Jonathan and His Continent Part 27

No one doubts that England is the freest country on earth, not even our staunchest French republicans.

A few months before his election to the presidency of the French Republic, M. Jules Grevy was present one evening at a political dinner in the beautiful mansion of the Vicomtesse de Rainneville. At this epoch, things scarcely seemed to point to the future elevation of M.

Grevy; and as M. de Grandlieu, who told the anecdote in the _Figaro_, maliciously said, if the Orleans Princes had displayed a little more resolution, M. Grevy would probably never have known any other palace than the one in which his pleadings failed to awaken the judges.

After dinner, in the elegant smoking-room, one of the guests drew M.

Grevy aside, and said to him:

"Well, sir, seeing the turn things are taking, have you not enough of the Republic?"

"On the contrary, I have just returned from a country where I have learned to appreciate it more."

"Where is it you have been? to Switzerland?"

"No, a little further."

"Not America?"

"Oh, no."

"In what country can you have strengthened so much your Republican ideas?"

"I have just returned from England!" replied M. Grevy.

CHAPTER x.x.x.

_The Ordinary American.--His Voice, his Habits, his Conversation.--He Murders his Language and your Ears.--Do not judge him too quickly._

Nothing is ordinary in America.

The ordinary American himself is extraordinarily ordinary.

He takes liberties with his fellow-creatures, and with the English grammar. He murders your ears, and the mother-tongue of Shakespeare. He chews, hawks, and spits; but he has a certain good-humoured brag and liveliness about him which invite further acquaintance.

His fingers, cravat, and shirt-front sparkle with diamonds.

In conversation, he attacks all subjects imaginable with complete a.s.surance. He talks tall, and through the nose. He does not raise his voice much. He buzzes rather than speaks: at a certain distance you think you hear the droning of bagpipes.

Meeting you in a railway-carriage, he will ask you point-blank where you are going, what you are doing, and where you come from. By degrees he grows bolder, and, if the fancy takes him, he will touch the cloth of your coat, and ask you, "What did you give for that?" He has not the least intention of being disagreeable. This is not an act of rudeness, but one of good fellowship. He, on his part, will give you all the information you care to have about himself. He takes it for granted that you are as inquisitive as he is, and he is ready to satisfy your curiosity. He is obliging.

This man, whom you began by taking for some ignorant babbler, presently gives to his conversation a turn that astonishes you. He speaks to you of France in a way which shows you that he is conversant with all that is going on there. The sayings and doings of General "Bolangere" are familiar to him. He knows the names of the chief members of the Ministry. He is interested in M. Pasteur's researches; he has read a review of M. Renan's last book, and of M. Sardou's latest play. He has judicious remarks to make upon literature. He knows his Shakespeare, as not one Frenchman of his cla.s.s knows Corneille, Racine, Moliere, or Victor Hugo. You discover that he is well-read, this man who says _I come_ for _I came_, _you was_, _you didn't ought_, _I don't know as I do_, etc. He can give you information about his country as useful as it is exact.

He talks politics--even foreign politics--like a man of sense. He is far more enlightened on the Irish question than most people are in England.

The ordinary Englishman is Conservative or Liberal without knowing very well why--generally because his father was, or is, the one or the other.

Ask him why the Irish have been complaining for centuries of the way the English govern them, he can rarely give you anything but commonplaces in reply: "We conquered them, they ought to obey us;" or, "We cannot allow the Irish to dismember the United Kingdom," as if unity did not consist in living in harmony, as if the Union of the United States was in danger because each State governs itself in its own fashion. I must say the ordinary Englishman, who is in favour of Home Rule for Ireland, does not base his opinion upon arguments more serious or more solid: "Mr. Gladstone says it is right;" he does not go much deeper than that.

Neither knows the history of Ireland, or the origin of the land tenure in that unhappy country.

This same American talks theology. He discusses the Bible. He reads the writings of Colonel Ingersoll, refuting that gentleman's ideas or accepting his conclusions.

In a word, you thought you were in the company of an ignorant bore of a bagman, and you have had one or two hours' talk with an intelligent and interesting man.

CHAPTER x.x.xI.

_American Activity.--Expression of the Faces.--Press the b.u.t.ton, S.V.P.--Marketing in the House.--Magic Tables.--The Digestive Apparatus in Danger.--Gentlemen of Leisure.--Labour Laws.--A Six Days' Journey to go to a Banquet.--My Manager cuts out Work for me.--A Journalist on a Journey.--"Don't wait dinner, am off to Europe."_

That which strikes the European most in his first walk through New York streets is the absence of stupid faces. All are not handsome, but all are intelligent-looking and full of life. The next thing that strikes him is the well-grown look of the people. Few or no deformities. He does not see one halt or hunchbacked person out of the ten thousand he may meet. With the exception of the old people, few have defective sight.

Apart from the complexion, which is pale, everything seems to indicate an active, strong, healthy people. The constant crossing of races must daily tend to the improving of the Americans, physically and intellectually.

You see so many thin men and so many stout women, that you almost immediately conclude that the former live in a furnace of activity, and the latter in cotton-wool. This impression grows upon you, and soon takes the form of a conviction.

The Americans do not walk much. It is not that they are indolent. Far from it. It is because their legs will not carry them fast enough.

The faces of the men you meet look absorbed in thought. Their hats are well down on their heads. This, again, is a sign of intelligence. Do not smile. The fool perches his hat on his head, the man with a well-filled brain puts his head into its covering.

These same faces are pale, and you see many prematurely grey heads. The want of open-air exercise, the dryness of the atmosphere, the suffocating heat of the rooms, the vitiated air in the houses which seem to have windows only for the purpose of letting in a little light, easily explain this double phenomenon.

The women of every country are unanimous--in p.r.o.nouncing the American men handsome; and as there are few men who do not think the American women lovely, there can be but one opinion on the subject: the American race is a good-looking one. But that which makes the charm of the men's faces is not regularity of feature; it is, as I have already said, the intelligence written on them, the wonderful, the amazing activity that animates them.

This activity you find in all stations of society, in the financial world, the literary world, the world of politics, everywhere. It is a fever with which the whole nation is smitten.

In the eyes of the worthy, peaceful Frenchman who has not travelled, an American is a lunatic who does nothing like other people. After all, eccentricity is but an exaggerated form of activity; but for certain people with narrow ideas, eccentricity and madness are but one and the same thing.

Let us take a little look at Americans at home, and see if I was wrong in calling American life pure phantasmagoria.

We will begin by the private houses.

In a well-appointed house, you will find, in a little room on the ground-floor, a plaque fitted with several b.u.t.tons. You touch the first, and immediately a cab drives up to your door.[13] You touch the second, and in a minute or two, there appears a messenger from the telegraph office to take your telegram or carry a parcel or message for you to any part of the city. You touch the third, and a policeman presents himself, as if by enchantment, to know if you suspect the presence of burglars.

You touch the fourth, and heigh, presto! up dashes the fire brigade, with engine, fire-escape, and the rest of their life-saving apparatus, and this in about the length of time that it took Cinderella's G.o.dmother to turn the pumpkin into a coach.

[13] If you press it twice, it is a two-horse cab that comes.

Jonathan will not stop here. Before long we shall see the architects of all first-cla.s.s houses laying on, not only gas, water, the telephone and the electric light, but the opera and church service.

Already the ladies of Chicago do their marketing at home. The housekeeper goes to her telephone and rings.

"h.e.l.lo!" responds the central office.