Democracy quotes

… she meant to get all that American life had to offer, good or bad, and to drink it down to the dregs, fully determined that whatever there was in it she would have, and that whatever could be made out of it she would manufacture.

“I know,” said she, “that America produces petroleum and pigs; I have seen both on the steamers; and I am told it produces silver and gold. There is choice enough for any woman.”

Yet, as has been already said, Mrs. Lee’s first experience was not a success. She soon declared that New York might represent the petroleum or the pigs, but the gold of life was not to be discovered there by her eyes.

Your press must scintillate. How is it that we New Yorkers never hear of it? We don’t go much into your society; but when we do, it doesn’t seem so very much better than our own. You are just like the rest of us.

You grow six inches high, and then you stop. Why will not somebody grow to be a tree and cast a shadow?

”

She cared little where her pursuit might lead her, for she put no extravagant value upon life, having already, as she said, exhausted at least two lives, and being fairly hardened to insensibility in the process.

“To lose a husband and a baby,” said she, “and keep one’s courage and reason, one must become very hard or very soft. I am now pure steel. You may beat my heart with a trip-hammer and it will beat the trip-hammer back again.”

Perhaps after exhausting the political world she might try again elsewhere; she did not pretend to say where she might then go, or what she should do; but at present she meant to see what amusement there might be in politics.

guided, restrained, controlled, or unrestrained and uncontrollable, by men of ordinary mould; the tremendous forces of government, and the machinery of society, at work.

What she wanted, was Power.

Perhaps the force of the engine was a little confused in her mind with that of the engineer, the power with the men who wielded it.

as indescribable as the afterglow; as impalpable as an Indian summer mist; and nonexistent except to people who feel rather than reason. Sybil had none of it. The imagination gave up all attempts to soar where she came.

A more straightforward, downright, gay, sympathetic, shallow, warmhearted, sternly practical young woman has rarely touched this planet.

Her mind had room for neither gravestones nor guidebooks; she could not have lived in the past or the future if she had spent her days in churches and her nights in tombs. “She was not clever, like Madeleine, thank Heaven.”

Sybil—Miss Sybil Ross—was Madeleine Lee’s sister. The keenest psychologist could not have detected a single feature quality which they had in common, and for that reason they were devoted friends. Madeleine was thirty, Sybil twenty-four.

Madeleine was indescribable; Sybil was transparent.

Madeleine was of medium height with a graceful figure, a well-set head, and enough golden-brown hair to frame a face full of varying expression. Her eyes were never for two consecutive hours of the same shade, but were more often blue than grey.

but then, she always prayed for one; somehow it strengthened her faith. Her sister took care never to laugh at her on this score, or to shock her religious opinions.

“Time enough,” said she, “for her to forget religion when religion fails her.”

As for regular attendance at church, Madeleine was able to reconcile their habits without trouble. She herself had not entered a church for years; she said it gave her unchristian feelings; but Sybil had a voice of excellent quality, well trained and cultivated:

On the other hand, her sister had her dresses from Paris, and wore them and her ornaments according to all the formulas; she was good-naturedly correct, and bent her round white shoulders to whatever burden the Parisian autocrat chose to put upon them.

Madeleine never interfered, and always paid the bills.

Before they had been ten days in Washington, they fell gently into their place and were carried along without an effort on the stream of social life. Society was kind; there was no reason for its being otherwise. Mrs.

To her mind the Senate was a place where people went to recite speeches, and she naively assumed that the speeches were useful and had a purpose, but as they did not interest her she never went again.

This is a very common conception of Congress; many Congressmen share it.

Her sister was more patient and bolder. She went to the Capitol nearly every day for at least two weeks.

… to think that the passage in your speech of yesterday which began with, ‘Our strength lies in this twisted and tangled mass of isolated principles, the hair of the half-sleeping giant of Party,’ is both for language and imagery quite equal to anything of Webster’s.”

The Senator from Illinois rose to this gaudy fly like a huge, two-hundred-pound salmon; his white waistcoat gave out a mild silver reflection as he slowly came to the surface and gorged the hook.

He made not even a plunge, not one perceptible effort to tear out the barbed weapon, but, floating gently to her feet, allowed himself to be landed as though it were a pleasure.

“He won’t come! I told you he wouldn’t come!” said he to Madeleine, as he handed her into the house.

“If I ever turn communist, it will be for the fun of murdering a senator.”

Madeleine consoled him gently, but he continued to use, behind Mr. Clinton’s back, language the most offensive and improper towards the Senate, and at last, ringing the bell, he sharply ordered the head waiter to serve dinner.

“He won’t come! I told you he wouldn’t come!” said he to Madeleine, as he handed her into the house. “If I ever turn communist, it will be for the fun of murdering a senator.”

Madeleine consoled him gently, but he continued to use, behind Mr. Clinton’s back, language the most offensive and improper towards the Senate

, and at last, ringing the bell, he sharply ordered the head waiter to serve dinner. At that very moment the door opened, and Senator Ratcliffe’s stately figure appeared on the threshold.

French repented of his attack, and contented himself by muttering to Carrington: “What a set of damned old reprobates they are!”

“They are right, though, in one thing,” was Carrington’s reply: “their advice is good. Never ask one of them to reform anything; if you do, you will be reformed yourself.”

The dinner ended as brilliantly as it began, and Schneidekoupon was delighted with his success. He had made himself particularly agreeable to Sybil by confiding in her all his hopes and fears about the tariff and the finances.

“Does it amuse you, this sort of thing?” he asked in a vague way.

“We take our amusement sadly, after the manner of our people,” she replied; “but it certainly interests me.”

They stood for a time in silence, watching the slowly eddying dance of Democracy, until he resumed:

“Why do you want to understand it?” persisted the Senator. “What good will it do you?”

“Perhaps it will teach us to be modest,” answered Madeleine, quite equal to the occasion.

“Because it says we descend from monkeys?” rejoined the Senator, roughly. “Do you think you are descended from monkeys?”

“Why not?” repeated Ratcliffe, laughing harshly. “I don’t like the connection. Do you mean to introduce your distant relations into society?”

“They would bring more amusement into it than most of its present members,” rejoined Mrs. Lee, with a gentle smile that threatened mischief.

But Ratcliffe would not be warned; on the contrary, the only effect of Mrs. Lee’s defiance was to exasperate his ill-temper, and whenever he lost his temper he became senatorial and Websterian. “Such books,” he began, “disgrace our civilization;

Mr. Carrington, of course, would approve those ideas; he believes in the divine doctrine of flogging negroes; but that you, who profess philanthropy and free principles, should go with them, is astonishing; it is incredible; it is unworthy of you.”

“You are very hard on the monkeys,” replied Madeleine, rather sternly, when the Senator’s oration was ended.

“The monkeys never did you any harm; they are not in public life; they are not even voters; if they were, you would be enthusiastic about their intelligence and virtue.

“Really!” said Mrs. Lee.

“Think of Attila and his hordes running an Indiana caucus?”

“Anyhow,” cried French with a loud laugh, “the Baron said that a set of bigger political scoundrels than his friends couldn’t be found in all Illinois.”

“Do you read it much, Miss Dare?”

“Oh, always! I am not really as light as I seem. But then I have an advantage over you because I know the language.”

By this time Dunbeg was awake again, and Miss Dare, satisfied with her success, allowed herself to become more reasonable, until a slight shade of sentiment began to flicker about their path.

As he wisely said, the issue now involved was not one of principle but of power. The fate of that noble party to which they all belonged, and which had a record that could never be forgotten, depended on their letting principle alone.

Their principle must be the want of principles.

There were indeed individuals who said in reply that Ratcliffe had made promises which never could be carried out, and there were almost superhuman elements of discord in the combination, but as Ratcliffe shrewdly rejoined, he only wanted it to last a week, and he …

… the purest and most highly cultivated newspaper editors on his side, without excepting those of Boston itself, agreed with one voice that the Stonecutter was a noble type of man, perhaps the very noblest that had appeared to adorn this country since the incomparable Washington.

That he was honest, all admitted; that is to say, all who voted for him. This is a general characteristic of all new presidents.

He himself took great pride in his homespun honesty, which is a quality peculiar to nature’s noblemen.

epithets which, as generally interpreted, meant Ratcliffe and Ratcliffe’s friends. His cardinal principle in politics was hostility to Ratcliffe, yet he was not vindictive.

He came to Washington determined to be the Father of his country; to gain a proud immortality⁠—and a reelection.

Upon this gentleman Ratcliffe had let loose all the forms of “pressure” which could be set in motion either in or out of Washington.

Servus servorum Dei—“Servant of the servants of God.” In former days it was not admitted that the devil’s servants could by right have any share in government. They were to be shut out, punished, exiled, maimed, and burned.

The devil has no servants now; only the people have servants.

There may be some mistake about a doctrine which makes the wicked, when a majority, the mouthpiece of God against the virtuous, but the hopes of mankind are staked on it;

Mr. Gore looked grave. “And your politics!” said he; “are you satisfied with what you have seen?”

“I have got so far as to lose the distinction between right and wrong. Isn’t that the first step in politics?”

Mr. Gore had no mind even for serious jesting. He broke out into a long lecture which sounded like a chapter of some future history: “But Mrs. Lee, is it possible that you don’t see what a wrong path you are on.

I shall be glad to hear that you are mistress of it and have given up reforming politics. The Spaniards have a proverb that smells of the stable, but applies to people like you and me:

The man who washes his donkey’s head, loses time and soap.

”

A little startled by this sudden confidence, Carrington could only ask what he could do to prevent it.

“Cats that go ratting, don’t wear gloves,”

replied Gore, who always carried a Spanish proverb in his pocket. Carrington, after painful reflection, could only guess that he wanted Ratcliffe’s enemies to show their claws. But how?

“Do you mean that you could get them all to vote as you pleased?” asked Madeleine.

“Well! we got our bills through,” replied Mrs. Baker.

“But how did you do it? did they take bribes?”

Ratcliffe’s face betrayed no sign.

“If you believe what those people tell you,” said he drily, “you will be wiser than the Queen of Sheba.”

and her practical mind ran off among all the girls of her acquaintance, in search of one who would put up with Carrington’s melancholy face. She knew his devotion to her sister, but had long ago rejected this as a hopeless chance.

There was a simplicity about Sybil’s way of dealing with life, which had its own charm.

She never troubled herself about the impossible or the unthinkable. She had feelings, and was rather quick in her sympathies and sorrows, but she was equally quick in getting over them, and she expected other people to do likewise.

She never troubled herself about the impossible or the unthinkable. She had feelings, and was rather quick in her sympathies and sorrows, but she was equally quick in getting over them, and she expected other people to do likewise.

Madeleine dissected her own feelings and was always wondering whether they were real or not; she had a habit of taking off her mental clothing, as she might take off a dress, and looking at it as though it belonged to someone else

, and as though sensations were manufactured like clothes. This seems to be one of the easier ways of deadening sorrow, as though the mind could teach itself to lop off its feelers. Sybil particularly disliked this self-inspection.

This seems to be one of the easier ways of deadening sorrow, as though the mind could teach itself to lop off its feelers. Sybil particularly disliked this self-inspection.

In the first place she did not understand it, and in the second her mind was all feelers, and amputation was death.

She could no more analyse a feeling than doubt its existence, both which were habits of her sister.

… by encouragement, she went on to attack him pitilessly for going down on his knees before her sister, “just as though you were not as good as she is,” and openly avowed that, if she were a man, she would at least have some pride.

Men like this kind of punishment.

Carrington did not attempt to defend himself; he even courted Sybil’s attack. They both enjoyed their ride through the bare woods, by the rippling spring streams, under the languid breath of the moist south wind.

Carrington expressed some hope that Madeleine meant, after a sort, to give a kind of pledge by saying that she had no intention of marrying Mr. Ratcliffe, but Sybil shook her head emphatically:

“How can a woman tell whether she is going to accept a man until she is asked?”

said she with entire confidence, as though she were stating the simplest fact in the world. Carrington looked puzzled, and ventured to ask whether women did not generally make up their minds beforehand on such an interesting point; but Sybil overwhelmed him with contempt:

… irritated because, his invitation having been timed to arrive just one day too late, he was prevented from bringing his family across the continent with a choice party in a director’s car, to enjoy the smiles of royalty in the halls of the British lion.

It is astonishing what efforts freemen will make in a just cause.

Lord Skye himself treated the whole affair with easy contempt. One afternoon he strolled into Mrs. Lee’s parlour and begged her to give him a cup of tea.

But at least ten thousand modern writers, with Lord Macaulay at their head, have so ravaged and despoiled the region of fairy-stories and fables, that an allusion even to the Arabian Nights is no longer decent.

The capacity of women to make unsuitable marriages must be considered as the cornerstone of society.

Meanwhile the ball had, in truth, very nearly driven all thought of Carrington out of Sybil’s mind. The city filled again. The streets swarmed with fashionable young men and women from the provinces of New York, Philadelphia, and Boston, who gave Sybil abundance of occupation.

All the Cabinet would accompany the Chief Magistrate. The diplomatic corps would appear in uniform; so, too, the officers of the army and navy; the Governor-General of Canada was coming, with a staff.

Lord Skye remarked that the Governor-General was a flat.

The day of the ball was a day of anxiety to Sybil, although not on account of Mr. Ratcliffe or of Mr. Carrington, who were of trifling consequence compared with the serious problem now before her.

… but easily distinguishable from the fact that the artist, for his own objects, has made her rather shorter, and the Princess rather taller, than was strictly correct, just as he has given the Princess a gracious smile, which was quite different from her actual expression.

In short, the artist is compelled to exhibit the world rather as we would wish it to be, than as it was or is, or, indeed, is like shortly to become.

The strangest part of his picture is, however, the fact that he actually did see Mrs. Lee where he has put her, at the Princess’s elbow, which was almost the last place in the room where anyone who knew Mrs.

Sybil burst again into laughter so irrepressible and prolonged that it puzzled even poor Dunbeg, who was impatiently pacing the corridor outside. It alarmed Madeleine, who suddenly opened the door. Sybil recovered herself, and, her eyes streaming with tears, presented Victoria to her sister:

“Madeleine, allow me to introduce you to the Countess Dunbeg!”

But Mrs. Lee was much too anxious to feel any interest in Lady Dunbeg. A sudden fear struck her that Sybil was going into hysterics because Victoria’s engagement recalled her own disappointment. She hurried her sister away to the carriage.

Worn out by long-continued anxiety, excitement and sleeplessness, she was unfit to struggle with the creatures of her own imagination. Such a strain could only end in a nervous crisis, and at length it came:

“Oh, what a vile thing life is!” she cried, throwing up her arms with a gesture of helpless rage and despair.

“Oh, how I wish I were dead! how I wish the universe were annihilated!” and she flung herself down by Sybil’s side in a frenzy of tears.

The antics of Presidents and Senators had been amusing—so amusing that she had nearly been persuaded to take part in them. She had saved herself in time.

She had got to the bottom of this business of democratic government, and found out that it was nothing more than government of any other kind.

She might have known it by her own common sense, but now that experience had proved it, she was glad to quit the masquerade; to return to the true democracy of life, her paupers and her prisons, her schools and her hospitals. As for Mr.

He had made up his mind that Sybil was a silly, frivolous girl, who counted for nothing in her sister’s actions.

He had fallen into the usual masculine blunder of mixing up smartness of intelligence with strength of character.

Sybil, without being a metaphysician, willed anything which she willed at all with more energy than her sister did, who was worn out with the effort of life. Mr.