Jonathan and His Continent Part 6

CHAPTER VIII.

_American Houses.--Furniture.--Luxury.--The Clubs.--An Evening at the Authors' Club.--An Eyesore.--A Wonderful Shot.--Bang, right in the Bull's-eye!_

American houses are furnished very luxuriously, and for the most part in exquisite taste. Here you see the influence of woman in the smallest details of life; indeed, at every step you take, you see that woman has pa.s.sed that way.

Decorations and furniture, in New York especially, are dark, substantial, and artistic. The liberal use of _portieres_ adds greatly to the richness of effect. Even in the hall, doors are replaced by hangings. On all sides there is pleasure for the eyes, whether it rests on furniture, walls, or ceilings. The floors are covered with rich carpets, and the ceilings are invariably decorated in harmony with the rest of the room.

The reception-rooms are on the ground-floor, which is always twelve or fifteen feet above the sidewalk. The suite is composed of three or four rooms (sometimes more), divided one from another by _portieres_. Each room is in a different style. One contains dark furniture and hangings, oil paintings, costly art treasures, majestical tropical plants; another, in Oriental style, invites the visitor to cosy chats among its divans and screens; another, perhaps, has books, etchings, and antiquities of all kinds; another, in the style of a boudoir, will be strewn with knick-knacks, light bric-a-brac, water-colours, statuettes, etc., in artistic disorder; yet another may serve as music-room--here, no carpets, the parquet floor is waxed, the walls are unadorned--all has been thought out with intelligence. Flowers in every room shed sweet fragrance. When all the suite is lighted up, and the _portieres_ looped back, the effect is enchanting; and when a score of American women, elegant, handsome, and witty, add life to the scene, I can a.s.sure you that you are not in a hurry to consult your watch.

The luxury, displayed at receptions, dinners, and dances, surpa.s.ses European imagination. At a ball, given in New York in the month of February, 1888, the walls were covered with roses, which did not cost less than 2,000. When one considers that the supper, and everything else, was on the same scale, it becomes doubtful whether such luxury is to be admired. I was present one evening at a dinner, given in the large dining-hall at Delmonico's restaurant, New York. We were eighty-seven guests at an immense round table. The centre of the board was covered with a gigantic star of flowers, roses, arum lilies, and heliotrope. At that season lilies were worth a dollar each; and, all through the winter, the price of roses was from a quarter to two dollars apiece, according to kind. The Americans at this feast estimated the star of flowers at 1,500 or 1,600.

At a dinner party given recently at Delmonico's, I heard that each _menu_ had a chain attached, consisting of pearls and diamonds, and valued at 1,000 dollars. Is this luxury? Surely it is bad taste, not to say vulgarity.

The princ.i.p.al clubs, in the large American cities, are princely habitations, full of everything that can minister to man's well-being.

The American clubs are as luxurious as those of London; but this is the only resemblance which there is between them. The clubs, in large English towns, are sad and solemn; those in the American cities are bright and gay. In New York, Boston, Chicago, etc., the club is not merely a place where a man goes to read the papers, or to dine when his family is out of town; it is a place where men meet for converse, and to enjoy various relaxations. All the members know each other almost intimately.

The doors of American clubs are often opened to ladies, except in Boston, I am told, where no opportunity for the display of Anglomania is neglected. I was present at a very grand ball given by the Union League Club of New York; and when I lectured in the Union League Club of Chicago, at the invitation of the members, there were a great number of ladies invited to be present.

Americans amuse themselves gaily, and ladies are always of the party.

They have not the English tendency to convert their pleasures into funeral services.

The hospitality of American clubs is thoughtfully and generously extended to foreigners who visit the States. I had not been a fortnight in America before I was "put up" as honorary member of nearly all the New York clubs. In the other large cities I visited, I met with the same amiability, the same eager expression of cordiality.

A charming little club, but this one has no pretension to luxuriousness, is the Authors' Club in New York. It only has three rooms, very modestly furnished, where one may meet some of America's most charming writers, playing at Bohemia, and chatting over a cigar. Once a fortnight there is a reunion. A simple supper is served at ten o'clock: roast chickens, green peas, and potatoes; cheese and beer. The members are waiting to introduce champagne until Congress has pa.s.sed the International Copyright Bill. One hardly thinks of the fare in the company of this aristocracy of American talent and intellect. To these gentlemen I owe many a delightful hour pa.s.sed in their midst.

A very interesting little ceremony takes place at the Authors' Club on New Year's night. On the evening of the 31st December the members of the club muster in force at their snug quarters in Twenty-fourth Street. At two or three minutes to twelve all the lights are put out, and "Auld lang syne" is sung in chorus, to bid good-bye to the year that is pa.s.sing away. As soon as the clock has struck the midnight hour[5], the lights are relit, all the company strike up "He's a jolly good fellow,"

and there is a general hand-shaking and wishing of good wishes for the coming year. Then everyone dives into his memory for an anecdote, a good joke, or an amusing reminiscence, and the evening is prolonged till two or three o'clock. I had the good luck to be present at the last of these merry meetings. Mark Twain presided, and I need not tell you with what spirited and inexhaustible mirth the celebrated humorist did the honours of the evening.

[5] I think a clock is borrowed for the occasion.

In houses, in clubs, in offices, one cannot help admiring the ingenious forethought, the wonderful care, with which the smallest wants and the slightest commodities of life have been studied: it seems as if there were nothing left to desire.

It is impossible, however, in speaking of American interiors, to pa.s.s over in silence a certain eyesore, which meets your sight at every turn.

The most indispensable, most conspicuous, piece of furniture in America is the spittoon. All rooms are provided with this object of prime necessity; you find one beside your seat in the trains, under your table in the restaurants: impossible to escape the sight of the ugly utensil.

In the hotel corridors, there is a spittoon standing sentinel outside every door. In public edifices, the floors are dotted with them, and they form the line all up the stairs.

The Americans, used to these targets from the tenderest age, are marvellously adroit at the use of them: they never miss their aim. I saw some really striking feats of marksmanship; but perhaps the best of all at the Capitol, in Washington.

The Supreme Court of Judicature was sitting. As I entered, an advocate was launching thunders of eloquence. All at once he stopped, looked at a spittoon which stood two yards off, aimed at it, and, krrron, craaahk, ptu!--right in the bull's-eye! Then on he went with his harangue. I looked to see the seven judges and the public applaud and cry "Bravo!"

Not a murmur; the incident pa.s.sed completely unnoticed. Probably there was not a man in the hall who could not say to himself: "There's nothing in that; I could do as much."

CHAPTER IX.

_Society Jottings.--Blue Blood in the United States.--Fashionable Society.--Plutocracy.--Parvenus and Arrives.--Literary and Artistic Society.--Provincialism.--All the Americans have two Family Names.--Colonels and Judges.--American Hospitality.-- Terrapin and Raw Duck._

A word about American aristocracy, to begin with.

What, American aristocracy?

Yes, certainly.

I a.s.sure you that there exist, in America, social sanctuaries into which it is more difficult to penetrate than into the most exclusive mansions of the Faubourg Saint-Germain or of Mayfair and Belgravia.

There are in Philadelphia; in Beacon Street, Boston; in Washington Square (north side), New York; in Virginia; in Ca.n.a.l Street (right side), New Orleans, Americans who look upon common mortals with much more pity and contempt than the Montmorencys of France or the Howards of England.

Americans, not having any king to give them t.i.tles of n.o.bility, have created an aristocracy for themselves. This aristocracy boasts as yet no dukes, marquises, earls, or barons, but the blue blood is there, it appears--Dutch blood--and that is sufficient.

When a European n.o.bleman arrives in the States, the American aristocracy leave cards upon him at the hotel where he has alighted. He may perhaps be personally known to none; but all n.o.bilities are kindred everywhere--it is an act of international courtesy. The European n.o.bleman, who often goes to America for a dowried wife, is much obliged to them, and returns all the visits paid him.

A New York lady, who is quite an authority upon such matters, told me one day that Society in New York was composed of only four hundred persons. Outside this company of _elite_, all Philistines.

Money or celebrity may allow you to enter into this charmed circle, but you will never belong to it. You will be in it, but not of it. The lady in question entered also into very minute details on the subject of what she called the difference between "Society people" and "people in Society"; but, in spite of all her explanations, I confess I did not seize all the delicate _nuances_ she tried to convey. All I clearly understood was that the aristocracy of birth exists in America, not only in the brains of those who form part of it, but in the eyes of their compatriots.

The desire to establish an aristocracy of some sort was bound to haunt the breast of the Americans; it was the only thing that their dollars seemed unable to procure them.

The second aristocracy is the aristocracy of money--plutocracy. To belong to this it is not sufficient to be a millionaire; you must, I am told, belong to a third generation of millionaires. Of such are the Astors, Vanderbilts, and company. Three quarters of "n.o.bility" are the necessary key to this little world. The first generation makes the millions, the second generation is _parvenue_, the third is _arrivee_.

In the eyes of these people to have from five to ten thousand a year is to be in decent poverty; to have forty or fifty thousand a year is to be in easy circ.u.mstances.

The third aristocracy is the aristocracy of talent, literary and artistic society. This third aristocracy is incontestably the first, if you will excuse the Hibernianism.

I do not think that one could find anywhere, or even imagine, a society more cultivated, more affable, more hospitable, more witty, or more brilliant. I should like just here to indulge in a string of adjectives _a la_ Mme. de Sevigne.

One of the consequences of the position which woman takes in the United States is that, in good American drawing-rooms, conversation is never dull.

"If I were queen," exclaimed Mme. Recamier one day, "I would command Mme. de Stael to talk to me all day long." One would like to be able to give the same order to plenty of American women. In their company conversation never flags, and always remains within the domains of _causerie_; they glide lightly from one subject to another, extracting something fresh from each; pa.s.s from the serious to the gay, even to the frivolous, without becoming common-place; soar again to lofty heights, but do not disdain to come down to gossip for a minute or two: all this without a grain of affectation, but with a charm of naturalness that is delightfully winning.

Frenchwomen are the only ones I know who can compare with the American lady in charm of conversation; and, even then, I am obliged to admit two things: that the American women of intellectual society are often more natural than their French rivals, and that they make less effort to charm. In a word, with them you are amiable without having to be gallant; and none of those stereotyped compliments, which so often spoil the charm of a conversation between a man and a woman, are expected of you.

In this society the reunions are not only veritable feasts for the mind; the heart also plays its part. You are welcomed with such cordiality that you feel at once among friends--friends whom you will have profound regret at being obliged to quit so soon, and with whom you hope to keep up relations all your days.

When the steamer left New York harbour, and I was bound for Europe, I hardly knew whether the desire to see my own country again was stronger than my regret at leaving America.

After all, thought I, I am not saying _adieu_ to the Americans, but _au revoir_; a seven days' journey, and I can be among them again.