A Frenchman in America.-The Anglo-Saxon race revisited. With ... illustrations by E. W. Kemble

Front matter

ARROWSMITH'S Christmas Annual, 1891 Fcap. 8yo. Price One Shilling. TKe Shield of Isoyq BY B. L. FAR J EON, AUTHOR OF "DEVLIN THE BARBER," "GRIP," "GREAT PORTER SQUARE," ETC. Bristol: J. W. AnnowsMiTH, 11 Quay Street. London: Simpkin, Marshall, Hamilton, Kent Sl Co. Limited. A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA (THE ANGLO-SAXON RACE REVISITED) E v MAX O'RELL author of ''JOHN BULL AND HIS ISLAND," "FRIEND UAC DONALD "JONATHAN AND HIS CONTINENT " etc., etc. Witb upwar&a of 130 JlluBtratlona bg je. m Ikcmble BRISTOL J W Arrowsmith, ii Quay Street LONDON Simpkin, Marshall, Hamilton, Kent & Co. Limited All rights reserved CONTENTS. Page Chapter I. — Departure — The Atlantic — Demoralisation of the " Boarders " — Betting — The Auctioneer — An Inquisitive Yankee .. ... ... ... ... ... ... i Chapter II. — Arrival of the Pilot — First Look at American Newspapers ... ii Chapter III. — Arrival — The Custom House — Things Look Bad — The Interviewers — First Visits — Things Look Brighter — "O, Vanity of Vanities !

" 14 Chapter IV. — Impressions of American Hotels .. ... 25 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 36 Chapter VI. — A Connecticut Audience — Merry Meriden — A Hard Pull 46 Chapter VII. — A Tempting Offer — The Thursday Club— Bill Nye — Visit to Young Ladies' School — The Players' Club ... 49 Chapter VIII. — 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 57 Chapter IX. — Different Ways of Advertising a Lecture — American Impresarios and their Methods 62 Chapter X. — Buffalo — The Niagara Falls — A Frost — Rochester to the Rescue of Buffalo — Cleveland — I Meet Jonathan ... 70 Chapter XI. — A Great Admirer— Notes on Railway Travelling — Is America a Free Nation ?

A Pleasant Evening in New York ... CONTENTS. Page Chapter XII. — Notes on American Women — Comparisons — How Men Treat Women and vice versd — Scenes as Illustrations 85 Chapter XIII. — More about Journalism in America — A Dinner at Delmonico's — My First Appearance in an American Church 104 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 ... 116 Chapter XV. — Reflections on the Typical American 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 Lively Sunday in Boston — Lecture in the Boston Theatre — Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes — The Booth-Modjeska Combination ... 145 Chapter XVIII.— 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 Hall 168 Chapter XXI— Toronto — The City — The Ladies — The Sports— Strange Contrasts — The Canadian Schools ... 175 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 !8x contents.

Chapter I

Departure — The Atlantic — Demoralisation of the "Boarders" — Betting — The Auctioneer — An Inquisitive Yankee. ©11 boar& tbe " Celtic," Cbrtetmas week, 1889. In the order of things the Teutonic was to have sailed to-day, but the date is the 25th of December, and few people elect to eat their Christmas dinner on the ocean if they can avoid it ; so there are only twenty-five saloon passengers, and they have been committed to the brave little Celtic, while that huge floating palace, the Teutonic, remains in harbour. Little Celtic ! Has it come to this with her and her companions, the Germanic, the Britannic, and the rest that were the wonders and the glory of the shipbuilding craft a few years ago? There is something almost sad in seeing these queens of the Atlantic dethroned, and obliged to rank below newer and grander ships.

It was even pathetic to hear the remarks of the sailors as we passed the Germanic, who, in her day, had created even more wondering admiration than the two famous armed cruisers lately added to the " White Star" fleet. * * * * I know nothing more monotonous than a voyage from Liverpool to New York. Nine times out of ten — not to say ninety-nine times out of a hundred — the passage is bad. The Atlantic Ocean has an ugly temper ; it has for ever got its back up. Sulky, angry, and terrible by turns, it only takes a few days' rest out of every year, and this always occurs when you are not crossing. And then, the wind is invariably against you. When you go to America, it blows from the west ; when you come back to Europe, it blows from the east. If the captain steers south to avoid icebergs, it is sure to begin to blow southerly.

Doctors say that sea-sickness emanates from the brain. I can quite believe them. The blood rushes to your head, leaving your extremities cold and helpless. All the vital force flies to the brain, and your legs refuse to carry you. It is with sea-sickness as it is with wine. When people say that a certain wine goes to the head more quickly than another, it means that it more quickly goes to the legs. There you are on board a huge construction that rears and kicks like a buck jumper. She lifts all the parts of your body together, and, after well shaking them in the air several seconds, lets them down higgledy-piggledy, leaving to Providence the busi ness of picking them up and putting them together 2 * again. That is the kind of thing one has to go through about sixty times an hour ; and there is no hope for you — nobody dies of it.

Under such conditions the mental state of the boarders may easily be imagined. They smoke, they play cards, they pace the deck like Bruin pacing a cage, or else they read, and forget at the second chapter all they have read in the first. A lew presumptuous ones try to think, but without success. *The ladies — the American ones more especially — lie on their deck chairs swathed in rugs and shawls like Egyptian mummies in their sarco phagi, and there they pass from ten to twelve hours a day motionless, hopeless, helpless, speechless. Some few incurables keep to their cabins altogether, and only show their wasted faces when it is time to debark. Up they come, with cross, stupefied, pallid, yellow-green looking physiognomies, and seeming to say " Speak to me if you like, but don't expect me to open my eyes or answer you, and, above all, don't shake me."

Impossible to fraternise. The crossing now takes about six days and a half. By the time you have spent two in getting your sea legs on, and three more in reviewing, and being reviewed by, your fellow-passengers, you will find yourself at the end of your troubles — and your voyage. No, people do not fraternise on board ship during such a short passage unless a rumour runs from cabin to cabin that there has been some accident to the machinery, or that the boat is in imminent danger. At the least scare of this kind everyone looks at his neighbour with eyes that are alarmed, but amiable, nay, even amicable. But as soon as one can say, " We have come off with a mere scare this time," all the facial traits stiffen once more, and nobody knows anybody. Universal grief only will bring about universal brotherhood.

We must wait till the Day of Judgment. When the world is passing away, oh ! how men will forgive and love one another! What outpourings of goodwill and affection there will be ! How touching, how edifying will be the sight ! The universal republic will be founded in the twinkling of an eye, distinctions of creed and class forgotten. The author will embrace the critic, and even the publisher ; the socialist open his arms to the capi talist; the married men will be seen "making it up " with their mothers-in-law, begging them to forgive and forget, and admitting that they had not been always quite so . . . so — in fact, as they might have been. If the Creator of all is a philosopher, or enjoys humour, how He will be amused to see all the various sects of Christians, who have passed their lives in running one another down, throw themselves into one another's arms.

It will be a scene never to be forgotten. Yes, I repeat it, the voyage from Liverpool to New York is monotonous and wearisome in the extreme. It is an interval in one's existence, a week more or less lost — decidedly more than less. One grows gelatinous from head to foot, especially in the upper part of one's anatomy. In order to see to what an extent the brain softens, you only need look at the pastimes the poor passengers go in for. A state of demoralisation prevails throughout. They bet. That is the form the disease takes. They bet on anything and everything. They bet that the sun will or will not appear next day at eleven precisely, or that rain will fall at noon. They bet that the number of miles made by the boat at twelve o'clock next day will terminate with o, i, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, or 9.

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 hpppeis to be that of the pilot who takes the steam r 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. * * * * The nearest approach to a gay note in this 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 out, and, being seated near me in the smoke-room just now, started the following conver sation : — "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-cle de Pa-ris." Foreigner, I g>:ess ? " " Oh ! yes, the arnticle of Pahrriss." " Exactly so. Excuse my pronunciation." This floored him. " Rather impertinent, your smoke-room neigh hour ! " 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. SaturDag, 4tb January, 1890. 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, everything 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 denned. 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 known 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 arrival 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 to life again, and once more take up your place in this little planet that has been going on its jog-trot way during your temporary suppression. The first article which meets my eyes, as I open the New York World, is headed : " High time for Mr. Nash to put a stop to it." This is the 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 delivered 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 conjeeturing 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 time. 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 collection of bits of gossip, hearsay, news, scandal, the whole served a la sauce piquanie. TUne o'clock. 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 !" View Jl?orR Ibaibour, 5tb Sanuarg. At seven o'clock in the morning, the Custom House officers 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 two 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 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 with Captain Parsell, that experienced sailor whose bright, interestingconversation, added to the tempting 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 employes 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, or not ? 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. Everett ibouse, moon. My baggage examined, I took a cab to the hotel 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 Captain Parsill. •j A FRENCHMAN IN AMERICA. 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 influenza over here, as it is in Europe. It is called " Grippe." No American escapes it. Some have la grippe, 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 qiinine and two tablets of antipyrine a day, or you get grippe." 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 again ! * # * * 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 3* interviewers are waiting for me downstairs in Major Pond's office. The interviewers ! a gay note at last. The hall-porter hands me their cards. They are all there : representatives of the Tribune, the Times, the Sun, the Herald, the World, the Star. 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. A Frenchman writes in the Figaro : " I will go to America, if my life can be insured against 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 ! cant ! 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. tv /llMCmigbt. The interview with the New York reporters passed off very well. I went through the operation like a man, they said. 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 pleasure 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 monument, a complete cyclopædia 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 conteur 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 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." O Van-itas Van-itatum !

Time passed rapidly in such delightful company. I 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-morrow morning I leave for Boston at ten o'clock, to begin the lecture tour in that city, or, to use an Americanism, to " open the show." * * * * 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 16th.

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 ago, laughed at me, sat on me. That 's my telegram to you, Clovcritcs — with my love.

Chapter IV

Impressions of American Hotels. Boston, 6tb Januarg. 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 floor, 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.