The Point of View by Henry James

WASHINGTON, October 5.

I GIVE you my little notes; you must make allowances for haste, for bad inns, for the perpetual scramble, for ill-humour. Everywhere the same impression-the platitude of unbalanced democracy intensified by the platitude of the spirit of commerce. Everything on an immense scale-everything illustrated by millions of examples. My brother-in-law is always busy; he has appointments, inspections, interviews, disputes. The people, it appears, are incredibly sharp in conversation, in argument; they wait for you in silence at the corner of the road, and then they suddenly discharge their revolver. If you fall, they empty your pockets; the only chance is to shoot them first. With that, no amenities, no preliminaries, no manners, no care for the appearance. I wander about while my brother is occupied; I lounge along the streets; I stop at the corners; I look into the shops; _je regarde passer les femmes_. It's an easy country to see; one sees everything there is; the civilisation is skin deep; you don't have to dig. This positive, practical, pushing _bourgeoisie_ is always about its business; it lives in the street, in the hotel, in the train; one is always in a crowd-there are seventy-five people in the tramway. They sit in your lap; they stand on your toes; when they wish to pass they simply push you. Everything in silence; they know that silence is golden, and they have the worship of gold. When the conductor wishes your fare he gives you a poke, very serious, without a word. As for the types-but there is only one-they are all variations of the same-the _commis-voyageur_ minus the gaiety. The women are often pretty; you meet the young ones in the streets, in the trains, in search of a husband.