IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 I.I 11.25 |50 ■^" IIII^H ■^ 1^ 12.2 ■UUu Photographic Sciences Corporation \ ^ /- /eg « • CONTENTS. Chapter I.— Departure — The Atlantic — Demoralisation of the " Boarders "—Betting —The Auctioneer— An Inquisi- tive Yankee .. Chapter II.— Arrival of the Pilot— First Look at American Newspapers Chapter III.— Arrival— The Custom House— Things Look Bad — The Interviewers — First Visits — Things Look Brighter— "O, Vanity of Vanities!" Chapter IV. — Impressions of American Hotels Chapter V.— My Opening Lecture— Reflections on Audiences I have had— The Man who Won't Smile— The One who Laughs Too Soon, and Many Others Chapter VI. — A Connecticut Audience— Merry Meriden — A Hard Pull Chapter VII.— A Tempting Offer — The Thursday Club- Bill Nye— Visit to Young Ladies' School— The I 'layers' Club Chapter VHL— The Flourishing of Coats of Arms in America —Reflections Thereon — Forefathers Made to Order— The Phonograph at Home— The Wealth of New York- Departure for Buffalo Chapter IX.— Different Ways of Advertising a Lecture- American Impresarios and their Methods Chapter X.— Buffalo — The Niagara Falls — A Frost- Rochester to the Rescue of Buffalo— Cleveland— I Meet Jonathan Chapter XL— A Great Admirer— Notes on Railway Travelling —Is America a Free Nation ? A Pleasant Evening in New York Pnge II 14 25 36 46 49 57 62 70 77 11 CONTENTS. raffe Chapter XII. — Notes on American Women — Comparisons — How Men Treat Women and vice vcrsd — Scenes as Illustrations Chapter XIII. — More about Journalism in America — A Dinner at Delmonico's — My First Appearance in an American Church Chapter XIV. — Marcus Aurelius in America — Chairmen I have had— American, English, and Scotch Chairmen — One who had been to Boulogne — Talkative and Silent Chairmen — A Trying Occasion— The Lord is asked to allow the Audience to see my Jokes Chapter XV. — Reflections on the Typical American Hall The Chapter XXI. — Toronto — The City — The Ladies Sports— Strange Contrasts — The Canadian Schools Chapter XXII. — West Canada — Relations between British and Indians — Return to the United States — Difficulties in the Way — Encounter with an American Custom-house (jtticcr tn ft ••• ••• ••• ••• ••• *" 85 104 iiG 128 Chapter XVI. — I am asked to express myself freely on America — I meet Mrs. Blank, and for the first time hear of Mr. Blank— Beacon Street Society— The Boston Clubs 139 Chapter XVII. — A Liveb- Sunday in Boston — Lecture in the Boston Theatre — Oliver Wendell Holmes — The Booth-Modjeska Coi • ...tion i.|5 Chapter XVIIll — St. Johnsbury — The State of Maine — New England Self-control — Cold Climates and Frigid Audiences —Where is the Audience ? — All Drunk I — A Reminiscence of a Scotch Audience on a Saturday Night 151 Chapter XIX.— A Lovely Ride to Canada — Quebec, a Corner of Old France Strayed up West and Lost in the Snow — The French Canadians — The Parties in Canada — Will the Canadians become Yankees ? 159 Chapter XX. — Montreal — The City — Mount Royal- Canadian Sports — Ottawa — The Government — Rideau 168 175 i ; i8t I CONTENTS. Chapter XXIIT— Chicago (first visit)— The Neighbourhood of Chicago—The History of Chicago— Public Servants— A very Deaf Man Chapter XXIV. — St. Paul and Minneapolis the Sister Cities — Rivalries and Jealousies between Large American Cities —Minnehaha Falls— Wonderful Interviewers — My Hat Gets into Trouble Again — Electricity in the Air — Forset Advertisements — Railway Speed in America Chapter XXV.— Detroit— The Town— The Detroit Free Press — A Lady Interviewer — The " Unco' guid " in Detroit — Reflections on the Anglo-Saxon " Unco' guid " Chapter XXVI. — Milwaukee — A Well-filled Day — Reflections on the Scotch in America — Chicago Criticisms Chapter XXVII. — The Monotony of Travelling in the States Manon Lescaut in America Chapter XXVIII. — For the first time I see an American paper Abuse me — Albany to New York — A Lecture at Daly's Theatre — Afternoon Audiences Chapter XXIX. — Wanderings through New York — Lecture at the Harmony Club — Visit to the Century Club Chapter XXX. — Visit to the Brooklyn Academy of Music — Rev. Dr. Talmage Chapter XXXI.— Virginia— The Hotels— The South— I will Kill a Railway Conductor before I leave America — Philadelphia — Impressions of the Old City Chapter XXXII.— My Ideas of the State of Texas— Why I Did Not go There— The Story of a Frontier Man Chapter XXXIII.— Cincinnati— The Town— The iJuburbs— A German City— " Over the Rhine"— What is a Good Patriot ?— An Impressive Funeral— A Great Fire— How it Appeared to Me, and how it Appeared to the Newspaper Reporters .. Chapter XXXIV.— A Journey if you Like — Terrible En- counter with an American Intervewer m P^rge 187 197 205 218 225 228 234 236 241 252 257 272 tv CONTENTS. CiiArTEK XXXV.— Tlio TJni\ 6, 7, 8, or g. Each draws one of these numbers, and pays his shilling, half-crown, or even sovereign. Then these numbers are put up at auction. An improvised auctioneer, with the gift of the gab, puts his talent at the service of his fellow- passengers. It is really very funny to see him swaying about the smoking-room table, and using all his eloquence over each number in turn for sale. A good auctioneer will run the bidding so smartly that the winner of the pool next day often pockets as much as thirty and forty pounds. On the eve of arrival in New York harbour everybody knows that twenty-four pilots are waiting about for the advent of the liner, and that each boat carries her number on her sail. Accordingly, twenty-four numbers are rolled up and thrown into a cap, and betting begins again. He who has drawn the number which A i^i^ENCHMAN IN AMERICA. ^ happens to be that of the pilot who takes the sleamar into harbour pockets the pool. I, who have never bet on anything in my life, even bet with my travelling companion, when the rolling of the ship sends our portmanteaus from one side of the cabin to the other, that mine will arrive first. One's intellectual faculties are reduced to this ebb. * f« « ♦ The nearest approach to a gay note in this % ^ A FRENCHMAN ?N AMERICA. " P concert of groans and grumblings is struck by some humorous and good-tempered American. He will come and ask you the most impossible questions with an ease and impudence perfectly inimitable. These catechisings are all the more droll because they are done with a naivety which completely disarms you. The phrase is short, without verb, reduced to its most concise expression. The into- nation alone marks the interrogation. Here is a specimen. We have on board the Celtic an American who is not a very shrewd person, for it has actually taken him five days to discover that English is not my native tongue. This morning (30th December) he found it ont, and, being seated near me in the smoke-room just now, started the following conver- sation : — tt (< it (( (( (< (( (( tt tt tt tt ft t( (< (( (( tt tt Foreigner ? " said he. Foreigner," said I, replying in American. German, I guess." Guess again." French?" Pure blood." Married ? " Married." Going to America?" Yes, evidently." Pleasure trip ? " No." On business?" On business, yes." What's your line?" H'm — French goods." Ah ! What class of goods ?" L' article de Paris.'" The what?" The ar-ti-cU de Pa-ris.'^ A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. ** Foreigner, I guess?*' 10 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. I! <> ■it ** Oh ! yes, the arnticle of Pahrriss" *' Exactly so. Excuse my pronunciation." This floored him. " Rather impertinent, your smoke-room neigh- bour!" you will say. Undeceive yourself at once upon that point. It is not impertinence, still less an intention to offend you, that urges him to put these incongruous ques- tions to you. It is the interest he takes in you. The American is a good fellow : good fellowship is one of his chief characteristic traits. Of that I became perfectly convinced during my last visit to the United States. CHAPTER II. Arrival of the Pilot — First Look at American Newspapers, Satur5aB» 4tb ^anuarg, 1800. We shall arrive in New York harbour to-night, but too late to go on shore. After sunset, the Custom House officers are not to be disturbed. We are about to land in a country where, as I remember, every- thing is in subjection to the paid servant. In the United States he who is paid wages commands. We make the best of it. After having mercilessly tumbled us about for nine days, the wind has graciously calmed down, and our last day is going to be a good one, thanks be. There is a pure atmosphere. A clear line at the horizon divides space into two immensities, two sheets of blue sharply defined. Faces are smoothing out a bit. People talk, are becoming in fact quite communicative. One seems to say to another : " Why, after all, you don't look half so disagreeable as I thought. If I had only knowr that, we might have seen more of each other, and killed time more quickly." The pilot boat is in sight. It comes towards us, and sends off in a rowing boat the pilot who will take us into port. The anival of the pilot on board is not an incident. .It is an event. Does he not bring the New York newspapers? And when you have been ten days at sea, cut off from the world, to read the papers of the day before is to come back 12 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. to life again, and once more take up your place in this little planet ihat has been going on its jog-trct way during your temporary suppression. The first article which ^-^5^ meets my eyes, as I open the 9^\fi^^'^^ High time for Mr. Nash to t-^-m?m' y/,^ article: — ** Ten days ago, Mrs. Nash brought a boy into existence. Three days afterwards she presented her husband with a little girl. Yesterday the lady was safely deliver- ed of a third baby." Mrs. Nash takes her time over it would have been another good heading. Here we are in America ! Old world ways don't obtain here. In Europe, Mrs. Nash would probably have ushered the little trio into this life in one day; but in Europe we are out of date, rococo, and if one came over to find the Americans doing things just as they are done on the other side, one might as well stay at home. I run through the papers. America, I see, is split into two camps. Two young ladies. Miss Nelly Bly and Miss Elizabeth Bisland, have left New York by opposite routes to go round the world, the former sent by the New York World, the latter by the Cosmopolitan, Which will be back first? is what all America is conjee- f A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. XS turinpf upon. Bets have been made, and the betting is even. I do not know Miss Bly, but last time I came over I had the pleasure of making Miss Bisland's acquaintance. Naturally, as soon as I get on shore, I shall bet on Miss Bisland. You would do the same yourself, would you not ? I pass the day reading the papers. All the bits of news, insignificant or not, given in the shape of crisp, lively stories, help pass the tin:*e. They con- tain little information, but much amusement. The American newspaper always reminds me of a shop window with all the goods ticketed in a marvellous style, so as to attract and tickle the eye. You cannot pass over anything. The leading article is scarcely known across the ** wet spot " ; the paper is a col- lection of bits of gossip, hearsay, news, scandal* the whole served a la sauce piquante. HMnc o'cloch. We are passing the bar, and going to anchor. New York is sparkling with lights, and the Brooklyn Bridge is a thing of beauty. I will enjoy the scene for an hour, and then turn in. We land to-morrow morning at seven. CHAPTER III. Arrival — The Custom House — Things Look Bad — The Interviewers — First Visits — Things Look Brighter — '*0, Vanity of Vanities!'' Hew ]^orft ftarbour, 5tb 5anuarg. ii ' I u i At seven o'clock in the morning, the Custom House ofBcers came on board. One of them at once recognised me, said, calling me by name, that he was glad to see me back, and inquired if I had not not brought Madame with me this time. It is extra- ordinary the memory of many of those Americans ! This one had seen me for a few minutes two years before, and probably had to deal with tv.'o or three hundred thousand people since. All the passengers came to the saloon, and made their declarations one after another ; after which they swore in the usual form that they had told the truth, and signed a paper to that effect. This done, many a poor pilgrim innocently imagines that he has finished with the Custom House, and he renders thanks to Heaven that he going to set foot on a soil where a man's word is not doubted. He reckons without his host. In spite of his declaration, sworn and signed, his trunks are opened and searched with all the dogged zeal of a policeman who believes he is on the track of a criminal, and who will only give up after perfectly convincing himself that the trunks do not contain the slightest dutiable A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. 15 article. Everything is taken out and examined. If there are any objects of apparel that appear like new ones to that scrutinising eye, look out for squalls. I must say that the officer was very kind to me. For that matter, the luggage of a man who travels alone, without Madame and her impedimenta ^ is soon examined. Before leaving the ship, I went to shake hands i6 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. with Criptain Parscll, that experienced sailor whose bright, intcrcstiii;^' conversation, added tothe teniptinj^' delicacies provided by the cooks, made many an hour pass right cheerily for those who, like myself, had the good fortune to sit at his table. I thanked him for all the kind attentions I had received at his hands. I should have liked to thank all the onployh of the " White Star " Line Company. Their polite- ness is above all praise, their patience perfectly angelical. Ask them twenty times a day the most absurd questions, such as : " Will the sea soon calm down?" " Shall we get into harbour on Wednes- day ?" " Do you think we shall be in early enough to land in the evening?" And so on. You find them always ready with a kind and encouraging answer: "The barometer is going up and the sea is going down;" or, ** We are now doing our nineteen knots an hour." Is it true, ornot ? It satisfies you, at all events. In certain cases, it is so sweet to be deceived ! Better to be left to nurse a beloved illusion than to have to give it up for a harsh reality that you are powerless against. Everyone is grateful to those kind sailors and stewards for the little innocent fibs that they are willing to load their con- sciences with, in order that they may brighten your path across the ocean a little. JEvcrctt fbowsct floon. My baggage examined, I took a cab to the hoteK Three dollars for a mile and a half: a mere trifle. it was pouring with rain. New York on a Sun- day is never very gay. To-day the city seemed to me horrible, dull, dirty, and dreary. It is not the fault of New York altogether. I have the spleen. A horribly stormy passage, the stomach upside down, A FRENCffMAN IN ANflRICA. hose ly an ysclf, inked Lt his ployes )oUtc- fectly most I calm [idncs- nouf^h lU find raging ; sea is neteen esyou, : to be p)eloved reality ;rateful e little ir con- a your le hoteli trifle. a Sun- ^dto me [he fault leen. A down, Captain Parse IL i8 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. I the heart up in the throat, the thought that my dear ones are three thousand miles away : all these things help to make everything look black. It would have needed a radiant sun in one of those' pure blue skies that North America is so rich in, to make life look agreeable and New York passable to-day. In ten minutes, cabby set me down at the Everett House. After having signed the register, I went and looked up my manager, whose bureau is on the ground floor of the hotel. The spectacle which awaited me was appalling. There sat the unhappy Major Pond in his office, his head bowed upon his chest, his arms hanging limp, the very picture of despair. The country is seized with a panic. Everybody has the influenza. Everyone does not die of it, but everyone is having it. The malady is not called iiiflusnza over here, as it is in Europe. It is called *' Grippe." No American escapes it. Some have A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. 19 y dear things 1 have 2 blue ike life It the ster, I LU is on lUing. ; office, anging rybody it, but : called ; called le have ■>^i? la f^rippe^ others have the grippe, a few even have the la grippe. Others again, the lucky ones, think they have it. Those who have not had it, or do not think they have it yet, are expecting it. The nation is in a complete state of demoralisation. Theatres are empty, business almost suspended, doctors on their backs or run off their legs. At twelve a telegram is handed to me. It is from my friend Wilson Barrett, who is playing in Philadelphia : " Hearty greetings, dear friend. Five grains of q linine and two tablets of antipyrine a day, or you get gnppe:' Then came many letters, by every post : " Impossible to go and welcome you in person. I have la grippe. Take every precaution." Such is the tenor of them all. The outlook is not bright. What to do ? For a moment I have half a mind to call a cab and get on board the first boat bound for Europe. I. go to my room, the windows of which overlook Union Square. The sky is sombre, the street is black and deserted, the air is suffocatingly warm, and a very heavy rain is beating against the windows. Shade of Columbus, how I wish I were home agam I Cheer up, boy, the handgrasps of your dear New York friends will be sweet after the frantic grasping of stair-rails and other ship furniture for so many days ! I will have lunch and go and pay calls. * * # # Excuse me if I leave you for a few minutes. The o * 20 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA, I ■, interviewers are waiting for me downstairs in Major Pond's office. The interviewers ! a gay note at last. The hall-porter hands mc their cards. They are all there : representatives of the Tribune, the Times, the Sun, the Herald, the World, the Star, ^1 1 What nonsense Europeans have written on the subject of interviewing in America, to be sure ! To hear them speak, you would believe that it is the greatest nuisance in the world. I A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. 21 Major ote at They e, the A Frenchman writes in the Figaro : ♦' I will go to America, if my life can be insured aj^ainst that terrific nuisance interviewing." An Englishman writes to an English paper, on returning from America : '* When the reporters called on me, I invariably refused to see them." Trash 1 cant 1 hypocrisy ! With the exception of a King, or the Prime Minister of one of the Great Powers, a man is only too glad to be inter- viewed. Don't talk to me about the nuisance, tell the truth, it is always such a treat to hear it. I consider that interviewing is a compliment, a great compliment, paid to the interviewed. In asking a man to give you his views, so as to enlighten the public on such and such a subject, you acknowledge that he is an important man, which is flattering to him ; or you take him for one, which is more flattering still. I maintain that American interviewers are ex- tremely courteous and obliging, and, as a rule, very faithful reporters of what you say to them. Let me say that I have a lurking doubt in my mind whether those who have so much to say against interviewing in America Have ever been asked to be interviewed at all, or have even ever run such a danger. I object to interviewing as a sign of decadence in modern journalism ; but I do not object to being interviewed, I like it ; and, to prove it, I will go down at once and be interviewed. on the 1 To is the /liMDntdbt. The interview with the New York reporters passed off very well. I went through the operation like a man, they said. 22 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. • 1 ; ■ V i ) V 1 ■ ■ ^ 1 After lunch I went to see Mr. Edmund Clarence Stedman, who had shown me a great deal of kind- ness during my first visit to America. I found in him a friend ready to welcome me. The poet and literary critic is a man of about fifty, of small stature, with a beautifully chiselled head. In every one of the features you can detect the artist, the man of delicate, tender, and refined feelings. It was a pleasare for me to see him again. He has finished his Library of American Literature, a gigantic work of erudite criticism and judicious com- pilation, which he undertook a few years ago in collaboration with Miss Ellen Mackay Hutchinson. These eleven volumes form a perfect national monu- ment, a complete cyclopaedia of American literature, giving extracts from the writings of every American who has published anything for the last three hundred years (1607 — 1890). On leaving him, I went to call on Mrs. Anna Bowman Dodd, the author of Cathedral Days, Glorinda, and other charming books, and one of the brightest conversationalists it has ever been my good fortune to meet. After an hour's chat with her, I had forgotten all about the grippe and all my other more or less imaginary miseries. I returned to the Everett House to dress, and went to the Union League Club to dine with General Horace Porter. The General possesses a rare and most happy combination of brilliant, flashing Parisian wit and dry, quiet American humour. This charming causeur and contetir tells an anecdote as nobody I know can do : he never misses fire. He assured me at table that the Copyright Bill will soon be passed, for, he added, " we have now a pure and pious Administra- tion. At the White House they open their oysters with prayer." The conversation fell on American Society, or, rather, on American Societies.' The A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. 23 larence f kind- und in ' about liselled detect refined again. ature, a IS corn- ago in hinson. monu- irature, nerican undred . Anna Days, of the en my it with all my js, and eneral happy /it and canseiir ow can t table for, he inistra- oysters lerican The highest and lowest of these can be distinguished by the use of van, "The blue blood of America put it before their names, as Van Nicken; political society put it after, as Sulli-van.'" Van-itas Van-itatum ! Time passed rapidly in such delightful company. 1 finished the evening at the house of Colonel Robert G. Ingersoll. If there had been any cloud of gloom still left hanging about me, it would have vanished at the sight of his sunny face. There was a small gathering of some thirty people, and among them Mr. Edgar Fawcett, whose acquaintance I was delighted to make. Conversation went on briskly with one and the other, and at half-past eleven I returned to the hotel completely cured. To-morrov morning I leave for Boston a ien . II i i*i) 4 24 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. o'clock, to begin the lecture tour in that city, or, to use an Americanism, to " open the show." * ♦ « 4c There is a knock at the door. It is the hall porter with a letter : an invitation to dine with the members of the Clover Club at Philadelphia on Thursday next, the i6th. I look at my list of engagements and find I am in Pittsburgh on that day. I take a telegraph form and pen the following, which I will send to my friend, Major M. P. Handy, the president of this lively association : *' Many thanks. Am engaged in Pittsburgh on the sixteenth. Thank God, cannot attend your dinner." I remember how those "boys" cheeked me two years a<;o, laughed at me, sat on me. That 's my telegram to } ou, Cloverites — with my love. CHAPTER IV. Impressions of American Hotels. :SSo0toit, 0tb ^anuari?. Arrived here this afternoon, and resumed acquaintance with American hotels. American hotels are all alike. Some are worse. Describe one and you have described them all. On the ground flooi", a large entrance-hall strewed with cuspidores for the men, and a side entrance provided with a triumphal arch for the ladies. On this floor the sexes are separated, as at the public baths. In the large hall, a counter behind which solemn clerks, whose business-faces relax not a muscle, are ready with their book to enter your name and assign you a number. A small army of coloured porters ready to take you in charge. Not a salute, not a word, not a smile of welcome. The negro takes your bag and makes a sign that your case is settled. You follow him. For the time being, you lose your personality and become No. 375, as you would in gaol. Don't ask questions, theirs not to answer; don't ring the bell to ask for a favour, if you set any '»'alue on your time. All the rules of the establish- ment are printed and posted in your bedroom ; you have to submit to them. No question to ask, you know everything. Henceforth you will have to be hungry from 7 to 9 a.m., from i to 3 p.m., from 6 to 8 p.m. The slightest infringement of the routine would stop the wheel, so don't ask if you could have I 1 I 26 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. a meal at four o'clock ; you would be taken for a lunatic, or a crank (as they call it in America). Between meals you will be supplied with ice water ad libitum. No privacy. No coffee-room, no smoking-room. No place where you can go and quietly sip a cup of coffee or drink a glass of beer with a cigar. You can I ( A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. 27 have a drink at the bar, and then go and sit down in the hall among the crowd. Life in an American hotel is an alternation of the cellular system durin 'e IS is A IRENCilMAN IN AMERICA. 45 AH these I am froing to have in America acain hat ,s clear. But I am now a man o? eTpcS' I have lectured in concert rooms, lecture Sfn theatres, in churches, in schools. I have acldresseH embalmed Hntons in En;^dish health-resorts? S Ln^d.sh mummies at hydropathic estab sCents and lunatics in private asylums. '^'*'""'^'>"^ents, I am ready for the fray, - CHAPTER VI. A Connecticut Audience — Merry Meriden — A Hard Pull. ifrom /iftcrt&cn, 8tb 5anuarB. A Connecticut audience was a new experience to ae. Yesterday I had a crowded room at the Opera Horse in Meriden ; but if you had been behind the scenery when I made my appearance on the stage, you would not have suspected it, for not one of the audience treated me to a Htcle applause. I was frozen, and so were they. For a quarter of an hour, I proceeded very cautiously, feeling the gr« und, as it were, as I went on. By that time the thaw set in, ?nd they began to smile. I must say that they had been very attentive from the beginning, and seemed very interested in the lecture. En- couraged by this, I warmed too. It was curious to watch that audience. By twos and threes the faces lit up with amusement till, by-and-by, the house wore quite an animated aspect. Presently, there was a laugh, then two, then laughter more general. All the ice was gone. Next, a bold spirit in the stalls ventured some applause. At his second outburst, he had company. The uphill work was nearly over now, and 1 began to feel better. The infection spread up to the circles and the gallery, and at last there came a real gcjd hearty round of applause. I had " fetched " them after all. But it was tough work. When once I had them in hand, I took good care not to let them go. H' ■» * * Visited several interesting establishments this morning. Merry Meriden is famous for its manu- factories of electro-plated silver. Unfortunately I am not yet accustomed to the heated rooms of America, and I could not stay in the showrooms A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. 47 more than a few minutes. I should have thought the heat was strong enough to melt all the goods on view. This town looks like a beehive of activity, with its animated streets, its electric cars. Dear old Europe ! With the exception of a few large cities, the cars are still drawn by horses, like in the time of Sesostris and Nebuchadnezzar. « # « « On arriving at the station a man took hold of my bag and asked to take care of it until the arrival of the train. I do not know whether he belonged to the hotel where I spent the night, or to the railroad company. Whatever he was, I felt grateful for this wonderful show of courtesy. ^* I heard you last night at the Opera House,' he said to me. '• Why, were you at the lecture ?" ** Yes, sir, and I greatly enjoyed it." "Well, why didn't you laugh sooner?" I said. " I wanted to very much." ** Why didn't you?" "Well, sir, I couldn't very well laugh before the rest." ** Why didn't you give the signal ?" "You see, sir," he said, "we are in Connecticut." " Is laughter prohibited by the Statute Book in Connecticut ? " I remarked. " No, sir ; but if you all laugh at the same time, then " " I see, nobody can tell who is the real criminal." The train arrived. I shook hands with my friend, after offering him half a dollar for holding my bag — which he refused, and went on board. In the parlcur-car, I met my kind friend. Col. Charles H. Taylor, editor of that very successful paper, the Boston Globe. We had luncheon together in the dining-car, and time passed delightfully in his company till we reached the Grand Central Station, t'i^' I 'I it i V :i>. I 48 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. New York, when we parted. He was kind enough to make me promise to look him up in Boston in a fortnight's time, when I make my second appearance in the City of Culture. CHAPTER VII. A Tempting Offer— The Thursday Club— BUI Nye- Visit to Young Ladies' Schools— The Players' Club. ■■A- 1 )Ugh in a ^nce On returning here I found a most curious letter awaiting me. I must tell you that, in Boston last Monday, I made the following remarks in my lecture : ** The American is, I believe, on the road to the possession of all that can contribute to the well-being and success of a nation, but he seems to me to have missed the path that leads to real happiness. To live in a whirl is not to live well. The little French shopkeeper who locks his shop-door from half-past twelve till half-past one, so as not to be disturbed while he is having his dinner with his wife and family has come nearer to solving the great problem of life * How to be happy ' than the American who sticks on his door : * Gone to dinner, shall be back in five minutes.' You eat too fast, and I understand why your antidyspeptic pill-makers cover your walls, your forests even, with their advertisements." And I named the firm of pill-makers. The letter is from them. They offer me $1000, if I will repeat the phrase at every lecture I give during my tour in the United States. You may imagine if I will be careful to abstain in the future. a ' U i IeIi h 50 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. 4.0 Lectured to-night before the members of the Thursday Club : a small, but very select, audience fj^athered in the drawing-room of one of the members. The lecture was followed by a conversazione. A very pleasant evening. I left the house at half-past eleven. The night was beautiful. I walked to the hotel along Fifth Avenue to Madison Square, and along Broadway to Union Square. What a contrast to the great thoroughfares of A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. 51 London ! Thousands of people here returning from the theatres and enjoying their walks, instead of being obhged to rush into vehicles to escape the sights presented at night by the West- End streets of London. Here you can walk at night with your wife and daughter, without the least fear of their coming into contact with flaunting vice. night Fifth ^ay to Excuse a reflection on a subject of a very domestic character. My clothes have come from the laundress with the bill. Now let me give you a sound piece of advice. When you go to America, bring with you a dozen shirts. No more. When these are soiled, buy a new dozen, and so on. You will thus get a supply of iH: Sa A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. linen for many years to come, and save your washinpf bills in America, where the price of a shirt is much the same as the cost of washing it. lOtb 3anuars. I was glad to see Bill Nye again. He turned up at the Everett House this morning. I like to gaze at his clean-shaven face that is seldom broken by a smile, and to hear his long melancholy drawl. His lank form, and his polished dome of thought, as he delights in calling his joke-box, help to make him so droll on the platform ! When his audience begins to scream with laughter, he stops, looks at them in astonishment ; the corners of his mouth drop and an expression of sadness comes over his face. The effect is irresistible. They shriek for mercy. But they don't get it. He is accompanied by his own manager, who starts with him for the North to-night. This manager has no sinecure. I don't think Bill Nye has ever been found in a station ready to catch a train. So the manager takes him to the station, puts him in the right car, gets him out of his sleeping berth, takes him to the hotel, sees that he is behind the platform a few minutes before the time announced for the beginning of the lecture, and generally looks after his comfort. Bill is due in Ohio to-morrow night, and leaves New York to-night by the Grand Central Station. "Are you sure it's by the Grand Central?" he said to me. ** Why, of course. Corner of 42nd Street, a five or ten minutes' ride from here." You should have seen the expression on his face, as he drawled away : ** How— shall — I— get — there, I — wonder ?" A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. 53 »> he This afternoon I paid a most interesting visit to several g'ils' schools. The pupils were ordered by the head mistress, in each case, to gather in the large room. There they arrived two by two to the sound of a march played on the piano by one of the under-mistresses. When they had all reached their respective places, two chords were struck on the in- strument, and they all sat down with the precision of the best drilled Prussian regiment. Then some sang, others recited little poems, or epigrams — mostly at the expense of men. When, three years ago, I visited the Normal School for Girls in the company of the President of the Education Board and Col. Elliott F. Sheppard, it was the anniversary of George Eliot's birth. The pupils, one by one^ recited a few quotations from her works, choosing all she bad written against man. When the singing and the recitations were over, the mistress requested me to address a few words to the young ladies. An American is used from infancy to deliver a speech on the least provocation. I am not. However, I managed to congratulate these young .^ merican girls on their charming appearance, and to thank them for the pleasure they had afforded me. Then two chords were struck on the piano, and all stood up ; two more chords, and all marched off in double file to the sound of another march. Not a smile, not a giggle. All these young girls from six- teen to twenty looked at me with modesty, but complete self-assurance — certainly with far more as- surance than I dared look at th^m. Then the mistress asked me to go to the gymna- sium. There the girls arrived, and as solemnly as before, v/ent through all kinds of muscular exercise. They are never allowed to sit down in the class- rooms more than two hours at a time. They have to go down to the gymnasium every two hours. I was perfectly amazed to see such discipline. 54 A Frenchman in America. i These young girls are the true daughters of a great Republic : self-possessed, self-confident, dignified, respectful, law-abiding. I also visited the junior departments of those schools. In one of them, eight hundred little girls from five to ten years of age were gathered together, and, as in the other departments, sang and recited to me. These young children are taught by the girls of the Normal School, under the supervision of mistresses. Here teaching is learncid by teaching. A good method. Doctors are not allo.ved to practice before they have attended patients in hospitals. Why should people be allowed to teach before they have attended schools as apprentice teachers ? I had to give a speech to these dear little ones. I wish I had been able to give them a kiss instead. In my little speech, I had occasion to remark that I had arrived in America only a week before. After I left, it appears that a little girl, age*.^ about six, went to her mistress and said to her : ** He's only been here a week ! And how beauti- fully he speaks English already ! " * I have been ''put up" at the Players' Club by my friend Mr. Edmund Clarence Stedman, and dined with him to-night. This club is the snuggest house I know in New York. Only a few months old, it possesses treasures such as few clubs a hundred years old possess. It was a present from Mr. Edwin Booth, the greatest actor America has produced. He bought the house in Twentieth Street facing Gramercy Park, furnished it handsomely and with the greatest taste, and fitted it with all tlic artistic treasures that he has collected during his life ; portraits of celebrated actors, most valuable *old engravings, photographs with the originals' autographs, china, curios of all sorts, stage A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. 55 p^reat iiilicd, those e girls ;ether, ecited )y the •vision ching. ractice Why y have 3 ones, tead. remark before. ! about beauti- lub by 1, and ^ properties such as the sword used by Macready in Macbeth, and hundreds of such beautiful and interest- ing souvenirs. On the second floor is the library, mostly composed of works connected with the drama. This club is a perfect gem. f. I I i' , I i: ij 3i ! J. 1-' i 56 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. t I When ill New York, Mr. Booth occupies a suite of rooms on the second floor, which he has reserved for himself; but he has handed over the property to the trustees of the club, who, after his death, will become the sole proprietors of the house and of all its priceless contents. It was a princely gift, worthy of this prince of actors. The members are all connected with literature, art, and the drama, and number about one hundred. CHAPTER VIII. The Flourishing of Coats of Anns in America — Re- flections Thereon — Forefathers Made to Order — The Phonograph at Home — TJie Wealth of New York — Departure for Buffalo. flew l!?orh, lltb ^anuarg. There are in America, as in many other countries of the world, people who have coats of arms and whose ancestors had no arms to their coats. This remark was suggested by the reading of the following paragraph in the New York World this morning : — ** There is growing in this country the rotten influence of rank, pride of station, contempt for labour, scorn of poverty, worship of caste, such as we verily believe is growing in no country in the world. What are the ideals that fill so large a part of the day and generation ? For the boy it is riches, for the girl the marrying of a title. The ideal of this time in America is vast riches and the trappings of rank. It is good that proper scorn should be expressed of such ideals." American novelists, journalists, and preachers are constantly upbraiding and ridiculing their country- women for their love of titled foreigners, but the Society women of the great Republic only love the foreign lords all the more. And I have heard some of them openly express their contempt of a form of government whose motto is one of the clauses of the great Declaration of Independence : ** All men are created equal." I really believe that if the Society women of America had their own way, they i' I 8» i 11 »;;:■ w i'l i 5fi A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. would set up a Monarchy to-morrow, in the hope of seeing; an aristocracy established as the sequel of it. President Garfield once said that the only real coats of arms in America were shirt-sleeves. The epif^ram is |?ood, but not based on truth, as every epij;ram should be. Labour in the States is not honourr.ble for its own sake, but only if it brings wealth. President Garfield's epigram ** fetched " the crowd, no doubt, as any smart democratic or humanitarian utterance will anywhere, whether it be emitted from the platform, the stage, the pulpit, or the hustings; but if any American philosopher heard it, he must have smiled. A New York friend, who called on me this morn- ing, and with whom I had a chat on this subject, assured me that there is now such a demand in the States for pedigrees, heraldic insignia, mottoes, and coronets, that it has created a new industry. He also informed me that almost every American city has a college of heraldry, which will provide un- broken lines of ancestors, and make to order a new line of forefathers "of the most approved pattern, with suitable arms, etc." Addison's prosperous foundling, who ordered at the second-hand picture dealer's ** a complete set of ancestors," is, according to my friend, a typical personage to be met with in the States nowadays. >K * Bah ! after all, every country has her snobs. Why should America be an exception to the rule ? When I think of the numberless charming people I have met in this country, I may as well leave it to the Europeans, who have come in contact with American snobs, to speak about them, inasmuch as the subject is not particularly entertaining. What amuses me much more here is the effect of brings A TRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. 50 democracy on what we Europeans would call the lower classes. A few days ago, in a hotel, I asked the porter if my trunk had arrived from the station, and had been taken to my room. "I don't know," he said majestically; **you ask that gentleman." The gentleman, pointed out to me, was the negro who looks after the luggage in the establishment. In the papers you may read in the advenisemcnt columns : " Washing wanted by a lady at such and such address." The cabman will ask, " if you are the man as wants a gentleman to drive him to the dcepo.'' During an inquiry concerning the Workhouse at Cambridge, Massachusetts, a witness spoke of the "ladies' cells" as being all that should be desired. Democracy, oUch is thy handiwork! V I- Went to the Stock Exchange in Wall Street at one o'clock, I thought that Whitechapel, on a Saturday night, was be- yond competition as a scene of rowdyism. I have now altered this opinion. I am still won- dering whether I was not guyed by my pilot, and whether I was not shown the playground of a madhouse, at the time when all the most desperate lunatics are let loose. After lunch I went to Falk's photographic studio I w ^'•3 ill i* . 60 A FRENCHMAN tN AMERICA. to be taken, and read the first page of Jonathan and His Continent into his phonograph. Marvellous this phonograph ! I imagine Mr. Falk has the best collec- tion of cylinders in the world. I heard a song by Patti, the piano played by Von Biilow, speeches, orchestras, and what not ? The music is reproduced most faithfully. With the voice the instrument is not quite so successful. Instead of your own voice, you fancy you hear an imitation of it by Punch. All the same, it seems to me to be the wonder of the age. After paying a few calls, and dining quietly at the Everett House, I went to the Metropolitan Opera House, and saw "The Barber of Bagdad.*' Cornelius' music is Wagnerian in aim, but I did not carry with me a single bar of all I heard. After all, this 's perhaps the aim of Wagnerian music. What a sight, this Metropolitan Opera House, with its boxes full of lovely women, arrayed in gorgeous garments, and blazing with diamonds ! What luxury! What wealth is gathered there! How interesting it would be to know the exact amount of wealth of which New York can boast ! In this morning's papers, I read that land on Fifth Avenue has lately sold for $115 a square foot. In an acre of land there are 43,560 square feet, which at $115 a foot would be $5,009,400 an acre. Just oblige me by thinking of it ! I2tb ^anuarg. I went to the Catholic Cathedral at eleven. A mass by Haydn was splendidly rendered by full orchestra and admirable chorus. The altar was a blaze of candles. The yellow of the lights and the plain mauve of two windows, one on each side of the candles, gave a most beautiful crocus-bad effect. A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. 6i I enjoyed the service. As a concert alone it was worth the half-dollar entrance money. In the evenin«: I dined with Mr. Lloyd Bryce editor of the North American Review, at the splendid residence of his father-in-law, Mr. Cooper late Mayor of New York. Mrs. Lloyd Bryce is one of the handsomest American women I have met and a most charming and graceful hostess. I reluctantly ^ft early, so as to prepare for my night journey to ii i ■i i. ■ ^t ' ,|lll I u CHAPTER IX. Different Ways of Advertising a Lecture — American Impresarios and their Methods. asuffalo, I3tb ^anuarg. When you intend to give a lecture anywhere, and you wish it to be a success, it is a mistake to make a mystery of it. On arriving here this morning, I found that my coming had been kept perfectly secret. Perhaps my impresario wishes the audience to be very select, and has sent only private circulars to the intelligent, well-to-do inhabitants of the place — or, I said to myself, perhaps the house is all sold, and he has no need of any further advertisements. I should very much like to know. Sometimes, however, it is a mistake to advertise a lecture too widely. You run the risk of getting -the wrong people. A few years ago, in Dundee, a little corner gallery, placed at the end of the hall where I was to speak, was thrown open to the public at sixpence. I warned the manager that I was no attraction for the sixpenny public ; but he insisted on having his own way. The hall was well filled, but not the little gallery, where I counted about a dozen people. Two of these, however, did not remain long, and, after the lecture, I was told that they had gone to the box- ofiice and asked to have their money returned to them. **Why," they said, "it's a d swindle; it's only a man talking." A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. 63 my ery, of the )OX- to lie; The man at the box-office was a Scotchman, and it will easily be understood that the two sixpences remained in the hands of the manag^ement. * * * * I can well remember how startled I was, three years ag^o, on arriving in an American town where I was to lecture, to see the walls covered with placards announcing my lecture thus : " He is coming, ah ! ha ! " And after I had arrived, new placards were stuck over the old ones : ** He has arrived, ah ! ha!" In another American town I was advertised as "the best paying platform celebrity in the world." In another in the following way : ** If you would grow fat and happy, go and hear Max O'Rell to- night." One of my Chicago lectures was advertised thus: " Laughter is restful. If you desire to feel as though you had a vacation for a week, do not fail to attend this lecture." I was once fortunate enough to deal with a local manager who, before sending it to the newspapers, submitted to my approbation the following advertise- ment, of which he was very proud. I don't know whether it was his own literary production, or whether he had borrowed it of a showman friend. Here it is : — **Two Hours of Unalloyed Fun and Happiness. *' Will put two inches of solid fat even upon the ribs of the most cadaverous old miser. Everybody shouts peals of laughter as the rays of fun are emitted from this famous sun of Merry- makers." I threatened to refuse to appear if the advertise- ment was inserted in the papers. This manager later gave his opinion that, as a lecturer, I was good ; but that as a man, I was a little bit ** stuck up." .1 i ■■■ y,i *! fi; if , ■f ;.■■ I I 64 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. When you arrive in an American town to lecture, you find the place flooded with your pictures, huge lithographs stuck on the walls, on the shop windows, in your very hotel entrance hall. Your own face stares at you everywhere, you are recognised by everybody. You have to put up with it. If you love privacy, peace and quiet, don't go to America on a lecturing tour. That is what your impresario will tell you. * * In each town where you go you have a local manager to '* boss the show." He has to pay you a certain fee, which he guarantees ; you cannot find fault with him for doing his best in order to have a large audience. He runs risks, you do not. Suppose, fbr example, you are engaged, not by a Society for a fee, but by a manager on sharing terms — say sixty per cent, of the gross receipts for you, and forty for himself. Suppose his local expenses amount to $200 ; he has to bring ^500 into the house before there is a cent, for himself. You must forgive him if he goes about the place beating the big drum. If you do not like it, there is a place where you can stay— home. « « « « An impresario once asked me if I required a piano, and if I v*^ould bring my own accompanist. Another wrote to ask the subject of my '' enter- tainment." I wrote back to say that my lecture was generally found entertaining, but that I objected to its being called an entertainment. I added that the lecture was composed of four character sketches: viz., John Bull, Sandy, Pat, and Jonathan. In his answer to this, he enquired whether I should change my dress four times during the per- formance, and whether it would not be a good thing to have a little music during the intervals. Just fancy my appearing on the platform succes- sively as John, Sandy, Pat, and Jonathan ! A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. 65 cture, huge dows, stares body, ivacy, turing , local y you )tfind lave a ppose, y for a y sixty rty for $200 ; ire is a e goes do not ome. ired a list. enter- lerally being lecture L, John ther I je per- thing tucces- As jfohn Bull, 6 .66 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. P * f ni 5 rir ' .' As Sand}'. ^^ ■4 4' ■3 As Pat. A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. 67 ^S" m 1 s^ A As Jonathan. 6 111 ^ I I. t 68 A FREN'CHMAN IN AMERICA. A good impresario is constantly on the look-out for anything that may draw the attention of the public to his entertainment. Nothing is sacred for him. His eyes and ears are always open, all his senses on the alert. One afternoon I was walking with my impresario over the beautiful Clifton Suspension Bridge. I was to lecture at the Victoria Room^ in the evening. We 1* incd on the railings, and grew pensive as we H o\, i at the scenery and the abyss under us. impresario sighed. .v; X U I ok-out of the •ed for all his resario I was 'ening. as we I I A TKIiNCHMAN IN AMKKICA. 6y " What are you thinking about ? " I said to him ''Last year," he replied, "a girl tried to commit suicide and jumped over this bridge; but the wind got under her skirt, made a parachute of it, j^i sh- descended to the bottom of the valley p( -iectlv unhurt." ^ r ^ And he sighed again. ** Well," said I, " why do you sigh ? " *' Ah ! my dear fellow, if you could do the same this afternoon, there would be standing room only in the Victoria Room to-night." I left that bridge in no time. L t< / N ii All J 'In ^ 1 i i i 1 M CHAPTER X. Buffalo — The Niafi^ara Falls — A Frost — Rochester to the Rescue of Buffalo — Cleveland — / Meet Jonathan. ^Buffalo, I4tb 5anuare. This town is situated twenty-seven miles from Niagara Fails. The Americans say that the Buffalo people can hear the noise of the waterfall quite distinctly. I am quite prepared to believe it. How- ever, an hour's journey by rail, and then a quarter of an hour's sleigh ride, will take you from i3uffalo within sight of this, perhaps the grandest piece of scenery in the world. Words cannot describe it. You spend a couple of hours visiting every point of view. You are nailed, as it were, to the ground, feeling like a pigmy awestruck in presence of Nature at her grandest. The snow was falling thickly, and though it made the view less clear, it added to the grandeur of the scene. I went down by the cable car to a level with the rapids and me place where poor Captain Webb was last seen alive — a pre- sumptuous pigmy he to dare such waters as these ! His widow keeps a little bazaar near the Falls, and sells souvenirs to the visitors. It was most thrilling to stand within touching distance of that great torrent of water, called the Niagara Falls, in distinction to the Horseshoe Falls, to hear the roar of it as it fell. The idea of force it gives one is tremendous. You stand and wonder how many ages it has been roaring on, what eyes besides your own have gazed awestruck at its mighty rushing, and wonder if the pigmies will ever do what 1 !■ A FRENCHMAN iN /MERtCA. 71 they say they will : one day make those mighty columns of water their servants, to turn wheels at their biddinpf. We crossed the bridp^e over to the Canadian side, and there we had the whole grand panorama before our eyes. It appears that it is quite a feasible thing to run the rapids in a barrel. Girls have done it, and it here pre- ;hing the 'alls, ■ce it nder eyes ghty what may become the fashionable sport for American girls in the near future. It has been safely accomplished plenty of times by young fellows up for an exciting day's sport. On the Canadian shore was a pretty villa where Princess Louise stayed while she painted the scene. ■ I i ... . i ya A VkENCHMAN in AMERICA. Some of the pretty houses were fringed all round the roofs and balconies in the loveliest way with icicles a yaiJ long and loaded with snow. They looked most beautiful. On the way back we called at Prospect House, a charming hotel, which I hope, if ever I go near Buffalo again, I shall put up at for a day or two to see the whole neighbourhood well. Two years ago I was lucky enough to witness a most curious sight : the water was frozen under the Falls, and a natural bridge formed by the ice was being used by venturesome people to cross the Niagara River on. This occurs very seldom. # « # « Have had a lizzie to-night. I almost expected it. In a hall^that could easily have accommodated fifteen hundred people, I lectured to an audience of about three hundred. Fortunately they proved so intelligent, warm, and appreciative, that I did not feel at all depressed — but my impresario did. How- ever, he congratulated me on having been able to do justice to the causeriCf as if I had had a bumper house. I must own that it is much easier to be a trage- dian than a light comedian before a $200 house. i Btjl i. lis '' 1 V ' ^ [ Iff' ' 1 lEff ', m:' ■ Wi ■ ■ mi -, #1 i I I. |kk' i Cleveland Q„ I5tb ^anuarg. The weather is so bad that I shall be unable to see anything of this city which, people tell me, is very beautiful. On arriving at the Weddell House, I met a New York friend. ** Well," said he, " how are you getting on ? Where do you come from ?" " From Buffalo," said I, pulling a long face. A rKl-NCIIMA IN AMI RICA. 73 "What's the matter? Don't you h'ke the Buffalo people ?" " Yes, I like those I saw. T should have liked to extend my love to a larger number. T had a fi/zle : about three hundred people. Perhaps I drew all the brain of Buffalo." " How many people do you say you had in the hall?" said my friend. "About three hundred." *' Then you must have drawn a good many people from Rochester, I should think," said he quite solemnly. In reading the Buffalo newspapers this morning, I noticed favourable criticisms of my lecture ; but while my English was praised, so far as the language went, severe comments were passed on my pronun- ciation. In England, where the English language is spoken with a decent pronunciation, I have never once read a condemnation of my pronunciation of the English language. I will not appear again in Buffalo before I feel much improved. iii >it * ♦ fin route to iMttebur^, I0tb 5ammri^. The American railway stations have special waiting-rooms for ladies, not, as in England, places furnished with looking-glasses where they can go and arrange their bonnets, etc. — no, no, places where they can wait for the trains, protected against the contamination of man, and where they are spared the sight of that eternal little round piece of furni- ture with which the floors of the whole of the United States are dotted. At Cleveland Station this morjiing I met Jonathan, such as he is represented in the comic pap- s of the world. A man of sixty, with long strsigiit white mi *r— s 1 74 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. hair falling over his shoulders ; no moustache, long imperial beard, a razor-blade shaped nose, small keen eyes, and high prominent cheek bones, the whole smoking the traditional cigar : the Anglo- Mi 1 I Ir ^ Saxon indianized — Jonathan. If he had had a long swallow-tail coat on, a waistcoat ornamented with stars, and pants with stripes, he might have sat for the cartoons of Puck or Judge. In the car, Jonathan came and sat opposite me. A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. 75 lonp; ;mall , the iglo- P A few minutes after the train had started, he said : " Going to Pittsburg, I guess." *'Yes," I replied. "To lecture?" *'Oh, you know I lecture?" "Why, certainly; I heard you in Boston ten days ago." He offered me a cigar, told me his name — I mean his three names — what he did, how much he earned, where he lived, how many children he had; he read me a poem of his own composition, invited me to go and see him, and entertained me for three hours and a half, telling me the history of his life, etc. Indeed, it was Jonathan. All the Americans I have met have written a poem (pronounce /)(9m^). Now I am not generalizing. I do not say that all the Americans have written a poem, I say All the Americans I have met. long kith for Ime. |Mtt0l)ur{j (same Dag, later). I lecture here to-night under the auspices of The Press Club of the town. The president of the Club came to meet me at the station, in order to show me something of the town. I like Pittsburg very much. From the top of the hill, which you reach in a couple of minutes by the cable car, there is a most beautiful sight to contem- plate — one never to be forgotten. On our way to the hotel, my kind friend took me to a fire station, and asked the man in command of the place to go through the performance of a fire call for my edification. Now, in two words, here is the thing. You touch the fire bell in your own house. That 11 r 1' 1 ■Sii.r ii; 76 A FRENCHMAN IN AMHRICA. causes the name of your street and the number of your house to appear in the fire station ; it causes all the doors of the station to open outward. Wait a minute : it causes whips, which are hanging behind the horses, to lash them and send them under harnesses that fall upon them and are self-adjusting; it causes the men, who are lying down on the first floor, to slide down an incline and fall on the box and steps of the cart. And off they gallop. It takes about two minutes to describe it as quickly as possible. It only takes fourteen seconds to do it. It is the nearest approach to phantasmagoria that I have yet seen in real life. I' i 1 : ^i I- ., iiiii ' If'- I CHAPTER XI. A Great Admirer — Notes on Railway Travelling — 7s America a Free Nation? — A Pleasant Evening in New York. 5n tbc IDestibulc ^rain from SMttsburg to IRcw l^otft, I7tb 5amiar^. This morning, before leaving the hotel in Pittsburg, I was approached by a young man who, after giving me his card, thanked me most earnestly for my lecture of last night. In f^ct, he nearly embraced me. *' I never enjoyed myself so much in my life," he said. I grasped his hand. *• I am glad," I replied, " that my humble effort pleased you so much. Nothing is more gratifying to a lecturer than to know he has afforded pleasure to his audience." '' Yes," he said, ** it gave me immense pleasure. You see, I am engaged to be married to a girl in town. All her family went to your Show, and I had her at home all to myself. Oh ! I had such a good time ! Thank you so much ! Do lecture here again soon." And, after wishing me a pleasant journey, he left me. I was glad to know I left at least one friend and admirer behind me in Pittsburg. * * j;c 9|( Had a charming audience last night, a large and most appreciative one. I was introduced by Mr. George H. Welshons, of the Pittsburg Times, in a neat little speech, humorous and very gracefully worded. After the lecture, I was entertained at 1 i 1 78 A FRENCIIM.VN IN AMliKICA. ii f •r-4. tr.i i 111! I supper in the rooms of the t\ess Cab, ana thoroughly enjoyed myself wi'h the ?acn:!b rs. On entering the Club, I was amused to see two journalists, who had heard me at the lecture dis- course on clicwing, go to a corner of the room, and there get rid of tlieir icach, before coming to shake hands with me. * * If you have not journeyed m a vestibule train of the Pennsylvania Railway Company, you do not know what it is to travel in luxurious comfort. Dining-saloon, drawing-room, smoking-room, read- ing-room with writing tables, supplied with the papers and a library of books, al! furnished with exquisite taste and luxury. The cooking is good and well served. The day has passed without adventures, but in comfort. We left Pittsburg at seven in the morning. At nine we passed Johnstown. The terrible calamity that befell that city two years ago was before my mind's eye : the town suddenly inundated, the people rushing on the bridge, and there caught and burnt alive. America is the country for great dis- asters. Everything here is on a huge scale. To- wards noon the co'"'"try grew hilly, and, for an hour before we reach ea larrisburg, it gave me great enjoyment ; for iu America, where there is so much sameness in the landscapes, it is a treat to see the mountains of central Pennsylvania breaking the monotony of the huge flat stretch of land. The employes (I must be careful not to say ** servants ") of the Pennsylvania Railroad are polite, and form an agreeable contrast to those of the other railway companies. Unhappily, the employes whom you find on board the Pullman cars, are not in the control of the company. A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. 79 The train will reach Jersey Chy tor New ioil *^^ seven to-night. I shall dine at the hotel. About 5.30, it occurred to me to go to the (I'liing car and ask for a cup of tea. Before entciiig the dining-room I stopped at the lavatory to Vvasli mv hands. Someone was using the basin. It wa;-. liw conductor, the autocrat in charge of the dinii»; r;p, a fat. sleek, chewing, surly, frowning, snarling cur. He turned round. *' What do vou want ?" said he. <«. 11 I 80 A FRENCHMAM IN AMERICA. t;M ': ,1 Jfti] J ;^ii- " I should very much like to wash my hands," I timidly ventured. " You see very well I am using the basin. You go to the next car." I came to America this time with a large pro- vision of philosophy, and quite determined to even enjoy such little scenes as this. So I quietly went to the next lavatory, returned to the dining car, and sat down at one of the tables. " Will you please give me a cup of tea ? " I said to one of the coloured waiters. " I can't do dat, Sah," said Negro. '^ You can have dinnah." '* But I don't want dinnah,'" I replied ; ** I want a cup of tea." " Den you must ask dat gem'man if you can have it," said he, pointing to the above-mentioned "gentleman." I went to him. "Excuse me," said I, "are you the nobleman who runs this show?" He frowned. " I don't want to dine ; I should like to have a cup of tea." He frowned a little more, and deigned to hear my request to the end. "Can I ?" I repeated. He spoke not ; he brought his eyebrows still lower down, and solemnly shook his head. "Can't I really?" I continued. At last, he spoke. " You can," quoth he, " for a dollar.*' And, taking the bill of fare in his hands, without wasting any more of his precious utterances, he pointet^ out to me: " F^ch meal one dollar." The argument was unanswerable. I went back to my own car, resumed my seat, and betook myself to reflection. I « A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. 8l Jtill lout he rat, What I cannot, for the life of me, understand is why, in a train which has a dining car and a kitchen, a man cannot be served with a cup of tea, unless he pays the price of a dinner for it, and this notwith- standing the fact of his having paid five dollars extra to enjoy the extra luxury of this famous vesti- bule train. After all, this is one out of the many illustrations one could give to show that whatever Jonathan is, he is not the master in his own house. The Americans are the most docile people in the world. They are the slaves of their servants, whether these are high officials, or the ** reduced duchesses" of domestic service. They are so submitted to their lot that they seem to find it quite natural. The Americans are lions governed by bull dogs. They have given themselves a hundred thousand masters, these folks who laugh at monarchies, for example, and scorn the rule of a king, as if it were better to be bullied by a crowd than by an indi- vidual. In America, the man who pays does not com- mand the paid. I have already said it ; I will maintain the truth of the statement that in America the paid servant rules. Tyranny from above is bad ; tyranny from below is worse. Of my many first impressions that have deepened into convictions, this is one of the firmest. When you arrive at an English railway station, all the porters seem to say: *' Here is a customer, let us treat him well." And it is who shall relieve you of your luggage, or answer any questions you may be pleased to ask. They are glad to see you. In America, you may have a dozen parcels, not a hand will move to help you with them. So Jonathan is obliged to forego the luxury of hand baggage, so convenient for long journeys. When you arrive at an American station, the 7 i. I ir! II n i 8^ A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. officials are all frowning, and seem to say : " Why the deuce don't you go to Chicago by some other line, instead of coming here to bother us ? " This subject reminds me of an interesting fact told me by Mr. Chauncey M. Depew on board the Teutonic. When the tramcars were used in the States, it was a long time before the drivers and conductors would consent to wear any kind of uni- form, so great is the horror of anything like a badge of paid servitude. Now that they do wear some A FRENCHMAN IN AMflRICA. 85 kind of uniform, they spend their time in standinj^' sentry at the door oY their di^nit}', and in tliinivin;; ''Why le other ing fact ird the in the ;rs and of uni- badge Lr some that, if they were polite, you would take their affable manners for servility. Bverctt Ibouse, mew l^orft (^ibnfdbt). So many charming houses have opened their hospitable doors to me in New York that, when I am in this city, I have soon forgotten the little annoyances of a railway journey or the hardships of a lecture tour. After dinner here, I wc nt to spend the evening 7 '■• ill 84 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. hi at the house of Mr. Richard Watson Gilder, the poet, and editor of the Century Magazine, that most successful of all magazines in the world. A circula- tion of nearly 300,000 copies, just think of it. But it need not excite wonder in anyone who knows this beautiful and artistic periodical, to which all the leading IMratciirs of America lend their pens, and the best artists their pencils. Mrs. Richard Watson Gilder is one of the best and most genial hostesses in New York. At her Fridays, one meets the cream of intellectual Society, the best known names of the American aristocracy of talent. To-night I met Mr. Frank Stockton, the novelist ; Mr. George Webb, the humourist ; Mr. Frank Millett, the painter, and his lovely wife, and a galaxy of celebrities and beautiful women, all most interest- ing and delightful people to meet. Conversation went on briskly all over the rooms till late. The more I see of the American women, the more confirmed I become in my impression that they are typical ; more so than the men. They are like no other women I know. The brilliancy of their conversation, the animation of their features, the absence of affectation in their manners, make them unique. There are no women to compare to them in a drawing-room. There are none with whom I feel so much at ease. Their beauty, physically speaking, is great ; but you are still more struck by their intellectual beauty, the frankness of their eyes, and the naturalness of their bearing. I returned to the Everett House, musing all the way on the difference between the American women and the women of France and England. The theme was attractive, and, remembering that to-morrow would be an off-day for me, I resolved to spend it in going more fully into this fascinating subject with pen and ink. CHAPTER XII. Notes on Afncyicun Women — Comparhons — How Men Treat Women and vice versa — Scenes as Illustrations. the hat are heir the nem lem in I cally k by lyes, the men leme rrow it in with IWcw IL^orft, I8tb ^amiarg. A Man was one day complaining to a friend that he had been married twenty years without being able to understand his wife. ** You should not complain of that," remarked the friend ; ** I have been married to my wife two years only, and I understand her perfectly." The leaders of thought in France have long proclaimed that woman was the only problem it was not given to man to solve. They have all tried and they have all failed. They all acknowledge it — but they are trying still. Indeed, the interest that \,oman inspires in every Frenchman is never exhausted. Parodying Terence, he says to himself: *' I am a man, and all that con- cerns woman interests me." All the French modern novels are studies, analytical, dissecting studies, of woman's heart. To the Anglo-Saxon mind, this may sometimes appear a trifle puerile, if not also ridiculous. But to understand this feeling, one must remember how a Frenchman is brought up. In England, boys and girls meet and play together ; in America and Canada, they sit side by side on the same benches at school, not only as children of tender age, but at College and in the Universities. They get accustomed to each other's company; they see nothing strange in being in ^. iO^ ^^- ^y^:^. IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 1.1 us 1*0 i 2.2 20 1.8 ^ is IIIIM vQ v^ ^^'^ > c? / / w Photogrephic Sdences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) •72-4503 4^ 86 A FRENCHMAN iM AMERICA. » 1 contact with one another, and this naturally tends to reduce the interest or curiosity one sex takes in the other. But, in France, they are apart, and the ball-room is the only place where they can meet when they have attained the age of twenty. Strange to reflect that young people of both sexes can meet in ball-rooms without exciting their parents' suspicions, and that they cannot do so in class-rooms ! When I was a boy at school in France, I can well remember how we boys felt on the subject. If we heard that a young girl, say the sister of some schoolfellow, was with her mother in the common parlour to see her brother, why, it created a com- motion, a perfect revolution in the whole establish- ment. It was no use trying to keep us in order. We would climb on the top of the seats or of the tables to endeavour to see something of her, even if it were but the top of her hat, or a bit of her gown across the recreation-yard at the very end of the building. It was an event. Many of us would even immediately get inspired and compose verses ad- dressed to the unknown fair visitor. In these poetical effusions, we would imagine the young girl carried ■off by some miscreant, and we would fly to her rescue, save her, and throw ourselves at her feet, to receive her hand as our reward. Yes, we would ger. quite romantic, or, in plain English, quite silly. We could not imagine that a woman was a reasoning being with whom you can talk on the topics of the day, or have an ordinary conversation on any ordinary subject. To us a woman was a being with whom you can only talk of love, or fall in love, or, maybe, for whom you may die of love. This manner of training young men goes a long way towards explaining the position of woman in France as well as her ways. It explains why a Frenchman and a Frenchwoman^ when they converse^ A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. S7 get. We to^^etber, seldom can forget that one is a man and the other a woman. It does not prove that a French*- woman must necessarily be, and is, affected in her relations with men ; but it explains why she does not feel, as the American woman does, that a man and a woman can enjoy a tcte-a-tctc free from all those commonplace flatteries, compliments, and platitudes that mistaken gallantry suggests. Many American ladies have made me forget, by the easiness of their manner and the charm and naturalness of their conversation, that I was speaking with women, and with lovely ones too. This I could never have forgotten in the company of French ladies. On account of this feeling, and perhaps also of the difference which exists between the education received by a man and that received by a woman in France, the conversation will always be on some light topics, literary, artistic, dramatic, social, or other. Indeed, it would be most unbecoming for a man to start a very serious subject of conversation with a French lady to whom he had just been intro- duced. He would be taken for a pedant or a man of bad breeding. In America, men and women receive practically the same education, and this of course enlarges the circle of conversation between the sexes. I shall always rem.ember a beautiful American girl, not more than twenty years of age, to whom I was once intro- duced in New York, as she was giving to" a lady sitting next to her a most detailed description of the latest bonnet invented in Paris, and who, turning towards me, asked me point blank if I had read M. Ernest Kenan's History of the People of Israel. Well, I had not. I had to confess that I had not yet had time to read it. But she had, and she gave me, without the remotest touch of affectation or pedantry, a most interesting and learned analysis of that 88 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. remarkable work. I related this incident in Jonathan and His Coniinent. On reading it, some of my countrymen, critics and others, exclaimed : " We imagine the fair American girl wore a pair of gold spectacles." m i\' " No, my dear compatriots, nothing of the sort. No gold spectacles, no guy. It was a beautiful girlj dressed with the most exquisite taste and care, and most charming and womanly." An American woman, however learned she may be, is a sound politician, and she knows that the best thing A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. 89 she can make of herself is a woman, and she remains a woman. She will always make herself as attractive as she possibly can. Not to please men — I believe she has the greatest contempt for them — but to please herself. If, in a French drawing-room, I were to remark to a lady how clever some woman in the room looked, she would probably closely examine that woman's drees to find out what I thought was wrong about it. It would probably be the same in England, but not in America. A Frenchwoman will seldom be jealous of another woman's cleverness. Shewill far more readily for- give her this quality than beauty. And in this particular point,, it is probable that the Frenchwoman resembles all the women in the world. sort. girl and Of all the ladies I have met, I have no hesitation in declaring that the American ones are the least affected. With them, I repeat it, I feel at ease as I do with no other women in the world. With whom but SlW Amdricaine would the following little scene ha /e been possible ? I was in Boston. It was Friday, and knowing it to be the reception day of Mrs. X., an old friend of mine and my wife's, I thought I would call upon her early before the crowd of visitors had begun to arrive. So I went to the house about half-past three in the afternoon. Mrs. X. received me in the drawing-room, and we soon were tallying on the one hundred and one topics that old friends have on their tongue tips. Presently the conversation fell on love and lovers. Mrs. X. drew her chair up a little nearer to the fire, put the toes of her little slippers on the fender stool, and with a charmingly confi- dential, but perfectly natural, manner said : **You are married and love your wife; I am t 4 I ! 90 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. married and lov my husband ; we are both artists, let 's have our say out." And we proceeded to have our say out. But all at once I noticed about half an inch of the seam of her black silk bodice was unsewn. We men, when we see a lady with something awry in her toilette, how often do we long to say to her : ** Excuse me, madam, but perhaps you don't know that you have a hairpin sticking out two inches just behind your ear," or ** Pardon me, miss, I 'm a married man, there is something wrong there about your waist-belt." Now, I felt for Mrs. X., who was just going to receive a crowd of callers with a little rent in one of her bodice seams, and tried to persuade myself to be brave and tell her of it. Yet I hesitated. People take things so differently. The conversation went on unflaggingly. At last I could not stand it any longer. "Mrs. X.," said I all in a breath, "you are married and love your husband ; I am married and love my wife ; we are both artists ; there is a little bit of seam come unsewn just there by your arm, run and get it sewn up ! " The peals of laughter that I heard going on upstairs, while the damage was being repaired, proved to me that there was no resentment to be feared, but, on the contrary, that I had earned the gratitude of Mrs. X. I '* In many respects I have often been struck with the resemblance which exists between French and American women. When I took my first walk on Broadway, New York, on a fine afternoon some two years and a half ago, I can well remember how I exclaimed : " Why, this is Paris, and all these ladies are Payisicnnes !'' It struck me as being the same ? A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. 91 artists, nch of . We wry in :o her : know es just I 'm a 5 about )ing to one of f to be People n went it any pu are ^d and little arm, ng on 3aired, to be ed the k with :h and alk on ne two how I I ladies : same type of face, the same animation of features, the same brightness of the eyes, the same self-assurance, the same attractive plumpness in women over thirty. To my mind, I was having a walk on my own Boulevards (every Parisian owns that place). The more I became acquainted with American ladies, the more forcibly this resemblance struck me. This was not a mere first impression. It has been, and is still, a deep conviction — so much so, that whenever I returned to New York from a journey of some weeks in the heart of the country, I felt as if I was returning home. After a short time, a still closer resemblance between the women of the two countries will strike a Frenchman most forcibly. It is the same finesse, the same suppleness of mind, the same wonderful adaptability. Place a little F'rench milliner in a good drawing-room for an hour, and at the end of that time she will behave, talk, and walk like any lady in the room. Suppose an American, married to a woman below his status in Society, is elected Presi- dent of the United States, I believe, at the end of a week, this wife of his would do the honours of the White House with the ease and grace of a high-born lady. In England it is just the contrary. Of course good Society is good Society every- where. The ladies of the English aristocracy are perfect queens; but the Enghshwoman who was not born a lady, will seldom become a lady, and I believe this is why mesalliances are more scarce in England than in America and especially in France. I could name many Englishmen at the head of their professions, who cannot produce their wives in Society because these women have not been able to raise themselves to the level of their husbands' station in life. The Englishwoman, as a rule, has no faculty for fitting herself for a higher position than j^ii ,^ ill* Hi 92 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. the one she was born in : like the rabbit, she will often taste of the cabbage she fed on. And I am bound to add that this is perhaps a quality, and proves the truthfulness of her character. She is no actress. In France, the mesalliance, though not relished by parents, is not feared so much, because they know the young woman will observe and study, and very soon fit herself for her new position. And while on this subject of mesalliance, why not try to destroy an absurd prejudice that exists in almost every country on the subject of France ? It is, I believe, the firm conviction of foreigners that Frenchmen marry for money — that is to say, that all Frenchmen marry for money. As a rule, when people discuss foreign social topics, they have a wonderful faculty for generalisation. The fact that many French 1 do marry for money is not to be denied, and th planation of it is this : We have in France a number of men belonging to a class almost unknown in other countries, small botirgeois of good breeding and genteel habits, but relatively poor, who occupy posts in the different Government offices. Their name is legion, and their salary something like two thousand francs (;f8o). These men have an appearance to keep up, and unless a wife brings them enough to at least double their income, they cannot marry. These young men are often sought after by well-to-do parents for their daughters, because they are steady, cultured, gentle- manly, and occupy an honourable position, which brings them a pension for their old age. With the wife's dowry the couple can easily get along, and lead a peaceful, uneventful, and happy jog-trot life, which is the great aim of the majority of the French people. But, on the other hand, there is no county where you will see so many cases of mesalliance a^ France, A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. 93 she will d I am ty, and le is no shed by y know nd very vhy not iists in ce ? eigners to say, a rule, ;y have rry for [ of it is onging small s, but ferent d their (^80). unless their 2n are their jentle- which h the :, and life, rench »vhere ance, and this alone should dispose of the belief that Frenchmen marry for money. Indeed, it is a most common thing for a young Frenchman of good family to fall in love with a girl of a much lower station in life than his own, to court her, at first with perhaps only the idea of killing time or of starting a liaison, to soon discover that the girl is highly respectable, and to finally marry her. This is a most common occurrence. French parents frown on this sort of thing, and do their best to discourage it, of course ; but rather than cross their son's love, they give their consent, and trust to that adaptability of the Frenchwoman of which I was speaking just now to raise herself to her husband's level and make a wife he will never be ashamed of. The Frenchman is the slave of his womankind, but not in the same way as the American is. The Frenchman is brought up by his mother, and remains under her sway till she dies. When he marries, his wife leads him by the nose (an operation which he seems to enjoy), and when, besides, he has a daughter, on whom he generally dotes, this lady soon joins the other two in ruling this easy-going, good- humoured man. As a rule, when you see a French- man, you behold a man who is kept in order by three generations of women : mother, wife, and daughter. The American will lavish attention and luxury on his wife and daughters, but he will save them the trouble of being mixed in his affairs. His business is his, his office is private. His womankind is the sun and glory of his life, whose company he will hasten to enjoy as soon as he can throw away the cares of his business. In France a wife is a partner, a cashier who takes care of the money, even an adviser on stocks and speculations. In the mercantile diss, she is both cashier and book-keeper. Enter a 94 A FRRNCIIMAN IN AMERICA. VI 1 ^i shop in France, Paris included, and behind ** Pay here," you will see Madame smiling all over as she pockets the money for the purchase you have made. When I said she is a partner, I might safely have said that she is the active partner, and, as a rule, by far the shrewder of the two. She brings to bear her native suppleness, her fascinating little ways, her persuasive manners, and many a customer, whoip A FRFNCHMAN IN AMFRICA. 95 ■^ "Pay IS she made, have le, by ir her her ivhoiTl her husband was allovvinpj to p^o away without a purchase, has been brouglit back by the wife, and induced to part with his cash in the sh(^p. Last year, I went to Paris, on my way home from German}', to spend a few days visiting the l^xposition. One day I entered a shop on the Boulevards to buy a white hat. The new-fashioned hats, the only hats which the man showed me, were narrow-brimmeil, and I declined to buy one. I was just going to leave when the wife, who, from the back-parlour, had listened to my conversation with her husband, stepped in and said : " But, Adolphe, why do you let Mon- sieur go ? Perhaps he docs not care to follow the fashion. We have a few white broad-brimmed hats left from last year that we can let Monsieur have a bon compte. They are upstairs, go and fetch them." And, sure enough, there wat one which fitted and pleased me, and I left in that shop a little sum of twenty-five francs, which the husband was going to let me take elsewhere, but which the wife managed to secure for the firm. No one who has lived in France has failed to be struck with the intelligence of the women, and there exist few Frenchmen who do not readily admit how intellectually inferior they are to their countrywomen, chiefly among the middle and lower classes. And this is not due to any special training, for the educa- tion received by the women of that class is of the most limited kind ; they are taught to read, write, and reckon, and their education is finished. Shrewd- ness is inborn in them, as well as a peculiar talent lor getting twelve penny worth for every shilling they spend. How to make a house look pretty and attractive with small outlay ; how to make a dress or turn out a bonnet with a few knick-knacks ; how to make a savoury dish out of a small remnant of beef, mutton, and veal ; all that is a science not to be despised when ^ husband in receipt of a hundrecj 96 A FKliN'CIIMAN IN AMERICA, pounds' salary wants to make a f^ood dinner, and see his wife look pretty. No doubt the aristo- cratic inhabitants of Mayfair and Helgravia in London, and the plutocracy of New York, may think all this very small, and these French people very uninteresting. They can, perhaps, hardly imagine that such people may live on such incomes and look decent. But they do live, and live very happy lives too. And I will go so far as to say that happiness, real happiness, is chiefly found among people of limited income. The husband, who perhaps for a whole year has put quietly by a few shillings every week, so as to be able to give his dear wife a nice present at Christmas, gives her a far more valuable, a far '^etter appreciated present than the millionaire who orders Tiffany to send a diamond riviere to his wife. That quiet young French couple whom you see at the upper circle of a theatre, and who have saved the money to come and hear the play, are happier than the occupants of the boxes on the first tier. If 5'ou doubt it, take your opera-glasses, and " look on this picture, and on this," A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. 97 In observing nations, I have always taken more interest in the ** million," who differ in every country, than in the ** upper ten," who are alike all over the world. People who have plenty of money at their disposal, generally discover the same way of spending it, and adopt the same mode of living. People who have only a small income show their native instincts in the intelligent use of it. All these differ, and these only are worth studying, unless you belong to the staff of a "Society" paper. As a Frenchman, I am glad to say we have no "Society" papers. England and America are the only two countries in the world where these official organs of Anglo- 8 " ' 11 !|| - ' ii \i i ' ' 1 K i i 1 .; * 98 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. Saxon snobbery can be found, and I should not be surprised to hear that Australia possessed some of these already. <- « * ♦ The source of French happiness is to be found in the thrift of the women, from the best middle class to the peasantry. This thrift is also the source of French wealth. A nation is really wealthy when the fortunes are stable; however small. We have no Railway Kings, no Oil Kings, no Silver Kings, but we have no tenement houses, no Unions, no Workhouses. Our lower classes do not yet ape in ridiculous attire the upper class, either in their habits or dress. The wife of a peasant or of a mechanic wears a simple snowy cap, and a serge or cotton dress. The wife of a shopkeeper does not wear any jewellery, because she cannot afford to buy real stones, and her taste is too good to allow of her wearing false ones. She is not ashamed of her husband's occupation; she does not play the fine lady while he is at work. She saves him the expense of a cashier or of an extra clerk by helping him in his business. When the shutters are up, she enjoys life with him, and is the companion of his pleasures as well as of his hardships. Club life is unknown in France, except among the upper classes. Man and wife are constantly together, and France is a nation of Darbys and Joans. There is, I believe, no country where men and women go through life on such equal terms as France. * * * ♦ In England (and here again I speak of the masses only), the man thinks himself a much superior being to the woman. It is the same in Germany. In America, I sho^ild feel inclined to believe that a woman looks down upon a man with a certain amount of contempt. She receives at his hands A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. 99 attentions of all sorts, but I cannot say, as I have remarked before, that I have ever discovered in her the slightest trace of gratitude to man. I have often tried to explain to myself this gentle contempt of American ladies for the male sex, for, contrasting it with the lavely devotion of Jonathan to his womankind, it is r: curious enigma. Have I found the solution at last ? Does it begin at School ? In American schools, boys and girls, from the ten- derest age, follow the same path to learning, and side by side on the same benches. Moreover, the girls prove themselves thoroughly capable of keeping pace with the boys. Is it not possible that the girls, as they watched the performances of the boys in the study, learned to say : " Is that all ? " while the young lords of creation, as they looked on at what ** those girls " can do, perhaps exclaimed : " Well, well, who would have thought it ? " And does not this explain the two attitudes : the great respect of men for women, and the mild contempt of women for men ? Very often, in New York, when I had time to saunter about, I would go up to Broadway and wait until a car, well crammed with people, came along. Then I would jump on board and stand near the door. Whenever a man wanted to get out, he would say to me, " Please " or ** Excuse me," or just touch me lightly to warn me that I stood in his way. But the women ! Oh, the women 1 Why, it was simply lovely. They would just push me away with the tips of their fingers, and turn up such disgusted and liaughty noses ! You would have imagined it was a heap of dirty rubbish in their way. Would you have a fair illustration of the respective positions of vyoman in France, in England, and ia America ? f 1 V * 1 t, ! f ( i ■ r ■ ■' ii ■ n ■ i , t i 100 A FRENCHMAN TN AMERICA. Go to a hotel, and watch the arrival of couples in the dining-room. Now don't go to the Louvre, the Grand Hotel, or the Bristol, in Paris. Don't go to the Savoy, the Victoria, or the M6tropole, in London. Don't go to Delmonico's in New York, because in all these hotels you will see that all behave alike. Go elsewhere and, I say, watch. In France, you will see the couples arrive together, walk abreast towards the table assigned to them, very often arm in arm, and smiling at each other — though married. Hh : r V ........ .^ », ^„ -4 i '* I :•# A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. lot :ouples otel, or oy, the 't go to c hotels ewhere In England, you will see John Bull leading the way. He does not like to be seen eating in public, and thinks it very hard that he should not have the dining-room all to himself. So he enters, with his hands in his pockets, looking askance at everybody, right and left. Then, meek and demure, with her eyes cast down, follows Mrs. John Bull. arrive ^ned to at each !^ In America, behold the dignified, nay, the majestic entry of Mrs. Jonathan, a perfect queen going 'J ki if I: ' .-s .; I J j ' , 1 5 ■ j 1 I 1 to^ A t^RENCHMAN 1^4 AMERICA. towards her throne, bestowing a glance on her subjects right and left — and Jonathan behind ! i^c They say in France that Paris is the paradise of women. If so, there is a more blissful place than paradise, there is another word to invent to give an on her d! A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. t03 idea of the social position enjoyed by American ladies. If -I had to be born again, and might choose my sex and my birthplace, I would shout at the top ol my voice : ** Oh 1 make me an American woman ! " idisL of ;e than Jive an ^/k Chapter xiii. More about Journalism in America — A Dinner at Delmonico's — My First Appearance in an American Church. n s ij I 3 ! i I i flew ^ovK Sundas WQbt, \Otb Kantian?. Have been spending the whole day in reading the Sunday papers. I am never tired of reading and studying the American newspapers. The whole character of the nation is there : Spirit of enterprise, liveliness, childishness, inquisitiveness, deep interest in every- thing that is human, fun and humour, indiscretion, love of gossip, brightness. Speak of electric light, of phonographs and graphophones, if you like ; speak of those thousand and one inventions which have come out of the American brain ; but if you wish to mention the greatest and most wonderful achievement of American actiWty, do not hesitate for a moment to give the palm to American journalism ; it is simply the nee plus ultra. You will find some people, even in America, who condemn its loud tone; others who object to its meddling with private life ; others, again, who have something to say of its contempt for statements which are not in perfect accordance with strict truth. I even believe that a French writer, whom I do not wish to name, once said that very few statements to be found in an American paper were to be relied upon — beyond the date. People may say this and may say that about American journalism ; A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. 105 uner at [merican iing the ing the r of the wellness, I every- cretion, IS and lousand of the ion the nerican ive the the nee :a, who to its have ements strict , whom iry few IX were le may lalism ; I confess that I hke it, simply because it will supply you with twelve — on Sundays with thirty — pages that are readable from the first line to the last. Yes, from the first line to the last, including the advertise- ments. The American journalist maybe a man of letters, but, above all, he must possess a bright and graphic pen, and his services are not wanted if he cannot write a racy article or paragraph out of the most trifling incident. He must relate facts, if he can ; but if he cannot, so much the worse for the facts, he must be entertaining and turn out something that is readable. Suppose, for example, a reporter has to send to his paper the account of a police-court proceeding. There is nothing more important to bring to the office than the case of a servant-girl who has robbed her mistress of a pair of diamond earrings. The English reporter will bring to his editor something in the following style : *' Mary Jane So-and-so was yeiterday charged before the magistrate with stealing a pair of diamond earrings from her mistress. It appears " (always it appears^ that is the formula) ** that, last Monday, as Mrs. X. went to her room to dress for dinner, she missed a pair of diamond earrings, which she usually kept in a little drawer in her bedroom. On question- ing her maid on the subject, she received incoherent answers. Suspicion that the maid was the thief arose in her mind, anr; " A long paragraph in this dry style will be published in The Times ^ or any other London morning paper. Now, the American reporter will be required to bring something a little more entertaining, if he hopes to be worth his salt on the staff of his paper, and he will probably get up an account of the case somewhat in the following fashion : " Mary Jane So-and-so is a pretty little brunette io6 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. 1^^^ I i "•'Jf 11 ( I i|M i i '^ Si I I i: of some twenty summers. On looking in the glass at her dainty little ears, she fancied how lovely a pair of diamond earrings would look in them. So one day she thought she would try on those of her mistress. How lovely she looked ! said the looking- glass, and the Mephistopheles that is hidden in the corner of every man's or woman's breast suggested that she should keep them. This is how Mary Jane found herself in trouble . . ." etc., etc. The whole will read like a little story, probably entitled something like, "Another Gretchen gone Wrong through the Love of Jewels." The heading has to be thought of no less than the paragraph. Not a line is to be dull in a paper sparkling all over with eye-ticklers of all sorts. Oh ! those delicious headings that would resuscitate the dead and make them sit up in their graves ! A Tennessee paper, which I have now under my eye?, announces the death of a townsman with the following heading : "At ten o'clock last night Joseph W. Nelson put on his angel plumage." " Racy, catching advertisements supplied to the trade," such is the announcement that I see in the same paper. I understand the origin of such literary productions as the following, which I cull from a Colorado sheet : *♦ This morning our Saviour summoned away the jeweller William T. Sumner of our city from his shop to another and a better world. The undersigned, his widow, will weep upon his tomb, as will also his two daughters, Maud and Emma, thn former of whom is married, and the other is open to an offer. The funeral will take place to-morrow. Signed : His disconsolate widow, Mathilda Sumner. "P.S. — This bereavement will not interrupt our A FRENCHMAN iN AMERICA. 107 »?:■ the erary the shop d, his two business, which will he carried on as usual, only our j,'?-ce of business will be removed fr- ni Washington Street to No. 17 St. Paul Street, as our grasping land- lord has raised our rent. — M. S." The following advertisement probably emanates from the same firm : PERSONAL— HIS LOVE SUDDENLY RE- TURNED; recently they had not been on the best of terms owing to a little family jar occasioned by the wife insisting on being allowed to renovate his wearing apparel, and which, of course, was d^ -le in a bungling manner ; in order to prevent the trouble they agreed to send all their work hereafter to D , the Tailor, and now everything is lovely, and peace and happiness again reigns in their household. Ail this is lively. I repeat it, never fail to read the advertisements of an American paper, or you will not have got out of it all the fun it supplies. Here are a few that I extract from the Cincinnati Enquirer f which tell different stories : THE young MADAME J. C. ANTONIA, just arrived from Europe, will remain a short time ; tells past, present, and future ; tells by the letters in hand who the future husband or wife will be ; brings back the husband or . lover in so many days, and guarantees to settle family troubles ; can f^'ive good luck and success ; ladies call at once ; also cures corns and bunions. Hours 10 a.m. and 9 p.m. THE acquaintance desired of lady passing along Twelfth St. at 3 o'clock Sunday afternoon, by bionde gent standing at corner. Address LOU K 48, Enquirer office. Wn>L the three ladies that got on the electric car at the Zoo Sunday afternoon favour three gents that got olt at Court and Walnut Sts. with their address ? Address ELECTRIC CAR, Enquirer office. WILL two ladies on Clark St. car that noticed two gents in front of Grand Opera House, about 7 last evening, please address J and S, Enquirer office ? '.' •»» 1* 5|C A short time ago a man named Smith was bitten by a rattlesnake and treated with whisky at a New io8 IH M ¥f \.l ill! 1 I. i A rRENCIlMAN IN AMERICA. York hospital. An Enpflish paper would have just mentioned the fact, and have had the paragraph headed : "A remarkable cure," or " A man cured of a rattlesnake bite by whisky;" but a kind rorres- pondent sends me the headings of th' jit of intelligence in five New York papers, as follows : I 2 3 4 " Smith is all right 1 " ''Whisky does it!" " The Snake routed at all points ! " ♦* The Reptile is nowhere ! " " Drunk for three days and cured 1 '* They are A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. 109 Let a hutch of officials be dismissed. Do not suppose than an American editor will accept the news with such a heading as " Dismissal of Officials." The reporter will have to bring some label that will fetch the attention. " Massacre at the Custom House ! " or " So many Heads in the Basket 1" will do. Now, I maintain that it requires a wonderful imagination, something little short of genius, to be able, every day, to hit on a hundred of such headings. But the American journalist does it. An American paper is a collection of short l . jries. The Sunday edition of the New York World, the New York Herald, the Boston Herald, the Boston Globe, the Chicago Tribune, the Chicago Herald, and many others, is something like ten volumes of miscellaneous literature, and I do not know of any achievement to be compared to it. I cannot do better than compare an American paper to a large store, where the articles are labelled so as to immediately strike the customer. . A few weeks ago, I heard my friend, Colone Charles H. Taylor, editor of the Boston Globe, give me an interesting summary of an address on journalism which he is to deliver next Saturday before the members of the New England Club of Boston, He maintains that the proprietor of a newspaper has as much right to make his shop- window as attractive to the public as any tradesman. If the Colonel is of opinion that journalism is a trade and the journalist a mere tradesman, I agree with him. If journalism is not to rank among the highest and noblest of professions, and is to be nothing more than a commercial enterprise, I agree with him. Now, if we study the evolution of journalism for the last forty or fifty years, we shall see that daily journalism, especially in a democracy, has become a commercial enterprise, and that journalism, as it no A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. was understood forty years aj^o, ha*? become to- day monthly journalism. The dailies have now no other object than to ^ive the news, the latest ; just as a tradesman that would succeed, must j^ive you the latest fashion in any kind of business. The people of a democracy like America are educated in politics. They think for themselves, and care but little for the opinions of such and such journalist on any question of public interest. They want news, not literary essays on news. When I hear some Americans say that they object to their daily journalism, I answer that journalists are like other people who supply the public : they keep the article that is wanted. A free country possesses the government it deserves, and the journalism it wants. A people active and busy, as the Americans are, want a journalism that will keep their interest awake and amuse them. And they naturally ^^et it. The average American, for example, cares not a pin for what his representatives say or do in Washington; but he likes to be acquainted with what is going on in Europe, and that is why the American journalist will give him a far more detailed account of what is going on in the Palace of Westminster than of what is being said in the Capitol. In France, journalism is personal. On any great question of the day, domestic or foreign, the French- man will want to read the opinion of John Lemoinne in the Journal des D4bats, or the opinion of Edouard Lockroy in the Rappel, or maybe that of Paul de Cassagnac or Henri Rochefort. Every Frenchman is more or less led by the editor of the newspaper which he patronises. But the Frenchman is only a democrat in name and aspirations, not in fact. France made the mistake of establishing a republic before she made republicans of her sons. A French journalist signs his articles, and is a leader of public opinion — so much so, that every successful journalist = ii A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. Ill in France has been, is now, and ever will be elected a representative of the people. In America, as in England, the journalist has no personality outside the literary classes. Who, among the masses, knows the names of Bennett, Dana, Whitelaw Reid, Madill, Childs, in the United States ? Who, in England, knows the names of Mudford, Robinson, and other editors of the great dailies ? If it had not been for his trial and imprisonment, Mr. W.T. Stead himself, though a most brilliant journalist, would never have heard his name on anybody's lips. A leading article in an American or an English newspaper will attract no notice at home. It will only be quoted on the European Continent. It is the monthly and the weekly papers and magazines that now play the part of the dailies of bygone days. An article in the Spectator or Saturday RevieWf or especially in one of the great monthly magazines, will be quoted all over the land, and I beheve that this relatively new journalism, which is read only by the cultured, has now for ever taken the place of the old one. In a country where everybody reads, men as well as women ; in a country where nobody takes much interest in politics outside of the State and the city in which he lives, the journalist has to turn out every day all the news he can gather, and present them to the reader in the most readable form. Formerly daily journalism was a branch of litera- ture ; now it is a news store, and is so not only in America. The English press shows signs of the same tendency, and so does the Parisian press. Take the London Pall Mall Gazette and Star, and the Paris Figaro, as illustrations of what I advance. As democracy makes progress in England, jour- nalism will become more and more American, although the English reporter will have some trouble ■1 112 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. '1 ;t I > I i 1 in succeeding to compete with his American confrlre in humour and liveliness. Under the guidance of political leaders, the newspapers of Continental Europe direct public opinion. In a democracy, the newspapers follow public opinion, and cater to the public taste : they are the servants of the people. The American says to his journalists : " I don't care a pin for your opinion on such a question. Give mo the news and I will comment on it myself. Only don't forget that I am an over* worked man, and that before, or after, my fourteen hours' work, I want to be entertained." So, as I have said elsewhere, the American jour- nalist must be spicy, lively, and bright. He must know how, not merely to report, but to relate in a racy, catching style, an accident, a trial, a conflagra- tion, and be able to make up an article of one or two columns upon the most insignificant incident. He must be interesting, readable. His eyes and ears must be always open, every one of his five senses on the alert, for he must keep ahead in this wild race for news. He must be a good conversationalist on most subjects, so as to bring back from his interviews with different people a good store of materials. He must be a man of courage, to brave rebuffs. He must be a philosopher, to pocket abuse cheerfully. He must be a man of honour, to inspire confi- dence in the people he has to deal with. Personally I can say this of him, that whenever I have begged him, for instance, to kindly abstain from mentioning this or that which might have been said in conver- sation with him, I have invariably found that he kept his word. but if the matter is of public interest, he is, before and above all, the servant of the public ; so never challenge his spirit of enterprise, or he will A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. 113 n confrlre ders, the ct public rs follow ste : they ican says n such a nment on an over* f fourteen [can jour- He must jlate in a :onflagra- ne or two lent. He and ears senses on wild race ationalist from his store of to brave iet abuse ire confi- ersonally e begged ^ntioning conver- that he 5t, he is, iblic ; so • he will leave no stone unturned until he has found out your secret and exhibited it in public. I do not think that American journalism needs an apology. It is the natural outcome of circumstances and the democratic times we live in. The Theatre- Fran^ais is not now, under a Republic, and probably never again will be, what it was when it was placed under the patronage and supervision of the French Court. Democracy is the form of government least of all calculated to foster literature and the fine arts. To that purpose, Monarchy, with its Court and its fashionable society, is the best. This is no reason to prefer a monarchy to a republic. Journalism cannot be now what it was when papers were read by people of culture only. In a democracy, the stage and journalism have to please the masses of the people. As the people become better and better educated, the stage and journalism will rise with them. What the people want, I repeat it, is news, and journals are properly called iVdZ£'s-papers. Speaking of American journalism, no man need use apologetic language. Not when the proprietor of an American paper will not hesitate to spend thousands of dollars to provide his readers with the minutest details about some great European event. Not when an American paper will, at its own expense, send Henry M. Stanley to Africa in search of Livingstone. N t so long as the American press is vigilant, and keeps its thousand eyes open on the interests of the American people. Dined this evening with Richard Mansfield at pelmonico's. I sat between Mr. Charles A. Dana, ' 114 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. the first of American journalists, and General Horace Potter, and had what my American friends would call **a mighty elegant time." The host was delight- ful, the dinner excellent, the wine ** extra dry," the speeches quite the reverse. " Speeches " is rather a big word for what took place at dessert. Everyone supplied an anecdote, a story, a reminiscence, and contributed to the general entertainment of the guests. The Americans have too much humour to spoil their dinners with toasts to the President, the Senate, the House of Representatives, the Army, the Navy, the Militia, the Volunteers, and the Reserve Forces. How can you be humorous on the subject of Reserve Forces ? I once heard Mr. Chauncey M. Depew referring to the Volunteers, at some English public dinner, as " Men invincible — in peace, and invisible in war." After dinner I remarked to an English peer: " You have heard to-night the great New York after-dinner speaker, what do you think of his speech ?" ** Well," he said, "it was witty; but I think his remark about our Volunteers was not in very good taste." I remained composed, and did not explode. mewburgb (Irt. 5.)» 2l0t 5annare, Lectured in Melrose, near Boston, last night, and had the satisfaction of pleasing a Massachusetts audience for the second time. After the lecture, I had supper with Mr. Nat Goodwin, a very good actor, who is now playing in Boston in a new play by Mr. Steele Mackaye. Mr. Nat Goodwin told A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. "5 1 Horace Js would sdelight- Jry," the ; rather a Everyone ;nce, and t of the r to spoil lent, the he Army, and the ubject of referring dinner, as in war." leer : lew York of his think his very good ode. ,st night, achusetts ecture, I ery good new play ivvin told many good stones at supper. He can entertain his friends in private as well as he can the public. To-night I have appeared in a church, in New- burgh. The minister, who took the chair, had the good sense to refrain from opening the lecture with prayer. There are many who have not the tact necessary to see that praying before a humorous lecture is almost as irreverent as praying before a glass of grog. It is as an artist, however, that I resent that prayer. After the audience have said Amen, it takes them a full quarter of an hour to realise that the lecture is not a sermon, that they are in a church, but not at church, and the whole time thoir minds are in that undecided state all your points fall flat and miss fire. Even without the preliminary prayer, I dislike lecturing in a church. The very atmosphere of a church is against the success of a light, humorous lecture, and many a point, which would bring down the house in a theatre, will be received only with smiles in a lecture-hall, and in respectful silence in a church. An audience is greatly influenced by surroundings. Now, I must say that the interior of an American church, with its lines of benches, its galleries, and its platform, does not inspire such religious feelings as the interior of a European Catholic church. In many American towns, the church is let for meetings, concerts, exhibitions, bazaars, etc., and so far as you can see, there is nothing to distinguish it from an ordinary lec^ture-hall. Yet, it is a church, and both lecturer and audience feel it. CHAPTER XIV. Marcus Aurelms in America — Chairmen I have had — Anierican, English, and Scotch Chairmen — Ofie who had been to Boulogne — Talkative and Silent Chairmen — A Trying Occasion — The Lord is asked to allow the Audience fo see my Jokes. 1Rew iorh, 22nD ^anuarg. ^1 > i . i s 1 r There are indeed very few Americans who have not either tact or a sense of humour. They make the best of chairmen. They know that the audience have not come to hear them, and that all that is required of them is to introduce the lecturer in very few words, and to give him a good start. Who is the lecturer that would not appreciate, nay, love, such a chairman as Dr. R. S. McArthur, who intro- duced me yesterday to a New York audience in the following manner ? ** Ladies and gentlemen," said he, " the story goes that, last summer, a party of Americans visit- ing Rome paid a visit to the famous Spithover's bookshop in the Piazza di Spagna. Now Spithover is the most learned of bibliophiles. You must go thither if you need artistic and archaeological works of the profoundest research and erudition. But one of the ladies in this tourists' party only wanted the lively travels in America of Max O'Rell, and she asked for the book at Spithover's. There came in a deep guttural voice — an Anglo-German voice — from a A FRENCHMAN iK AMERICA. It; e had — ')ne who hairmen to allow spectacled clerk behind a desk, words to this purport : * Marcus Aurelius vos nefFer in te Unided Shtaates ! ' — But, ladies and gentlemen, he is now, and here he is." * % 10 have 's.^i^ ;y make ^^^^^1 udience that is in very >^^H Who is ~3^^^H .y, love, o intro- b m the 'j^IBB e story -'"^^sH m visit- >>^H thover's 9 Dithover ^^ nust go 1^ d works But one ited the and she ime in a —from a 1 n8 A FkENCHMAN IN AMERICA. With such an introduction, I was immediately in touch with the audience. What a change after some English chairmen ! A few days before lecturing in any English town, under the auspices of a Literary Society or Mechanics' Institute, the lecturer generally receives from the secretary a letter running somewhat as follows : " Dear sir, I have much pleasure in in- forming you that our Mr. Blank, one of our vice- presidents and a well-known resident here, will take the chair at your lecture." Translated into plain English, this reads : " My poor fellow, I am much grieved to have to inform you that a chairman will be inflicted upon you on the occasion of your lecture before the members of our Society." In my few years' lecturing experience, I have come across all sorts and conditions of chairmen, but I can recollect very few that " have helped me." Now, what is the office, the duty, of a chairman on such occasions ? He is supposed to introduce the lecturer to the audience. For this he needs to be able to make a neat speech. He has to tell the audience who the lecturer is, in case they should not know it, which is seldom the case. I was once introduced, to an audience who knew me, by a chairman who, I don't think, had ever heard my name in his life. Before going on the platform he asked me whether I had written anything, next whether I was an Irishman or a Frenchman, etc. Sometimes the chairman is nervous ; he hems and haws, cannot find the words he wants, and only succeeds in fidgeting the audience. Sometimes, on the other hand, he is a wit. There is danger again. I was once introduced to a New York audience by General Horace Porter. Those of my readers who know the delightful General, and have heard him deliver one of those little gems of speeches in his own inimitable manner, will agree with me that J I ■ A IKENCilMAN 'N AMERICA. itQ itely in len ! English :iety or receives vhat as ; in in- ar vice- k'ill take o plain n much lan will lecture I have airmen, ed me." man on uce the is to be tell the should as once by a ard my orm he ^^, next etc. e hems nd only mes, on r again. 3nce by ers who .rd him j in his le that i. The Chiiiyuian, i2a A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. t \ i I certainly there was danger in that ; and they will not be surprised when I tell them that after his delightfully witty and graceful little introduction, I felt as if the best part of the " show " was over. Sometimes the chair ^as to be offered to a magnate of the neighbourhood, though he may be noted for his long prosy orations (which annoy the public), or to a very popular man in the locality who gets all the applause (which annoys the lecturer). " Brevity is the soul of wit," should be the motto of chairmen, and I sympathise with a friend of mine who says that chairmen, like little boys and girls, should be seen and not heard. Of those chairmen who can and do speak, the Scotch ones are generally good. They have a knack of starting the evening with some droll Scotch anecdote, told with that piquant and picturesque accent of theirs, and of putting the audience in a good humour. Occasionally they will also make a propos and equally droll little speeches at the close. One evening, in talking of America, I had men- tioned the fact that American banquets were very lively, and that I thought the fact of Americans being able to keep up such a flow of wit for so many hours was perhaps due to their drinking Apollinaris water instead of stronger things after dessert. At the end of the lecture, the chairman rose, and said he had greatly enjoyed it, but that he must take exception to one statement the lecturer had made, for he thought it " fery deeficult to be wutty on Apollinaris watter." Another kind of chairman is the one who kills your finish, and stops ail the possibility of your being called back for applause, by coming forward, the very instant the last words are out of your mouth, to inform the audience that the next lecture will be given by Mr. So-and-so, or to make a state- ment of the Society's financial position, concluding A FRKNCIIMAN IM AMiiRlCW. 121 by appealing to the members to induce their friends to join. Then there is the chairman who, althouj^h he does not know what you are going to speak about, thinks it his duty to give the audience a iance. A few people coughed, two or three more bold stamped their feet, but he took no heed, and for ten minutes he gave the audience the benefit of the information he had gathered in France. These preliminaries over, I gave the lecture, after which Mr. N. called upon a member of the audience to propose a vote of thanks to the lecturer " for the most amusing and interesting discourse, etc." . Now a paid lecturer wants his cheque when his 124 A FKKNCHMAN IN AMEKlCA. i I M : ! If work is over; and although a vote of thanks, when it is spontaneous, is a c.omplinient which he greatly appreciates, he is more likely to feel awkwardness tlian pleasure when it is a mere redtape formality. The vote of thanks on this particular occasion was pr()()osed in due form. Then it was seconded by some one who repeated two or three of my points and spoiled them. By this time I began to enter into the fun of the thing, and, after having returned thanks for the vote of thanks and sat down, I stepped forward again, filled with a mild resolve to have the last word : " Ladies and gentlemen," I said, " I have now nmch pleasure in proposing that a hearty vote of thanks be given to Mr. N. for the able manner in which he has filled the chair. I am proud to have been introduced to you by an Englishman who knows my country so well." I went again through the list of Mr. N.'s qualifications, not forgetting the trip to Boulogne and the impressions it had left on him. Somebody rose and seconded this. Mr. N. delivered a speech to thank the audience once more, and then those who had survived went home. Some Nonconformist Societies will engage a light or humorous lecturer, put him in thei^ chapel, and open his mouth with prayer. Prayer is good, but I would as soon think of saying grace over a glass of champagne as of beginning my lecture with a prayer. This kind of experience has been mine several times. A truly trying experience it was, on the first occa- sion, to be accompanied to the platform by the minister who, motioning me to sit down, advanced to the front, lowered his head, and said in solemn accents : " Let us pray." After I got started, it took me fully ten minutes to make the people realise that they were not at church. This experience I had Ui America as well as in England. Another experience in this line was still worse, for the prayer was sup- A FRENCHMAN IN AMHRICA. 125 s, when greatly arcJness rniality. ion was ded by ' points enter ^turned own, I olve to ve now vote of iner in to have ,n who h rough ing the left on )Ar. N. i more, a light el, and but I ;lass of Drayer. times. occa- )y the ^anced olemn t took e that lad 111 rience sup- plemented by the sinf 'ng of a hymn of ten or twelve veist;s. Yoii may easily imagine that my first point fell (lead flat. I have been introduced to audiences as Mossoo, Meshoe, and Mounzeer O'Recl, and found it very difficult to bear with equanimity a chairman who maltreated a name which I had taken some care to keep correctly spelt before the public. Yet this man is charming when compared to the one who, in the midst of his introductory remarks, turns to you and. ■k in a stage whisper perfectly audible all over the hall, asks : ** How do you pronounce your name ?" Passing over chairmen chatty and chairmen 126 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. terse, chairmen eloquent and chairmen the reverse, I feel decidec \y most kindly towards the silent chair- man. He is very rare, but he does exist, and when met with is exceedingly precious. Why he exists, in some English Institutes, I have always been at a loss to imagine. Whether he comes on to see that the lecturer does not run off before his time is up, or with the water bottle, which is the only portable thing on the platform generally; whether he is a successor to some venerable deaf and dumb founder of his society ; or whether he goes on with the lecturer to give a lesson in modesty to the public as who should say : ** I could speak an if I would, but I forbear." Be his raison d'etre what it may, we all love him. To the nervous novice he is a kind of quiet support, to the old stager he is as a picture unto the eye and as music unto the ear. Here I pause. I want to collect my thoughts. Does my memory serve me ? Am I dreaming, or worse still, am I on the point of inventing ? No, I could not invent such a story, it is beyond my power. I was once lecturing to the students of a religious college in America. Before I began, a professor stepped forward, and offered a prayer in which he asked the Lord to allow the audience to see my points, .> Now, I duly feel the weight of responsibility attaching to such a statement, and in justice to myself I can do no less than give the reader the petition just as it fell on my astonished ears : — " Lord, Thou knowest that we work hard for Thee, anu that recreation is necessary in order that we may work with renewed vigour. We have to- night with us a gentleman from France " (excuse my recording a compliment too flattering), " whose criti- A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. 127 cisms are witty and refined, but subtle, and we pray Thee to so prepare our minds that we may thoroughly understand and enjoy them." "But subtler' I am still wondering whether my lectures are so subtle as to need praying over, or whether that audience was so dull that they needed praying for. Whichever it was, the prayer was heard, for the audience proved warm, keen, and thoroughly appre- ciative. i! I ;1 CHAPTER XV. Reflections on the Typical American, nacw JJorft, 23rt) ^anuacB. I WAS asked to-day by the editor of the North American Review to write an article on the typical American. The typical American ! In the eyes of my beloved compatriots, the typical American is a man with hair falling over his shoulders, wearing a sombrero^ a red shirt, leather leggings, a pair of revolvers in his belt, spending his life on horseback, and able to shoot a fly off the tip of your nose without for a moment endangering your olfac- tory organ ; and, since Buffalo Bill has l3een exhibit- ing his Indians and cowboys to the Parisians, this impression has become a deep conviction. I shall never forget the astonishment I caused to my mother when I first broke the news to her that I wanted to go to America. My mother had practically never left a lovely little provincial town of France. Her face expressed perfect bewilder- ment. " You don't mean to say you want to go to America!" she said. "What for?' ** I am invited to give lectures there." " Lectures 1 in what language ? " " Well, Mother, I will try my best in English." " Do they speak English out there ?" *• H'm— pretty well, I think." We did not go any further on the subject that time. Probably the good mother thought of the A rUl'NCIIMAX IX AMERICA. 129 e North typical 5 typical oulders, gings, a life on of your ir olfac- exhibit- ns, this caused to her ler had il town wilder- go to ish." :t that of the The Typical American, 10 f ■V 111 • i [ I ir I i 130 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. time when the Californian gold fields attracted all the scum of Europe, and, no doubt, she thought that it was strange for a man, who had a decent position in Europe, to go and ''seek fortune" in America. Later on, however, after returning to England, I wrote to her that I had made up my mind to go. Her answer was full of gentle reproaches, and of sorrow at seeing that phe had lost all her influence over her son. She signed herself "always your loving mother," and indulged in a postscript. Madame de S6vigne said that the gist of a woman's letter was to be found in the postscript. My mother's was this : '* P.S. I shall not tell anyone in the town that you have gone to America." This explains why I still dare show my face in my native little town. iK 1^ ♦ iK The typical American ! First of all, does he exist ? I do not think so. As I have said elsewhere, there are Americans in plenty, but the American has not made his appear- ance yet. The type existed a hundred years ago in New England. He is there still ; but he is not now a national type, he is only a local one. I was talking one day to two eminent Americans on the subject of the typical American, real or imaginary. One of them was of opinion that he was a taciturn being ; the other, on the contrary, maintained that he was talkative. How is a foreigner to dare decide, where two eminent natives find it impossible to agree ? In speaking of the typical American, let us under stand each other. All the civilised nations of the earth are alike in one respect : they are all com- posed of two kinds of men, those that are gentlemen, and those that are not. America is no exception to "^Slh', A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. 131 icted all ght that position irica. gland, I D go. 5, and of nfluence ys your >stscript. woman's that you ^ face in hink so. I icans in ■ 9 appear- :s ago in not now ii • ■sf nericans i ■ '-if real or i that he ';.A lontrary, , .-^ breigner ..'.'*' 3 find it s under s of the 'i all com- itlemen, ption to 1 this rule. Fifth Avenue does not differ from Belgravia and Mayfair. A gentleman is everywhere a gentle- man. As a type, he belongs to no particular country, he is universal. When the writer of some *' Society" paper, Eng- lish or American, reproaches a sociologist for writing about the masses instead of the classes, suggesting 10 * 132 A i RENCHMAH IN AMERICA. Ill ' that ** he probably never frequented the best society of the nation he describes," that writer writes him- self down an ass. In the matters of feeling, conduct, taste, cuUuie, I have never discovered the least difference between a gentleman from Aniercia and a gentleman from France, England, Russia, or any other country of Europe — including Germany. So, if we want to find a typical American, it is not in good society that we must search for him, but among the mass of the population. Well, it is just here that our search will break down. We shall come across all sorts and conditions of Americans, but not one that is really typical. A little while ago, the Century Magazine published specimens of composite photography. First, there was the portrait of one person, then that of this same face with another superposed, then another contain- ing three faces blended, and so on up to eight or nine. On the last page the result was shown. I can only compare the typical American to the last of those. This appears to me the process of evolution through which the American type is now going. What it will be when this process of evolution is over, no one, I imagine, can tell. The evolution will be complete when immigration shall have ceased, and all the different types have been well mixed and assimilated. Whilst the process of assimilation is still going on, the result is suspended, and the type is incomplete. But, meanwhile, are there not ceilain character- istic traits to be found throughout almost all America ? That is a question much easier to answer. Is it necessary to repeat that I put aside good society and confine myself merely to the people ? Nations are like individuals : when they are young, they have the qualities and the defects of children. The characteristic trait of childhood is curiosity. It 1 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. 133 t society tes bim- culiuie, between lan from untry of want to i society i mass of 'i\\ break onditions ical. published rst, there this same r contain- eight or hown. I he last of evolution )w going. )lution is ution will e ceased, nixed and lilation is the type :haracter- America? side good 3ople ? ire young, children, osity. It 4 •7 \ ' is also that of the American. I have never been in Australia, but I should expect to find this trait in the Australian. Look at American journalism. What does it live on. Scandal and gc:sip. Let a writer, an artist, or anyone else become popular in the States, and the papers will immediately tell the public at what time he rises and what he takes for breakfast. When anyone of the least importance arrives in America, he is quickly beset by a band of reporters who ask him a host of preposterous questions, and examine him minutely from head to foot, in order to tell the public If I i i ■i I ! ■ r t \ I \ 134 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. next day whether he wearr, laced, buttoned, or elastic boots, enlighten them as to the cut of his coat and the colour of his pants, and let them know if he parts his hair in the middle or not. Every time I went into a new town to lecture, I was interviewed, and the next day, besides an account of the lecture, there was invariably a paragraph somewhat in this style : ** The lecturer is a man of about forty, whose cranium is getting visible through his hair. He wears a double eyeglass, with which he plays whilst talking to his audience. His hand- kerchief was black-bordered. He wore the regulation patent leather shoes, and his shirt-front was fastened with a single stud. He spoke without effort or pre- tension, and often with his hands in his pockets." Etc. A few days ago, on reading the morning papers in a town where I had lectured the night before, I found, in one of them, about twenty lines conse- crated to my lecture, and half a column to my hat. I must tell you that this hat was brown, and all the hats in America are black. If you wear any- thing that is not exactly like what Americans wear, you are gazed at as if you were a curious animal. The Americans are as great badauds as the Parisians. In London, you may go down Regent Street or Piccadilly got up as a Swiss admiral, a Polish general, or even a Highlander, and nobody will take the trouble to look at you. But, in America, you have only to put on a brown hat or a pair of light pants, and you will become the object of a curiosity which will not fail very promptly to bore you, if you are fond of tranquillity, and like to go about unremarked. I was so fond of that poor brown hat^ too ! It was an incomparably obliging hat. It took any shape, and adapted itself to any circumstances. It even went into my pocket on occasions. I had 1 1 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. 135 ' elastic Dat and N if he :ture, I iccount •a^raph man of hrough I which J hand- julation astened or pre- )ckets." papers before, conse- y hat. and all ar any- s wear, animal, risians. reet or eneral, ike the 3U have pants, uriosity you, if about do! It ok any :es. It I had bought it at Lincoln and Bennett's, if you please. But I had to give it up. To niy great regret, I saw that it was imperative : its popularity bid fair to make me jealous. Twenty lines about me, and half a column about that hat ! It was time to come to some determination. It was not to be put up with any longer. So I took it up tenderly, smoothed it with care, and laid it in a neat box which was then posted to the chief editor of the paper with the following note ; '* Dear Sir, — I see by your estimable paper that my hat has attracted a good deal of public attention during its short sojourn in your city. I am even tempted to think that it has attracted more of it than my lecture. I send you the interesting headgear, and beg you will accept it as a souvenir of my visit, with my respectful compliments." A citizen of the Great Republic knows how to take a joke. The worthy editor inserted my letter in the next number of his paper, and informed hi-, readers that the hat fitted him to a nicety, and that he was going to have it dyed and wear it. He further said : " Max O'Rell evidently thinks the song Where did you get that hat ? was specially written to annoy him/' and Vv*ent on to the effect that " Max O'Rell is not the only man who does not care to tell \vhere he got his hat." Do not run away with the idea that such nonsense as this has no interest for the American public. The editor of a paper is just like the head of any other commercial enterprise, he supplies the article that is in demand. ^ merican reporters have asked me, with the most sei.ous face in the world, whether I worked in the morning, afternoon, or evening, and what colour paper I used {sic). One actually asked me whether it was true that M. Jules Claretie used white pap-^r t 1" 1 i f 1 i t ■ ! ' ' ;l ■ ;• 1 ii ij 1 !• '! 1 1 '1 ! 1 ; 1 ■ 1 i. I , ■■i!- m 136 A FKliNCHMAN IN AMERICA. to write his novels on, and blue paper for his news- paper articles. Not having the honour of a personal acquai»'itance with the director of the Com^dic- Fymi>^aisej I had to confess my inability to gratify my amiable interlocutor. Look at the advertisements in the newspapers. There you have the bootmaker, the hatter, the travel- ling quack, publishing their portraits at the head of their advertisements. Why are those portraits there, if it be not to satisfy the curiosity of customers ? The mass of personalities, each more trumpery than the other, those details of people's private life, and all the gossip daily served up in the newspapers, are they not proof enough that curiosity is a charac- teristic trait of the American ? This curiosity, which often shows itself in the most impossible questions, gives immense amuse- ment to Europeans ; unhappily it amuses them at the expense of the well-bred Americans, people who are as innocent of it as the members of the stiffest aristocracy in the world could be. The English especially persist in not distinguishing Americans who are gentlemen from Americans who are not. x\nd even that easy-going American bourgeois, with his childish but good-humoured nature, they often fail to do justice to. They too often look at his curiosity as impertinence and ill breeding, and will not admit that, in nine cases out of ten, the freedom he uses with you is buL a show of good feeling, an act of good fellowship. Take, for instance, the following little story : An American is seated in a railway carriage, and opposite him is a lady in deep mourning, and looking a picture of sadness : a veritable mater dolorosa. "jtfii' -j A FKliNCHMAN IN AMiiKlCA. 137 s ncvvs- Dersonal gratify jpapers. 2 travel- head of •ortraits 3sity of umpeiy ate life, jpapers, charac- in the amuse- s them people of the The uishing ns who urgeois, I, they ook at g, and n, the f good y- e, and poking '* Lost a father ?" begins the worthy fellow. ♦* No, sir." ''A mother, maybe ?" " No, sir." "Ah'l a child, then?" '* No, sir, I have lost my husband." " Your husband ! Ah — left you comfortable ?" The lady, rather offended, retires to the other end of the car and cuts short the conversation. ** Ivather stuck-up, this woman," remarks the good Yankee to his neighbour. The intention was good, if the way of showing it was not. He had but wanted to show the poor lady the interest he took in her. After having seen you two or three times, the American will suppress " Mr." and address you by your name without any handle to it. Do not say that this is ill-placed familiarity ; it is meant as an act of good fellowship, and should be received by you as such. If you are stiff, proud, and stuck-up, for goodness' sake never go to America, you will never get on there. On the contrary, take over a stock of simple, affable manners, and a good temper, and you will be treated as a friend everywhere, feted, and well looked after. In fact, try to deserve a certificate of good fellow- ship, such as the Clover Club of Philadelphia awards to those who can sit at its hospitable table without taking affront at the little raileries levelled at them by the members of that lively association. With people of refinement who have humour, you can indulge in a joke at their expense. So says La Bruyere. Every visitor to America, who wants to bring back a pleasant recollection of his stay there, should lay this to heart. Such are the impressions that I formed of the American during my first trip to his country, and the more I think over the matter, the more sure I am 138 A FRENCHMAN IN AMRRICA. • ( that they were correct. Curiosity is his chief little failing?, and pood fellowship his most prominent quality. This is the theme I will develop and send to the editor of the North Ameyican Review. I will profit by having a couple of days to spend in New York, to install myself in a cosy corner of that cosiest of clubs, the " Players," and there write it. It seems that, in the same number of this Magazine, the same subject is to be treated by Mr. Andrew Lang. He has never seen Jonathan at home, and it will be interesting to see what im- j)ressions he has formed of him abroad. In the hands of such a graceful writer, the '' typical American " is sure to be treated in a pleasant and interesting manner. ' CHAPTER XVI. I am asked to express myself freely on Aiiterica — 7 meet Mrs. Blank, and for the first time hear of Mr. Blank — Beacon Street Society — The Boston Clubs. JBoston, 25tb 3aiuiarB. It aimiscs ine to notice how the Americans, to whom 1 have the pleasure of bein^ introduced, re- frain from asking me what I think of America. Hut tl:ey invariably inquire if the impressions of my first visit are confirmed. This afternoon, at an ** At Home," I met a lady from New York who ; oked me a most extraordinary question. ** I have read Jonathan and His Continent,'' she said to me. " I suppose that is a book of impres- sions written for publication. But now, tell me en confidence, what do you think of us ?" " Is there anything in that book," I replied, "which can make you suppose that it is not the faithful expression of what I think of America and the Americans ?" " Well," she said, " it is so complimentary, taken altogether, that I must confess I had a lurking sus- picion of your having purposely flattered us, and indulged our national weakness for hearing ourselves praised, so as to make sure of a warm reception for your book." "No doubt," I replied, "by writing a flattering book on any country, you would greatly increase your chance of a large sale in that country ; but, on the other hand, you may write an abusive book on any country and score a great success among that I. 1 i ; « 'i if 11:1 ,i 1 , t » t : J 140 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. nation's neighbours. For my part, I have always gone my own quiet way, philosophising rather than opinionating, and when I write, it is not with the aim of pleasing any particular public. I note down what I see, say what I think, and people may read it or not, just as they please. But I think I may boast, however, that my pen is never bitter, and I do not care to criticise unless I feel a certain amount of sympathy with the subject of my criticism. If I felt that I could only honestly say hard things of people, I would always abstain altogether." " Now," said the fair questioner, ** how is it that you have so little to say about our Fifth Avenue folks? Is it because you have seen very little of them, or is it because you could only have said hard things of them?" " On the contrary," I replied, *' I saw a good deal of them ; but what I saw showed me that to describe them would be only to describe polite society, as it exists in London and elsewhere. Society gossip is not in my line, boudoir and club smoking-room scandal has no charm for me. Fifth Avenue resembles too much Mayfair and Beigravia to make criticism of it worth attempting." I knew this answer would have the effect of putting me into the lady's good graces at once, and I was not disappointed. She accorded to me her sweetest smile, as I bowed to her to go, and be introduced to another lady by the mistress of the house. The next lady was a Bostonian. I had to explain to her why I had not spoken of Beacon Street people, using the same argument as in the case of Fifth Avenue Society. * « At the same *'At Home," I had the pleasure of meeting Mrs. Blank, whom I had met many times in London and Paris. A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. 141 She is one of the crowd of pretty and clever women whom America sends to brighten up European Society, and who reappear in London and Paris with the regularity of the swallows. You meet them everywhere, and conclude that they must be married, since they are styled Mrs., and not Miss. But whether they are wives, widows, or divorcees, you rarely think of inquiring, and you may enjoy their friendship for years without knowing whether they have a living lord or not. Mrs. Blank, as I say, is a most fascinating speci- men of America's daughters, and to-day I find that Mr. Blank is also very much alive, but that the I r' 1 :i \ i 1 i i ' , 142 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. companions of his joys and sorrows are the tele- phone and the ticker ; in fact, it is thanks to his devotion to these that the wife of his bosom is able to adorn European Society during every recurring season. American women have such love for freedom and are so passionless and prudent that their visits to Europe could not arouse suspicion even in the most malicious. But, nevertheless, I am glad to have heard of Mr. Blank, because it is comfortable to have one's mind at rest on these subjects. Up to now, when- ever I had been asked, as sometimes happened, though seldom, "Who is Mr. Blank, and where is he?" I had always answered, " Last puzzle outl" li h I lunched to-day in the beautiful Algonquin Club as the guest of Colonel Charles H. Taylor, editor of the Boston Globes and met the editors of the other A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. 143 tele- ;o his s able irring 1 and ts to most leard one's v^hen- ened, re is I" Club or of Dther Boston papers, among whom was John Boyle O'Reilly,* the lovely poet, and the delightful man, who sat on my right. The general conversation turned on two subjects most interesting to me ; viz., American journalism and American politics. All these gentlemen seemed to agree that the American people take an interest in local politics only, but not in imperial politics, and this explains why the papers of the smaller towns give detailed accounts of what is going on in the houses of legislature of both City and State, but do not concern themselves about what is going on in Washington. I had come to that conclusion myself, seeing that the great papers of New York, Boston, Philadelphia, Chicago devoted columns to the sayings and doings of the political world in London and Paris, and seldom a paragraph to the sittings of Congress in Wash- ington. In the morning, before lunch, I had called on Mr. John Holmes, the editor of the Boston Herald, and there met a talented lady who writes under the 7iom de plume of "Max Eliot," and with whom I had a delightful half-hour's chat. I have had to-day the pleasure of meeting the editors of all the Boston newspapers. # « « « In the evening, I dined with the members of the New England Club, who thus meet every month to listen, at dessert, to some interesting debate or lecture. The wine is supplied by bets. You bet, for instance, that the sun will shine on the following Friday at half-past two. If you lose, you are one of those who will have to supply one, two, or three bottles of champagne at the next dinner, and so on. This evening the lecture, or rather the short address, was given by Colonel Charles H. Taylor on the * J. B. O'Reilly died in 1890. i: 1 4 i I 144 A FRENCHMAN IN AMEKICA. history of American journalism. I was particularly interested to hear the history of the foundation of the New York Herald by James Gordon Bennett, and that of the New York World by Mr. Pullizer, a Hungarian emigrant, who some years ago arrived in the States unable to speak English, became jack-of- all-trades, then a reporter to a German paper, then bought the Worlds which is now one of the best paying concerns in the whole of the United States. This man, who to maintain himself not in health, but just alive, is obliged to be constantly travelling, directs the paper by telegraph from Australia, from Japan, from London, or wherever he happens to be. It is nothing short of marvellous. Finished the evening in the St. Botolph's Club, and I may say that I have to-day spent one of the most delightful days of my life, with those charming and highly-cultured Bostonians who, a wicked New York friend declares, "are educated beyond their intellects." ?! 1 w 1 ■■m CHAPTER XVII. A Lively Sunday in Boston — Lecture in the Boston Theatre — Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes — The Booth- Modjeska Combination. asoston, 2etb 5anuarg. ** Max Eliot " devotes a charming and most flattering article to me in this morning's Herald, embodying the conversation we had together yester- day in the Boston Herald's office. Many thanks, Max. A reception was given to me this afternoon by Citizen George Francis Train, and I met many artists, journalists, and a galaxy of charming women. The Citizen is pronounced to be the greatest crank on earth. I found him decidedly eccentric, but entertaining, witty, and a first-rate raconteur. He shakes hands with you in the Chinese fashion : he shakes his own. He has taken a solemn oath that his body shall never come in contact with the body of anyone. A charming programme of music and recitations was gone through. The invitation cards issued for the occasion speak for themselves. U mi I <■ I'' H I, i I V m [J f r! f 146 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. The Citizen Shahs Hands. A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. 147 K CUi3cn (3corflc ^rancl3 drain's KECLPTION TO Cito\}en /l^aJ ©"IRcn. Vide some of his " Apothcf^mic Works!" (Reviewed in Pulitzer's New York World and Cosmos Press!) John Bull et Son ile ! Les Filles de John Bull 1 Les Chers Voisins! L'Ami Macdonald ! John Bull, Junior I Jonathan et Son Continent ! L' Eloquence Fran^aise! etc. YOU ARE INVITED TO MEET this distinguished French Traveller — Author and Lecturer (from the land of La Fayette, Rochambeau, and De Grasse !) AT MY SIXTH "POP-CORN RECEPTION I" Sunday, January Twenty-Sixth From 2 to 7 p.m. (Tremont House !) Private Banquet Hall I Fifty ' ' Notables ! ' ' Talent from Dozen Operas and Theatres I All Stars 1 No Airs I No " Wall Flowers I" No Aniens I No Selahsl But "Mutual Admiration Cluu cf Good-FellowshivI" No Boredom 1 No Formality ! (Dress as you like I) No FroKram 1 (Pianos! Cellos I Guitars! Mandolins 1 Banjos I Violins 1 Har- monicas 1 Zithers I) Opera, Theatre, and Pref.s Represented ! — Succeeding Receptions : To Steele Mackaye t Nat Goodwin 1 Count Zubof (St. Petersburg) 1 Prima Donna Clemence De Vere (Italy) 1 Albany Press Clubl (Duly announced printed invitations 1) GEORGE FRANCIS TRAIN, " Psychic Press thanks for friendly notices Tremont House lor Winter I of Sunday Musicales t " P.S. — "Demons" have checkmated "Psychos !" Invitations can- celled! "Hub" Boycotts Sunday Receptions I Boston half century behind New York and Europe's Elite Society. (Ancient Athens still Ancient!) Regrets and Regards! Good-Bye, Tremont! (The Pro- prietors not to blame.) It will be seen from the P.S. that the reception could not be held at The Tremont House ; but the plucky Citizen did not allow himself to be beaten, and the reception took place at the house of a friend. # * ♦ * In the evening I lectured in the Boston Theatre to a beautiful audience. If there is a horrible fascination about ** the man who won't smile," ?.s I mentioned in a foregoing chapter, there is a lovely fascination about the lady U * 148 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. who seems to enjoy your lecture thoroughly. You watch the eiTect of your remarks on her face, and her bright, intellectual eyes keep you in good form the whole evening; in fact, you give the lecture to her. I perhaps never felt the influence of that face more powerfully than to-night. I had spoken for a few minutes, when Madame Modjeska, accompanied by her husband, arrived and took a seat on the first row of the orchestra stalls. To be able to entertain the great tragedienne became my sole aim, and as soon as I perceived that I was successful, I felt perfectly proud and happy. I lectured to her the whole evening. Her laughter and applause en- couraged me ; her beautiful, intellectual face cheered me up, and I was able to introd'ice a little more acting and by-play than usual. I had had the pleasure of making Madame Modjeska's acquaintance two years ago, during my first visit to the United States, and it was a great pleasure to be able to renew it after the lecture. « 27tb ^diiuarg. Spent the whole morning wandering about Boston, and visiting a few interesting placess Beacon Street, the Public Gardens, and Common- wealth Avenue are among the finest thoroughfare. I know. What enormous wealth is contained in those miles of huge mansions ! The more I see Boston, the more it strikes me as like a great English city. It has a character of its own, as no other American city has, excepting per!\L.ps Washington and Philadelphia. The solidity of ihe buildings, the parks, the quietness of the women's dresses, the absence of the twang in most of the voices, all remind you of En,2:land. After lunch I called on Dr. Oliver Wendell 1 H mm A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. 149 y. You ice, and od form cture to hat face :en for a npanied the first ntertain , and as d, I felt her the .use en- cheered le more Madame ring my a great r about placess ommon- ughfare. lined in ikes me acter of iccepting solidity of the in most Wendell Holmes. The Autocrat of the Bnuh/ast Table is now over eighty, but he is as young as ever, and will die with a kind smile on his face and a merry twinkle in his eyes. I know no more delightful talker than this delightful man. You may say of him that every time he talks he says something. When he asked me what it was I had found most interesting in America, I wished I could have answered : ** Why, my dear doctor, to see and to hear such a man as you, to be sure!' But the doctor is so simple, so unaffected, that I felt an answer of that kind, though perfectly sincere, would not have been one calculated to please him. The articles " Over the Tea Cups," which he writes every month for the Atlantic Monthly, and which will soon appear in book form, are as bright, witty, humorous, and philosophic as any- thing he ever wrote. Long may he live to delight his native land! In the evening I went to see Mr. Edwin Booth and Madame Modjeska in Hamlet, By far the two greatest tragedians of America in Shakespeare's greatest tragedy. I expected great things. I had seen Mounet-SuUy in the part, Henry Irving, Wilson Barrett ; and I remembered the witty French quatrain, published on the occasion of Mounet- Sully attempting the part : — " Sans Fechter ni Rivih'e Le cas etait hasardeux: Jamais, non jamais sur terre, On n'a fait d'Hamlet sans enx." I had seen Mr. Booth three times before. As "Brutus" I thought he wad excellent. As "Richelieu" he was certainly magnificent. As ** lago " ideally superb. His ** Hamlet " was a revelation to me. After seeing the raving ** Hamlet" of Mounet-SuUy, the I 150 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. El i sombre ** Hamlet " of Irving, and the dreamy "Hamlet" of Wilson Barrett, I saw this evening "Hamlet" the philosopher, the rhetorician. Mr. Booth is too old to play "Hamlet" as he does — that is to say, without any attempt at making- up. He puts on a black wig, and that is all, abso- lutely all. It is, however, a most remarkable, subtle piece of acting in his hands. Madame Modjeska was beautiful as " Ophelia." No tragedienne, that I have ever seen, weeps more naturally. In all sad situations, she makes the chords of one's heart vibrate, and that without any trick or artifice, but simply by the modulations of her singularly sympathetic voice and such like natural means. It is very seldom that you can see in America, outside of New York, more than one very good actor or actress playing together. So you may imagine the success of such a combination as Booth- Modjeska. Every night the theatre is packed from floor to ceiling, although the prices of admission are doubled. f! CHAPTER XVIH. Si.Johnsbtiry — The State of Maine — Neia Eufj^land Self- control — Cold Climates and Frigid Audiences — Where is the Audience ? — All Drunk ! — A Ronini^- cenct of a Scotch A udience on a Saturday Night. St. 5obn0burg (Dermont), 28tb 5ammrs. St. Johnsbury is a charming little town perched on the top of a mountain, from which lovely scenery of hills and woods can be had. The whole country is covered with snow, and as I looked at it in the evening by the electric light, the effect was very beautiful. The town has only six thousand in- habitants, eleven hundred of whom came to hear my lecture to-night. Which is the European town of six thousand inhabitants that would supply an audience of eleven hundred people to a literary causer ie ? St. Johnsbury has a dozen churches, a public library of 15000 volumes, with a reading-room beautifully fitted with desks and perfectly adapted for study. A Museum, a Young Men's Christian Association, with gymnasium, school-rooms, reading- rooms, play-rooms, and a lecture-hall capable of accommodating over a thousand people. Who, after that, would consider himself an exile if he had to live in St. Johnsbury? There is more intellectual life in it than in any French town outside of Paris, and about a dozen more large cities. « « « # poutsea, 30tb 5anuarg. Have been in the State of Maine for two days — a strange State to be in, let me tell you. ♦ « 152 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. After addressing the Connecticut audience in Meriden a few days ago, I thought I had had the experience of the most frigid audience that could possibly be gathered together. Last Tuesday night, at Portsea, I was undeceived. Half-way between St. Johnsbury and Portsea, the day before yesterday, I was told that the train would be very late and would not arrive at Portsea before half-past eight. My lecture in that city was to begin at eight. The only thing to do was to send a telegram to the manager of the lecture. At the next station, I sent the following : "Train late. If possible, keep audience waiting half-an-hour. Will dress on board." I dressed in the state-room of the parlour-car. At forty minutes past eight, the train arrived at Portsea. I immediately jumped into a cab and drove to the City Hall, where the lecture was to take place. The building was lighted, but, as I ascended the stairs, there was not a person to be seen or a sound to be heard. "The place is deserted," I thought, "and if any- body came to hear me, they have all gone." I opened the door of the private room behind the platform, and there found the manager, who expressed his delight at seeing me. I excused myself and was going to enter into a detailed explanation, when he interrupted : "Ah ! that's all right." " What do you mean ?" said I. " Have you got an audience, there, on the other side of that door ?" " Why, we have got fifteen hundred people." "There ?" said I, pointing to the door. " Yes, just behind that door." " But I can't hear a sound." " I guess you can't. But that's all right. They are there." ice in id the could night, Dftsea, 2 train 'ortsea ty was vas to scture. vaiting ur-car. ved at 1 drove I place, ed the sound if any- nd the tressed nd was hen he rOU got oor ? " e. »> A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. 153 They **T suppose," said I, '* I had better apologise to them for keeping thcin waiting three-quarters of an hour?" " Well, just as you please," said th'e manager — "I wouldn't." "Wouldn't you?" "No, I guess they would have waited another half-hour without showing any sign of impatience." I opened the door, tremb- ling. The desk was far, far away. The manager was right, the audience was there. I stepped on the platform, shut the door after me, making ^*j~ as little noise as I tUfji*, could, and walking on ''*' tiptoe so as to wake up as few people as possible. Not one person applaud- ed. A few people looked up unconcerned, as if to say: " I guess that's the Show." The rest seemed asleep, although the eyes were open. Arrived at my desk, I faced the audience, and ventured a little joke, which fell dead fiat. I began to realise the treat that was in store for me that night. I tried another little joke and — missed fue. 154 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. " Never mind, old fellow," I said to myself; " it*S 250 dollars, go ahead." And I went on. I saw a few people smile, but not one laughed, although I noticed that a good many were holding their handkerchiefs over their mouths, probably to stifle any attempt at such a frivolous thing as laughter. The eyes of the audience, which I always watch, showed signs of interest, and nobody left the hall until the conclusion of the lecture. When I had finished, I made a small bow, when certainly fifty people applauded. I imagined they were glad it was all over. " Well," said I to the manager when I returned to the little back loom, ** I suppose we must call this a failure." ** A failure !" saia he, "it's nothing of the sort. Why, I have never seen them so enthusiastic in my Hfe 1 " I went to the hotel, and tried to forget the audience that I had jus^ had by recalling to my mind a joyous evening in Scotland. This happened about a year ago, in a mining town, in the neighbourhood of Glasgow, where I had been invited to lecture, on a Saturday night, to the members of a popular — very popular — Institute. I arrived at the station from Glasgow at half-past seven, and there found the secretary and the treasurer of the Institute, who had been kmd enough to come and meet me. We shook hands. They gave me a few words of welcome. I thought my friends looked a little bit queer. They proposed that v/e should walk to the lecture hall. The secretary took my right arm, the treasurer took iny left, and, abreast, the three of us proceeded towards the h?ll. They ^^ A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. 155 it's did not take me to that place, / took them, holding them fast all the way— the treasurer especially. We arrived in good time, although we stopped once for light refreshment. At eight punctually, I ;t the mind bout hood e, on very ■past Isurer ;ome ime a loked lould my ;ast, *hey entered the hall, preceded by the president, and followed by the members of the committee. The president introduced me in a most queer, incoherent speech. I rose and was vociferously cheered. When silence was restored, I said in a calm, almost solemn manner : "Ladies and Gentlemen." This was the signal for more cheering and whistling. In France whist- ling means hissing, and I began to feel uneasy ; but soon I bore in mind that whistling, in the North of 11 156 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. Great Britain, was used to express the highest pitch of enthusiasm. So I went on. The audience laughed at everything I said, and even before I said it. I had never addressed such keen people. Everything they cheered and laughed at. They seemed so anxious to laugh and cheer in the right place, that they laughed and cheered all the time — so much so, that in an hour and twenty minutes I had only got through half my lecture, which I had to bring to a speedy conclusion. The president rose and proposed a vote of thanks in another most queer speech, which was a new occasion for cheering. When we had retired to the committee-room, I said to the secretary : "What's the matter with the president ? Is he quite right ?" I added touching my forehead. ** Oh," said the secretary, striking his chest as proudly as possible, ** he is drunk — and so am I." The explanation of the whole strange evening dawned upon me. Of course they were drunk, and so was the audience. That night, I believe I was the only sober person on the premises. Yesterday I had an interesting chat with a native of the State of Maine on the subject of my lecture at Portsea. " You are perfectly wrong," he said to me, *' in supposing that your lecture was not appreciated. I was present, and I can assure you that the attentive silence in which they listened to you from beginning to end is the proof that they appreciated you. You would also be wrong in supposing that they do not appreciate humour. On the contrary, they are very keen of it, and I believe, in fact, that the old New- est pitch A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. 157 said, and sed such laughed cheer in id all the 1 twenty lecture, • )f thanks s a new -room, I ? Is he • chest as i\ I." evening nk, and r person a native lecture ne, "in Lted. I ttentive grinning 1. You do not ire very 1 New- '^ He is dnink — and so am /." W Hll^ \mn 1 \ 1' J* 1 i 1 ■ ' i ' 1 f 1 1 II 1 1 1 I ?' K ! i; 158 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. Englander was the father of American humour, through the solemn manner in which he toJd comic things and the comic manner in which he told the most serious ones. Yes, they are keen of humour, and their apparent want of appeciation is only due to reserve, to self-control." And, as an illustration of it, my friend told me the following anecdote which, I have no doubt, a good many Americans have heard before. Mark Twain had lectured to a Maine audience without raising a single laugh in his listeners, when, at the close, he was thanked by a gentleman who came to him in the green-room to tell him how hugely everyon^ had enjoyed his amusing stories. When the lecturer expressed his surprise at this announcement, as the audience had not laughed, the gentleman added : ** Yes, we never were so amused in our lives, and if you had gone on five minutes more, upon my word I don't think we could have held out any longer." Such is New-England self-control I CHAPTER XIX. A Lovely Ride to Canada — Quebec ^ a Corner of Old France Strayed up West and Lost in the Snow- -The French Canadians — The Parties in Canada — Will the Cana- dians become Yankees ? /fcontreal, let jfcbruars. The ride from the State of Maine to Montreal is very picturesque, even in the winter. It offers you four or five hours of Alpine scenery through the American Switzerland. The White Mountains, commanded by Mount Washington, are for a distance of about forty miles as wild and imposing as anything the real Switzerland can supply the tourist. Gorges, precipices, torrents, nothing is wanting. Nearly the whole time we journeyed through pine forests, coming, now and then, across saw-mills, and little towns looking like beehives of activity. Now there was an opening, and frozen rivers covered with snow formed with the fields a huge uniform mass of dazzling whiteness. The effect, under a pure blue sky and in a perfectly clear atmosphere, was very beautiful. Now the country became hilly again. On the slopes, right down to the bottom of the valley, we saw Berlin Falls, bathing its feet in the river. The yellow houses with their red roof and gables rest the eyes from that long stretch of blue and white. How beautiful this town and its surround- ings must be in the Fall, when Dame Nature in America puts on her cloak of gold and scarlet ! All the country on the line we travelled is engaged in the timber trade. Jfl i6o A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. » i !• i; For once I had an amiable conductor in the parlour-car, even more than amiable, quite friendly and familiar. He put his arms on my shoulders and f^ot quite patronising. 1 did not mind that a bit. I hate anony- mous landscapes, and he explained and named everything to me. My innocence of American things in general touched him. He was a great treat after those ** ill- licked bears " that you so often come across in the Ameri- can cars. He went further than that. He kindly recommended me to the Canadian Custom - hou se officers, when we arrived at the fron- tier, and the examination of my trunk and valise did not last half a minute. Altogether the long journey passed rapidly and agreeably. We were only two people in the parlour- car, and my travelling companion proved a very pleasant man. First, I did not care for the look of him. He had a new silk hat on ; a multicoloured satin cravat with a huge diamond pin fixed in it ; a waistcoat covered with silk embroidery work, green, blue, and pink; a coat with silk facings, patent- leather boots. Altogether he was rather dressed for a garden party (in more than doubtful taste) than for a fifteen hours' railway journey. But in America the cars are so luxurious and kept so warm that A FRF.NCH^fAN IN AMERICA. I6l in the friendly lers and onising. ind that ; anony- ipes,and ed and thing to inocence 1 things touched IS a great lose ** ill- rs'* that en come le Ameri- He went I that. He mmended Canadian hou se hen we the fron- nd valise [pidly and parlour- [d a very le look of ficoloured in it ; a :k, green, patent- ressed for than for America larm that travellinp^-dresses are not known in the country. Ulsters, cloaks, rugs, garments made of tweed and rough materials, all these things are unnecessary and therefore unknown. I soon found out, however, that this quaintly got-up man was interesting to speak to. He knew every bit of the country we passed, and, being easily drawn out, he poured into my ears in- formation that was as rapid as it was valuable. He was well read and had been to Europe several times. He spoke of France with great enthusiasm, which enrolled my sympathy, and he had enjoyed my lecture, which, you may imagine, secured for his intelligence and his good taste my boundless admiration. When we arrived at Montreal, we were a pair of friends. * * * * I begin my Canadian tour here on Monday, and then shall go West. I was in Quebec two years ago ; but the dear old place is not on my list this time. No words could express my regret. I shall never forget my feelings on landing under the great cliff on which stands the citadel, and on driving, bumped along in a sleigh over the half-thawed snow, in the street that lies under the fortress, and on through the other quaint winding steep streets, and again under the majestic archways to the upper town where I was set down at the door of the " Florence," a quiet, delightful little hotel that the visitor to Quebec should not fail to stop at, if he like home comforts and care to enjoy magnificent scenery from liis window. It seemed as though I was in France, in my dear old Brittany. It looked like St. Malo strayed up here and lost in the snow. The illusion became complete when I saw the grey houses, heard the people talk with the Breton intonation, and saw over the shops Langlois, Maillard, Clouet, and all the names familiar to my childhood. But why say 12 l62 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. " illusion " ? It was a fact : I was in France. These folks have given their faith to England ; but, as the Canadian poet says, they have kept their hearts for France. Not only their hearts, but their manners and their language. Oh, there was such pleasure in it all ! The lovely weather, the beautiful scenery, the kind welcome given to me, the delight of seeing these children of old France, more than three thousand mil ^'. fro- home, happy and thriving — a feast for the - -^^ .feast for the heart. And the drive to MontL' ; : / Falls in the sleigh, gliding smoothly along o.. the •" 'rd snow! And the sleighs laden with wood for the Quebec folks, the carmen stimulating their horses with a hue la or hue done! And the return to the '' Florence," where a good dinner served in a private room awaited us! And that polite, quiet, attentive French girl who waited on us, the antipodes of the young Yankee lady who makes you sorry that breakfasting and dining are A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. 163 necessary, in some American hotels, and whose waiting is like taking sand and vinegar with your food ! The mere spanking along through the cold, brisk air, when you are well muffled in furs, is exhilarating, especially when the sun is shining in a cloudless blue sky. The beautiful scenery at Quebec was, besides, a feast for eyes tired with the monotonous flatness of America. The whole city is on a perfect moun- tain, and as we came bumping down its side in our sleigh, over the roads, which were there in a perfect state of sherbet, there was a loveiy pictur sr^ead out in front of us. In the distance, the I 'est mountains I ever saw (to paint them one 1 usi use pure cobalt) : away to the right, the froze 1 '^! . Law- rence, and the Isle of Orleans, all snow covered, of course, but yet distinguishable from the '\r:a lands of Jacques Bonhomme, whose cosy, clean cottages we soon began to pass. The long ribbon-like strips of farm were indicated by the tops of the fences peeping through the snow, and told us of F»-ench thrift and prosperity. Yes, it was all delightful. When I left Quebec, I felt as much regret as I do every time that I leave my little native town. I have been told that the works of Voltaire are prohibited in Quebec, not so much because they are irreligious as because they were written by a man who, after the loss of Quebec to the French Crown, exclaimed : " Let us not be concerned about the loss of a few acres of snow." The memory of Vol- taire is execrated ; and for having made a flattering reference to him on the platform in Montreal two years ago, I was near being " boycotted " by the French population. The French Canadians take very little interest 12 * • ! I K 164 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. in politics — I mean, in outside politics. They are steady, industrious, saving, peaceful ; and so long as the English leave them alone, in the safe enjoyment of their belongings, they will not give them cause for any anxiety. Among the French Canadians, there is no desire for annexation to the United States. Indeed, during the War of Independence, Canada was sived to the English Crown by the French Canadians, not because the latter loved the English, but because they hated the Yankees. When La Fayette took it for granted that the French Canadians would rally round his flag, he made a great mistake : they would have, if compelled to fight, used their bullets against the Americans. If they had their own way, the French in Canada would set up a little country of their own, under the rule of the Catholic Church, a little corner of France two hundred years old. The education of the lower classes is at a very low stage : thirty per cent, of the children of school age in Quebec do not attend school. The English dare not introduce gratuitous and compulsory educa- tion. They have an understanding with the Catholic Church, who insists upon exercising entire control over public education. The Quebec schools are little more than branches of the Confessional box. The English shut their eyes, for part of the understand- ing with the Church is that the latter will keep loyalty to the English Crown alive among her submissive flock. The tyranny exercised by the Catholic Church may easily be imagined from tht following news- paper extract : • ** A well-to-do butcher of Montreal attended the Catholic Church at the Perrault last Sunday. He was suffering at the time with acute cramps, and when that part of the service arrived during which the congrega- tion kneel, he found himself unable to do more than ley are ong as lyment use for , there States, "anada French ngHsh, len La ladians istake : d their d their a Httle Catholic 1 years I a very " school ^nghsh educa- athoHc control e little The stand- loyalty issive 'hurch news* led the [e was m that [grega- than A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. lOf-, assume a reclining devotional position, with one knee on the lloor. His action was noticed, and the church- warden, in concert with others, had him hrouglit before the Court charged with an act of irreverence, and he was fnied eight dollars and costs." Such a judgment docs not only expose the tyranny of the Catholic Church, but the complicity of the English, who uphold Romanism in the Province of Quebec, as they uphold Buddhism in India, so as not to endanger the security of their possessions. The French Canadians are multiplying so rapidly that in very few years the Province of Quebec will be as French as the town of Quebec itself. Every day they push their advance from East to West. They gener^illy marry very young. When a lad is seen in the company of a g'ld, he is asked by the priest if he is courting that girl. In which case he is bidden go straightway to the altar ; and these young couples rear families of twelve and hfteeii children, none of whom leave the country. The English have to make room for them. The average attendance in Catholic Churches on Sundays, in Montreal, is 111,483; in the sixty churches that belong to the different Protestant denominations, the average attendance is 34,428. The former number has been steadily increasing, the latter steadily decreasing. V** ^ >■'' »*« V n* 1- 'I What is the future reserved to French Canada and, indeed, to the whole r>ominion ? There are only two political parties, Liberals and Conservatives, but I fird the population divided into four camps : Those in favour of Canada, an inde- pendent nation ; those in favour of the political union of Canada and the United States; those in favour of Canada going into Imperial P^ederation; and those in favour of Canada remaining an English if i \ • 1 > \ < m I' i( , 1 06 A FRKNCHMAN IN AMIIIUCA. ,1 ' ,• /I An Intcrdcw with ihc Priest, <. A FKKNCHMAN IN AMI'.RICA. 1^7 <. Colony or, in other words, in fiivour of the actual state of thinj^'s. Of course the I'rench Cimiuhans are dead against goinj; into Imperial Federation, which would simply crush them, and Canadian ''Society" is in favour of remaining English. The other Canadians seem pretty ecjually divided. It must be said that the annexation itlea has heen making rapid progress of late years among prominent men as well as among the p(;ople. The Atnericans will never fire one shot to have the id^a realised. If ever the union becomes an accomplished fact, it will become so with the assent of all parties. The task will be made easy through Canada and the United States having the same legislation. The local and provincial governments are the same in the Canadian towns and provinces as they are in the American towns and States : a house of representatives, a senate, and a governor. With this difference, this great difference, to the present advantage of Canada : whereas every four years the Americans elect a new master, who appoints a ministry responsible to him alone, the Canadians have a ministry responsible to their Parliament — that is, to themselves. The representation of the American people at Washington is democratic, but the Government is autocratic. In Canada, both legislature and executive are demo- cratic, as in England, that greatest and truest of all democracies. The change in Canada would have to be made on the Am< 'ican plan. With the exception of Quebec and parts of Montreal, Canada is built like America ; the country has the same aspect, the currency is the same. Suppress the Governor-General in Ottowa, who is there to remind Canada that she is a dependency of the English Crown, strew the country with more cuspidores, and you have part of Jonathan's big farm. CHAPTER XX. Montreal — The City — Mount Royal — Canadian Sports — Ottawa — The Government — Rideau Hall. \ •i; f • ■ li Montreal, 2n& ^ebruar\>. Montreal is a large and well-built city, containing many buildings of importance,, mostly churches, of which about thirty are Roman Catholic, and over sixty are devoted to Protestant worship, in all its branches and variations, from the Anglican Church to the Salvation Army. I arrived at a station situated on a level with the St. Lawrence river. From it, we mounted in an omnibus up, up, up, through narrow streets full of shops with Breton or Norman names over them as in Quebec; on through other broader ones, where the shops grew larger and the names became more frequently English ; on, on, till I thought Montreal had no end, and at last alighted on a great square, and found myself at the door of the Windsor Hotel, an enormous and fine construction, which has proved the most comfortable, and in every respect the best hotel I have yet stopped at on the great American Continent. It is about a quarter of a mile from my bt_foom to the dining hall, which could, I believe, accommodate nearly a thousand guests. My first visit was to an afternoon ** At Home" given by the St. George's Club, who have a club house high up on Mount Royal. It was a ladies' day, and there was music, dancing, &c. We went in a sleigh up the very steep hill, much to my astonishment. I should have thought the thing practically impossible. On our way we passed a y A FKLNCHMAN IN AMI'KICA. 169 n my |lieve, )me club Idies' went my |hing id a i; toboggan slide down tbe side of Mount Koyal. It took my breath away to think of coming down it at the rate of over a mile a minute. The view from the club house was splendid, taking in a great sweep of snow-covered country, the city and the frozen St. Lawrence. There are daily races on the river, and last year they ran tramcars on it. It was odd to hear the phrase " After the flood.*' When I came to enquire into it, I learned that when the St. Lawrence ice breaks up the lower city is Hooded, and this is yearly spoken of as " the flood." I drove back from the club with my manager and two English gentlemen who are here on a visit. As we passed the toboggan slide, my manager told me of an old gentleman over sixty, who delights in those breathless pas- sages down the side of Mount Royal. One may see him out there '* at it" as early as ten in the morning. Plenty of people, however, try one ride and never ask for another. One gen- tleman, my manager told me of, after having tried it, expressed pretty well the feelings of many others. He said : " I wouldn't do it again for two thousand dollars, but I wouldn't have missed it for three." I asked one of the two Englishmen who accompanied us whether he had had a try. He was a quiet, solenm, middle- aged Englishman. ** Well," he said," yes, 1 have. It had to be done, and I did it." Last night I was most interested in watching the members of the Snow-shoe club start from the -■ [ ' "JJfiJ ' J 170 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. Windsor on a kind of picnic over the country. Their costumes were very picturesque : a short tunique of woollen material fastened round the waist by a belt, a sort of woollen nightcap with tassel I i w /^. falling on the shoulders, thick woollen stockings, and knickerbockers. In Russia, in the northern parts of the United States, the people say : " It's too cold to go out." In Canada, they say : " It's very cold, let's all go out." Only rain keeps them indoors. In the coldest weather, with a temperature of many degrees below zero, you have great dffijulty in finding a closed carriage. All, or nearly all, are open sleighs. The driver wraps you up in furs, and as vou go, gliding on the snow, your face is whipped by the cold air, A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. 171 you feel glowing all over with warmth, and alto- gether the sensation is delightful. ings, lited In lut." lest tlow )sed "he ling lair. This morning, Joseph Howarth, the talented American actor, breakfasted with me and a few friends. Last night, I went to see him play in Steele Mackaye's Paul Kativar, Canada has no actors worth mentioning, and the people here depend on American artistes for all their entertain- ments. It- is wonderful how the feeling of inde- pendence engenders and develops the activity of the mind in a country. Art and literature want a home of their own, and do not flourish in other people's houses. Canada has produced nothing in literature : the only two poets she can boast are French, Louis Frechette and Octave Cr^mazie. It is not because Canada has no time for brain productions. America is just as busy as she is, felling forests and reclaim- ing the land ; but free America, only a hundred years old as a nation, possesses already a list of historians, novelists, poets, and essayists, that would do honour to any nation in the world. * « v» # 4tb ^February, I had capital houses in the Queen's Hall last night and to-night. The Canadian audiences are more demonstrative than the American ones, and certainly quite as keen and appreciative. When you arrive on the platform, they are glad to see you, and they let you know it — a fact which, in America, in New England especially, you have to find out for yourself. Montreal possesses a very wealthy and fashion- able community, and whit strikes me most, coming ffp 172 A rRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. as I On from the United States, is the stylish pim- phciiv of the women. I am told that Canarlian woHien, in their tastes and ways, have always been fr-r more English than American, and that the fashions have grown more and more simple, since Princess Louise gave the example by always dressing quietly when occupying Rideau Hall in Ottav/a. # •H-.1l' ^ ©ttawa, 5tb ifcbiuavg. One of the hnest sights I have yet seen in this country was from the bridge on my way from the station to the *' Russell" this morning: on the right, the Waterfalls ; on the left, on the top of a high and almost perpendicular rock, the Houses of Parliament, a grand pile of buildings in grey stone standing out clear against a cloudless, intense blue sky. The " Russell" is one of those huge Babylonian hotels so common on the American Continent, where unfortu- nately the cookery is not on a level with the archi- tectural pretensions ; but most of the leading Canadian politicians are boarding here while Parliament is sitting, and I am int , sted to see them. After visiting the beautiful library and other parts of the Government buildings, I had the good luck to hear, in the House of Representatives, a debate between M. Chapleau, a Minister and one of the leaders of the Conservatives now in office, and M. Laurier, one of the chiefs of the Opposition. Both gentlemen are French. It was a fight between a tribune and a scholar ; between a short, thick-set, long iiianed lion, and a tall, slender, delicate fox. Ailc;. 'iTixh, ! went to Rideau Hall, the residence of the Go/error-General, Lord Stanley of Preston. The eAecntiv; mansion strvids in a pretty park well A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA ^7Z li- woodcd with firs, a mile out of the town. His Excellency was out, but his aide-de-camp, to whom I had a letter of introduction, most kindly showed me over the place. Nothing can be more simple and unpretentious than the interior of Rideau Hall. It is furnished like any comfortable little provincial hotel patronized by the gentry of the neighbourhood. The panels of the drawing room, were painted by Princess Louise, when she occupied the house with the Marquis of Lome some eight or ten years ago. This is the only touch of luxury about the place. In the time of Lord Duffcrin, a ball-room and a tennis court were added to the building, and these are among the many soi v^enirs of his popular rule. As a diplomatist, as a vi'^eroy, and as an ambassador, history will one day record that this noble son of Erin never made a mistake. In the evening, I lectured in the Opera House to a large audience. •ftlngeton, 6tb februarg. ■B'l i ;! i I n le ;ee a of Th's morning, at the " Russell," I was called to the telephone. It was his Excellency who v/as asking me to lunch at Rideau Hall. I felt sorry to be obliged to leave Ottowa and thus fo go so tempting an invitation. Kingston is a pretty little town on the border of Lake Ontario, possessing a university, a penitentiary, and a lunatic asylum, in neither of which I made my appearance to-night. But as soon as I had started speaking on the platform of the Town Hall, I began to think the doors of the Lunatic Asylum had been carelessly left open that night, for close under the window behind the platform,, there began a noise which was like Bedlam let loose- Bedlam with trumpets and other instruments of torture. It '■n IS 174 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. 1^' v> was impossible to go on with the lecture, so I stopped. On inquiry, the unearthly din was found to proceed from a detachment of the Salvation Army outside the building. After some parleying, they consented to move on and storm some other citadel. But it was a stormy evening, and peace was not yet. As soon as I had fairly restarted, a person in the audience began to show signs of disapproval, and twice or thrice he gave vent to his disapproval rather loudly. I was not surprised to learn, at the close of the evening, that this individual had come in with a free pass. He had been admitted on the strength of his being announced to give a ** show" of some sort himself a week later in the hall. If a man is inattentive or creates a disturbance at any performance, you may take it for granted that his ticket was given to him. He never paid for it» To-morrow I go to Toronto, where I am to give two lectures. I had not time to see that city properly on my last visit to Canada, and all my friends prophesy that T shall have a good time. So does the advance booking, I understand. CHAPTER XXI. Toronto — The City — The Ladies — The Sports — Strange Contrasts — The Canadian Schools. troronto, Otb ^Fcbruarg. I HAVE passed three very pleasant days in this city and had two beautiful audiences in the PaviHon. Toronto is a thoroughly American city in ap- pearance, but only in appearance, for I find the inhabitants British in heart, in tastes, and habits. When I say that it is an American city, I mean to say that Toronto is a large area, covered with blocks of parallelograms and dirty streets, overspread with tangles of telegraph and telephone wireg. The hotels are perfectly American in every respect. The suburbs are exceedingly pretty. Here once more are fine villas standing in large gardens, a sight rarely seen near an American city. It reminds me of England. I admire many buildings, the University* especially. English-looking too are the rosy faces of the Toronto ladies whom I passed in my drive. How charming they are with the peach-like bloom that their out-door exercise gives them ! I should like to be able to describe, as it deserves, the sight of these pretty Canadian women in their sleighs, as the horses fly along with bells merrily jingling, the coachman in his curly black dogskin and huge busby on his head. Furs float over the back of the sleigh, and in it, muffled up to the chin in sumptuous * Destroyed by fire three days after I left Toronto. i;o A FRKNCHMAN IN ANfF.KICA. skins and also capped in furs, sits the radiant, lovely Canadicnnc, the milk and roses of her complexion enhanced by the proximity of the dark furs. As they skim past over the white snow, nnder a glorious ;'t I ! <'' ,*:J5 sun-lit blue sky, I cm call to mind no prettier sight, no more beautiful picture, to be seen on this huge Continent, so far as I have got yet. One cannot help being struck, on coming here from the United States, at the number of lady pedestrians in the streets. They are not merely shopping, I am assured, nor going straight from one point to another of the town, but taking their con- stitutional walks in the true English fashion. My impresario took me in the afternoon to a club for ladies and gentlemen, and there I had the, to me, novel sight of a e^ame of hockey. On a large frozen pond there was a party of young people engaged in this I /-Q A I'RI'IN'CIIMAN IN AMERICA. 177 lovely (lexion s. As lorious r sight, lis huge ^g here )f lady I merely )m one lir con- My Ir ladies 1, novel pond lin this n graceful and invigorating game, and not far off was a group of little girls and boys imitating their elders very sensibly and, as it seemed to me, successfully. The clear, healthy complexion of the Canadian women is easy to account for, when one sees how deep-rooted, even after transplantation, is the good British love of exercise in the open air. Last evening I was taken to a ball, and was able to see more of the Canadian ladies than is possible in furs, and on further acquaintance I found 13 ff 178 A FRICNCHMAN IN AMliKICA. then as delifj^htful in manners as in appearance : En^'lish in their colouring and in their simplicity of dress, American in tlieir natural bearing; and in their frankness of speech. :;-. if. Ht Ji-. Churches, churches everywhere. In my drive this afternoon, I counted twenty-eight in a qiiarter of an hour. They are of all denominations, Catholic, i \ \rance : licity of in their y drive cuiarter :atholic, A rUIiNCIlMAN IN AMIIKICA. 179 Anf(lican, Presl)yterian, Baptist, Methodist, etc. The Canadians must be still more rehj^ious — I mean, still more church-^oing — than the ICnj^dish. From seven in the evening on Saturday all the taverns are closed, and remain closed throu^du)ut Sunday. In En^^dand, the Hible has to compete with the gin bottle, but lure the Bible has it all its own way on Sundays. Neither tramcar, omnibus, cab, nor hired carriage of any description to be seen abroad. Scotland itself is outdone completely, the land of John Knox has to take a back seat. The walls of this city of churches and chapels are at the present moment covered with huge coarse posters announcing in loud colours the arrival of a company of performing women. Of these posters, one represents Cleopatra in a barque drawn through the water by nude female slaves. Another shows a cavalcade of women dressed in little more than a fig-leaf. Yet another represents the booking-office of the theatre stormed by a crowd of /;/as^-looking, single eye-glassed old beaux, grinning with pleasure in anticipation of the show within. Another poster displays the charms of the proprietress of the under- taking. You must not, however, imagine any harm of the performers whose attractions are so liberally placarded. They are taken to their cars in the station immediately after the performances and locked up: there is an announcement to that effect. These placards are merely eye-ticklers. But this mixture of churches, strict Sabbatarianism and posters of this kind is part of the eternal history of the Anglo-Saxon race : violent contrast. iC' ■» •iC" H' A school inspector has kindly shown me several schools in the town. The children of rich and poor alike are educated together in the public schools, from which they get 13 * M I IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) fe /- 4 ^/^ A I/. I. I.I ■ 50 ^^^ w y^ las L£ i;i2.o 1.8 1.25 1 1.4 1.6 ^ 6" ► m, v5 K. '^F /^ Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 872-4503 •^^ i8o A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. I: l promoted to the high schools. All these schools are free. Boys and girls sit on the same benches and receive the same education, as in the United States. This enables the women in the New World to compete with men for all the posts that we Europeans consider the monopoly of man ; it also enables them to enjoy all the intellectual pleasures of life. If it does not prevent them, as it has yet to be proved that it does, from being good wives and mothers, the educational system of the New World is much superior to the European one. It is essentially democratic. Europe will have to adopt it. Society, in the Old World, will not long stand on its present basis. There will always be rich and poor, but every child that is born will require to be given a chance, and, according as he avails himself of it or not, will be successful or a failure. But give him a chance, and the greatest and most real grievance of mankind in the present day will be removed. Every child that is born in America, whether in the United States or in Canada, has that chance. CHAPTER XXII. West Canada — Relations between British and Indians- Return to the United States — Difficulties in the Way- Encounter with an American Custom-house Officer. 3n tbc ^rain from Canada to Cbicafio, I5tb f cbruavs. Lectured in Bowmanville, Ont., on the 12th, in Brantford on the 13th, and in Sarnia on the 14th, and am now on my way to Chicago, to go from there to Wisconsin and Minnesota. From Brantford I drove to the Indian Reserva- tion, a few miles from the town. This visit explained to me why the English are so successful with their colonies : they have inborn in them the instinct of diplomacy and government. Whereas the Americans often swindle, starve, and shoot the Indians, England keeps them in comfort. She makes paupers and lazy drunkards of them, and they quietly and gradually disappear. England supplies them with bread, food, Bibles, and fire-water, and they become so lazy that they will not even take the trouble to sow the land of their reservations. Having a dinner supplied to them, they give up hunting, riding, and all their native sports, and become enervated. They go to school and die of attacks of civilisation. England gives them money to celebrate their national fetes and rejoicings, and the good Indians shout at the top of their voices God save the Queen, that is God save our pensions ! iSa A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. li .1 England, or Great Britain, or again, if you prefer, Greater Britain goes further than that. In Brant- ford, in the middle of a large square, you can see the statue of the Indian chief. Brant, erected to his memory by pubHc subscriptions collected among the British Canadians. Here lies the secret of John Bull's success as a colonizer. To erect a statue to an Indian chief is a stroke of genius. What has struck me as most American in Canada is perhaps journalism. Montreal, Toronto, Ottowa, Quebec possess excellent newspapers, and every little town can boast one or two journals. The tone of these papers is thoroughly American in its liveliness— I had almost said, in its loudness. /. h prefer, Brant- an see to his ng the >s as a ief is a tan in )0ssess ^n can lerican idness. A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. 1^3 All are readable and most cleverly edited. Each paragraph is preceded by a neat and attractive head- ing. As in the American papers, the editorials, or leading articles, are of secondary importance. The main portion of the publication is devoted to news, interviews, stories, gossip, jokes, anecdotes, etc. The Montreal papers are read by everybody in the Province of Quebec, and the Toronto papers in the Province of Ontario, so that the newspapers pub- lished in the small towns are content with giving all the news of the locality. Each of these has a ** Society" column. Nothing is more amusing than to read of the Society doings of those little towns. ** Miss Brown is visiting Miss Smith." " Miss Smith had tea with Miss Robinson yesterday." When Miss Brown, or Miss Smith, or Miss Robinson has given a party, the names of all the guests are inserted, as well as what they had for dinner, or for supper, as the case may be. So I take it for granted that when anybody gives a party, a ball, a dinner, a reporter receives an invitation to describe the party in the next issue of the paper. « « « « At nine o'clock this evening, I left Sarnia on the frontier of Canada to cross the river and pass into the United States. The train left the town, and on arriving on the bank of the river St. Clair was divided into two sections, which were run on board the ferry-boat, and made the crossing side by side. The passage across the river occupied about twenty minutes. On arriving at the other bank, at Port Huron in the State of Michigan, the train left the boat in the same fashion as it had gone on board, the two parts were coupled together, and the journey on terra firma was smoothly resumed. There is something fascinating about crossing a river at night, and I had promised myself some i' 1^4 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. !i a*:;reeable moments on Doard the ferry-boat from which I should be able to see Port Huron lit up with twinkling' lif^hts. I was also curious to watch the train boarding the boat. But, alas, I had reckoned without my host. Instead of star-gazing and reverie^ there was in store for me a " bad quarter of an hour." No sooner had the train boarded the ferry-boat than there came to the door of the parlour-car a surly-looking, ill-mannered creature, who roughly bade me com^^ to the baggage van in the other section of the train, and open my trunks for him to inspect. As soon as I had complied, he went down on his knees among my baggage, and it was plain to see that he meant business. The first thing he took out was a suit of clothes, which he threw on the dirty floor of the van. *' Have these been worn ? " he said. ** They have," I replied. Then he took out a blue jacket which I used to cross the Atlantic. ^ ** Have you worn this ? " *' Yes, fur the last two years." ** Is that all ? " he said with a low sardonic grin. My baggage was the only one he had to examine, as I was the only passenger in the parlour car; and I saw that he meant to annoy me, which, I imagined, he could do with perfect impunity. The best thing, in fact the only thing, to do was to take the misadventure good-humouredly. He took out my linen and examined it in detail. " Have these shirts all been worn ? " " Well, I guess they have. But how is it that you, an official of the Government, seem to ignore the law of your own country ? Don't you know that if all these articles are for my own private use, they are not dutiable whether new or noL ? " The man did not answer. A FUKNCIIMAN IN AMIiKlCA. 185 He took out more linen, which he put on the floor, and spreading open a pair of unmentionables, he asked again : *• Have you worn this ? It looks quite new." I nodded affirmatively. He then took out a pair of socks. " Have you worn these ? " *' I don't know," I said; **have a sniff at them." He continued his examination, and was about to throw my evening suit on the floor. I had up to now been almost amused at the proceedings, but I felt my good-humour was going, and the lion began to wag its tail. I took the man by the arm, and looking at him sternly, I said : " Now you put this carefully on the top of some other clothes." He looked at me, and complied. I I 186 A IKllNCHMAN IN AMHUICA. Hy this time all the contents of my large trunk were spread on the floor. He got up on his feet, and said : " Have I looked everywhere ? " ** No," I said, *'you haven't. Do you know how the famous Regent diamond, worn by the last Kings of France on their Crowns, was smuggled into French territory ? " The creature looked at me with an air of impu- dence. " No, I don't," he rephed. I explained to him, and added : ** You have not looked there.'' The lion, that lies dormant at the bottom of the quietest man, was fairly roused in me, and, on the least provocation, I would have given this man a first-class hiding. He went away, wondering whether I had insulted him or not, and left me in the van to repack my trunk as best I could — an operation which, I understand, it was his duty to perform himself. / trunk w how Kings ?^rench impu- of the Dn the nan a suited trunk and, it CHAPTER XXllI. Chicago (first visit). The Neighbourhood of Chicago — The History of Chicago — Public Servants — A very Deaf Man, Cbicaflo, t7tb f cbruarg. On ! a lecturing tour in America ! I am here on my way to St. Paul and Minne- apolis. Just before leaving New York, I saw in a comic paper that Bismarck must really now be considered as a great man, because, since his departure from office, there had been no rumour of his having applied to Major Pond to get up a lecturing tour for him in the United States. it was not news to me that there are plenty of people in America who laugh at the European author's trick of going to the American platform as soon as he has made a little name for himself in his own country. The laugh finds an echo in England, especially from some journalists who have never been asked to go, and from a few men who, having done one tour, think it wise not to repeat the experience. For my part, when I consider that Emerson, Holmes, Mark Twain have been lecturers; that Dickens, Thackeray, Matthew Arnold, Sala, Stanley, Arch- deacon Farrar, and many more, all have rflade their bow to American audiences, I fail to discover anything very derogatory in the proceeding. Besides, I feel bound to say that there is nothing in a lecturing tour in America, even in a highly successful one, that can excite the envy of the most jealous " failure " in the world. Such work is about i88 A rUKNCllMAN IN AMhKlCA. the hardest that a man, used to the comforts of this Hfe, can undertake. Actors, at all events, stop a week, sometimes a fortnif^ht, in the cities they visit ; but a lecturer is on the road every day happy when he has not to start at night. No word can picture the monotony of journeys through an immense continent, the sameness of which strikes you as almost unbearable. Everything is made on one pattern. All the towns arc alike. To be in a railroad car for ten or twelve hours day after day can hardly be called luxury or, even, com- fort. To have one's poor brain matter thus shaken in the cranium is terrible, especially when the cranium is not quite full. Constant travelling softens the brain, liquifies it, churns it, evaporates it, and it runs out of you through all the cracks of your head. I own that travelling is comfortable in America, even luxurious, but the best fare becomes monotonous and unpalatable when the dose is repeated every day. To-morrow night I lecture in Minneapolis. The next night I am in Detroit. Distance, about seven hundred miles. "Can I manage it?" said I to my impresario, when he showed me my route. ** Why, cert'nly," he replied. ** If you catch a train after your lecture, I guess you will arrive in time for your lecture in Detroit the next day." These remarks, in America, are made withoiit a smile. On arriving, in Chicago this morning, I found, awaiting me at the Grand Pacific Hotel, a letter from my impresario. Here is the purport of it : "I know you have with you a trunk and a small port- manteau. I would advise you to leave your trunk at the Grand Pacific, and to take with you only the portmanteau, while you are in the neighbourhood of Chicago. You will thus save trouble, expense, etc." On looking at my route, I found that ** the A FKliNCHMAN IN AMKKICA. 189 f this :op a visit ; when irncys 3SS of ything ahke. rs day , com- jhaken :n the softens and it r head, a, even )us and iay. \ The t seven resario, ;atch a Irive in I" [hont a found, letter lit: **I 111 port- runk at Inly the Ihood of ]e, etc." '* the neighbourhood of Chicago " inchided St. Paul, Minneapohs, Milwaukee, Detroit, Cleveland, Cin- cinnati, Indianapolis : something like a little two thousand mile tour ** in the neighbourhood of Chicago" — to be done in about one week. When I contidetl my troubles to American friends, I got little sympathy from them. ** That's quite right," they would say ; ** we call the neighbourhood of a city any place which, by starting after dinner, you can reach at about break- fast time the next day." You dine, you go on board the car, you have a smoke, you go to bed, you sleep, you wake up, you dress — and there you are. Do you see ? After all you may be of this opinion, if you do not reckon sleeping time. But I do reckon it, when I have to spend the night in a closed box, six feet long, three feet wide, and about two feet high, and especially when the operation has to be repeated three or four times a week. And the long weary days that are not spent in travelling, how can they be passed, even tolerably, in an American city where the lonely lecturer knows nobody, and where there is absolutely nothing to be seen beyond the hotels and the dry-goods stores ? Worse still : he sometimes has the good luck to make the acquaintance of some charming people ; but he has haidly had time to fix their features in his mem- ory when he has to go, probably never to see them again. The lecturer speaks for an hour and a half on the platform every evening, the rest of his time is exclusively devoted to keeping silence. Poor fellow ! how grateful he is to the hotel clerk who sometimes — alas ! very seldom — will chat with him for a few minutes. As a rule the hotel clerk is a mute, who IQO A FRliNCHMAN IN AMIKICA. R ; assigns a room to you, or hands you the letters waiting for you in the box corresponding to your number. His mouth is closed. He may have seen yc i for half a minute only, he will remember you. Even in a hotel accommodating over a thousand guests, he will know you, he will know the number of your room, but he won't speak. He is not the only American that won't speak. Iwery man, in America, who is attending to some duty or other, has his mouth closed. I have tried the railroad conductor and found him a mute. I have had a shot at the porter in the Pullman car and found him a mute. I have endeavoured to draw the janitors of the halls where I was to speak in the evening and I have failed. Even the negroes won't speak. You would imagine that speaking was prohibited by the Statute Book. When my lecture was over, I returned to the hotel and^ like a culprit, crept to bed, ;ttcrs your seen you. imber c)t the an, "^ other, ailroail had a ud hini initors of Ing and I ik. Vou by the 1 returned A lUIiNCMMAN IN AMI-KKA. IQt TJie Sleeping Car^ ■i i 192 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. How I do love New York ! It is not that it possesses a sinf,4e building that I really care for ; it is because it contains scores and scores of delightful people, brilliant, affable, hospitable, warm-hearted friends, who were kind enough to welcome me when I returned from a tour, and in whose company I could break up the cobwebs that had had time to form in the corners of my mouth. *• « Ei ;■■ The history of Chicago can be written in a few lines. So can the history of the whole of America. In about 1830 a man, called Benjamin Harris, with his family, moved to Chicago, or Fort Dearborn, as it was then called. Not more than half a dozen whites, all of whom were Indian traders, had preceded them. In 1832, they had a child, the first white female born in Chicago — now married, called Mrs. S. A. Holmes, and the mother of fourteen children. In 1871, Chicago had over 100,000 inhabitants, and was burned to the ground. To-day Chicago has over 1,200,000 inhabitants, and in ten years' time will have two millions. A FRENCHMAN IN AMEKICA. that it r; it is lightful tiearted e when ipaiiy I time to 193 The activity in Chicago is perfectly amazing. And I don't mean commercial activity only. Com- pare the following statistics. In the great reading- rooixis of the British Museum, there was an average of 620 readers daily during the year 1888. In the reading room of the Chicago Public Library, there was an average of 1,569 each day in the same year. Considering that the population of London is nearly five times that of Chicago, it shows that the reading public is ten times more numerous in Chicago than in London. in a few imerica. Harris, )earborn, If a dozen preceded lite female Irs. S. A. Iren. In 5, and was has over time will I am never tired, but on the contrary always much amused, to observe the ways of public servants in this country. I went to pay a visit to a public museum this afternoon. In Europe, the keepers — that is to say, the servants of the public — have cautions posted in the museums, in which '* the public are requested not to touch." In France, they are ** begged" — which is perhaps a more suitable expression, as the museums, after all, belong to the public. In America, the notice is "Hands off!" This is short and to the point. The servants of the public allow you to enter the museums, charge you 25 cents, and warn you to behave well. " Hands off ! " struck me as rather off-handed. I really admire the independence of all the ser- vants in this country. You may give them a tip: you will not run the risk of making them servile, or even polite. The railway conductor says * * Ticket ! " The word please does not belong to his vocabulary any more than the words thank you. He says ^^ Ticket'' and frowns. You show it to him. He looks at it suspiciously, and gives it back to you with a haughty 14 't P. i!f V, 194 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. air that seems to say : " I hope you will behave properly while you are in my car." The tip in America is not de rigueur as in Europe. The cabman charges you so much, and expects nothing more. He would lose his dignity by accepting a tip (many run the risk). He will often ask you more than you owe him ; but this is the act of a sharp man of business, not the act of a servant. In doing so, he does not derogate from his character. The negro is the only servant who smiles in America, the only one who is sometimes polite and i ! A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. 195 lehave urope. xpects ty by 1 often is the :t of a 2 from liles in ite and attentive, and the only one who speaks English with a pleasant accent. The negro porter, in the sleeping-cars, has seldom failed to thank me for the 25 or 50 cent piece I always give him after he has brushed— or rather, swept — my clothes with his little broom. * A few minutes ago, as I was packing my valise for the journey to St. Paul and Minneapolis to-night, the porter brought in a card. The name was unknown to me ; but the porter having said that it was the card of a gentleman who was most anxious to speak to me, I said : ** Very well, bring him here." The gentleman enter -^1 the room, saluted me, shook hands, and said : ** I hope I am not intruding." " Well,'' said I, *' I must ask you not to detain me long, because I am off in a few minutes." '* I understand, sir, that some time ago you. were engaged in teaching the French language in one of the great public schools of England." ** I was. Sir," I replied. " Well, I have a son whom I wish to speak French properly, and I have come to ask for your views on the subject. In other words j will you be good enough to tell me what are the best methods for teaching this language ? Only excuse me, I am very deaf." He pulled out of his back pocket two yards of gutta-percha tube, and, applying one end to his ear and placing the other against my mouth, he said : " Go ahead." " Really ! " I shouted through the tube. " Now, please shut your eyes, nothing is better for increasing the power of hearing." The man shut his eyes, and turned his head 14 * \ i '. i I r 196 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. sideways, so as to have the listening ear in front of me. I took my valise and ran to the lift as fast as I could. That man may still be waiting, for aught I know and care. » 4^ # 4^ Before leaving the hotel, I made the acquaintance of Mr. George Kennan, the Russian traveller. His articles on Russia and Siberia, published in the Century Magazine, attracted a great deal of pubhc attention, and people everywhere throng to hear him relate his terrible experiences on the platform. He has two hundred lectures to give this season. He struck me as a most remarkable man ; simple, unaffected in his manner, with unflinching resolution written on his face : a man in earnest, you can see. I am delighted to find th;».t I shall have the pleasure of meeting him again in New York in the middle of April. " He looks tired. He too is lecturing in ** the neighbourhood of Chicago," and is off now to the night train for Cincinnati. it of fast know tance His the ublic r him He He pie, lution see. 1 Lsure lie of '♦* the the CHAPTER XXIV. St. Paul and Minneapolis the Sister Cities — Rivalries and Jealousies between Large American Cities — Minnehaha Falls — Wonderful Interviewers — My Hat Gets into Trouble Again — Electricity in the Air — Forest Advertisements — Railway Speed in America. St. Paul, /HSinneapoUs, 20tb ^anuari?. Arrived at St. Paul the day before yesterday to pay a professional visit to the two great cities of the North of America. Sister cities ! Yes, they are near enough to shake hands and kiss each other, but I am afraid they avail themselves of their proximity to scratch each other's faces. If you open Bouillet's famous Dictionary of History and Geography (edition 1880), you will find in it neither St. Paul nor Minneapolis. I was told yesterday that in 1834 there was one white inhabi- tant in Minneapolis. To-day the two cities have about 200,000 inhabitants each. Where is the dictionary of geography that can keep pace with such wonderful, phantasmagoric growth ? The two citie? are separated by a distance of about nine miles, but they are every day growing towards each other, and to-morrow they will practically have become one. Nothing is more amusing than the jealousies which exist between the different large cities of the United States ; and when these rival places are close to each other, the feeling of jealousy is so intensified as to become highly entertaining. St. Paul charges Minneapolis with copying into W hi I ! t = » ir 198 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. the census names from tomb-stones, and it is affirmed that young men livmg in either one of the cities will marry girls belonging to the other so as to decrease its population by one. The story goes that once a preacher, having announced in a Minneapolis church that he had taken the text of his sermon from St. Paul, the congregation walked out en masse. New York despises Philadelphia, and pokes fun at Boston. On the other hand, Boston hates Chicago, and vice versa. St. Louis has only con- tempt for Chicago, and both cities laugh heartily at Detroit and Milwaukee. San Francisco and Denver are left alone in their prosperity. They are so far away from the East and North of America that the feeling they inspire is only one of indifference. *' Philadelphia is a city of homes, not of lodging- houses," once said a Philadelphian to a New Yorker, " and it spreads over a far greater area than New York, with less than half the inhabitants." "Ah," replied the New Yorker, ** that's because it has been so much sat upon." " You are a city of commerce," said a Bostonian to a New York wit, " Boston is a city of culture." *' Yes," replied the New Yorker, *'you spell culture with a big C, and God with a small ^." Of course St. Paul and Minneapolis accuse each other of counting their respective citizens twice over. All that is diverting in the highest degree. This feeling does not exist only between the rival cities of the New World, it exists in the Old. Ask a Glasgow man v/hat he thinks of Edinburgh, and an Edinburgh man what he thinks of Glasgow ? 9|: ii. Jifi « On account of the intense cold (nearly 30 degrees below zero), I have not been able to see much either of St. Paul or of Minneapolis, and I am unable to A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. 199 iach ace jree. rival I Ask and Irees her to please or vex either of these cities by pointing out their beauties and defects. Both are large and sub- stantially built, with large churches, schools, banks, stores, and all the temples that modern Christians erect to Jehovah and Mammon. I may say that the Ryan Hotel at St. Paul, and the West House at Minneapolis, are among the ver}' best hotels I have come across in America, the latter especially. When I have added that, the day before yesterday, I had an immense audience in the People's Church at St. Paul, and that to-night I have had a crowded house at the Grand Opera House in Minneapolis, it is hardly necessary for me to say that I shall have enjoyed himself in the two great towns, and that I shall carry away with me a delightful recollection of them. * 4c « >|c Soon after arriving in Minneapolis yesterday, I went to see the Minnehaha FaVs, immortalised by Longfellow. Th :^ Motor Line gave me an idea of rapid transit. I rerurned to the West Housa for lunch, and spent the afternoon writing. Many inter- viewers called. The first who came sat down in my room and point-blank asked me my views on Contagious Diseases. Seeing that I v'as not disposed to talk on the subject, he asked me to discourse on Re- publics and the prospects of General Boulanger. In fact, anything for copy. The second one, after asking me where I came from, and where I was going, inquired whether I had exhausted the Anglo-Saxons, and whether I should write on other nations. After I had satisfied him, he asked me what yearly income my books and my lectures brought in. Another wanted to know why I had not brought my wife with me, how many children I had, how old they were, and other details as wonderfully interest- Vx ing to the public. By-and-by, 1 saw he was jotting down a description of my appearance, and the different clothes I had on. ** I will unpack this trunk," I said, " and spread all its contents on the floor. Perhaps you would be glad to have a look at my things." He smiled. " Don't trouble any more," he said : ** I am very much obliged to you for your courtesy." This morning, on opening the papers, I see that my new hat is getting into trouble. I thought that, nmn Ithe :his Ithe at le," )ur lat A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. 201 after getting rid of my brown hat, and sending it to the editor in the town where it had created such a sensation, peace was secured. Not a bit. In the MinneapoHs Journal I read the following: — '* The attractive personality of the man " (excuse my recording this for the sake of what follows), " was height- ened by his neglige ssick coat and vest, with a background of yellowish plaid trousers (sic), occasional glimpses of which were revealed from beneath the folds of a heavy ulster, which swept the floor" (I was sitting, of course), ** and was trimmed with fur collar and cuffs. And then that hat ! On the table, carelessly thrown amidst a pile of correspondence, was his nondescript head-gear. One of those half-sombreros affected by the wild Western cowboy when on dress parade, an impossible combi- nation of dark-blue and bottle-green." Fancy, treating in this off-handed way a $7.50 soft black felt hat bought of the best hatter in New York I No, nothing is sacred for those interviewers. Dark- blue and bottle-green ! Why, did that man imagine that I wore my hat inside out, so as to show the silk lining ? * 7 The air here is per- fectly wonderful, dry and full of electricity. If your fingers come into contact with any- thing metallic, like the hot-water pipes, the chandeliers, the stop- per of your washing basin, they draw a spark, sharp and vivid. One of the reporters, who called here and to whom I mentioned the fact, was able to light the gas with II 202 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. u w his finger, by merely obtaining an electric spark on the top of the burner. When he said he could thus light the gas, I thought he was joking. I had observed this phenomenon before, Ottowa for instance. Whether this air makes you live too quickly, I do not know ; but it is most bracing and healthy. I have never felt so well and hearty in my life as in these cold, dry climates. « « • • I was all the more flattered to have such a large and fashionable audience at the Grand Opera House to-night, that the causerie was not given under the auspicies of any society, or as one of any course of lectures. I lecture in Detroit the day after to-morrow, and shall have to leave Minneapolis to-morrow morning at six o'clock for Chicago, which I shall reach at ten in the evening. Then I shall have to run to the Michigan Central Station to catch the night train to Detroit at eleven. Altogether twenty-three hours of railway travelling — 745 miles. And still in *'the neighbourhood of Chicago"! ^ 1. 5n tbe (Tialn to Cbfcago, 2t0t ^cbruari?. Have just passed a wonderful advertisement. Here, in the midst of a forest, I have seen a huge wide board nailed on two trees, parallel to the rail- way line. On it was written, round a daub supposed to represent one of the loveliest English ladies : " If you would be as lovely as the beautiful Lady de Gray, use the Gray perfumes." Soyez done belle, to be used as an advertisement in the forests of Minnesota ! A FKl NCIIMAN IN AMERICA. 203 le it ir VOU* WOULD BE n^mj^"^ LOVELY A*5 TH& BEAUTIFUL -^C'^ ^""^ °^ ^^^^ ^'^ QUAY V/i^ PERFUMES My lectures have never been criticised in more kind, iiattering, and eulogistic terms than in the St. Paul and the Minneapolis papers, which I am reading on the way to Chicago. I find newspaper reading a great help in travel- ling. First of all because these papers are always light reading, and also because reading is a possibility in a well-lighted carriage going only at a moderate speed. Eating is comfortable, and even writing is possible en route. 204 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. r H ■ < IK ( h. With the exception of a few trains, such as are run from New York to Boston, Cliica^o and half-a- dozen other important cities, railway travellinp^ is slower in America than in En^^dand and France ; but I have never found fault with the speed of an American train. On the contrary, I have always felt grateful to the driver for running slowly. And every time that my car reached the other side of the many rotten wooden bridges on which the train had to pass, I returned thanks. ti ' ■ 8 ^ 1 CHAPTER XXV. Detroit — The Town — The *' Detroit Free Press'* — A Lady Interviewer — The ^^ Unco' ^iiid'' in Detroit — Reflections on the An^lo-Saxon *' Unco' (^uid" S>etroit, 22n2) fcbruari?, Am delighted with Detroit. It possesses beautiful streets, avenues, and walks, and a fine square, in the middle of which stands a remarkably fine monument. I am also grateful to this city for breaking the monotony of the eternal parallelograms with which the whole of the United States are built. My national vanity almost suggests to me that this town owes its gracefulness to its French origin. There are still, I am told, about 25,000 French people settled in Detroit. Have had to-night a crowded and most brilliant audience in the Church of Our Father, whose keen- ness, intelligence, and kindness have not failed to make me happy. I was interviewed, both by a lady and a gentle- man, for the Detroit Free Press, that most witty of American newspapers. The charming young lady interviewer came to talk on social topics. I re- marked that she was armed with a copy of Jonathan and His Continent, and I came to the conclusion that she would probably ask for a few explanations about that book. I was not mistaken. She took exception, she informed me, to many statements concerning the American girl in the book-. I made an effort to prove to her that all was rignt, and all was truth, and I think I persuaded her to abandon the prose- cution. To tell you the truth, now the real truth, mind 206 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. ,- ii ■A^-^ you, I am rather tire#of hearing about the American girl. The more I see of her, the more I am getting convinced that she is — like the other girls in the world. * IF i -^ ,.^_=-= ^v^^«*._ . A* FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. 207 A friend, who came to have a chat with me after the lecture, has told me that the influential people of this city are signing a petition to the custodians of the Museum calling upon them to drape all the nude statues, and intimating their intention of boy- cotting the institution if the Venuses and ApoUos are not forthwith provided with tuckers and togas. ican |ting the ! .* 208 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. I ;m I* rf I i I ^ It is a well-known fact in the history of the world that young communities have no taste for fine art — they have no time to cultivate it. If I had gone to Oklahama, I should not have expected to find any art feeling at all ; but that in a city like Detroit, where there is such evidence of intellectual life and high culture among the inhabitants, a party should be found numerous and strong enough to issue such a heathen dictate as this seems scarcely credible. I am inclined to think it must be a joke. That the '^* unco' guid " should flourish under the gloomy sky of Great Britain I understand, but under the bright blue sky of America, in that bracing atmosphere, I cannot. It is most curious that there should be people who, when confronted with some glorious master- piece of sculpture, should not see the poetry, the beauty of the human form divine. This is beyond me, and beyond any educated Frenchman. Does the * unco' guid" exist in America then? I should have thought that these people, of the earth earthy, were not found out of England and Scotland. When I was in America two years ago, I heard that an English author of some repute, talking one day with Mr. Richard Watson Gilder about the Venus of Milo, had remarked that, as he looked at her beautiful form, he longed to put his arms around her and kiss her. Mr. Gilder who, as a poet, as an artist, has felt only respect mingled with his admira- tion of the matchless divinity, replied : " I hope she would have grown a pair of arms for the occasion, so as to have slapped your face." It is not so much the thing that offends the "unco' guid ; " it is the name, the reflection, the idea. Unhealthy-minded himself, he dreads a taint where there is none, and imagines in others a corruption which exists only in himself. A TKENCIIMAN IN AMICKICA. 2og Yet, the One whom he would fain call Master, but whose teachin<;s he is slow in following, said : " Woe be to them by whom offence comuth." But the ** unco' gaid " is a Christian parvenu. leard one the ;d at [ound ls an lira- she [sioii, the lidea. ^here )tion The parvenu is a person who makes strenuous efforts to persuade other people that he is entitled to the position he occupies. There are parvenus in religion as there are parvenus in the aristocracy, in society, in literature, in the fine arts, etc. The worst type of French parvenu is the one whose father was a worthy, hard-working man called Dubois or Dumont, and who, at his father's death, dubs himself du Bois or du Mont, becomes a cleri- calist and the staunchest monarchist, and runs down the great Revolution which made one of his grand- parents a man. Mons. du Bois or du Mont outdoes the genuine nobleman, who needs make no noise to attract attention to a name which everybody knows, and which, in spite of what may be said on the subject, often recalls the memory of some glorious event in the past. The worst type of Anglo-Saxon parvenu is prob- ably the ** unco' guid," or religious parvenu. The Anglo-Saxon " unco' guid " is seldom to be found among Roman Catholics — that is, among the followers of the most ancient Christian religion. He is to be found among the followers of the newest forms of " Christianity." This is quite natural. He has to try to eclipse his fellow-Christians by his piety, in order to show that the new religion to which he belongs was a necessary invention. f The Anglo-Saxon **unco' guid" is easily recog- nised. He is dark (all bigots and fanatics are). He is dressed in black, shiny broadcloth raiment. A \vide-brimmed felt hat covers his head. He walks I ■ i 1 210 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. I^he ^*uuco' §uid,** K- A FKENCHMAM IN AMERICA. 211 with light, short, jaunty steps, his head a little inclined on one side. He never carries a stick, which might give a rather fast appearance to his turn-out. He invariably carries an umbrella, even in the brightest weather, as being more respectable — and this umbrella he never rolls, for he would avoid looking in the distance as if he had a stick. He casts right and left little grimaces that are so many forced smiles of self-satisfaction. "Try to be as good as I am," he seems to say to all who happen to look at him, ** and you will be as happy." And he *' smiles, and smiles, and smiles." He has a small soul, a small heart, and a small brain. As a rule, he is a well-to-do person. It pays better to have a narrow mind than to have broad sympathies. He drinks tea, but prefers cocoa, as being a more virtuous beverage. He is perfectly destitute of humour, and is the most inartistic creature in the world. Everything suggests to him either profanity or indecency. The Reminiscences of Scotch Life and Character, by Dean Ramsay, would strike him as profane; and if placed, in the Musee du Louvre, before the Venus of Milo, he would see nothing but a woman who has next to no clothes on. His distorted mind makes him take everything in ill part. His hands get pricked on every thorn that he comes across on the road, and he misses all the roses. If I had not been a Christian, the following story, which is not so often told as it should be, would have converted me long ago : — Jesus arrived one evening at the gates of a certain city, and He sent His disciples forward to prepare supper, while He Himself, intent on doing good, walked through the streets into the market- 15 * 212 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. II I 3 i i u I I I place. And He saw at the corner of the market some people f^^athered to«^ether looking at an object on the ground ; and He drew near to see what it might be. It was a dead dog, with a halter round his neck, by which he appeared to have been dragged through the dirt ; and a viler, a more abject, a more unclean thing, never met the eyes of man. And those who stood by looked on with abhorrence. "Faugh!" said one, stopping his nose, **it pollutes the air." " How long," said another, " shall this foul beast offend our sight?" "Look at his torn hide," said a third ; " one could not even cut a shoe out of it!" "And his ears," said a fourth, "all draggled and bleeding!" " No doubt," said a fifth, " he has been hanged for thieving ! " And Jesus heard them, and looking down compassionately on the dead creature, He said : " Pearls are not equal to the whiteness of his teeth ! " If I understand the Gospel, the gist of its teach- ings is contained in the foregoing little story. Love and forgiveness : finding something to pity and admire even in a dead dog. Such is the religion of Christ. The "Christianity" of the "unco' guid" is as like this religion as are the teachings of the Old Testament- Something to condemn, the discovery of wicked- ness in the most innocent, and often elevating, recreations, such is the favourite occupation of the Anglo-Saxon "unco' guid." Music is licentious, laughter wicked, dancing immoral, statuary almost criminal ; and, by-and-by, the " Society for the Suggestion of Indecency," which is placed under his immediate patronage and supervision, will find fault with our going out in the streets, on the plea that under our garments we carry our nudity. The Anglo-Saxon " unco* guid " is the successor of the Pharisee. In reading Christ's description of A FKENCHMAN IN AMERICA. 213 the the latter, you are immediately struck with the like- ness. The modern *' unco' guid " '* loves to pray standing in the churches and chapels and in the corners of the streets, that he may be seen of men." ** He uses vain repetitions, for he thinks that he shall be heard for his much speaking." '* When he fasts, he is of sad countenance ; for he disfigures his face, that he may appear unto men to fast." There is not one feature of the portrait that does not fit in exactly. The Jewish " unco' guid " crucified Christ. The Anglo-Saxon one would crucify Him again if He should return to earth and interfere with the pros- perous business firms that make use of His name. The **unco' guid's" Christianity consists in ex- tolling his virtues and ignoring other people's. He spends his time in pulling motes out of people's eyes, but cannot see clearly to do it, owing to the beams that are in his own. He overwhelms you, he crushes you, with his virtue, and one of the greatest treats is to catch him tripping, a chance which you may occasionally have, especially when you meet him on the Continent of Europe. The Anglo-Saxon **unco' guid" calls himself a Christian, but the precepts of the Gospel are the very opposite of those he practices. The gentle, merciful, forgiving Man-God of the Gospel has not for him the charms and attractions of the Jehovah who commanded the cowardly, ungrateful, and blood-thirsty people of His choice to treat their women as slaves, and to exterminate their enemies, sparing neither old men, women, nor children. This cruel, revengeful, implacable deity is far more to the Anglo-Saxon ** unco* guid's " liking than the Saviour who bade His disciples love their enemies and put up their swords in the presence of His persecutors. The " unco' guid " is not a Christian, he is a Jew in all but name. And I will say this much for him. I 214 A FKKNCHMAN IN AMERICA. f' t i I i< i.:i n that the Commnndments given on Mount Sinai are much easier to follow than the Sermon on the Mount. It is easier not to commit murder than to hold out your right cheek after your left one has been slapped. It is easier not to steal than to run after the man who has robbed us in order to offer him what he has not taken. It is easier to honour our parents than to love our enemies. The teachings of the Gospel are trying to human nature. There is no religion more difficult to follow; and this is why, in spite of its beautiful, but too lofty, precepts, there is no religion in the world that can boast so many hypocrites — so many followers who pretend that they follow their religion, but who do not, and very probably cannot. Being unable to love man, as he is bidden in the Gospel, the *' unco' guid " loves God, as he is bidden in the Old Testament. He loves God in the abstract. He tells Him so in endless prayers and litanies. For him Christianity consists in discussing theo- logical questions, whether a minister shall preach with or without a white surplice on, and in singing hymns more or less out of tune. As if God could be loved to the exclusion of man! You love God, after all, as you love anybody else, not by profession^ of love, but by deeds. When he prays, the " unco' guid " buries his face in his hands or in his hat. He screws up his face, and the more fervent the prayer is (or the more people are looking at him), the more grimaces he makes. Henrich Heine, on coming out of an English church, said that "a blaspheming Frenchman must be a more pleasing object in the sight of God than many a praying Englishman." He had no doubt been looking at the " unco' guid." If you do not hold the same religious views as he docs, you are a wicked man, an atheist. He alone has the truth. Being engaged in a discussion with A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. 215 S an '* unco' guid *' one day, I told him that if God had given me hands to handle, surely He had given me a little brain to think. " You are right," he quickly interrupted; "but with the hands that God gave you, you can commit a good action, and you can also commit murder." Therefore, because I did not think as he did, I was the criminal ; for, of course, he was the righteous man. For all those who, like myself, believe in a future life, there is, I believe a great treat in store : the sight of the face he will make, when his place is assigned to him in the next world. Qui mourra verra. Anglo-Saxon land is governed by the **unco' guid." Good society cordially despises him ; the aristocracy of Anglo-Saxon intelligence, philoso- phers, scientists, men of letters, artists, simply loathe him ; but all have to bow to his rule, and submit their works to his most incompetent criti- cism, and all are afraid of him. In a moment of wounded national pride, Sydney Smith once exclaimed : " What a pity it is we have no amusements in England except vice and religion ! " The same exclamation might be uttered to-day, and the cause laid at the Anglo-Saxon "unco' guid's" door. It is he who is responsible for the degradation of the British lower classes by refusing to enable them to elevate their minds on Sundays at the sight of the masterpieces of art which are contained in the museums, or at the sound of the symphonies of Beethoven and Mozart, which might be given to the people at reduced prices on that day. The poor people must choose between vice and religion, and as the wretches know they are not wanted in the churches, they go to the taverns. It is this same " unco' guid " who is responsible for the state of the streets in the large cities of Great Britain by refusing to allow vice to be regu- lated. If you were to add the amount of immorality 2l6 A FKliNCHMAN IN AMIiKICA. ''■ (5 n \ ^ I ' 1 1„ to be found in the streets of Paris, Berlin, Vienna, and the other capitals of Europe, no fair-minded Englishman ** who knows " would contradict me if I said that the total thus obtained would be much below the amount supplied by London alone ; but the " unco' guid " stays at home of an evening, advises you to do the same, and, ignoring or pre- tending to ignore what is going on round his own house, he prays for the conversion — of the French. * A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. 217 The "unco' Kuid" thinks that his own future safety is assured, so he prays for his neighbours. He reminds one of certain Scots who inhabit two small islands on the west coast of Scotland. Their piety is really most touching. Every Sunday, in their churches, they commend to God's care "the puir inhabitants of the two adjacent islands of Britain and Ireland." A few weeks ago, there appeared, in a Liverpool paper, a letter signed "A Lover of Reverence," in which this anonymous person complained of a certain lecturer who had indulged in profane re- marks. " I was not present myself," he, or she, said, ** but have heard of what took place," etc. You see this person was not present, but as a good "Christian" he hastened to judge. However, this is nothing. In Jie letter I read: "Fortunately there are in Liverpool a few Christians, like myself, always on the watch and ever looking after our Maker's honour." Fortunate Liverpool ! What a proud position for the Almighty to be placed, in Liverpool, under the protection of the " Lover of Reverence " 1 Probably this " unco' guid " and myself would not agree on the definition of the word profanity ; for if I had written and published such a letter, I would consider myself guilty not only of profanity, but of blasphemy. If the "unco' guid" is the best product of Christianity, Christianity must be pronounced a ghastly failure, and I should feel inclined to exclaim, with the late Dean Milman : "If all this is Chris- tianity, it is high time we should try something else —say the religion of Christ, for instance." 1 I "1 II I I ! ; , I . CHAPTER XXVI. Milwanhcc — A Well-filled Day — Rifledions on the Scotch in America — Chicago Criticistns, /ftllwauhce, 25tb ^cbiuari?. Arrived here from Detroit yesterday. Milwaukee is a city of over two hundred thousand inhabitants, a very large proportion of whom are Germans, who have come here to settle down and wish good luck and prosperity to the Vaterland, at the respectful distance of five thousand miles. At the station, I was met by Mr. John L. Mitchell, the Railway King, and by a compatriot of mine, M. A. de Guerville, a young enthusiast who has made up his mind to check the German invasion of Milwaukee, and has succeeded in starting .. French Society composed of the leading inhabitants of the city. On arriving, I found a heavy but delightful programme to go through during the day: a lunch to be given me by the ladies at Milwaukee College at one o'clock ; a reception by the French Club at Mrs. John L. Mitchell's house at four ; a dinner at six; my lecture at eight; and a reception and a supper by the Press Club at 10.30 — the rest of the evening to be spent as circumstances would allow or suggest. I was to be the guest of Mr. Mitchell at his magnificent house in town, " Good," I said, '* let us begin." A Fr.ENCIIMAN IN AMliRICA. 219 the a on of Id Hr. Went through tlie whole programme. The reception hy the French Club, in the beautiful Moorish-looking rooms of Mrs. John L. Mitchell's superb mansion, was a great success. I was amazed to meet so many French-speaking people, and much amused to see my young compatriot go from one group to another to satisfy himself that all the members of the Club were speaking French — for I must tell you that, among the statutes of the Club, there is one that imposes a fine of ten cents on any member caught in the act of speaking English at the gatherings of the association. The lecture was a great success. The New Plymouth Church* was packed, and the audience extremely warm and appreciative. The supper offered to m.e by the Press Club proved most enjoy- able. And yet that was not all. At one o'clock the Press Club repaired to a perfect German Brauerei, where we spent an hour in Bavaria, drinking excellent Bavarian beer, while chatting, telling stories, etc. I will omit to mention at what time we returned home, so as not to tell tales about my kind host. In spite of the late hours we kept last night, breakfast was punctually served at eight this mcrn- ing. First course : porridge. Thanks to the kind, thoroughly Scotch hospitality of Mr. John L. Mitchell and his charming family, thanks to the many friends and sympathisers I met here, I shall carry away a most pleasant recollection of this large and beautiful city, and shall leave Milwaukee with much regret. Indeed, the worst feature of a thick lecturing tour is to feel, almost every day, that you leave behind friends whom you may never see again. • Very strange that church, with its stalls, galltries, and boxes: a perfect theatre. From the platform, it was interesting to watch that immense throng, in front from floor to ceiling, on the sides, behind. t 220 A FiiENCHMAN JN AMERICA. .(1 1, ( A Citizen of Milwaukee, A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. 221 I lecture at the Central Music Hall, Chlcag^o, this eveniiii^ ; but Chicago is reached from here in two hours and a half, and I will go as late in the day as 1 can. No chance of a bed now until I reach Albany, in three davs. ^' So the Railway King in Wiscons'n is a Scotch- man. I was not surprised to hear it The Iron King in Pennsylvania is a Scotchman, Mr. Andrew Carnegie. The Oil King of Ohio is a Scotchman, Mr. Alexander Macdonald. The Silver King of California is a Scotchman, Mr. Mackay. The Dry Goods Store King of New York — he is dead now — was a Scotchman, Mr. Stewart. It is just the same in Canada, just the same in Australia, and all over the English-speaking world. The Scotch are suc- cessful everywhere, and the new countries offer them fields for their industry, their perseverance, and their shrewdness. There you see them landowners, directors of companies, at the head of all the great enterprises. In the lower stations of life, thanks to their frugality and saving habits, you find them thriving everywhere. You go to a manufactory, you are told that the foremen are Scotch. I have perhaps a better illustration still. If you travel in Canada, either by the Grand Trunk or the Canadian Pacific, you will meet in th^ last parlour-car, near the stove, a man whose duty consists in seeing that, all along the line, the work- men are at their posts, digging, repairing, etc. These workmen are all day long exposed to the Canadian temperature, and often have to work knee-deep in the snow. Well, you will find that the man with small keen eyes, who is able to do his work in the railroad car, warming himself comfortably by the stove, 222 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. is invariably a Scotchman. There is only one berth with a stove in the whole business, it is he who has got it. Many times I have had a chat with that Scotchman on the subject of Old Scotland. Many ; I times I have sat with him in the little smoking-room of the parlour-car, listening to the history of his life, or, maybe, to a few good Scotch anecdotes. A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. 223 5n tbe Zvtiin from Cbica^o to Cleveland 26tb ^ebruarg. Arrived in Chicago at five o'clock in the after- noon yesterday, dined, dressed, and lectured at the Music Hall, under the auspices of the Drexel free Kindergarten. There was a large audience, and all passed off very well. After the lecture, I went to the Grand Pacific Hotel, changed dress, and went on board the sleeping-car bound for Cleveland, Ohio, The criticisms of my lecture in this morning's Chicago papers are lively. The Herald calls me ** a dapper little Frenchman." Five feet eleven in height, and two hundred pounds in weight ! The Times says : " That splendid trinity of American peerage, the colonel, the judge, and the professor, turned out in full force at Central Music Hall last night. The lecturer is a magician who serves up your many little defects peculiar to the auditors' own country on a silver salver so artistically garnished that one forgets the sarcasm in admiration of the sauce." The Tribune is quite as complimentary, and quite as lively : " His satire is as keen as the blade of the celebrated executioner who could cut a man's head off, and the unlucky person not know it until a pinch of snuff would cause a sneeze, and the decapitated head would, much t3 its surprise, find itself rolling over in the dust." And after a good breakfast at Toledo Station, I enjoyed an hour poring over the Chicago papers. I lecture in Cleveland to-night, and am still irj f* tue neighbourhogd of Chicago," g - 1g'» =.L - -ja ,1 ' f \ ■ ' I' I 284 A FRENCHMAN IN AMFiRICA. A Celebrated Executiuur, CHAPTER XXVII. The Monotony of Travelling in the States — " Manon LescatW in America. 5u tbc Traill from ClerclanO to Blbang, 27tb jfcbruarg. Am getting tired and ill. I am not bed-ridden, but fairly well rid of a bed. I have lately spent as many nights in railway-cars as in hotel beds. Am on my way to Albany, just outside "the neighbourhood of Chicago." I lecture in that place to-night, and shall get to New York to- morrow. I am suffering from the monotony of life. My greatest objection to America (indeed, I do not believe I have any other) is the sameness of every- thing. I understand the Americans who run away to Europe every year to see an old church, a wall covered with moss and ivy, some good old- fashioned peasantry not dressed like the rest of the world. What strikes a European most, in his rambles through America, is the absence of the picturesque. The country is monotonous, and eternally the same. Burned-up fields, stumps of trees, forests, wooden houses all built on the same pattern. All the stations you pass are alike. All the towns are alike. To say that an American town is ten times larger than another, simply means that it has ten times more blocks of houses. All the streets are alike, with the i '■ ^26 A FRliNCHMAN IN AMERICA I: same telegraph-poles, the same " Indian " as a sip^n for tobacconists, the same red, white, and blue pole as a sign for barbers. All the hotels are the same, all the menus are the same, all the plates and dishes the same — why, all the inkstands are the same. All the people are dressed in the same way. When you meet an American with all his beard, you want to shake his hands and thank him for not shaving it, as ninety- nine out of every hun- dred Americans do. Of course, I have not seen California, the Rocky Mountains and many other parts of America where the scenery is very beautiful; but I think my remarks can apply to those States most likely to be visited by a lecturer — that is, Ohio, Michigan, Indi- ana, Illinois, Wiscon- sin, Minnesota, and others during the winter month?, after the Indian summer and before the renewal of verdure in May. After breakfast, that indefatigable man of busi- ness, that intolerable bore, who incessantly bangs the doors and bnngs his stock-in-trade to the cars, came to me and whispered in my ears : ** New book — ^just out — a forbidden bookr" i^' A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. 227 *' A forbidden book 1 What is that ? " I inquired. He showed it to me. It was Manon Lcscaut. Is it possible! That literary and artistic chef- d'cenvre, which was the original type of Paul et Vir^inie and Aiala; that touching drama, which the prince of critics, Jules Janin, declared would be sufficient toj save con- temporary literature from complete oblivion, dragged in the mire, clothed in a dirty coarse English garb ! and adver- tised as a forbidden book! Three generations of French people have wept over the pathetic story. Here it is now, stripped of its unique style and literary beauty, sold to the American public as an improper book — a libel by translation on a genius. British authors have complained for years that their books were stolen in America. They have suffered in pockets, it is true ; but their reputation has spread through an immense continent. What is their complaint compared to that of the French authors, who have the misfortune to see their works translated into American ! It is not on'y their pockets that suffer, but their reputation. The poor French author is at the mercy of incapable and malicious translators hired at starvation wages by the American pirate publisher. He is liable to a species of defamation ten times worse than robbery. And as I looked at that copy of Manon Lescaut, I almost felt giateful that Provost was dead. 16 CHAPTER XXVIII. For the first time I uc an American paper Abuse me — — Albany to New York — A lecture at Daly's Theatre — Afternoon Audiences, 'I 1 "Wew l|?orft, 28tb jFebruatfi, The American press has always been very good to me. Fairness one has a right to expect, but kind- ness is an extra that is not always thrown in, and therefore this uniform amiability of the American press could not fail to strike me most agreeably. Up to yesterday I had not seen a single unkind notice or article, but in the Albany Express of yester- day morning I read : — ** This evening the people of Albany are asked to listen to a lecture by Max O'Rell, who was in this country two years ago and was treated with dis- tinguished courtesy. When he went home, he published a book filled with deliberate misstatements and wilful exaggerations of the traits of the American people." This paper ** has reason," as the French say. My book contained one misstatement at all events, and that was that " all Americans have a great sense of humour." You may say that the French are a witty people, but that does mean that France con- tains no fools. It is rather painful to have to explain such things, but I do so for the benefit of that editor and with apologies to the general reader. In spite of this diverting little ** par," I had an immense audience last night in Harmanus Bleecker Hall, a new and magnificent construction in Albany, excellent no doubt for music, but hardly adapted \.^ A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. 22() say. [ents, ;ense .re a con- >lain [ditor an jcker )any, [pted for lecturing in on account of its long and narrow shape. I should have liked tc stay longer in Albany, which struck me as being a remarkably beautiful place ; but having to lecture in New York this after- noon, I took the vestibule train early this morning for New York. This journey is exceedingly pictur- esque along the Hudson River, travelling as you do between two ranges of wooded hills, dotted over with beautiful habitations, and now and then passing a little town bathing its feet in the water. In the distance one gets good views of the Catskill mountains immortalised by Washington Irving in Rip van Winkle. On boarding the train, the first thing I did was to read the news of yesterday. Imagine my amuse- ment on opening the Albany Express, to read the •■■I*" .!• 1 230 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. :i ', 1 : following extract from the report of my lecture : — " He has an agreeable but not a strong voice, This was the only point fliat could be criticised in his lecture, which con sistcd of many clever sketches of the humorous side of the character of different Anglo-Saxon nations. His humour is keen. He evidently is a great admirer of America and Americans, only bringing into ridicule some of their most conspicuously objectionable traits. . . . . His lecture was entertaining, clever, witty, and thoroughly enjoyable." The most amusing part of all this is that the American sketches, which I introduced into my lecture last night and which seemed to have struck the Albany Express so agreeably, were all extracted from the book ** filled with deliberate misstatements and wilful exaggerations of the traits of the Ameri- can people." Well, after all, there is humour, unconscious humour, in the Albany Express ! * 1* o* •!• Arrived at the Grand Hotel Station in New York at noon, I gave up my check to a transfer man, but learned to my chagrin that the vestibule train from Albany had carried no baggage and that my things would only arrive by the next train at about three o'clock. Pleasant news for a man who was due to address an audience at three ! There waa' only one way out of the difficulty. Off I went post-haste to a ready-made tailor, who sold me a complete fit-out from head to foot. I did not examine the cut and fit of each garment very minutely, but went off satisfied that I was presenting a neat and respectable appearance. Before ^^oing on the stage, however, I discovered that the sleeves of the new coat, though perfectly smooth and well- behaved so long as the arms inside them were bent at the elbow, developed a remarkable cross twist as soon as I let my arms hang straight down. A FRENCHMAN IN AMERfCA. 231 miss ves ell- ent as ;S By means of holding it firm with the middle finger, I managed to keep the recalcitrant sleevu in position, and the affair passed off very well. Only some friends remarked to me after the lecture that they » i!i !k'; ill '<:i :': CHAPTER XXX. Visit to the Brooklyn Academy of Music — Rev. Dr. TalDiiif^c. 1Rew l^orh. 2nC> ^arcb. Went to hear Dr. T. de Witt Talmage this morning at the Academy of Music, Brooklyn. What an actor America has lost by Dr. Talmage choosing the pulpit in preference to the stage ! The Academy of Music was crowded. Standing room only. For an old-fashioned European, to see a theatre, with its boxes, stalls, galleries, open for divine service was a strange sight ; but we had not gone very far into the service before it became plain to me that there was nothing divine about it. The crowd had come there, not to worship God, but to hear Mr. Talmage. At the door, the programme was distributed. It consisted of six hymns to be interlarded with prayers by the doctor. Between the fifth and the sixth he delivered the lecture, or the sermon, if you insist on the name; and during the sixth, there was the collection, that hinge on which the whole service turns in Protestant places of worship. I took a seat and awaited with the rest the entrance of Dr. Talmage. There was subdued con- versation going on all around, just as there would be at a theatre or concert : in fact, throughout the whole of the proceedings, there was no sign of a silent lifting up of the spirit in worship. Not a person, in that strange congregation, went on his or her knees to pray. Most oif them put one hand in front of the face, and this was as near as they got A FKT'NCHNfAN IN AMERICA. 237 that morning to an attitude of devotion. Except for this, and the fact that they did not applaud, there was absohitely no difference between them and any other theatre audience I ever saw. The monotonous hymns were accompanied by a cornet-a-pistons which lent a certain amount of Hfe to lid he a a or in ot them, but very little religious harmony. That cornet was the keynote of the whole performance. The hymns, composed, I believe, for Dr. Talmage's flock, are not of high literary value. " General Booth would probably hesitate to include such in the !.•■; \ 1 im 238 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. repertoire of the Salvation Army. Judge of them for yourself. Here are three illustrations culled irom the programme : — 1. " Sing, O sing, ye heirs of glory ! Shout your triumphs as you go : Zion's gates will open for you, You shall find an entrance through." 2. " 'Tis the promise of God, full salvation to give Unto him who on Jesus, His Son, will believe." 3. " Though the pathway be lonely and dangerous too [sic), Surely Jesus is able to carry me thro'." Another hymn began : " One more day's work for Jesus, One less of lile for mel" I could not help thinking that there would be good employment for a prophet of God, with a stout whip, in the cati^^regations of the so-called faithful of to-day. I have heard them by hundreds shouting at the top of their voices : " O Paradise, O Paradise! 'Tis weary waiting here : I long to be where Jesus is. To feel, to see him near. O Paradise, O Paradise ! I greatly long to see The special place my dearest Lord In love prepares for me ! " Knowing something of those people outside the church doors, I have often thought what an edifying sight it would be if the Lord deigned to listen and take a few of them at their word. If the fearless Christ were here on earth again, what crowds of cheata and humbugs He would drive out of the temple ! And foremost, I fancy, woald go the people who, instead of thanking their Maker that allows the blessed sun to shine, the birds to sing, and the flowers to grow for them here, howl and whine lies about longing for the joy of moving on to a better world, to the "special place" that is prepared for A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. 239 them. If there be a better world, it will be too good for hypocrites. After hymn the fifth, Dr. Talmage took the floor. The audience settled in their seats in evident anticipation of a good time, and it was soon clear to me that the discourse was not to be dull at any rate. But I waited in vain for a great thought, a lofty idea, or refined language. There came none. Nothing but commonplaces given out with tricks of voice and the gestures of a consummate actor. The modulations of the voice have been studied with care ; no single platform trick was missing. The doctor comes on the stage, which is about forty feet wide. He begins slowly. The flow of language is great, and he is never at a loss for a word. Motionless, in his lowest tones, he puts a question to us. Nobody replies, of course. There- upon he paces wildly up and down the whole length of the stage. Then, bringing up in full view of his auditors, he stares at them, crosses his arms, gives a double and tremendous stamp on the boards, and in a terrific voice he repeats the question, and «=^ the less of the the lies Iter for 240 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. iC answers it. The desired effect is produced : he never misses fire. Being an old stager of several years' standing myself, I admire him professionally. Nobody is edified, nobody is regenerated, nobody is improved, but all are entertained. It is not a divine service, but it is a clever performance, and the Americans never fail to patronise a clever performance. All styles go down with them. They will give a hearing to everybody but the bore, especially on Sundays when other forms of entertainment arc out of the running. It is not only the Brooklyn public that are treated to the discourses of Dr. Talmage, but the whole of America. He syndicates his sermons, and they are published in Monday's newspapers in all quarters of .imerica. I have also seen them reproduced in the Australian papers. The delivery of these orations by Dr. Talmage is so superior to the matter they are made of, that to read them is slow indeed compared to hearing them. At the back of the programme was a flaring advertisement of Dr. Talmage's paper, called "CHRISTIAN HERALD AND SIGNS OF OUR TIMES." "A live, undenominational, illustrated Christian paper, with a weekly circulation of fifty thousand copies, and rapidly increasing. Every State of the Union, every Province of Canada, and every country in the world is represented on its enormous subscription list. " Address your subscription toMr. N , treasurer." etc. "Signs of our Times," indeed 1 id : he anding »ody is proved, service, ericans :e. All hearing iundays : of the treated ^hole of hey are [quarters iuced in ralmage of, that hearing flaring d Christian housand of the country scription jasurer. >i CHAPTER XXXI. Virginia — The Hotels — The South — / will Kill a Rail- way Conductor before I leave A inerica — Philadelphia — Impressions of the old City. Petersburg^ \Da., 3rt) /K>arcb. Left New York last night and arrived here at noon. No change in the scenery. The same burnt- up fields, the same placards all over the land. The roofs of houses, the trees in the forests, the fences in the fields, announce to the world the magic properties of castor oil, aperients, and liver pills. A little village inn in the bottom of old Brittany is a palace of comfort, compared to the best hotel of a Viiginia town. I feel wretched. My bedroom is so dirty that I shall not dare to undress to-night. I have just had lunch : a piece of tough dried-up beef, custard pie, and a glass of filthy water, the whole served by an old negro on an old ragged dirty table cloth. Petersburg, which awakes so many souvenirs of the War of Secession, is a pretty town scatterea with beautiful villas. It strikes one as, a provincial town. To me, coming from the busy North, it looks asleep. The South has not yet recovered from its disasters of thirty years ago. That is what struck me most when, two years ago, I went through Virginia, Carolina, and Georgia. Now and then American eccentricity reveals it- self. I have just seen a church built on the model of a Greek temple, and surmounted with a pointed 17 i ( n ■; v 242 1^ A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. spire lately added. Just imagine to yourself Julius Caesar with his toga and buskin on, and having a chimney-pot hat on his head. The streets seemed deserted, dead. To my surri'se, the Opera House was crowded to-night. The audience was fashionable and appre- ciative, but very cool, almost as cool as in Connecticut and Maine. Heaven be praised ! a gentleman invited me to have supper at a club after the lecture. A FRENCHMAN IN AMEKICA. 243 Julius Iving a rowded appre- lecticut me to 4tb ^accb* Am sore all over. Spent the night on the bed — outside, in my day clothes — and am bruised all over. I have pains in my gums too. Oh, that piece of beef yesterday ! I am off to Philadelphia. My bill at the hotel amounts to $1.50. Never did I pay so hard through the nose for \vhat I had chrough the mouth. IPbilaDelpbta, 4tb /Hbarcb. Before I return to Europe I will kill a railway conductor. 17 * ,i ( I ly 244 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. i^i From Petersburg to Richmond I was the only occupant of the parlour-car. It was bitterly cold. The conductcr of the train came in the smoke-room, and took a seat. T snj)pose it was his rij^dit, altliou/:,di I doubt it, for he was not the conductor attached to the parlour-car. He opened the window. The cold icy air fell on my legs, or (to use a more proper expression, as I am writing in Philadelphia) on my lower limbs. I said nothing, but rose, and closed the window. The fellow frowned, rose, and opened tha window again. ** Excuse me," I said, ** I thought that perhaps you had come here to look after my comfort. If you have not, I will look after it myself." And I rose and closed the window. ** I want the window open," said the conductor, and he prepared to re-open it, giving me a mute, impudent scowl. I was fairly roused. Nature has gifted me with a biceps and a grip of remarkable power. I seized the man by the collar of his coat. A FRKNCTIMAN IN AMERICA. 215 "As true as I am alive," I exclaiined, "if you open this window, I will r)itch you out of it." And I prepared for war. The cur sneaked away, and made an exit, compared to which a whipped hound's would be majestic. * Am at the Bellevuc, a dcH^ditful hotel. My friendWilson Barrett is here, and I have come to spend the day with him. He is playing every night to crowded houses, and after each performance he has to make a speech. This is his third visit to Philadel- phia. During the first visit, he tells me that the audience wanted a speech after each act. It is always interesting to compare notes with a friend who has been over the same ground as yourself. So I was eager to hear Mr. Wilson Barrett's impres- sions of his long tour in the States. Several points we both perfectly agreed upon at once : the charming geniality and good-fellowship of the best Americans, the brilliancy and naturalness of the ladies, the wonderful intelligence and activity of the people, and the wearing monotony of life on the road. After the scene in the train, I was interested, too, to find that the train conductors — those mute, magnificent monarchs of the railroad — had awakened in Mr. Barrett much the same feeling as in myself. We Europeans are used to a form of obedience or, at least, deference from our paid servants, and the arrogant attitude of the American wage-earner first amazes, and then enrages us — when we have not enough humour, or good humour, to get some amuse- ment out of it. It is so novel to be tyrannised over by people whom you pay to attend to your comfort. The American keeps his temper under the process, for he is the best-humoured fellow in the world. li I 246 A rRKNCHMAN IN AMKKICA. Besides, a small squabble is no more in his line than a small anything 'jlse. It is not worth his while. The Westerner may out pistol and shoot you if you annoy him, but neither he nor the Eastern man will wranp^le for mastery. ' If such was the case, do you believe for a moment that the Americans would submit to the rule of the " Rings," the '* Leaders," and the "Bosses"? • • iK « I like Philadelphia, with its magnificent park, its beautiful houses that look like homes. It is not brand new hke the rest of America. My friend, Mr. J. M. Stoddart, editor of the LippincoWs Magazine^ has kindly chaperoned me all the day. I visited in detail the State House, Independence Square. These words evoke sentiments of patriotism in the hearts of all Americans. Here was the bell A FKKNCIlNfAN lU AMKKlCA. 247 5 than while, if you in will oment of the irk, its ; brand of the me all ndence riotism he bell that "proclaimed liberty throughout the Colonics" — so loudly that it split. It was on the 8th of July, 1776, that the bell was rung, as the public reading of the Declaration of Independence took place in the State House on that day, and there Wvre great rejoic- ings. John Adams, writing to Samuel Chase on the Qth of July, said : " The bell rang all day, and almost all night." It is recorded by one writer that, on the 4th of July, when the motion to adopt the Declaration passed the majority of the Assembly, although not signed by all the delegates, the old bellringer awaited anxiously, with trembling hope, the signing. He kept saying: "They'll never do it, they'll never do it 1 '* but his eyes expanded, and his grasp grew firm when the voice of a blue-eyed youth reached his ears in shouts of triumph as he flew up the stairs of the tower, shouting : " Ring, ring ! they've signed I " What a day this old " Liberty Bell " reminds you of! There, in the Independence Hall, the delegates were gathered. Benjamin Harrison, the ancestor of the present occupier of White House, seized John Hancock, upon whose head a price was set, in his arms, and placing him in the presidential chair, said ; " We will show Mother Britain how little we care for her, by making our President a Massachusetts man, whom she has excluded from pardon by public proclamation!" and, says Mr. Chauncey M. Depew in one of his beautiful orations, when they were signing the Declaration, and the slender Elbridge Gerry uttered the grim pleasantry, " We must hang together, or surely we will hang separately," the portly Harrison responded with the more daring humour, " It will be all over with me in a moment ; but you wiil be kicking in the air half-an-hour after I am gone." The National Museum is the auxiliary chamber to ill ra :\ i I ! : % 1:1 248 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. Independence Hall, and there you find many most interesting relics of Colonial and Revolutionary days : the silver inkstand used in signing the famous Declaration ; Hancock's chair; the little table upon which the document was signed, and hundreds of souvenirs piously preserved by genera- tions of grateful Americans. It is said that Philadelphia has produced only two successful men, Mr. Wanamaker, the great dry- goods store man, now a member of President Benjamin Harrison's Cabinet, and Mr. George W. Childs, proprietor of the Philadelphia Public Ledger, one of the most important and successful newspapers in the United States. I went to Mr. Wanamaker's dry-goods store, an establishment strongly reminding you of the Paris Bon March^ or Mr. Whiteley's warehouses in London. By far the most interesting visit was that which I paid to Mr. George W. Childs in his study at the Public Ledger'r offices. It would require a whole volume to describe in detail all the treasures that Mr. Childs has accumulated : curios of all kinds, rare books, manuscripts and autographs, portraits, china, relics from the celebrities of the world, etc. Mr. Childs, like the Prussians during their unwelcome visit to France in 1870, has a strong penchant for clocks. Indeed his collection is the most remarkable in existence. J.iLis study is not only a sanctum sanctorum, it is a museum that not only the richest lover of art would pr poss( any A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. 249 y most y days : cstand ig the ration ; ir; the 1 which : was indreds piously genera- ateful ed only eat dry- resident )rge W. Ledger, spapers e ore, an Paris ^ondon. : which V at the whole es that kinds, ^rtraits, :ld, etc. welcome lant for arkable ictorum, r of art 1 woulJ be too glad to acquire, if it could be acquired ; but Mr. Childs is a very wealthy man, and he means to keep it, and, I understand, to hand it over to his successor in the ownership of the Public Ledger. Mr. George W. Childs is a man of about fifty years of age, short and plump, with a most kind and amiable face. His munificence and philanthropy are well known, and, as I understand his character, I believe he would not think much of my gratitude to him for the kindness he showed me, if I dwelt on them in these pages. # Thanks to my kind friends, every mmute has been occupied visiting some interesting place, or meeting some interesting people. I shall lecture here next month, and shall look forward to the pleasure of being in Philadelphia again. ''A Boss." 'T i ! ' li 250 A l^RENCHMAN IN AMERICA. At the Union League Club I met Mr. Rufus E. Shapley, who kindly gave me a copy of his clever and witty political satire Solid for Mulhooly, illustrated by Mr. Thomas Nast. I should advise anyone, who would understand how Jonathan is ruled municipally, to peruse this little book. It gives the history of Pat's rise from the Irish cabin in Connaught to the City Hall of the large American cities. " When one man," says Mr. Shapley, " owns and dominates four wards or counties, he becomes a Leader. Half-a-dozen such Leaders combined con- stitute what is called a Ring. When one Leader is powerful enough to bring three or four such Leaders under his yoke, he becomes a Boss ; and a Boss wields a power almost as absolute, while it lasts, as that of the Czar of Russia or the King of Zululand." Extracts from this book would not do it justice. It should be read in its entirety. I read ic with all A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. 251 iufus E. 2ver and ustrated »ne, who licipally, story of It to the wns and ;omes a led con- eader is Leaders a Boss lasts, as Inland." justice, with all I If pleasure that in Jonathan and his Continent I ventured to say: " The English are always won denng why Americans all seem to be in favour of Z^^s^y^^f ^^ t%tou."^^L\r ^ht Vr^t o^xy^%twill\v.Th^m-^- -^ ---- A foreigner, who criticises a nation, is happy to see his opinions shared by the natives. ^ 11 li CHAPTER XXXII. My Ideas of the State of Texas — Why I Did Not go There— The Story of a Frontier Man. Hew IJorft 5tb /lBarcb» I HAVE had cold audiences in Maine and Con- necticut ; indifferent ones in several cities, while I have been warmly received in many others. It seems that, if I went to Texas, I might get it hot. Have received to-day a Texas paper containing a short editorial marked at the four corners in blue pencil. Impossible not to see it. The editorial abuses me from the first line to the last. When there appears in a paper an article, or even only a short paragraph, abusing you, you never run the risk of not seeing it. There always is, somewhere, a kind friend who will post it to you. He thinks you may be getting a little conceited, and he forwards the article to you, that you may use it as wholesome physic. It does him good, and does you no harm. The article in question begins by charging me with having ^urned America and the Americans into ridicule, goes on wondering that the Americans can receive me so well every where and, after pitching into me right and left, winds up with a warning that, if I should go to Texas, I might for a change meet with a hot reception. A shot, perhaps. A shot in Texas ! No, no, no. I won't go to Texas. I should strongly object to A FRENCHMAN IN AME: 253 Not go id Con- while I irs. It it hot. fntaining ; in blue [editorial When only a the risk a kind you may ards the lolesome harm, ging me ans into cans can pitching warning change object to being shot anywhere, but especially in Texas where the event would attract so little public attention. * * i^ * Yet, I should have liked to go to Texas, for was it not from that State that, after the publication of Jonathan and his Continent^ I received the two following letters, which I have kept among my trea- sures ? ** Dear Sir, — I have read your book on America, and greatly enjoyed it. Please send me your autograph. I enclose a ten cent piece. The postage will cost you five cents. Don't trouble about the change." *' My Dear Sir, — I have an album containing the pliotographs of many well-known people from Europe as well as from America. I should much like to add yours to the number. If you will send it to me, I will send you mine and that of my wife in return." it -it a it V 1 ; , f: ■ !• i ! 11 i: V ' .1 . :| 'li 254 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. And I also imagine that there must be in Texas a delightful primitiveness of manners, good-fellowship. A friend once related to me the following remin- iscence : " I arrived one evening in a little Texas town, and asked for a bedroom at the hotel. " There was no bedroom to be had, but only a bed in a double-bedded room. *' * Will that suit you ? ' said the clerk. ** * Well, I don't know,' I said hesitatingly. *Who is the other ? ' " * Oh, that's Jill right,' said the clerk, 'you may set your mind at rest on that subject.' " * Very well,' I replied, ' I will take that bed.' ** At about ten o'clock, as I was preparing to go to bed, my bedroom companion entered. It was a frontier man in full uniform: Buffalo Bill hat, leather leggings, a belt accommodating a couple of revolvers — no baggage of any kind. " I did not like it. ** * Hallo, stranger,' said the man, * how are you ? ' ** * I'm pretty well,' I replied, without meaning a word of it. "The frontier man undressed, that is to say, took off his boots, placed the two revolvers under his pillows, and lay down. ** I Hked it less and less. " By-and-by, we both went to sleep. In the morning, we woke at the same time. He rose, dressed, that is to say, put on his boots, and wished me good-morning. " Thd hall porter came w'ith letters for my com- panion, but none for me. I thought I should like to let that man know I had no money with me ; so I said to him : " * I am very much disappointed. I expected some money from New York, and it has not come, ** * I hope it will come,' he replied. A FRFNCHMAN IN AMERICA. 255 Texas wship. remin- rUf and only a *Who DU may )ed.' to go to was a leather ivolvers 2 you?' aning a ly, took der his In the e rose, wished y com- like to 2 ; so I 2d some " I did not like that hope. " In the evening we met again. He undressed — you know , went to sleep, rose early in the morning, dressed — you know. ** The porter came again with letters for him and none for me. " * Well, your money has not come,' he said. ** * I see it has not. I'm afraid I'm going to be in a fix what to do.' tnr; I I i III; M III. iii 256 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. "'I'm going away this morning.* ** * Are you ? I said, * I 'm sorry to part with yon.* "The frontier man took a little piece of paper and wrote something on it. ** * Take this, my friend,' he said, ' it may be useful to you.' " It was a cheque for a hundred dollars. "I could have gone c wn • my knees, as I refused tiie cheque, and ask . .: lit man's pardon. * Lectured in Brooklyn to-night, and am off to the West to-morrow morning. ' '^ h yon.* paper lay be s, as I don. f to the CHAPTER XXXIII. Cincinnati — The Town — The Stihnrbs — A German City — " Over the Rhine " — What is a Good Patriot ? — An Impressive Ftmeral — A Great Fire — How it Appeared to Me, and how it Appeared to the Newspaper Reporters. Cincinnati, 7tb /Ibarcb. My arrival in Cincinnati this morning was anything but triumphal. On leaving the car, I gave my check to a cab- driver, who soon came to inform me that my valise was broken. It was a leather one, and on being thrown from the baggage van on the platform, it burst open, and all the contents were scattered about. 18 .■i ,-v*>^ ir f ! ^ II 258 A FRENCHMAN IN ANfKRICA. In England or in France, half a dozen porters would have immediately come to the rescue, but here the porter is practically unknown. Three or four men, beloniijing to the company, gathered round ; but, neither out of complaisance nor in the hope of gain, did any of them offer his services. They looked on, laughed, and enjoyed the scene. I daresay the betting was brisk as to whether I should succeed in putting my things together or not. Thanks to a leather strap in my bag, I managed to bind the portmanteau and have it placed on the cab that drove me to the Burnett House. Immediately after registering, I went to buy an American trunk — that is to say, an iron-bound trunk — to place my things in safety. I have been told that trunk-makers give a commission to the railway and transfer baggaj^e men who, having broken trunks, recommend their owners to go to such-and-such a place to buy new ones. This goes a long way towards explaining the way in which baggage is treated in America. On arriving in the dining-room I was surprised to see the glasses of all the guests filled with lemonade. ** Why," thought I, " here is actually an hotel which is not like all the other hotels." The lemonade turned out to be water from the Ohio river. I could not help feeling grateful for a change — any change, even that of the colour of water. Anybody who has travelled a great deal in America will appreciate the remark. Cincinnati is built at the bottom of a funnel, from which rise hundreds of chimneys vomiting fire and smoke. From the neighbouring heights, the city looks like a huge furnace ; and so it is, a furnace of industry and activity. It reminded me of Glasgow. If the city itself is anything but attractive, the residential parts are perfectly lovely. I have seen I ;S ^ i !■ A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. 259 ^vould re the • men, ; but, [ gain, ed on, ay the ;eed in :s to a nd the lb that to buy i-bound I have 5sion to , having go to his goes 1 which |urprised led with ually an ." The e Ohio change If water. America funnel, liting fire jhts, the furnace me of ktive, the ave seen nothing in America that surpasses Burnett Wood, situated on the bordering heights of the town, scattered with beautiful villas, and itself a mixture of a wilderness and a lovely park. A kind friend drove me for three hours through the entire neigh- bourhood, giving me in American fashion, the history of the owner of each residence we passed. Here was the house of Mr. A. — or rather Mr. A. B. C, every American having three names. He came to the city twenty years ago without a dollar. Five years later, he had five millions. He speculated and lost all, went to Chicago and made millions, which he afterwards lost. Now again he has several millions, and so on. This is common enough in America. By-and-by, we passed the mcat beautiful of all the villas of Burnett Woods— the house of the Oil King, Mr. Alexander Macdonald, one of those wonderfully successful men, such as Scotland alone can boast all the world over. America has been a great field for the display of Scotch intelligence and industry. After visiting the pretty museum at Eden Park — a museum organised in 1880, in consequence of Mr. Charles W. West's offer to give $150,000 for that purpose, and already in possession of very good works of art and many valuable treasures, we returned to the city and stopped at the Public Library. Over 200,000 volumes, representing all the branches of science and literature, are there, as well as a collec- tion of all the newspapers of the world, placed in chronological order on the shelves and neatly bound. I believe that this collection of newspapers and that of Washington are the two best known. In the public reading-room, hundreds of people are running over the newspapers from Europe ^nd all the principal cities of the United States. My best thanks are due to Mr. Whelpley, the librarian, for his kindness in conductin^i me all over this interesting place. 18 * il' 260 A FRENCHMAN IN AMKUICA. li ■l!: f Upstairs I was shown the room where the members of the Cf)Uii(il of Education hold their sittings. The room was all topsy-turvy. Twenty-six desks and twenty-six chairs was about all the furniture of the room. In a corner, piled up to^'ether, werr, the cuspidores. I counted. Twenty-six. Right. After thanking my kind pilot, I returned to the Burnett House to read the evenin^^ papers. I read that the next day I was to breakfast with Mr. A., lunch with Mr. B., and dine with Mr. C. The vtcnu was not published. I am of an indulgent disposition, and therefore take it for granted that this piece of intelligence is quite interesting to the readers of Cincinnati. The evening being free, I looked at the column 01 amusements. The first was not tempting, it was this: ■■^ 1 h ;l ! ii [ ;! I b0 M V) >, W) c HI Ul « " M ^ ^ a w O rt rS Ch _, lU w , ^-j \M t"^ L4 '" H 0^ . S d ij "^ ifl 0) ♦-' ™ o « ° S-S u.t; rt ^ O in"** (/) V 4J a..i2^ !C, «!^ s iJT3 O < o H 0) r Briish- ;e combi- rent rail- y. Shall of tlicm, )r dining : uniform elf, yet I he dining a place en huts, nts, the 'ary, two school, a the signs e Green 3d where A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. 273 food could be obtained. A little wooden hut, on the other side of the station, bearing the ins( liption Lunch Room, was pointed out to me. Lunch in America has not the meaning that it has in England, as I often experienced to my despair. Liuich-room, beware ! I entered the place. Several people were eating pies, fruit pies, pies with crust under and crust over — sealed mysteries. " I want something to eat," I said to a man behind the counter, who was in possession of only one eye, and hailed from Old Oireland. " What 'd ye loike ? " replied he, winking with the eye that was not there. " Well, what have you got ?" "Peach poy, apricot poy, apple poy, and mince poy." "Is that all?" "And, shure, what more do you want ?" I have always suspected something mysterious about mince pies. At home, I eat mince pies. I also trust my friends' cooks. Outside, 1 pass. I think that mince pies and sausages should be made at home. " I like a little variety," I said to the Irishman. K'' V. n 19 ^, IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 i.l ■^ 1^ i: 2f B4 ""i 122 Vi 110 2.0 1.8 1.25 Iju II 1.6 ^ 6" - ^ ^ Photographic Sciences Corporation <\ ci>^ :\ \ [v w^ ^' 6^ 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. MS80 (716) 872-4503 ? u. ^o ♦!* 274 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. ill I ill: 1 1 I'- i ** Give me a small slice of apple pie, one of apricot pie, and another of peach pie." The Irishman stared at me. "What's the matter with the mince poy?" he said. I could see that he resented the insult offered to his mince pies. I ate my pies and returned on the platform. I was told that the train was two hours behind time, and I should be too late to catch the last Brushville train at the next change. I walked and smoked. The three pies began to get acquainted together. 3Bru0bvillc, I2tb /Rarcb. Oh, those pies 1 At the last change yesterday, I arrived too late for the Brushville train. A fortune I would have given for a dinner and a bed, which now seemed more problematic than ever. The pies were there. I went to the station-master. " Can I have a special train to take me to Brush- ville to-night?" ** A hundred dollars." ** How much for a locomotive alone?" " Sixty dollars." " Have you a freight train going to Brushville ?" *' What will you do with it ?" ** Board it." ** Board it ! I can't stop the train." " I '11 take my chance." *' Your life is insured?" ** Yes — for a great deal more than it is worth." " Very well," he said, ** I '11 let you do it for five dollars." And he looked as if he was going to enjoy the n apricot )y?" he offered orm. I id time, 'usbville ogether. A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. 275 too late |cr and a lan ever. Brush- mile?" )rth." for five ijoy the fun. The freight train arrived, slackened speed, and I boarded, with my portmanteau and my umbrella, a waggon loaded with timber. I placed my portmanteau on the timber — you know, the one I had when travelling in " the neighbourhood of Chicago"- -sat on it, opened my umbrella, and waved a " ta-ta " to the station-master. It was raining fast, and I had a journey of some thirty miles to make at the rate of about twelve miles an hour. Oh, those pies! They now seemed to have re- solved to fight it out. Sacrebleii I de bleu ! de bleu ! ! A few miles from Brushville I had to get out, or rather, get down, and take a ticket for Brushville on board a local train. Benumbed with cold, wet through, and famished, I arrived here at eleven o'clock last night. The peach pie, the apple pie, and the apricot pie had settled their differences, and become on friendly and accommodating terms. i was able, on arriving at the hotel, to enjoy some light refreshments, which I only obtained, at that time of night, thanks to the manager whom I had the pleasure of knowing personally. At midnight I went to bed, or, to use a more proper expression for my Philadelphian readers, I retired. I had been ** retiring " for about half-an-hour when there came a knock at the door. 19 * ;, : I < if! ' ; i ^ It' iM 276 A FRENCHMAN IN AMRRICA. "Who's there?" I grumbled from under the bed clothes. " A representative of the Brushville JourmiL'" "Oh!" said I, "I am very sorry— but I'm asleep." " Please let me in, I won't detain you very long." " I guess you won't. Now, please do not insist. I am tired, upset, ill, and I want rest. Come to- morrow morning." " No, I can't do that," answered the voice behind the door ; " my paper appears in the morning, and I want to put in something about you." " Now, do go away," I pleaded, ** there 's a good fellow." " I must see you," insisted the voice. "You go!" I cried ; "you go!" For a couple of minutes there was silence, and I thought the interviewer was gone. The illusion was sweet, but short. There was another knock, followed by a " I really must see you to-night." Seeing that there would be no peace until I had let the reporter in.. I unbolted the door, and jumped back into my — you know. It was pitch dark. The door opened, and I heard the reporter's steps in the room. By-and-by, the sound of a pocket being searched was distinct. It was his own. A match was pulled out and struck. The premises examined and reconnoitred. A chandelier with three lights hung in the middle of the room. The reporter, speechless and solemn, lighted one burner, two, three; chose the most comfortable seat, and installed himself in it, looking at me with an air of triumph. I was sitting up, wild and dishevelled, in my " retiring" clothes. ^' Que voulcz-vous?"' I wanted to yell, my state of drowsiness allowing me to think only in French, A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. 277 r the bed irnal.'" -but I'm lot insist. Come to- ce behind ng, and I Instead of translating this query by " What do you want ?" as I should have done if I had been in the complete enjo3ment of my intellectual faculties, I shouted to him : ''What will 30U have?" "Oh, thanks, I'm not particular," he calmly re- plied ; " I 11 have a little whisky and soda — rye whisky, please." My face must have been a study as I rang for whisky and soda. The mixture was brought — for two. "I suppose you have no objection to my smoking?" coolly said the man in the room. K 1 'I i ;; 1 : 's a good ice, and I usion was I, followed eeing that e reporter I into my reporter's Lind of a .s his own. 3 premises the middle id solemn, the most it, looking ed, in my ny state of Tcnch, I "Not at all," I remarked; "this is perfectly lovely, I begin to enjoy it." He pulled out his pocket-book and his pencil, crossed his legs, and having drawn a long whiff from his cigar, he said : !; 278 A FRENCHNfAN IN AMERICA. It '■ m i ' ^'i i " I see that you have no lecture to deliver in Brushville, may a ask you what you have come here for?" " Now," said I, ** what the deuce is that to you ? If this is the kind of questions you have to ask me, you go." Here I. stopped, and did not suggest any par- ticular place. He pocketed the rebuff, and went on undisturbed : " How are you struck with Brushville ?" "I am struck," said I, "with the cheek of some of the inhabitants. I have driven to this hotel from the station in a closed carriage, and I have seen nothing of your city." The man wrote down something. **I lecture to-morrow night," I continued,** before the students of the State University, and I have come here for rest." He took this down. ** All this, you see, is very uninteresting ; so, good- night." And I disappeared. The interviewer rose and came to my side. " Really, now that I am here, you may as well let me have a chat with you." "You wretch!" I exclaimed. "Don't you see that I am dying for sleep ? Is there nothing sacred for you ? Have you lost all sense of charity ? Have you no mother ? Don't you believe in future punish- ment ? Are you a man or a demon ? " "Tell me some anecdotes, some of your reminis- cences of the road," said the man with a sardonic grin. I made no reply. The imperturbable reporter resumed his seat and smoked. "Are you gone?" I sighed from under the blankets. The answer came in the following words : A FRKNCHMAN IN AMERICA. 279 ver in le here » you ? sk nie, y par- urbcd : f some i\ from e seen ' before I have , good- is well ou see sacred Have )unish- jininis- rdonic porter er the ** I understand, sir, that when you were a younj^^ man " "When I was what?" I interrupted from my pillow. " I understand, sir, that when you were ijiiitc a younp^ man," repeated the interviewer witli the sentence improved, "that you were an officer in the French army." ** I was," I murmured in the same position. " I also understand that you fought duriuj,^ the Franco-Prussian war." "I did." " May I ask you to give me some reminiscences of the Franco-Prussian war, just enough to fill about a column ?" I rose and again sat up. " Free citizen of the great American Republic," said I, ** beware, beware ! There will be blood shed in this room to-night." And I seized my pillow. ** You are not meaty," exclaimed the reporter. " May I inquire what the meaning of this strange expression is?" I said, frowning. "I don't speak American fluently." " It means," he replied, "that there is very little to be got out of you." "Are you going?" I said, smihng. " Well, I guess I am." "Good-night." "Good-night." I bolted the door, turned out the gas, and re- " retired." " Poor fellow," I thought, " perhaps he relied on me to supply him with material for a column. I might have chatted with him. After all, these re- porters have invariably been kind to me. I might cis well have obliged him. What is he going to do?" >!| • I iif I 'I j '1 ) 280 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. And I d/eamed that he was dismissed. I ought to have known better. This morning I opened the Brushville Journal and, to my stupefaction, saw a cokimn about me. My impressions of Brushville, that I had no oppor- tunity of looking at, were there. Nay, more. I would blush to record here the exploits I performed during the Franco-Prussian war, as related by this interviewer, especially those which took place at the battle of Gravelotte, where, unfortunately, I was not present. The whole thing was well written. The reference to my military services began thus : " Last night a hero of the great Franco- Prussian War slept under the hospitable roof of Morrison Hotel, in this city." '* Slept ! " This was adding insult to injury. This morning I had the v.^it of two more reporters. " What do you think of Brushville ?" they said ; and, seeing that I would not answer the question, they volunteered information on Brushville, and talked loud on the subject. I have no doubt that the afternoon papers will publish my impressions of Brushville. Journal •out me. 3 oppor- nore. I irformed i by this place at y, I was written, in thus: Prussian ^lorrison ury. o more ey said ; luestion, lie, and abt that >sions of CIIAITKR XXXV. The University of Indiana — Indianapolis — The Veterans of the Grand Army of the Republic on the Spree — A Marvellous Equilibrist. JSloomitidton, 5nD., I3tb ASavcb. Lectured yesterday before the students of the University of Indiana, and visited the different buildings this morning. The University is situated on a hill in the midst of a wood, about half-a-mile from the little town of Bloomington. In a few days I shall be at Ann Arbor, the University of Michigan, the largest in America, I am told. I will wait till then to jot down my impressions of University life in this country. I read in the papers: "Prince Saunders, coloured, was hanged here (Plaquemine, Florida) yesterday. He declared he had made his peace with God, and his sins had been forgiven. Saunders murdered Rhody Walker, his sweetheart, last December, a few hours after he had witnessed the execution of Carter Wilkinson." If Saunders has made his peace with God, I hope his executioners have made theirs with God and man. What an indictment against man ! What an argument against capital punishment ! Here is a man committing a murder on returning from wit- nessing an execution. And there are men still to be found who declare that capital punishment deters men from committing murder ! if If »! 282 A FKJiNCHMAN IN AMHKICA. I 5nNanapoU6, Htb /l^avcb* Arrived here yesterday afternoon. Met James Whitconib Riley, the Hoosier poet. Mr. Riley is a man of about thirty, a genuine poet, full of pathos and humour, and a great reciter. No one, I imagine, could give his poetry as he does himself. He is a born actor, who holds you in suspense, and makes you cry or laugh just as he pleases. I remember, when two years ago Mr. Augustin Daly gave a fare- well supper to Mr. Henry Irving and Miss KUen Terry at Delmonico's, Mr. Riley recited one of his poems at table. He gave most of us a big lump in our throats, and Miss Terry had tears rolling down her cheeks. The veterans of the Grand Army of the Republic ■IT ' i nny contains 70,041 volumes, 14,626 un- bound brochures, and 514 maps anii charts. The University also possesses beautiful labora- tories, museums, an astronomical observatory, collections, workshops of all sorts, a lecture hall capable of accommodating,' over two thousand people, art studios, etc., etc. Almost every school has a buildinp^ of its own, so that the University is like a little busy town. No visit that I have ever paid to a public institution interested me so much as the short one which I paid to the University of Michigan yesterday. # • « • Dined this evening with Mr. W. H. Brearley, editor of the Detroit 3^o«n/rt/. Mr. Brearley thinks that the Americans, who received from France such a beautiful present as the statue of ** Liberty enlight- ening the World," oi.ght to present the mother country of Gen. La Fayette with a token of her gratitude and affection, and he has started a national subscription to carry out his idea. He has already received support, moral and substantial. I can assure him that nothing would touch the hearts of the French people more than such a tribute of grati- tude and friendship from the other great Republic. In the evening I had a crowded house in the large Lecture Hall of the Christian Young Men's Association. After the lecture, I met an interesting French- man residing in Detroit. " I was told, a month ago when I paid my first visit to Detroit, that there were twenty-five thousand French people living here," I said to him. "The number is exaggerated, I believe," he A lUKNCHMAN IN AMI-KICA. 299 iigan he replied, " but certainly wc arc about twenty thousand." " I suppose you have French Societies, a I'lench Cub ?" I ventured. He smiled. "Tbc Germans have," he said, "but wo have not. We have tried many times to found I'rench cUibs in this city, so as to establish friendly iriter- course among our compatriots, but wc have always failed." "How is that?" I asked. " Well, I don't know. They all wanted to be president, or vice-presidents. They (piarrelled among themselves." "When six Frenchmen meet to start a society," I said, "one will be president, two vice-iiresidents, one secretary, and the other assistant-secretary. If the sixth cannot obtain an ofiicial position, he will resign and go about abusing the other five." "That's just what happened." It was my turn to smile. Why should the French in Detroit be different from the French all over the world, except perhaps in their own country ? A Frenchman out of France is like a fish out of water. He loses his native amiability and becomes a sort of suspicious person, who spends his life in thinking that ev Tybody wants to tread on his corns. " When two Frenchmen meet in a foreign land," goes an old saying, " there is one too many." In Chicago, there are two Frenchmen engaged in teaching the natives of the city " how to speak and write the French language correctly." The people of Chicago maintain that the streets are too narrow to let these two Frenchmen pass, when they walk in opposite directions. And it appears that one of them has lately started a little French paper — to abuse the other in. I think that all the faults and weaknesses of the i. h 9\ii III H 1 t' 1 > - 1 II H 300 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. ^>f /f^li^v-^ French can be accounted for by the presence of a defect — ^jealousy, and the absence of a quaHty — humour. #( « « « ©berUn, ©., 24tb Mavcb. Have to-night given a lecture to the students of Oberhn College, a religious institution founded by the late Rev. Charles Finney, the friend of the slaves, and whose voice, they say, when he preached, shook the earth. '1 lie college is open to coloured students ; but in an audience of about a thousand young men and women, I could only discover the presence of two descendants of Ham. Originally, many coloured students attended at Oberlin College, but the number steadily decreased A IKILNCIIMAN IN AMERICA. 301 y] '^ K every year, and to-day there are only very few. The coloured student is not officially " boycotted," but he has probably discovered by this time that he is not wanted in Oberlin College any more than in the orchestra stalls of an American theatre. The Declaration of Independence proclaims that " all men are created equal," but I never met a man in America (much less still a woman) who believed this or who acted upon it. The railroad companies have special cars for coloured people, and the saloons special bars. At Detroit, I was told yesterday that a respectable and wealthy mulatto resident, who had been refused service in one of the leading restaurants of the town, brought an action against the proprietor, but that, although there was no dispute of the facts, the jury, unani- mously decided against the plaintiff, who was more- r :f i: I 302 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. over mulcted in costs to a heavy amount. But all this is nothing : the Young Men's Christian Associa- tion, one of the most representative and influential corporations in the United States, refuses to admit coloured youths to membership. It is just possible that, in a few years, coloured students will have ceased to study at Oberlin College. I can perfectly well understand that Jonathan should not care to associate too closely with the coloured people; for, although they do not inspire me with repulsion, still I cannot imagine — well, I cannot understand, for one thing, how the mulatto can exist. But since the American has to live alongside the negro, would it not be worth his while to treat him politely and honestly, give him his due as an equal, if not in his eyes, at any rate in the eyes of the Law ? Would it not be worth his while to remember that the " darkey " cannot be gradually disposed of, like the Indian? for Sambo adapts himself to his sur- roundings, multiplies apace, goes to school, and knows how to read, write, and reckon. Reckon especially. It might be well to remember too that all the greatest, bloodiest revolutions the world has ever seen were set on foot, not to pay off hardships, but as a revenge for injustice. Uncle Tom's Cabin was called a romance, nothing but a romance, by the aristocratic Southerners, but, to use the Carlylian phrase, their skins went to bind the hundreds of editions of that book. Another Uncle Tout's Cabin may yet appear. America will have *' to work her thinking machine" seriously on this subject, and that before many years are over. If the next presidental election is not run on the negro question, the succeeding one surely will be. But all ssocia- uential admit )loured Dberlin nathan th the inspire well, I Qulatto ide the at him qual, if Law ? er that of, like is sur- )1, and Reckon all the IS ever ps, but nn was by the irlylian reds of s Cabin linking before election ing one CHAPTER XXXVIII. Mr. and Mrs. Kendal in New York — Joseph Jefferson — Julian Hawthorne — Miss Ada Rehan — ''As You Like It " at Daly's Theatre. mew l^orft, 28tb ^arcb. The New York papers this morning announce that the " Society of Young Girls of Pure Character on the Stage" give a lunch to Mrs. Kendal to- morrow. Mr. and Mrs. Kendal have conquered America. Their tour is a triumphal march through the United States, a huge success artistically, financially and socially. I am not surprised at it. I went to see them a few days ago in The Ironmaster, and they delighted me. As Claire, Mrs. Kendal was admirable. She almost succeeded in making me forget Madame Jane Hading, who created the part at the Gymnase, in Paris, six years ago. * *4 # * This morning Mr. Joseph Jefferson called on me at the Everett House. The veteran actor, who looks more like a man of fifty than like one of seventy, is now playing with Mr. William Florence in The Rivals. I had never seen him off the stage. I immediately saw that the characteristics of the actor were the characteristics of the man : kindness, naturalness, simplicity, bonhomie and finesse. An admirable actor, a great artist, and a lovable man. At the Down Town Club, I lunched with the son of Nathaniel Hawthorne, the greatest novelist that \l : I I? II.4 304 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. America has yet produced, Mr. Julian Hawthorne, himself a novelist of repute. Lately he has written a series of sensational novels in collaboration with the famous New York detective, Inspector Byrnes. Mr. Julian Hawthorne is a man of about forty-five, tall, well-proportioned, with an artistic-lookin^^ head, crowded with greyish hair, that reminds a French- man of Alexandre Dumas and an American of Nathaniel Hawthorne. A charming unaffected man, and a delightful causeur. In the evening I went to Daly's Theatre, and saw As You Like It. That bewitching queen of actresses, Miss Ada Rehan, played Rosalind. Miss Rehan is so original that it would be perfectly im- possible to compare her to any of the other great actresses of France and England. She is like nobody else. She is herself. The coaxing drawl of her musical voice, the vivacity of her movements, the whimsical spontaneity that seems tc direct her acting, her tall handsome figure, her beautiful in- tellectual face, all tend to make her a unique actress. She fascinates you, and so gets hold of yoir, that when she is on the stage she entirely fills it. Mr. John Drew as Orlando, and Mr. James Lewis as Touchstone^ were admirable. It matters little what the play bill announces at Daly's Theatre. If I have not seen the play, I am sure to enjoy it ; if I have jeen it already, I am sure to enjoy it again. '% . i I i i ^ , CHAPTER XXXIX. Washington— The City—WillarcVs Hotel— The PoU- ticiiDis — General BenjcDtiin Harrison, U.S. President — - Washington Society — Baltimore —Philadelphia. Arrived here the day before yesterday, and put np at Willard's. I prefer this hu^^e hotel to the other more modern houses of the Capital, because HI 306 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. li r -r it is thoroughly American; because it is in its rotunda that every evening the leading men of all parties and the notables of the nation may be found ; because to meet at Willard's at night is as much the regular thing as to perform any of the official functions of office during the day ; because, to use the words of a guide which speaks the truth, it is pleasant to live in this historical place, in apartments where battles have been planned and political parties have been born or doomed to death, to become familiar with surroundings amid which Presidents have drawn their most important papers, and have chosen their Cabinet Ministers, and where the proud beauties of a century have held their court. * On the subject of Washington hotels, I was told a good story the other day. The most fashionable hotel of this city having out- grown its space, the proprietors sent a note to a lady whose backyard adjoined, to say that, contem- plating still enlarging their hotel, they would be glad to know at what price she would sell her yard, and they would hand her the amount without any more discussion. The lady, in equally Yankee style, replied that she had been contemplating enlarging her backyard, and was going to enquire what they would take for part of their hotel. a- How beautiful this city of Washington is, with its wide avenues, its parks, and its buildings ! That Capitol, in white marble, standing on elevated ground against a bright blue sky, is a poem, an epic poem. I am never tired of looking at the expanse of cloudless blue that is almost constantly stretched overhead. The sunsets are glorious. The poorest A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. 307 in its of all found ; ich the official to use I, it is tments parties )ecome sidents d have I proud as told ng out- te to a Dntem- De glad d, and ' more style, arging they ;, with That evated in epic nse of etched oorest existence would seem bearable under such skies. I am told they are better still further West. I fancy I should enjoy to spend some time in a farm, deep in the country, far from the noisy crowded streets, but I fear I am condemned to see none but the busy haunts of Jonathan. it * In the evening I went to what is called a Coloured Church. The place was packed with negroes of all shades and ages, the women, some of them, very -S^-,; '^^^iM>^ ^^^^^..^f. ,,^ smartly dressed, and waving scarlet fans. In a pew sat a trio truly gorgeous. Mother in black shiny satin, light brown velvet mantle covered with iri- descent beads, bonnet to match. Daughter of fifteen : costume of sky-blue satin, plush mantle scarlet-red, chinchilla fur trimmings, white hat with feathers. Second girl or daughter : light-blue velvet from top to toe, with large hat apple-green and gold. Everyone was intently listening to the preacher, a coloured man, who gave them, in graphic language and stentorian voice, the story of the capture of the Jews by Cyrus, their slavery and their delivery. A low accompaniment of "Yes!" "Hear, hear!" 21 * •I 308 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. " Allelujah ! " " Glory ! " from the hearers showed their approbation of the discourse. From time to time there would he a general chuckle or laughter and exclama- tions of delight from the happy grin-lit mouths, as, ( I ^i\ 1: for instance, when the preacher described the supper of Belshazzar and the appearance of the writing on the wall in his own droll fashion. " Let's have a fine supper," said Belshazzar. *' Dere's ole Cyrus out dere, but we'll have a good time and enjoy our- selves and never mind him. So he went for de cups dat had come from de temple of Jerusalem, and began carousin'. Dere is Cyrus all de while marchin' his men up de bed ob de river. I see him comin' ! I see him!" Then he pictured the state all that wicked party got in at the sight of the writing nobody could read, and by this time the excitement of the ongregation was tremendous. The preacher thought this a good opportunity to point a moral. So he proceeded: "Now drink's a poor thing; A FKICNCHMAN IN AMERICA. 309 dere's too much of it in dis here city." Here followed a picture of certain darkies who cut a dash with shiny hats and canes, and fre(]uented bars and saloons. " When folks take to drinkin', somefin's sure to go wrong." Grins and grunts of approba- tion culminated in perfect shouts of glee as the preacher said : " Ole Belshazzar and the rest of 'em forgot to shut de city gate, and in came Cyrus and his men." They went nearly wild with pleasure over the story of the liberation of the Jews, and incidental remarks on their own freeing. ' Oh, let dcm go," said their masters when they found the game was up, "dey'll soon perish and die out!" Here the preacher laughed loudly and then shouted : *' But we don't die out so easy!" (Grins and chuckling.) One old negro was very funny to watch. When something met with his approval, he gave off a little ** Tchsu, tchsu ! " and writhed forwards and back on his seat for a moment, apparently in intense enjoy- ment, then jumped off his seat, turning round once 3 TO A rUENCHMAN IN AMERICA. or twice; then he would listen intently again, as if afra'd to lose a word. ** I see dis, I see dat," said the preacher con- tinually. His listeners seemed to see it too. At ten minutes to twelve yesterday morning, I called at the White House. The President had left the library, but he was kind enough to return, and at twelve I had the honour to spend a few minutes in the company of General Benjamin Harrison. Two years ago I was receive i by NIr. Grover Cleve- land with the same courtesy ind the same total absence of ceremony. The President of the United States is a man about fifty-five years old, short, exceedingly neat and even rcckcrchd in his appearance. The hair and beard are white, the eyes small and very keen. The face is severe, but lights up with a most gentle and kind smilo. General Harrison is a popular President ; but the souvenir of Mrs. Cleveland is still hrfunting the minds of the Washingtonians. They will never forget the most beautiful lady who ever did the honours of the White House, and most of them look forward to the possibility of her returning to Washington in March, 1893. * Washington Society moves in circles and sets. The wife of the President and the wives and daughters of the Cabinet Ministers form the first set — Olympus, as it were. The second set is composed of the ladies belonging to the families of the Judges of the Supreme Court. The Senators come next. The army circle comes fourth. The Hoise of Repre- sentatives supplies the last set. Each circle, a Washington friend tells me, is controlled by rigid A FRKNCHMAN IN AM1:KICA. 311 as if con- laws of etiquette. Senators' wives consider them- selves much superior to the wives of Conj^Messmcn, and the Judges' wives consider themselves much above those of the Senators. Hut, as a rule, the ^'reat lion of Washington Society is the British Minister, especially when he happens to be a real live English lord. All look up to him ; and if a young titled English attacM wishes to marry the ricThest heiress of the Capital, all he has to do is to throw the handkerchief, the young and the richest natives do not stand the ghost of a chance. Lectured last night in the Congregational Church to a largo and most fashionable audience. Senator Hoar took the chair, and introduced me in a short, neat, gracefully worded little speech. In to-day's Washington Star^ I find the following remark : " The lecturer was handsomely introduced by vSenator Hoar, who combines the dignity of an Englishman, the sturdiness of a Scotchman, the savoir-faire of a Frenchman, and the culture of a Bostonian." What a strange mixture ! I am trying to find where the compliment comes in, surely not in " the savoir-faire of a Frenchman." Armed with a kind letter of introduction to Miss Kate Field, I called this morning at the office of this lady, who is characterised by a prominent journalist as ** the very brainiest woman in the United States." Unfortunately she was out of town. I should have liked to make the personal ac- quaintance of this brilliant, witty woman, who speaks, I am told, as she writes, in clear, caustic, fearless style. My intention was to interview her a bit. A telegram was sent to her in New York from her secretary, and her answer was wired imme- 312 A IKICNCIIMAN IN AMI'UICA. I ^ HI ' H Bl r ■ t M diiitcly ; " lutcivicw ////;/." So, instead of iiitcrview- \n^ Miss Kate Field, I was intcrvicvviMl, f(jr her paper, l)y a young and very pretty lady journalist. .•(Baltimore, 4tb Bpril. Have spent the day here with some friends. IJaltiniore strikes one as a cpiiet, sohd, somewhat provincial town. It is an eminently middle-elass lookinjjj city. There is no great wealth in it, no great activity; but, on the other hand, there is little poverty: it is a well-to-do c'\ty pay cxcclUncc. The famous Johns II()i)kiirs University is here; and I am not surprised to learn that Baltimore is a city of culture and refinement. A beautiful forest, a mixture of cultivated park and wilderness, about a mile from the town, must be a source of delight to the inhabitants in summer and during the beautiful months of September and October. I was told several times that l^altimore was famous all over the States for its pretty women. A I-UKNCIIMAN IN AMI.KICa. 3^^ Tlioy Nvcic iu)t out to-(hiy. And as I have not been invited to Iccturu in H.iltiiiiore, I must be content with hoping to be more lucky next time. pb(la^clpbia, 5tb april. After my lecture in Asscjciation Hall to-nip^ht, I will return to New York to spend Iiaster Sunday with my friends. Next Monday, off again to the West, to Cincinnati again, to Chicago again, and as far as Madison, the State City of Wisconsin. By the time this tour is finished — in about three weeks — I shall have travelled soniething like forty thousand miles. The more I think of it, the more I feel the truth of tliis statement, which I made in Jonathan and his Continent. To form an exact idea of what a lecture tour is in America, just imagine that you lecture to-night in London, to-morrow in Pat-is, then in Berlin, then in Vienna, then in Constanti- nople, then in Teheran, then in Bombay, and so forth. With this difference, that if you had lo undertake the work in Europe, at the end of a week you would be more dead than alive. But here you are not cagad on the railroad lines, you can circulate. There is no fear of cold, no fear of hunger, and if the good, attentive, polite railway conductors of England could be induced to do duty on board the American cars, I would any time go to America for the mere pleasure of travelling. j II if 314 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. II ii i M I i' '(; - ii • ' '1 I ( ■■ ■■■J ^7 ~" i I i ! t ii i The polite Conductor. CHAPTER XL. Easter Sunday in New York. mew l!)orn, 6tb Bpril (JBaetcr Sun&a^K This morning I went to Dr. Newton's Church, in Forty-eighth Street. He has the reputation of being one of the best preachers in New York, and the choir enjoys an equally great reputation. The church was literally packed until the sermon began, and then some of the strollers who had come to hear the anthems moved on. Dr. Newton's voice and delivery were not at all to my taste, so I did not sit out his sermon either. He has a big, unctuous voice with the intonations and inflec- tions of the showman at the fair. He has not the fiow of ideas that struck me so forcibly when I heard the late Henry Ward Beecher in London ; he has not the histrionic powers of Dr.Talmage either. There was more show than beauty about the music too. A bellow- ing, shrieking,soprano overpowered all the other voices in the choir, including that of a really beautiful tenor that deserved to be heard. I I t K 3i6 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. New York blossoms like the ruse on Easter Day. Every woman has a new bonnet, and walks abroad to show it. There are grades in millinery as there are in \i-; R: ' : i U ~: Society. The imported bonnet takes the proudest rank : it is the aristocrat in the world of headgear. It does not always come with the conqueror (in one of her numerous trunks), but it always comes to conquer; and a proud, though ephemeral, triumph it enjoys, perched on the dainty head of a New York belle, and supplemented by a frock from Felix's or Redfern's. It is a unique sight. Fifth Avenue on Easter Sunday, when all the up-town churches have emptied themselves of their gaily-garbed worshippers. The " four hundred " have been keeping Lent in polite, if not rigorous, fashion. Who shall say what it has cost them in self-sacrifice to limit themselves to the sober, modest violet for table and bonnet decoration during six whole weeks ? These things cannot be lightly judged by the profane. I have even heard of sweet, devout New York girls who A FREN'CIIMAN IN AMERICA. 317 limited themselves to one pound of marrons glaces a week during Lent. Such feminine heroism deserves mention. And have they not been sewing flannel for the -^^vC poor once a week, instead of directing the manipu- lation of silk and gauze for their own fair forms all the week long ? Who shall gauge the self-control necessary for fasting such as this ? But now Dorcas meetings are over, and dances begin again to-morrow. The Easter anthem has been sung, and the imported bonnet takes a turn on Fifth Avenue to salute and to hobnob with Broadway imitations during the hour between church and lunch, To New Yorkers, this Easter church parade is as much of an institu- tion in its way as that of Hyde Park during the season is to the Londoners. It was plain that the 3i8 A FRENXHMAN IN AMERICA. people sauntering leisurely on the broad sidewalks, the feminine portion at least, had not come out solely for religious exercise in church, but had every intention to see and to be seen, especially the latter. On my way down, I saw some folks who had not been to church, and only wanted to see, so stood with faces glued to the windows of the big clubs, *' I ■: U f m i V. =Jl^-^r^ ^ 4- looking out at the kaleidoscopic procession : old bachelors, I daresay, who hold the opinion that spring bonnets, whether imported or. home-grown, ought to be labelled " dangerous." At all events, they were gazing, as one might gaze at some coveted but out-of-re£^ch fruit, and looking as if they dared A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. 319 not face their fascinatingyoung townswomen in al! the splendour of their new war-paint. A few perhaps were married men, and this was their quiet protest against fifty dollar hats and five hundred dollar gowns. To me the sight was beautiful and one not to be forgotten. In the evening I dined with Colonel Robert G. Ingersoll and the members of his family. I noticed something which struck me as novel, but as perfectly charming. Each man was placed at table by *he side of his wife, including the host and hostess. This custom in the Colonel's family circle (I was the only guest not belonging to it) is another proof that his theories are put into practice in his house. Dinner and time vanished with rapidity in that house, where everything breathes love and happi- ness. CHAPTER XLI. / Mount the Pulpit and Preach on the Sabbath, in the State of Wisconsin — The Au.lience is Lar^c and App/eciative ; but I probably Fail to Please one of the Congregation. IM !t' V ! /nbilwauhee, 2l0t Bpril. To a Cv?rtain extent I am a believer in climatic influence, and am inclined to think that Sabbath reformers reckon without the British climate when they hope to see a Britain full of cheerful Christians. M. Taine, in his History of English Literature, ascribes the unlovable morality of Puritanism to the influence of British climate. *' Pleasure being out of ques- tion," he says, '' under such a sky, the Briton ^ave himself up to this forbidding virtuousness." In other words, being unable to be cheerful, he became moral. This is not altogether true. Many Britons are cheerful who .don't look it ; many Britons are not moral who look it. But how would M. Taine explain the existence of this same puritanic " morality," which can be found under the lovely, clea'*, bright sky of America ? All over New England and, indeed, in most parts of America, the same kill-joy, the same gloomy, frown- ing Sabbath-keeper is flourishing, doing his utmost to blot the sunshine out of every recurring seventh day. Yet, Sabbath-keeping is a Jewish institution that had nothing to do with Protestantism; but there have always been Protestants more Protestant than Martin Luther, and Christians more Christian than Christ, '.i A FREN'CHMAN IN AMERICA. 321 in the c and one of iimatic abbath 2 when istians. scribes fluence " ques- Briton sness." Ill, he Many ritons ence of found All arts of Town- utmost eventh )n that there t than n than Luther taught that the Sabbath was to be kept, not because Moses commanded it, but because Nature teaches us the necessity of the seventh day's rest. He says: "If anywhere the day is made holy for the mere day's sake, then I command you to work on it, ride on it, dance on it, do anything that will reprove this encroachment on Christian spirit and liberty." The old Scotchwoman who " did nae think the betterer on" the Lord for that Sabbath-day walk through the cornfield, is not a solitary type of Anglo-Saxon Christian. But it is when these Puritans judge other nations that they are truly great. Puritan lack of charity and dread of cheerfulness often lead Anglo-Saxon visitors to France to misjudge the French mode of spending Sun- day. Americans, as well as English, err in this matter, as I had occa- sion to find out during my second visit to America. I had been lecturing last Saturday evening in the pretty little town of Whitewater, in Wis- consin, and received an invitation from a min- ister to address a meet- ing that was to be held yesterday (Sunday)., in the largest church in the place, to discuss the ques- tion of how Sunday should be spent. I at first declined, on the ground that it might not be exactly in good taste for a foreigner to advise his hosts how 22 I 322 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. V! f. i. -l f i, 11 ^ a to spend Sunday. However, when it was su/^fgested that I mif]^ht simply go and tell them how Sunday was spent in France, I accepted the task. The proceedings opened with prayer and an anthem ; and, a hymn in praise of the Jewish Sabbath having been chosen by the moderator, I thought the case looked bad for us French people, and that I was going to cut a poor figure. The first speaker unwittingly came to my rescue by making an onslaught upon the French mode of spending the seventh day. ** With all due respect to the native country of our visitor," said he, " I am bound to say that on the one Sunday which I spent in Paris I saw a great deal of low immorality, and I could not help coming to the conclusion that this was due to the fact of the French not being a Sabbath-keeping people." He wound up with a strong appeal to his towns- men to beware of any temptation to relax in their observance of the fourth commandment as given by Moses. I was called upon to speak next. With alacrity I stepped forward, a little stag- gered perhaps at finding myself for the first time in a pulpit, but quite ready for the fray. ** I am sorry," said I, " to hear the remarks made by the speaker who has just sat down. I cannot, however, help thinking that if our friend had spent that Sunday in Paris in respectable places, he would have been spared the sight of any low immorality. No doubt Paris, like every large city in the world, has its black spots, and you can easily discover them if you make proper inquiries as to where they are, and if you are properly directed. Now, let me ask, where did he go? I should very much like to know. Being an old Parisian, I have still in my mind's eye the numerous museums that are open free to the A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. 323 fested inday id an ewish tor, I eople, rescue )de of itry of lat on saw a t help to the eeping towns- 1 their given 5 stag- ime in 5 made annot, spent would rality. world, : them 2y are, le ask, know, d's eye to the people on Sundays. One of the most edifying sij:]^hts in the city is that of our peasants and workmen, in their clean Sunday blouses, enjoying themselves with their families, and elevating their tastes among our art treasures. Did our friend go there ? I know there are places where for little money the symphonies of Beethoven and other great masters may be, and are, enjoyed by thousands every Sunday. Did our friend go there? Within easy reach of the people, are such places as the Bois de Boulogne, the Garden of Acclimatation where for fifty centimes a delightful day may be spent among the lawns and flower-beds of that Parisian * Zoo.' Its goat cars, ostrich cars, its camel and elephant drives make it a paradise for children, and one might see whole families there on Sunday afternoon in the summer, the parents refresh- ing tneir bodies with this contact with Nature and their hearts with the sight of the children's glee. Did our friend go there ? We even have churchej; in Paris, churches that are crammed from six o'clock in the morning till one in the afternoon with worshippers who go on their knees to God. Now, did our friend go to church on that Sunday ? Well, where did he go ? I am quitting Whitewater to- morrow, and I leave it to his townspeople to investi- gate the matter. When I first visited New York, stories were told me of strange things to be seen there even on a Sunday. Who doubts, I repeat, that every great city has its black spots ? I had no desire to see those of New York, there was so much that was better worth my time and attention. If our friend, our observing friend, would only have done in Paris as I did in New York, he would have seen very little low immorality." The little encounter at Whitewater was only one more illustration of the strange fact that the Anglo- Saxon who is so good in his own country, so constant in his attendance at church, is seldom to be seen in 22 * 324 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. a sacred edifice abroad, unless, indeed, he has been led thee by H^edckcr. ArM last ni^dit, at Whitewater, I went to bed pleased with myself, like a man who has fought for his country. « * * * When I am in France, I often bore my friends with advice, and find, as usual, that advice is a luxurious gift thoroughly enjoyed by the one who gives it. ** You don't know how to do these things," I say to them ; ** in England, or in America, they are much more intelligent : they do like this and like that." And my iriends generally advise me to return to England or America, where things are so beautifully managed. But, when I am out of France, the old French- man is all there ; and if you pitch into my mother country, I stand up ready to fight at a minute's notice. m IS been to bed ^-ht for friends :e is a le who gs," I ley are id like return itifiilly rench- nother inute's CHAPTER XLII. The Origin of American Humour and its Characteristics — The Sacred and the Profane — The GerntaU'i and American Humour — My Corpse would ** Draw *' in my Ivipresario's Opinion, ^aMaon, mie,, 22nd BprtU Have been lecturing durinj^j the past fortnight in about twelve places, few of which possessed any interest whatever. One of them, however, Cincin- nati, I was glad to see again. This town of Madison is the only one that has struck me as being beautiful. From the hills, the scenery is perfectly lovely, with its wooded slopes and lakes. Through the kindness of Governor Hoard, I have had a comprehensive survey of the neighbourhood ; for he has driven me in his carriage to all the prettiest spots, delighting me all the while with his conversation. He is one of those Americans, whom you may often meet if you have a little luck : witty, humorous, hospitable, kind-hearted, the very personification of unaffected good-fellowship. The conversation turned on humour. I have always wondered what the origin of Ameri- can humour can be — where is, or was, the fountain head. You certainly find humour in England among the cultured classes, but the class of English people who emigrate cannot have imported much humour into America. Surely Germany and Scandinavin cannot have contributed to the fund either. The Scotch have dry, quiet, pawky unconscious humour, but their influence can hardly have been great enough to implant their quaint native " wut " on Americaa 326 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. li soil. Ac^ain the Irish bull is droll, but scarcely humorous. The Italians, the Hungarians have never yet, that I am aware of, been suspected of even latent humour. What then can be the origin of American humour, as we know it, with its naive philosophy, its mixture of the sacred and the profane, its exaggeration, and that preposterousness which so completely staggers the foreigner, the French and the German especially ? The mixing of sacred with profane matters no doubt originated with the Puritans themselves, and is only an outcome of the cheek-by-jowl, next-door- neighbour fashion of addressing the Higher Powers, which is so common in the Scotch. Many of us have heard of the Scotch minister, whom his zeal for ■,A h A TRENXIIMAN IN AMERICA. 327 the welfare of missionaries moved to address Heaven in the following manner : " We commend to Thy care those missionaries whose lives are in danp^er m the Fiji Islands — which Thou knowest are situated in the Pacific Ocean." And he is not far removed in our minds from the New England pastor who ])rcached on the well-known text of St. Paul, and having read : ** All things are possible to me," took a five dollar bill out of his pocket, and placing it on the edge of the pulpit, said : ** No, Paul, that is going too far. I bet you five dollars that you can't." But continuing the reading of the text : " Through Christ who strengtheneth me," exclaimed: "Ah! that's a very different matter I " and put back the five dollar bill in his pocket. This kind of amalgamation of the sacred and the profane is constantly confronting one in American soil, and has a firm foothold in American humour. Colonel Elliott F. Shephard, proprietor of the New York Mail and Express, every rooming sends to the editor a fresh text from the Bible for publication at the top of the editorials. One day that text was received, but somehow got lost, and by noon was still unfound. I was told that "you should have heard the compositors* room ring with * Where can that d d text be ? * " Finally the text was wired and duly inserted. These men, however, did not in- tend any religious disrespect. Such a thing was probably as far from their minds as it was from the minds of the Puritan preachers of old. There are men who swear, as others pray, without meaning anything. One is a bad habit, the other a good one. All that naive philosophy, with which America abounds, must, I fancy, be the outcome of hardship endured by the pioneers of former days, and by the Westerner of our own times. 328 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. r^i lii ■I fi The element of exaggeration, which is so charac- teristic of American humour, may be explained by the rapid success of the Americans, and the immensity of the continent which they inhabit. Everything is on a grand scale, or ij ggests hugeness. Then negro humour is mainly exaggeration, and has no doubt added its quota to the compound which, as I said just now, completely staggers foreigners. Governor Hoard was telling me to-day that a German was inclined to be offended with him for saying that the Germans, as a rule, were unable to see through an American joke, and he invited Gover- nor Hoard to try the effect of one upon him. The Governor, thereupon, told him the story of the tree, *' out-west," which was so high that it took two men to see to the top. One of them saw as far as he could, then the second started from the place where the first stopped seeing, and went on. The recital did not raise the ghost of a smile, and Governor Hoard then said to the German : ** Well, you see, the joke is lost upon you ; you can't see American humour." ** Oh ! but," said the German, ** that is not humour, that's a taDint lie." And he is still convinced that he can see through an American joke. * ©rand IRapi^g, 24tb Bpcil. Have had to-day a lovely, sublime example of that preposterousness which so often characterises American humour. I arrived here this morning from Chicago. At noon, the Grand Rapidite, who was ** bossing the show," called upon me at the Morton House, and kindly inquired whether there was anything be could do for me. Before leaving, he said : A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. 329 "^ XVv ( \ I K That's a Lie, s •? t m I 330 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. "While I am here, I may as well give you the cheque for to-night's lecture." ** Just as you please," I said, " but don't you call that risky ? " " What do you mean ? '* *' Well, I may die before the evcninj]^." "Oh! that's all right," he interrupted. "I'll exhibit your corpse; I guess there will be just as much money in it." t ^,5 / A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA, 331 Grand Rapids is noted for its furniture manufac- tories. A draughtsman, who is employed to design artistic things for the largest of these manufactories, kindly showed me over the premises of his employers. I ^yas not very surprised to hear that when the various retail houses come to make their yearly selections, they will not look at any models of the previous season. So great is the rage for novelties in every branch of industry in this novelty-loving America I No sinecure, that draughtsman's position. Over in Europe, furniture is reckoned by periods ; here, it is an affair of seasons. Very funny to have to order a new sideboard or wardrobe " to be sent home without delay," for fear of its being out of date 1 CHAPTER XLIIl. f I' i- In h I Good-bye to America — Not ** Adieu,** but ^'Au Rcvoir** — On Board the *' Teutonic " — Home Again. mew l^orft, 26tb april. The last two days have vanished rapidly in paying calls. This morning my impresario gave me a farewell breakfast at the Everett House. Edmund Clarence Stedman was there ; Mark Twain, George Kennan, Gtneral Horace Porter, General Lloyd Bryce, Richard Watson Gilder, and many others sat at table, and joined in wishing me Bon Voyage, Good-bye, my dear American friends! I shall carry away sweet recollections of you, and, whether I am re-invited to lecture in your country or not, I will come again. 27tb aprtL The saloon, on board the Teutonic, is a mass of floral offerings sent by friends to the passengers. Two huge beautiful baskets of lilies and roses are mine. The whistle is heard for the third time. The hands are pressed and the faces kissed, and all those who are not passengers leave the boat and go and take up positions on the wharf to wave their handker- chiefs until the steamer is out of sight. A great many among the dense crowd are friendly faces familiyr tc me. The huge construction is set in motion, and J A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. 333 If M Two Baskets for me. 334 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. gently and smoothly glides from the docks to the Hudson River. The sun is shining, the weather glorious. 1 he faces on land get less and less distinct. For the last time I wave my hat. Hallo ! what is the matter with me ? Upon my word, I believe I am sad. I go to the library, and, like a child, seize a dozen sheets of note-paper, on which I write *' Good-bye." I will send them to New York from Sandy Hook. The Teutonic is behaving beautifully. We pass Sandy Hook. The sea is perfectly calm. Then I think of my dear ones at home, and the happiest thoughts take the place of my feelings of regret at leaving so many friends. My impresario, Major J. B. Pond, shares a beautiful, well-lighted, airy cabin with me. He is coming to England to engage Mr. Henry M. Stanley for a lecture in America next season. The company on board is large and choice. In the steerage a few disappointed American statesmen return to Europe. Oh, this Teutonic ! Can anyone imagine any- thing more grand, more luxurious ? She is going at the rate of 450 miles a day. In about five days we shall be at Queenstown. * Xivcrpoof, 4tb /IBai3. My most humble apologies are due to the Atlantic for hbelling that Ocean at the beginning of this book. For the last six days the sea has been perfectly calm, and the trip has been one of pleasure the whole time. Here is another crowd on the landing-stage at Liverpool. And now, dear Reader, excuse me if I leave you. Xo A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. 335 For n Disappointed Amevican Statesmen. m 336 A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. You' were present at the friendly farewell hand" shakinj^s on the New York side ; but on this Liver- pool quay I see a face that I have not looked upon for five months, and having a great deal to say to the owner of it, I will politely bo.v you out first. I li 1 I '' t; 4 , ; , i i |fl • 1 PRINTING OFFICE OF THE PUBLISHER hand" Livcr- upon Jay to t. ARROWSMITH'S BRISTOL LIBRARY. Fatp. 8vo, stiff covers, If-; doth, i/fl. Saturday Keview gpcakii of AKUUWBNfiTH'H Kkistol I.ibraby " u noceuary to the traveller as a ruK in winter and a Uust-cout lu gummeil" 1. CALLED BACK . 2. BROWN EYES 3. DARK DAYS. 4. FORT MINSTEFi, M.P. 5. THE RED CARDINAL 6. THE TINTED VENUS 7. JONATHAN'S HOME . S. SLINGS AND ARROWS 9. OUT OF THE MISTS 10. KATE PERCIVAL 11. KALEE'S SHRINE 12. CARRISTONS GIFT . 13. THE MARK OF CAIN 14. PLUCK .... 15. DEAR LIFE . 16. GLADYS' PERIL . 17. WHOSE HAND? or, Tlie Mystery of No Man's Heatli 18. THAT WINTER NIGHT 19. THE GUILTY RIVER . 20. FATAL SHADOWS . 21. THE LOVELY WANG . 22. PATTY'S PARTNER . 23. ••V.R." A Comedy of Errors 24. THE PARK LANE MYSTERY 25. FRIEND MAC DONALD . 26. KATHARINE REGINA 27. JAN VEROLOOTZ 28. THE CLIFF MYSTERY 29. AS A BIRD TO THE SNARE 80. TRACKED OUT 81. A SOCIETY CLOWN . 82. CHECK AND COUNTER-CHECK . S3. THE INNER HOUSE . . . . 84. A VAGABOND WILL . . . . 85. PHARAOH'S DAUGHTER . 86. TROLLOPE'S DILEMMA . 37. JACQUES BONHOMME . . 88. THE DOUBTS OF DIVES. 89. FAIR PHYLLIS OF LAVENDER WHARF 40. HARD LUCK 41. TWO AND TWO. A Tale of Four . 42. THE RAJAH AND THE ROSEBU-^ 43. BEHIND THE KAFES 44. THE DEMONIAC . . . . 45. OUR BOYS & GIRLS AT SCHOOL. 46. THE CORONER'S UNDERSTUDY . 47. A ROMANCE OF THE MOORS . . HUGH CONWAY. MAY CUOMMBLIN. HUGH CONWAY. Hir E. J. REED, K.C.B.,M.P. Mrs. FRANCES ELLIOT. F. AN8TEY. ALAN DALE. , HUGH CONWAY. DANIEL DORMER. Mrs. J. COMYNS OARR. GRANT ALLEN. ' HUGH CONWAY. ANDREW LANG. , J. STRANGE WINTER. . Mrs. J. B. PANTON. f JOHN COLEMAN and t JOHN C. CHUTE. J W. G. WILLS and tThc Hon. Mrs. GREENE. . KOBERT BUCHANAN. , WILKIE COLLINS. Mrs. L. L. LEWIS. . Hon. L. WINGPIELD. . JEAN MIDDLBMASS. , BDWARD ROSB. JOSEPH HATTON. . MAX O'RBLL. , WALTER BESANT. . MATTHEW STRONG. , HAMILTON AIDii. , GBBTRUDB WARDEN. . ARTHUR A BECKETT. . GEORGE GROSSMITH (BRANDBR MATTHKWS t and GEORGB B. JESSOP. . WALTER BESANT. . W. G. WATERS. , EDGAR LEE. , ST. AUE :n. , MAX O'RELL. WALTER BESANT. [ JAMES GREENWOOD. ARTHUR A BECKETT. ELIZABETH GLAISTER. WILLIAM SIME. MARY ALBERT. WALTER BESANT. HENRY J. BARKER, B.A. Captain COE. MONA CAIRO. 1 Bristol : J. W. Arrowsmith, 11 Quay Street. Londoni Siufkin, iIabshall, Haiiilton, Kent A Co. Limited. 23