senator Dilworthy lived sumptuously64, and Washington’s quarters were charming—gas; running water, hot and cold; bath-room, coal-fires, rich carpets, beautiful pictures on the walls; books on religion, temperance, public charities and financial schemes; trim colored servants, dainty food—everything a body could wish for. And as for stationery65, there was no end to it; the government furnished it; postage stamps were not needed—the Senator’s frank could convey a horse through the mails, if necessary.
And then he saw such dazzling company. Renowned generals and admirals who had seemed but colossal66 myths when he was in the far west, went in and out before him or sat at the Senator’s table, solidified67 into palpable flesh and blood; famous statesmen crossed his path daily; that once rare and awe-inspiring being, a Congressman, was become a common spectacle—a spectacle so common, indeed, that he could contemplate23 it without excitement, even without embarrassment68; foreign ministers were visible to the naked eye at happy intervals69; he had looked upon the President himself, and lived. And more; this world of enchantment70 teemed71 with speculation—the whole atmosphere was thick with it—and that indeed was Washington Hawkins’ native air; none other refreshed his lungs so gratefully. He had found paradise at last.
The more he saw of his chief the Senator, the more he honored him, and the more conspicuously72 the moral grandeur of his character appeared to stand out. To possess the friendship and the kindly73 interest of such a man, Washington said in a letter to Louise, was a happy fortune for a young man whose career had been so impeded74 and so clouded as his.
The weeks drifted by;—Harry75 Brierly flirted76, danced, added lustre77 to the brilliant Senatorial receptions, and diligently78 “buzzed” and “button-holed” Congressmen in the interest of the Columbus River scheme; meantime Senator Dilworthy labored79 hard in the same interest—and in others of equal national importance. Harry wrote frequently to Sellers, and always encouragingly; and from these letters it was easy to see that Harry was a pet with all Washington, and was likely to carry the thing through; that the assistance rendered him by “old Dilworthy” was pretty fair—pretty fair; “and every little helps, you know,” said Harry.
Washington wrote Sellers officially, now and then. In one of his letters it appeared that whereas no member of the House committee favored the scheme at first, there was now needed but one more vote to compass a majority report. Closing sentence:
“Providence seems to further our efforts."
(Signed,) “ABNER DILWORTHY, U. S. S.,
per WASHINGTON HAWKINS, P. S."
At the end of a week, Washington was able to send the happy news, officially, as usual,—that the needed vote had been added and the bill favorably reported from the Committee. Other letters recorded its perils80 in Committee of the whole, and by and by its victory, by just the skin of its teeth, on third reading and final passage. Then came letters telling of Mr. Dilworthy’s struggles with a stubborn majority in his own Committee in the Senate; of how these gentlemen succumbed81, one by one, till a majority was secured.
Then there was a hiatus. Washington watched every move on the board, and he was in a good position to do this, for he was clerk of this committee, and also one other. He received no salary as private secretary, but these two clerkships, procured82 by his benefactor83, paid him an aggregate84 of twelve dollars a day, without counting the twenty percent extra compensation which would of course be voted to him on the last night of the session.
He saw the bill go into Committee of the whole and struggle for its life again, and finally worry through. In the fullness of time he noted85 its second reading, and by and by the day arrived when the grand ordeal86 came, and it was put upon its final passage. Washington listened with bated breath to the “Aye!” “No!” “No!” “Aye!” of the voters, for a few dread87 minutes, and then could bear the suspense88 no longer. He ran down from the gallery and hurried home to wait.
At the end of two or three hours the Senator arrived in the bosom89 of his family, and dinner was waiting. Washington sprang forward, with the eager question on his lips, and the Senator said:
“We may rejoice freely, now, my son—Providence has crowned our efforts with success.”
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1
dwellings
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| n.住处，处所( dwelling的名词复数 ) | |
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grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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assailed
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| v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 )；困扰；质问；毅然应对 | |
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4
antiquities
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| n.古老( antiquity的名词复数 )；古迹；古人们；古代的风俗习惯 | |
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5
renowned
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| adj.著名的，有名望的，声誉鹊起的 | |
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sleeting
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| 下雨夹雪，下冻雨( sleet的现在分词 ) | |
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7
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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8
ornamental
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| adj.装饰的；作装饰用的；n.装饰品；观赏植物 | |
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9
grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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10
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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11
dome
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| n.圆屋顶，拱顶 | |
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surmounting
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| 战胜( surmount的现在分词 )； 克服（困难）； 居于…之上； 在…顶上 | |
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13
verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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14
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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inhuman
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| adj.残忍的，不人道的，无人性的 | |
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marsh
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| n.沼泽，湿地 | |
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imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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rotunda
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| n.圆形建筑物；圆厅 | |
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petrified
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| adj.惊呆的；目瞪口呆的v.使吓呆，使惊呆；变僵硬；使石化(petrify的过去式和过去分词) | |
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emancipation
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| n.（从束缚、支配下）解放 | |
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contemplate
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| vt.盘算，计议；周密考虑；注视，凝视 | |
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contemplates
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| 深思，细想，仔细考虑( contemplate的第三人称单数 )； 注视，凝视； 考虑接受（发生某事的可能性）； 深思熟虑，沉思，苦思冥想 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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frescoes
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| n.壁画( fresco的名词复数 )；温壁画技法，湿壁画 | |
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delirium
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| n. 神智昏迷,说胡话;极度兴奋 | |
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asylum
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| n.避难所，庇护所，避难 | |
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elevation
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| n.高度；海拔；高地；上升；提高 | |
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squat
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| v.蹲坐，蹲下；n.蹲下；adj.矮胖的，粗矮的 | |
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blur
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| n.模糊不清的事物；vt.使模糊，使看不清楚 | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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veneration
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| n.尊敬，崇拜 | |
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reposeful
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| adj.平稳的，沉着的 | |
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contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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pebbles
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| [复数]鹅卵石； 沙砾； 卵石，小圆石( pebble的名词复数 ) | |
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solitudes
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| n.独居( solitude的名词复数 )；孤独；荒僻的地方；人迹罕至的地方 | |
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dozing
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| v.打瞌睡,假寐 n.瞌睡 | |
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wrench
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| v.猛拧；挣脱；使扭伤；n.扳手；痛苦，难受 | |
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granite
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| adj.花岗岩，花岗石 | |
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treasury
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| n.宝库；国库，金库；文库 | |
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edifice
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| n.宏伟的建筑物(如宫殿，教室) | |
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dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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dreariness
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| 沉寂，可怕，凄凉 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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thaw
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| v.（使）融化，（使）变得友善；n.融化，缓和 | |
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47
dilute
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| vt.稀释，冲淡；adj.稀释的，冲淡的 | |
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landlady
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| n.女房东，女地主 | |
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Congressman
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| n.（美）国会议员 | |
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exempt
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| adj.免除的；v.使免除；n.免税者，被免除义务者 | |
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51
detention
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| n.滞留，停留；拘留，扣留；(教育)留下 | |
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52
contrive
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| vt.谋划，策划；设法做到；设计，想出 | |
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53
capability
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| n.能力；才能；(pl)可发展的能力或特性等 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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berths
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| n.（船、列车等的）卧铺( berth的名词复数 )；（船舶的）停泊位或锚位；差事；船台vt.v.停泊( berth的第三人称单数 )；占铺位 | |
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grandee
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| n.贵族；大公 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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constituents
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| n.选民( constituent的名词复数 )；成分；构成部分；要素 | |
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besieging
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| 包围，围困，围攻( besiege的现在分词 ) | |
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benevolent
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| adj.仁慈的，乐善好施的 | |
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labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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annually
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| adv.一年一次，每年 | |
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sumptuously
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| 奢侈地，豪华地 | |
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stationery
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| n.文具；(配套的)信笺信封 | |
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colossal
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| adj.异常的，庞大的 | |
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solidified
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| （使）成为固体，（使）变硬，（使）变得坚固( solidify的过去式和过去分词 )； 使团结一致； 充实，巩固； 具体化 | |
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embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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70
enchantment
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| n.迷惑，妖术，魅力 | |
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71
teemed
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| v.充满( teem的过去式和过去分词 )；到处都是；（指水、雨等）暴降；倾注 | |
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72
conspicuously
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| ad.明显地，惹人注目地 | |
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73
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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74
impeded
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| 阻碍，妨碍，阻止( impede的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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75
harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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76
flirted
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| v.调情，打情骂俏( flirt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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77
lustre
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| n.光亮，光泽；荣誉 | |
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diligently
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| ad.industriously;carefully | |
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labored
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| adj.吃力的，谨慎的v.努力争取(for)( labor的过去式和过去分词 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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80
perils
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| 极大危险( peril的名词复数 )； 危险的事（或环境） | |
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81
succumbed
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| 不再抵抗（诱惑、疾病、攻击等）( succumb的过去式和过去分词 )； 屈从； 被压垮； 死 | |
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82
procured
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| v.（努力）取得， （设法）获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 )；拉皮条 | |
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83
benefactor
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| n. 恩人，行善的人，捐助人 | |
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84
aggregate
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| adj.总计的，集合的；n.总数；v.合计；集合 | |
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85
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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86
ordeal
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| n.苦难经历，（尤指对品格、耐力的）严峻考验 | |
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87
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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88
suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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89
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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