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text-align: left; margin-left: 10%;} -.x-ebookmaker .poetry .stanza {page-break-inside: avoid;} - -.transnote { - background-color: #999999; - border: thin dotted; - font-family: sans-serif, serif; - margin-left: 5%; - margin-right: 5%; - margin-top: 4em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - padding: 1em; -} -.x-ebookmaker .transnote { - page-break-inside: avoid; - margin-left: 2%; - margin-right: 2%; - margin-top: 1em; - margin-bottom: 1em; - padding: .5em; -} - -.wspace {word-spacing: .3em;} - -span.locked {white-space:nowrap;} -.pagenum br {display: none; visibility: hidden;} -.bbox {border: .15em solid black; padding: .5em 0 .5em 0; margin: 4em auto 4em auto; max-width: 18em; page-break-before: always; page-break-after: always;} -.bbox.full {max-width: 27em;} -.bbox.full .bbox {border: .3em double black; margin: .5em 1em .5em 1em; max-width: 100%; padding: 1em; page-break-before: avoid; page-break-after: avoid;} - - /* ]]> */ </style> -</head> - -<body> -<p style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Meccas of the World, by Anne Warwick</p> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The Meccas of the World</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:0; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:1em;'>The Play of Modern Life in New York, Paris, Vienna, Madrid and London</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Anne Warwick</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: February 6, 2022 [eBook #67346]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: Juliet Sutherland, Charlie Howard, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MECCAS OF THE WORLD ***</div> - -<div class="transnote"> -<p class="center larger">Transcriber’s Note</p> - -<p>Larger versions of most illustrations may be seen by right-clicking them -and selecting an option to view them separately, or by double-tapping and/or -stretching them.</p> -</div> - -<div class="figcenter" style="max-width: 30em;"> - <img src="images/cover.jpg" width="2212" height="3421" alt="cover" /> -</div> - -<h1>THE MECCAS OF THE WORLD</h1> - -<hr class="narrow" /> - -<p class="p1 center larger">ANNE WARWICK</p> - -<div class="newpage p4 bbox center wspace"> -<p> -BOOKS BY ANNE WARWICK</p> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<p><i class="larger">COMPENSATION</i><br /> -<i>$1.30 net</i></p> - -<p><i class="larger">THE UNKNOWN WOMAN</i><br /> -<i>$1.30 net</i></p> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<p>JOHN LANE COMPANY<br /> -<span class="smaller">PUBLISHERS <span class="in1">NEW YORK</span></span> -</p> -</div> - -<div id="i_004" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 30em;"> - <img src="images/i_004.jpg" width="1419" height="2210" alt="" /> - <div class="caption"> - -<p class="credit"> -<i>Underwood & Underwood</i> -</p> - -<p>AN AMERICAN ALLEGORY: FIVE HUNDRED FEET ABOVE HIS -SKYSCRAPER, AND STILL CLIMBING!</p></div></div> - -<div class="bbox full center wspace"><div class="bbox"> -<p class="xxlarge wspace vspace"> -<span class="larger">THE MECCAS OF<br /> -THE WORLD</span></p> - -<p class="p1 vspace">THE PLAY OF MODERN LIFE IN<br /> -NEW YORK, PARIS, VIENNA,<br /> -MADRID AND LONDON</p> - -<p class="p2 larger"><span class="smaller">BY</span><br /> -ANNE WARWICK</p> - -<p class="p1 xsmall">AUTHOR OF “THE UNKNOWN WOMAN,” “COMPENSATION,” ETC.</p> - -<div id="i_005" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 7em;"> - <img src="images/i_005.jpg" width="338" height="392" alt="logo" /></div> - -<p class="p2">NEW YORK<br /> -<span class="larger">JOHN LANE COMPANY</span><br /> -MCMXIII -</p> -</div></div> - -<hr class="normal" /> - -<p class="newpage p4 center smaller"> -<span class="smcap">Copyright, 1913, by</span><br /> -JOHN LANE COMPANY -</p> - -<hr class="normal" /> - -<p class="newpage p4 center vspace"> -TO<br /> -<span class="larger">MY FATHER</span> -</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CONTENTS">CONTENTS</h2> -</div> - -<table id="toc"> -<tr> - <td class="tdc head" colspan="3">PART I</td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdc headsub" colspan="3">IN REHEARSAL</td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdc headsub" colspan="3">(New York)</td> -</tr> -<tr class="small"> - <td class="tdr">CHAPTER</td> - <td class="tdr" colspan="2">PAGE</td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr top">I.</td> - <td class="tdl">The Cast</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_3">3</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr top">II.</td> - <td class="tdl">Convenience vs. Culture</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_16">16</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr top">III.</td> - <td class="tdl">Off Duty</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_30">30</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr top">IV.</td> - <td class="tdl">Miss New York, Jr.</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_44">44</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr top">V.</td> - <td class="tdl">Matrimony & Co.</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_59">59</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdc head" colspan="3">PART II</td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdc headsub" colspan="3">THE CURTAIN RISES</td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdc headsub" colspan="3">(Paris)</td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr top">I.</td> - <td class="tdl">On the Great Artiste</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_77">77</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr top">II.</td> - <td class="tdl">On Her Everyday Performance</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_90">90</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr top">III.</td> - <td class="tdl">And Its Sequel</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_107">107</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdc head" colspan="3">PART III</td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdc headsub" colspan="3">THE CHILDREN’S PERFORMANCE</td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdc headsub" colspan="3">(Vienna)</td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr top">I.</td> - <td class="tdl">The Playhouse</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_127">127</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr top">II.</td> - <td class="tdl">The Players Who Never Grow Old</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_139">139</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr top">III.</td> - <td class="tdl">The Fairy Play</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_153">153</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdc head" colspan="3">PART IV</td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdc headsub" colspan="3">THE BROKEN-DOWN ACTOR</td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdc headsub" colspan="3">(Madrid)</td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr top">I.</td> - <td class="tdl">His Corner Apart</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_173">173</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr top">II.</td> - <td class="tdl">His Arts and Amusements</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_187">187</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr top">III.</td> - <td class="tdl">One of His Big Scenes</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_205">205</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr top">IV.</td> - <td class="tdl">His Foibles and Finenesses</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_215">215</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdc head" colspan="3">PART V</td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdc headsub" colspan="3">IN REVIEW</td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdc headsub" colspan="3">(London)</td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr top">I.</td> - <td class="tdl">The Critics</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_235">235</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr top">II.</td> - <td class="tdl">The Judgment</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_248">248</a></td> -</tr> -</table> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="ILLUSTRATIONS">ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> -</div> - -<table id="loi"> -<tr> - <td class="tdl nobpad"><span class="smcap">An American Allegory</span></td> - <td class="tdr top nobpad"><i><a href="#i_004">Frontispiece</a></i></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr xsmall nobpad" colspan="2">FACING PAGE</td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Afternoon Parade on Fifth Avenue</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#ip_10">10</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">A Patch of the Crazy Quilt</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#ip_14">14</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl">“<span class="smcap">New York’s Finest.</span>”</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#ip_30">30</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">American Woman Goes to War</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#ip_58">58</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Triumphant “Third Sex” Takes Washington</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#ip_66">66</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Open-Air Ball on the 14th July</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#ip_82">82</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">L’Heure du Rendez-vous</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#ip_110">110</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Soul of Old Spain</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#ip_170">173</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Queen of Spain and Prince of Asturias</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#ip_184">184</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Fair Enthusiasts at the Bull-Fight</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#ip_190">190</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Supreme Moment</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#ip_192">192</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">A Typical Posture of the Spanish Dance</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#ip_204">204</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Royal Family of Spain after a Chapel Service</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#ip_210">210</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">King Alfonso Swearing-in Recruits, April 13, 1913</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#ip_212">212</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl">“<span class="smcap">The Restful Sweep of Parks</span>”</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#ip_231">235</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">London: The Empire Capital</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#ip_252">252</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Great Island Site</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#ip_256">256</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Linking the New Era and the Old</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#ip_258">258</a></td> -</tr> -</table> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="PROLOGUE">PROLOGUE</h2> -</div> - -<p>A play is a play in so much as it furnishes a -fragment of actual life. Being only a fragment, -and thus literally torn out of the mass of life, it is -bound to be sketchy; to a certain extent even superficial. -Particularly is this the case where the scene -shifts between five places radically different in elements -and ideals. The author can only present the -(to her) most impressive aspects of the several -pictures, trusting to her sincerity to bridge the gaps -her enforced brevity must create. And first she -invites you to look at the piece in rehearsal.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="PI"><span class="larger">I<br /> - -<span class="subhead">IN REHEARSAL<br /> - -<span class="small">(New York)</span></span></span></h2> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div id="toclink_3" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">3</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="I-I">I<br /> - -<span class="subhead">THE CAST</span></h2> -</div> - -<p>Thanks to the promoters of <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">opéra bouffe</i> we are -accustomed as a universe to screw our eye to a single -peep-hole in the curtain that conceals a nation, and -innocently to accept what we see therefrom as typical -of the entire people. Thus England is generally supposed -to be inhabited by a blond youth with a top-hat -on the back of his head, and a large boutonnière -overwhelming his morning-coat. He carries a loud -stick, and says “Ah,” and is invariably strolling along -Piccadilly. In France, the youth has grown into a -bad, bold man of thirty—a <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">boulevardier</i>, of course—whose -features consist of a pair of inky moustaches -and a wicked leer. He sits at a table and drinks -absinthe, and watches the world go by. The world is -never by chance engaged elsewhere; it obligingly continues -to go by.</p> - -<p>Spain has a rose over her ear, and listens with -patience to a perpetual guitar; Austria forever is -waltzing upstairs, while America is known to be -populated by a sandy-haired person of no definite -age or embellishments, who spends his time in the -alternate amusements of tripling his fortune and -ejaculating “I guess!” He has a white marble mansion<span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">4</span> -on Fifth Avenue, and an office in Wall Street, -where daily he corners cotton or sugar or crude oil—as -the fancy strikes him. And he is bounded on -every side by sky-scrapers.</p> - -<p>Like most widely accepted notions, this is picturesque -but untrue. The Americans of America, or at -least the New Yorkers of New York, are not the -handful of men cutting off coupons in mahogany -offices “down-town”; nor the silken, sacheted women -gliding in and out of limousines, with gold purses. -They are the swarm of shop-keepers and “specialists,” -mechanics and small retailers, newspaper reporters -and petty clerks, such as flood the Subways and Elevated -railways of New York morning and night; -fighting like savages for a seat. They are the army -of tailors’ and shirt-makers’ and milliners’ girls who -daily pour through the cross-streets, to and from -their sordid work; they are the palely determined -hordes who batter at the artistic door of the city, and -live on nothing a week. They are the vast troops -of creatures born under a dozen different flags, whom -the city has seduced with her golden wand, whom she -has prostituted to her own greed, whom she will -shortly fling away as worthless scrap—and who love -her with a passion that is the root and fibre of their -souls.</p> - -<p>So much for the actual New Yorkers, as contrasted -with the gilded nonentity of musical comedy and best-selling -fiction. As for New York itself, it has the -appearance of behind the scenes at a gigantic theatre. -Coming into the harbour is like entering the house<span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">5</span> -of a great lady by the back door. Jagged rows of -match-like buildings present their blank rear walls -to the river, or form lurid bills of advertisement for -somebody’s pork and beans; huge barns of ferry -terminuses overlap with their galleries the narrow -streets beneath; slim towers shoot up, giddy and -dazzling-white, in the midst of grimy tenements and -a hideous black network of elevated railways; the -domes of churches and of pickle factories, the turrets -of prisons and of terra cotta hotels, the electric -signs of theatres and of cemetery companies, are -mingled indiscriminately in a vast, hurled-together -heap. While everywhere great piles of stone and -steel are dizzily jutting skyward, ragged and unfinished.</p> - -<p>It is plain to be seen that here life is in preparation—a -piece in rehearsal; with the scene-shifters a -bit scarce, or untutored in their business. One has -the uncomfortable sensation of having been in too -great haste to call; and so caught the haughty city -on her moving-in day. This breeds humility in the -visitor, and indulgence for the poor lady who is doing -her best to set her house to rights. It is a splendid -house, and a distinctly clever lady; and certainly in -time they will adjust themselves to one another and -to the world outside. For the present they loftily -enjoy a gorgeous chaos.</p> - -<p>Into this the stranger is landed summarily, and -with no pause of railway journey before he attacks -the city. London, Paris, Madrid, may discreetly -withdraw a hundred miles or more further from the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">6</span> -impatient foreigner: New York confronts him -brusquely on the pier. And from his peaceful cabin -he is plunged into a vortex of hysterical reunions, -rushing porters, lordly customs officials, newspaper -men, express-agents, bootblacks and boys shouting -“Tel-egram!” He has been on the dock only five -minutes, when he realizes that the dock itself is -unequivocally, uncompromisingly New York.</p> - -<p>Being New York, it has at once all the conveniences -and all the annoyances known to man, there -at his elbow. One can talk by long distance telephone -from the pier to any part of the United States; or -one can telegraph a “day letter” or a “night letter” -and be sure of its delivery in any section of the three-thousand -mile continent by eight o’clock next morning. -One can check one’s trunks, when they have -passed the customs, direct to one’s residence—whether -it be Fifth Avenue, New York, or Nob Hill, San -Francisco; time, distance, the clumsiness of inanimate -things, are dissipated before the eyes of the dazzled -stranger.</p> - -<p>On the other hand, before even he has set foot on -American soil, he becomes acquainted with American -arrogance, American indifference, the fantasy of -American democracy. The national attitude of I-am-as-good-as-you-are -has been conveyed to him -through the surly answers of the porter, the cheerful -familiarity of the customs examiner, the grinning -impudence of the express-man. These excellent public -servants would have the foreigner know once and -for all that he is in a land where all men are indisputably<span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">7</span> -proven free and equal, every minute. The -extremely interesting fact that all men are most -unequal—slaves to their own potentialities—has still -to occur to the American. He is in the stage of -doing, not yet of thinking; therefore he finds disgrace -in saying “sir” to another man, but none in -showing him rudeness.</p> - -<p>In a civilization like that of America, where the -office-boy of today is the millionaire of tomorrow, -and the millionaire of today tomorrow will be begging -a job, there cannot exist the hard and fast lines -which in older worlds definitely fix one man as a -gentleman, another as his servant. Under this management -of lightning changes, the most insignificant -of the chorus nurses (and with reason) the belief -that he may be jumped overnight into the leading -rôle. There is something rather fine in the desperate -self-confidence of every American in the ultimate -rise of his particular star. Out of it, I believe, grows -much of that feverish activity which the visitor to -New York invariably records among his first impressions. -One has barely arrived, and been whirled -from the dock into the roar and rush of Twenty-third -Street and Broadway, when he begins to realize the -relentless energy of the place.</p> - -<p>The very wind sweeps along the tunnel-like -streets, through the rows of monster buildings, with -a speed that takes the breath. In the fiercest of the -gale, at the intersection of the two great thoroughfares -of Fifth Avenue and Broadway, rises the solid, -serene bulk of the Flatiron Building—like a majestic<span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">8</span> -Wingèd Victory breasting the storm. Over to the -right, in Madison Square, Metropolitan Tower rears -its disdainful white loftiness; far above the dusky -gold and browns of old Madison Square Garden; -above the dwarfed Manhattan Club, the round Byzantine -dome of the Madison Square Presbyterian -Church. But the Flatiron itself has the proudest site -in New York; facing, to the north, on one side the -tangle and turmoil of Broadway—its unceasing -whirr of business, business, business; on the other side, -the broad elegance and dignity of Fifth Avenue, with -its impressive cavalcade of mounted police. While -East and West, before this giant building, rush the -trams and traffic of Twenty-third Street; and to the -South lie the arches of aristocratic old Washington -Square.</p> - -<p>It is as though at this converging point one -gathers together all the outstanding threads in the -fabric of the city, to visualize its central pattern. -And the outstanding types of the city here are -gathered also. One sees the ubiquitous “businessman,” -in his careful square-shouldered clothes, hurrying -from bus to tram, or tearing down-town in a taxi; -the almost ubiquitous business-woman, trig and -quietly self-confident, on her brisk up-town walk to -the office; and the out-of-town woman “shopper,” -with her enormous hand-bag, and the anxious-eyed -Hebrew “importer” (whose sign reads <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Maison -Marcel</i>), and his stunted little errand-girl darting -through the maze of traffic like a fish through well-known -waters; the idle young man-about-town, immortalized<span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">9</span> -in the sock and collar advertisements of -every surface car and Subway; and the equally idle -young girl, in her elaborate sameness the prototype of -the same cover of the best magazines: even in one day, -there comes to be a strange familiarity about all these -people.</p> - -<p>They are peculiar to their own special class, but -within that class they are as like as peas in a pod. -They have the same features, wear the same clothes -even to a certain shade, and do the same things in -identically the same day. With all about them shifting, -progressing, alternating from hour to hour, New -Yorkers, in themselves, remain unaltered. Or, if -they change, they change together as one creature—be -he millionaire or Hebrew shop-keeper, doctor of -divinity or manager of comic opera. For, of all men -under the sun, the New Yorker is a type; acutely -suspicious of and instinctively opposed to anything -independent of the type. Hence, in spite of the vast -numbers of different peoples brought together on -Manhattan Island, we find not a community of -Americans growing cosmopolitan, but a community -of cosmopolitans forced to grow New Yorkers. This, -under the potent influence of extreme American -adaptability, they do in a remarkably short time; the -human potpourri who five years ago had never seen -Manhattan, today being indistinguishable in the representative -city mass.</p> - -<p>Walk out Fifth Avenue at the hour of afternoon -parade, or along Broadway on a matinée day: the -habitués of the two promenades differ only in degree.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">10</span> -Broadway is blatant. Fifth Avenue is desperately -toned-down. On Broadway, voices and millinery -are a few shades more strident, self-assertion a few -shades more arrogant than on the less ingenuous Avenue. -Otherwise, what do you find? The same over-animated -women, the same over-languid young girls; -wearing the same velvets and furs and huge corsage -bouquets, and—unhappily—the same pearl powder -and rouge, whether they be sixteen or sixty, married -or demoiselle. Ten years ago New York could boast -the loveliest, naturally beautiful galaxy of young -girls in the world; today, since the onslaught of -French fashion and artificiality, this is no longer true. -On the other hand, it is pitiable to see the hard painted -lines and fixed smile of the women of the world in -the faces of these girls of seventeen and eighteen who -walk up and down the Avenue day after day to stare -and be stared at with almost the boldness of a boulevard -<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">trotteuse</i>.</p> - -<div id="ip_10" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 46em;"> - <img src="images/i_025.jpg" width="2215" height="1396" alt="" /> - <div class="caption"> - -<p class="credit"> -<i>Underwood & Underwood</i> -</p> - -<p>THE AFTERNOON PARADE ON FIFTH AVENUE</p></div></div> - -<p>Foreigners who watch them from club windows -write enthusiastic eulogies in their praise. To me -they seem a terrible travesty on all that youth is -meant to be. They take their models from pictures -of French demi-mondaines shown in ultra-daring -race costumes, in the Sunday newspapers; and whom -they fondly believe to be great ladies of society. I -had almost said that from head to foot they are -victims of an entirely false conception of beauty and -grace; but when it comes to their feet, they are -genuine American, and, so, frank and attractive. -Indeed there is no woman as daintily and appropriately -shod as the American woman, whose trim -short skirts betray this pleasant fact with every step -she takes.</p> - -<p>Nowhere, however, is appearance and its detail -more misrepresentative than in New York. Strangers -exclaim at the opulence of the frocks and furs displayed -by even the average woman. They have no -idea that the average woman lives in a two-by-four -hall bedroom—or at best a three-room flat; and that -she has saved and scrimped, or more probably gone -into debt to acquire that one indispensable good costume. -Nor could they imagine that her chief joy in -a round of sordid days is parade in it as one of the -luxurious throng that crowd Fifth Avenue and its -adjacent tea-rooms from four till six every afternoon.</p> - -<p>Not only the women of Manhattan itself revel -in this daily scene; but their neighbors from Brooklyn, -Staten Island, Jersey City and Newark pour in -by the hundreds, from the underground tubes and the -ferries that connect these places with New York. -The whole <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">raison d’être</i> of countless women and girls -who live within an hour’s distance of the city is this -everyday excursion to their Mecca: the leisurely stroll -up Fifth Avenue from Twenty-third Street, down -from Fifty-ninth; the cup of tea at one of the rococo -hotels along the way. It is a routine of which they -never seem to tire—a monotony always new to them. -And the pathetic part of it is that while they all—the -indigent “roomers,” the anxious suburbanites, and -the floating fraction of tourists from the West and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">12</span> -South—fondly imagine they are beholding the Four -Hundred of New York society, they are simply staring -at each other!</p> - -<p>And accepting each other naïvely at their clothes -value. The woman of the hall bedroom receives the -same appreciative glance as the woman with a bank -account of five figures; provided that outwardly she -has achieved the same result. The prime mania of -New York is results—or what appear to be results. -Every sky-scraper in itself is an exclamation-point of -accomplishment. And the matter is not how one -accomplishes, but how much; so that the more sluggish -European can feel the minutes being snatched -and squeezed by these determined people round him -and made to yield their very utmost before being allowed -to pass into telling hours and days.</p> - -<p>With this goes an air of almost offensive competency—an -air that is part of the garments of the -true New Yorker; as though he and he alone can -compass the affair towards which he is forever hurrying. -There is about him, always, the piquant insinuation -that he is keeping someone waiting; that he can. -I have been guilty of suspecting that this attitude, -together with his painstakingly correct clothes, constitute -the chief elements in the New Yorker’s game -of “bluff.” Let him wear what the ready-made tailor -describes as “snappy” clothes, and he is at once -respected as successful. A man may be living on one -meal a day, but if he can contrive a prosperous -appearance, together with the preoccupied air of -having more business than he can attend to, he is in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">13</span> -the way of being begged to accept a position, at any -moment.</p> - -<p>No one is so ready to be “bluffed” as the American -who spends his life “bluffing.” In him are united -the extremes of ingenuousness and shrewdness; so -that often through pretending to be something he is -not, he does actually come to be it. A Frenchman or -a German or an Englishman is born a barber; he -remains a barber and dies a barber, like his father -and grandfather before him. His one idea is to be -the best barber he can be; to excell every other barber -in his street. The American scorns such lack of -“push.” If his father is a barber, he himself learns -barbering only just well enough to make a living -while he looks for a “bigger job.” His mind is not -on pleasing his clients, but on himself—five, ten, -twenty years hence.</p> - -<p>He sees himself a confidential clerk, then manager’s -assistant, then manager of an independent -business—soap, perhaps; he sees himself taken into -partnership, his wife giving dinners, his children sent -to college. And so vivid are these possibilities to him, -reading and hearing of like histories every day in -the newspapers and on the street, that unconsciously -he begins to affect the manners and habits of the -class he intends to make his own. In an astonishingly -short time they are his own; which means that he has -taken the main step towards the realization of his -dream. It is the outward and visible signs of belonging -which eventually bring about that one does belong; -and no one is quicker to grasp this than the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">14</span> -obscure American. He has the instincts of the born -climber. He never stops imitating until he dies; -and by that time his son is probably governor of the -State, and his daughter married to a title. What a -people! As a Frenchman has put it, “<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">il n’y a que des -phenomènes!</i>”</p> - -<p>One cannot conclude an introductory sketch of -some of their phenomena without a glance at their -amazing architecture. The first complacent question -of the newspaper interviewer to every foreigner is: -“What do you think of our sky-scrapers?” And -one is certainly compelled to do a prodigious deal of -thinking about them, whether he will or no. For they -are being torn down and hammered up higher, all -over New York, till conversation to be carried on in -the street must needs become a dialogue in monosyllabic -shouts; while walking, in conjunction with the -upheavals of new Subway tunnelling, has all the -excitements of traversing an earthquake district.</p> - -<div id="ip_14" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 30em;"> - <img src="images/i_031.jpg" width="1438" height="2226" alt="" /> - <div class="caption"> - -<p class="credit"> -<i>Underwood & Underwood</i> -</p> - -<p>A PATCH OF THE CRAZY-QUILT BROADWAY, FROM 42d STREET</p></div></div> - -<p>This perpetual transition finds its motive in the -enormous business concentrated on the small island -of Manhattan, and the constant increase in office -space demanded thereby. The commerce of the city -persistently moves north, and the residents flee before -it; leaving their fine old Knickerbocker homes to be -converted into great department stores, publishing -houses, but above all into the omnivorous office-building. -The mass of these are hideous—dizzy, -squeezed-together abortions of brick and steel—but -here and there among the horrors are to be found -examples of true if fantastic beauty. The Flatiron -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">15</span>Building is one, the Woolworth Building (especially -in its marvellous illumination by night) another, the -new colonnaded offices of the Grand Central Station -a third. Yet the general impression of New York -architecture upon the average foreigner is of illimitable -confusion and ugliness.</p> - -<p>It is because the American in art is a Futurist. -He so far scorns the ideal as to have done with imagination -altogether; substituting for it an invention so -titanic in audacity that to the untrained it appears -grotesque. In place of the ideal he has set up the -one thing greater: truth. And as truth to every man -is different (only standard being relatively fixed) -how can he hope for concurrence in his masterpiece? -The sky-scraper is more than a masterpiece: it is a -fact. A fact of violence, of grim struggle, and of -victory; over the earth that is too small, and the winds -that rage in impotence, and the heavens that heretofore -have been useless. It is the accomplished fact -of man’s dauntless determination to wrest from the -elements that which he sees he needs; and as such it -has a beauty too terrible to be described.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div id="toclink_16" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">16</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="I-II">II<br /> - -<span class="subhead">CONVENIENCE <i>VS.</i> CULTURE</span></h2> -</div> - -<p>Here are the two prime motives waging war in -the American drama of today. Time is money; -whether for the American it is to mean anything more -is still a question. Meanwhile every time-saving convenience -that can be invented is put at his disposal, -be he labouring man or governor of a state. And, -as we have seen in the case of the sky-scraper, little or -no heed is paid to the form of finish of the invention; -its beauty is its practicability for immediate and exhaustive -use.</p> - -<p>Take that most useful of all, for example: the -hotel. An Englishman goes to a hotel when he is -obliged to, and then chooses the quietest he can find. -Generally it has the appearance of a private house, all -but the discreet brass plate on the door. He rings for -a servant to admit him; his meals are served in his -rooms, and weeks go by without his seeing another -guest in the house. The idea is to make the hotel in -as far as possible duplicate the home.</p> - -<p>In America it is the other way round; the New -Yorker in particular models his home after his hotel, -and seizes every opportunity to close his own house<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">17</span> -and live for weeks at a time in one of the huge caravanseries -that gobble up great areas of the city. “It -is so convenient,” he tells you, lounging in the gaudy -lobby of one of these hideous terra-cotta structures. -“No servant problem, no housekeeping worries for -madame, and everything we want within reach of -the telephone bell!”</p> - -<p>Quite true, when the pompadoured princess below-stairs -condescends to answer it. Otherwise you may -sit in impotent rage, ten stories up, while she finishes -a twenty-minute conversation with her “friend” or arranges -to go to a “show” with the head barber; for -in all this palace of marble staircases and frescoed -ceilings, Louis Quinze suites and Russian baths there -is not an ordinary bell in the room to call a servant. -Everything must be ordered by telephone; and what -boots it that there is a telegraph office, a stock exchange -bureau, a ladies’ outfitting shop, a railroad -agency, a notary, a pharmacist and an osteopath in -the building—if to control these conveniences one -must wander through miles of corridors and be shot -up and down a dozen lifts, because the telephone girl -refuses to answer?</p> - -<p>From personal experience, I should say that the -servant problem is quite as tormenting in hotels as in -most other American establishments. The condescension -of these worthies, when they deign to supply -you with some simple want, is amazing. Not only in -hotels, but in well-run private houses, they seize every -chance for conversation, and always turn to the subject -of their own affairs—their former prosperity,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">18</span> -the mere temporary necessity of their being in service, -and their glowing prospects for the future. They insist -on giving you their confidential opinion of the -establishment in which you are a guest, and which is -invariably far inferior to others in which they have -been employed. They comment amiably on your garments, -if they are pleased with them, or are quite as -ready to convey that they are not. And woe to him -who shows resentment! He may beseech their service -henceforth in vain. If, however, he meekly accepts -them as they are, they will graciously be pleased -to perform for him the duties for which they are paid -fabulous wages.</p> - -<p>Hotel servants constitute the aristocracy among -“domestics,” as they prefer to call themselves; just as -hotel dwellers—of the more luxurious type—constitute -a kind of aristocracy among third-rate society in -New York. These people lead a strange, unreal sort -of existence, living as it were in a thickly gilded, -thickly padded vacuum, whence they issue periodically -into the hands of a retinue of hangers-on: manicures, -<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">masseurs</i>, hair-dressers, and for the men a train -of speculators and sporting parasites. In this world, -where there are no definite duties or responsibilities, -there are naturally no fixed hours for anything. -Meals occur when the caprice of the individual demands -them—breakfast at one, or at three, if he likes; -dinner at the supper hour, or, instead of tea, a restaurant -is always at his elbow. With the same irresponsibility, -engagements are broken or kept an hour late; -agreements are forfeited or forgotten altogether;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">19</span> -order of any sort is unknown, and the only activity of -this large class of wealthy people is a hectic, unregulated -striving after pleasure.</p> - -<p>Women especially grow into hotel fungi of this -description, sitting about the hot, over-decorated lobbies -and in the huge, crowded restaurants, with nothing -to do but stare and be stared at. They are a curious -by-product of the energetic, capable American -woman in general; and one thinks there might be salvation -for them in the “housekeeping” worries they -disdainfully repudiate. Still, it cannot be denied that -with the serious problem of servants and the exorbitant -prices of household commodities a home is far more -difficult to maintain in America than in the average -modern country. Hospitality under the present conditions -presents features slightly careworn; and the -New York hostess is apt to be more anxious than -charming, and to end her career on the dismal verandas -of a sanatorium for nervous diseases.</p> - -<p>But society the world round has very much the -same character. For types peculiar to a country, -one must descend the ladder to rungs nearer the native -soil; in New York there are the John Browns of -Harlem, for example. No one outside America has -heard of Harlem. Does the loyal Englishman abroad -speak of Hammersmith? Does the Frenchman <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">en -voyage</i> descant on the beauties of the Batignolles? -These abominations are locked within the national -bosom; only Hyde Park and the Champs Elysées and -Fifth Avenue are allowed out for alien gaze. Yet -quite as emphatic of New York struggle and achievement<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">20</span> -as the few score millionaire palaces along the -avenue are the tens of thousands of cramped Harlem -flats that overspread the northern end of the island -from One Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street to the -Bronx. For tens of thousands of John Browns -have daily to wage war in the deadly field of American -commercial competition, in order to pay the rent -and the gas bill, and the monthly installment on the -furniture of these miniature homes. They have not, -however, to pay for the electric light, or the hot-water -heating, or a dozen other comforts which are a recurring -source of amazement to the foreigner in such a -place. For twenty dollars a month, John Brown and -his wife are furnished not only with three rooms and -a luxurious porcelain bath in a white-tiled bathroom; -but also the use of two lifts, the inexhaustible services -of the janitor, a comfortable roof garden in summer, -and an imposing entrance hall downstairs, done in -imitation Carrara marble and imitation Cordova -leather. With this goes a still more imposing address, -and Mrs. John can rouse the eternal envy of the -weary Sixth Avenue shop-girl by ordering her lemon-squeezer -or two yards of linoleum sent to “Marie Antoinette -Court,” or “The Cornwallis Arms.” The -shop-girl understands that Mrs. John’s husband is a -success.</p> - -<p>That is, that he earns in the neighborhood of a -hundred dollars a month. With this he can afford -to pay the household expenses, to dress himself and -his wife a bit better than their position demands, to -subscribe to two or three of the ten-cent magazines,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">21</span> -and to do a play on Broadway now and then. Mrs. -John of course is a matinée fiend, and has the candy -habit. These excesses must be provided for; also -John’s five-cent cigars and his occasional mild “spree -with the boys.” For the rest, they are a prudent -couple; methodically religious, inordinately moral; -banking a few dollars every month against the menacing -rainy-day, and, if this has not arrived by vacation -time in August, promptly spending the money on the -lurid delights of Atlantic City or some other ocean -resort. Thence they return haggard but triumphant, -with a coat of tan laboriously acquired by wetting -faces and arms, and then sitting for hours in the broiling -sun—to impress the Tom Smiths in the flat next -door that they have had a “perfectly grand time.”</p> - -<p>A naïve, hard-working, kindly couple, severely -conventional in their prejudices, impressionable as -children in their affections, and with a certain persistent -cleverness that shoots beyond the limitations of -their type, and hints to them of the habits and manners -of a finer. In them the passionate motive of self-development -that dominates all American life has so far -found an outlet only in demand for the conveniences -and material comforts of the further advanced whom -they imitate. When in the natural course of things -they turn their eyes towards the culture of the Man -Higher Up, they will obtain that, too. And meanwhile -does not Mrs. Brown have her Tennyson Club, -and John his uniform edition of Shakespeare?</p> - -<p>Some New Yorkers who shudder at Harlem are -not as lucky. I was once the guest of a lady who had<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">22</span> -just moved into her sumptuous new home on Riverside -Drive. My rooms, to quote the first-class hotel -circular, were replete with every luxury; I could turn -on the light from seven different places; I could make -the chairs into couches or the couches into chairs; I -could talk by one of the marvellous ebony and silver -telephones to the valet or the cook, or if I pleased to -Chicago. There was nothing mortal man could invent -that had not been put in those rooms, including -six varieties of reading-lamps, and a bed-reading-table -that shot out and arranged itself obligingly -when one pushed a button.</p> - -<p>But there was nothing to read. Apologetically, I -sought my hostess. Would she allow me to pilfer the -library? For a moment the lady looked blank. Then, -with a smile of relief, she said: “Of course! You -want some magazines. How stupid of the servants. -I’ll have them sent to you at once; but you know we -have no library. I think books are so ugly, don’t -you?”</p> - -<p>I am not hopelessly addicted to veracity, but I will -set my hand and seal to this story; also to the fact -that in all that palace of the superfluous there was not -to my knowledge one book of any sort. Even the -favourite whipped-cream novel of society was wanting; -but magazines of every kind and description littered -the place. The reason for this apparently inexplicable -state of affairs is simple; time is money; -therefore not to be expended without calculation. In -the magazine the rushed business man, and the equally -rushed business or society woman, has a literary<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">23</span> -quick-lunch that can be swallowed in convenient bites -at odd moments during the day.</p> - -<p>Is the business man dining out? He looks at the -reviews of books he has not read on the way to his -office in the morning; criticisms of plays he has not -seen, on the way back at night. Half an hour of -magazine is made thus to yield some eight hours of -theatre and twenty-four of reading books—and his -<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">vis-à-vis</i> at dinner records at next day’s tea party, -“what a well-informed man that Mr. Worriton is! -He seems to find time for everything.”</p> - -<p>Is the society woman “looking in” at an important -reception? Between a fitting at her dressmaker’s, -luncheon, bridge and two teas, she catches up the last -Review from the pocket of her limousine, and runs -over the political notes, war news, foreign events of -the week. Result: “that Mrs. Newrich is really a -remarkable woman!” declares the distinguished guest -of the reception to his hostess. “Such a breadth of -interest, such an intelligent outlook! It is genuine -pleasure to meet a woman who shows some acquaintance -with the affairs of the day.”</p> - -<p>And so again they hoodwink one another, each -practicing the same deceptive game of superficial -show; yet none suspecting any of the rest. And the -magazine syndicates flourish and multiply. In this -piece that is in preparation, the actors are too busy -proving themselves capable of their parts really to -take time to become so. To succeed with them, you -must offer your dose in tabloids: highly concentrated -essence of whatever it is, and always sugar-coated.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">24</span> -Then they will swallow it promptly, and demand -more. Remember, too, that what they want in the -way of “culture” is not drama, or literature, or music; -but excitement—of admiration, pity, the erotic -or the sternly moral sense. Their nerves must be kept -at a certain perpetual tension. He who overlooks this -supreme fact, in creating for them, fails.</p> - -<p>There are in America today some thousands of -men and women who have taken the one step further -than their fellows in that they realize this, and so are -able shrewdly to pander to the national appetites. -The result is a continuous outpouring of novels and -short stories, plays and hybrid songs, such as in a less -vast and less extravagant country would ruin one another -by their very multitude; but which in the United -States meet with an appalling success. Appalling, because -it is not a primitive, but a too exotic, fancy that -delights in them. For his mind as for his body, the -American demands an overheated dwelling; when not -plunged within the hectic details of a “best-seller,” -by way of recreation, he is apt to be immersed in the -florid joys of a Broadway extravaganza.</p> - -<p>These unique American productions, made up of -large beauty choruses, magnificent scenery, gorgeous -costumes, elaborate fantasies of ballet and song, bear -the same relation to actual drama that the best-sellers -bear to literature, and are as popular. The Hippodrome, -with its huge stage accommodating four hundred -people, and its enormous central tank for water -spectacles, is easily first among the extravaganza -houses of New York. Twice a day an eager audience,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">25</span> -drawn from all classes of metropolitan and -transient society, crowds the great amphitheatre to -the doors. The performance prepared for them is -on the order of a French révue: a combination circus -and vaudeville, held together by a thin thread of plot -that permits the white-flannelled youth and bejewelled -maiden, who have faithfully exclaimed over -each new sensation of the piece, finally to embrace one -another, with the novel cry of “at last!”</p> - -<p>Meanwhile kangaroos engage in a boxing match, -hippopotami splash most of the reservoir over the -“South Sea Girls”; the Monte Carlo Casino presents -its hoary tables as background for the “Dance -of the Jeunesse Dorée,” and Maoris from New -Zealand give an imitation of an army of tarantulas -writhing from one side of the stage to another. The -climax is a stupendous <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">tableau en pyramide</i> of fountains, -marble staircases, gilded thrones, and opalescent -canopies; built up, banked, and held together by -girls of every costume and complexion. Nothing -succeeds in New York without girls; the more there -are, the more triumphant the success. So the Hippodrome, -being in every way triumphant, has mountains -of them: tall girls and little girls, Spanish girls, -Japanese girls, Hindoo girls and French girls; and -at the very top of the peak, where the “spot” points -its dazzling ray, the American girl, wrapped in the -Stars and Stripes of her apotheosis. <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">Ecco!</i> The last -word has been said; applause thunders to the rafters; -the flag is unfurled, to show the maiden in the victorious -garb of a Captain of the Volunteers; and the curtain<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">26</span> -falls amid the lusty strains of the national anthem. -Everybody goes home happy, and the box -office nets five thousand dollars. They know the value -of patriotism, these good Hebrews.</p> - -<p>This sentiment, always near the surface with -Americans, grows deeper and more fervid as it localizes; -leading to a curiously intense snobbism on the -part of one section of the country towards another. -Thus New York society sniffs at Westerners; let -them approach the citadel ever so heavily armed with -gold mines, they have a long siege before it surrenders -to them. On the other hand, the same society smiles -eagerly upon Southerners of no pocket-books at all; -and feeds and fêtes and fawns upon them, because -they are doomed, the minute their Southern accent is -heard, to come of “a good old family.” The idea of -a decayed aristocracy in two-hundred-year-old America -is not without comedy, but in the States Southerners -are taken very solemnly, by themselves as by -everyone else.</p> - -<p>My friend of the æsthetic antipathy to books -(really a delightful person) is a Southerner—or was, -before gathered into the fold of the New York Four -Hundred. She apologized for taking me to the -Horse Show (which she thought might amuse me, -however), because “no one goes any more. It’s all -Middle West and commuters.” For the benefit of -those imperfect in social geography I must explain -that Middle West is the one thing worse than West, -and that commuters are those unfortunates without -the sacred pale, who are forced to journey to and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">27</span> -from Manhattan by ferries or underground tubes. -They are the butt of comic newspaper supplements, -topical songs, and society witticisms; also the despised -and over-charged “out-of-town customers” of the -haughty Fifth Avenue importer.</p> - -<p>For the latter (a phenomenon unique to New -York) has her own system of snobbism, quite as elaborate -as that of her proudest client. They are really -a remarkable mixture of superciliousness and abject -servility, these Irish and Hebrew “Madame Celestes,” -whose thriving establishments form so conspicuous a -part of the important avenue. As exponents of the -vagaries of American democracy, they deserve a paragraph -to themselves.</p> - -<p>Each has her rococo shop, and her retinue of mannequin -assistants garbed in the extreme of fashion; -each makes her yearly or bi-yearly trip to Paris, from -which she returns with strange and bizarre creations, -which she assures her patrons are the “only thing” -being worn by <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Parisiennes</i> this season. Now even the -untutored male knows that there is never an “only -thing” favoured by the capricious and original <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Parisienne</i>; -but that she changes with every wind, and in -all seasons wears everything under the sun (including -ankle-bracelets and Cubist hats), provided it has the -one hall-mark: <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">chic</i>.</p> - -<p>But Madame New York meekly accepts the Irish -lady’s dictum, and arrays herself accordingly—with -what result of extravagant monotony we shall see -later on. Enough for the present that she is absolutely -submissive to the vulgar taste and iron decrees<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">28</span> -of the rubicund “Celeste” from Cork, and that the -latter alternately condescends and grovels to her, in -a manner amazing to the foreigner, who may be looking -on. Yet on second thoughts it is quite explicable: -after the habit of all Americans, native or naturalized, -“Celeste” cannot conceal that she considers herself -“as good as” anyone, if not a shade better than -some. At the same time, again truly American, she -worships the dollars madame represents (and whose -aggregate she can quote to a decimal), and respects -the lady in proportion. Hence her bewildering combinations -of “certainly, Madame—it shall be exactly -as Madame orders,” with “Oh, <em>my dear</em>, I wouldn’t -have that! Why, girlie, that on you with your dark -skin would look like sky-blue on an Indian! But, -see, dear, here’s a pretty pink model”—etc., etc.</p> - -<p>And so it continues, unctuous deference sandwiched -between endearments and snubs throughout -the entire conference of shopkeeper and customer; and -the latter takes it all as a matter of course, though, -if her own husband should venture to disagree with -her on any point of judgment, she would be furious -with him for a week. When I commented to one -lady on these familiar blandishments and criticisms -of shop people in New York, she said indulgently: -“Oh, they all do it. They don’t mean anything; it’s -only their way.”</p> - -<p>Yet I have heard that same lady hotly protest -against the wife of a Colorado silver magnate (whom -she had known for years) daring to address her by -her Christian name. “That vulgar Westerner!” she<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">29</span> -exclaimed; “the next thing she’ll be calling me dear!”</p> - -<p>Democracy remains democracy as long as it cannot -possibly encroach upon the social sphere; the moment -the boundary is passed, however, and the successful -“climber” threatens equal footing with the -<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">grande dame</i> on the other side, herself still climbing -in England or Europe, anathema! The fact is, that -Americans, like all other very young people, seek to -hide their lack of assurance—social and otherwise—by -an aggressive policy of defense which they call -independence; but which is verily snobbism of the -most virulent brand. From the John Browns to the -multimillionaires with daughters who are duchesses, -they are intent on emphasizing their own position -and its privileges; unconscious that if they themselves -were sure of it so would be everyone else.</p> - -<p>But inevitably the actors must stumble and stammer, -and insert false lines, before finally they shall -“feel” their parts, and forge ahead to the victory of -finished performance.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div id="toclink_30" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">30</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="I-III">III<br /> - -<span class="subhead">OFF DUTY</span></h2> -</div> - -<p>When one ponders what the New Yorker in his -leisure hours most enjoys, one answers without hesitation: -feeding. The word is not elegant, but -neither is the act, as one sees it in process at the mammoth -restaurants. Far heavier and more prolonged -than mere eating and drinking is this serious cult of -food on the part of the average Manhattanite. It -has even led to the forming of a distinct “set,” christened -by some satirical outsider: “Lobster Society.”</p> - -<p>Here are met the moneyed plutocrat and his exuberant -“lady friend,” the mauve-waistcoated sporting -man, the society <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">déclassée</i> with her gorgeous jewels -and little air of tragedy, the expansive Hebrew -and his chorus girl, the gauche out-of-town couple -with their beaming smiles and last season’s clothes: -all that hazy limbo that hovers on the social boundary-line, -but hovers futilely—and that seeks to smother its -disappointment with elaborate feasts of over-rich -food.</p> - -<div id="ip_30" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 46em;"> - <img src="images/i_049.jpg" width="2201" height="1400" alt="" /> - <div class="caption"> - -<p class="credit"> -<i>Underwood & Underwood</i> -</p> - -<p>“NEW YORK’S FINEST”: THE FAMOUS MOUNTED POLICE SQUAD</p></div></div> - -<p>It is amazing the thousands of these people that -there are—New York seems to breed them faster -than any other type; and the hundreds of restaurants -they support. Every hotel has its three or four huge -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">31</span>dining-rooms, its Palm Garden, Dutch Grill, etc.; -but, as all these were not enough, shrewd Frenchmen -and Germans and Viennese have dotted the city with -<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">cafés</i> and <i xml:lang="de" lang="de">brauhausen</i> and <i>Little Hungaries</i>, to say -nothing of the alarming Egyptian and Turkish abortions -that are the favourite erection of the American -restaurateur himself.</p> - -<p>The typical New York feeding-place from the -outside is a palace in terra cotta; from the inside, a -vast galleried room or set of rooms, upheld by rose -or ochre marble pillars, carpeted with thick red rugs, -furnished with bright gilt chairs and heavily damasked, -flower-laden tables—the whole interspersed -and overtopped and surrounded by a jumble of fountains, -gilt-and-onyx Sphinxes, caryatids, centaurs, -bacchantes, and heaven knows what else of the superfluous -and disassociated. To reach one’s table, one -must thread one’s way through a maze of lions couchant, -peacocks with spread mother o’ pearl tails, and -opalescent dragons that turn out to be lights: proud -detail of the “million dollar decorative scheme” referred -to in the advertisements of the house. Finally -anchored in this sea of sumptuousness, one is confronted -with the dire necessity of ordering a meal -from a menu that would have staggered Epicurus.</p> - -<p>There is the table d’hôte of nine courses—any one -of them a meal in itself; or there is the bewildering -<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">carte du jour</i>, from which to choose strawberries in -December, oranges in May, or whatever collection of -ruinous exotics one pleases. The New Yorker himself -goes methodically down the list, from oysters to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">32</span> -iced pudding; impartial in his recognition of the -merits of lobster bisque, <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">sole au gratin</i>, creamed -sweetbreads, porterhouse steak, broiled partridge and -Russian salad. He sits down to this orgy about seven -o’clock, and rises—or is assisted to rise—about ten or -half past, unless he is going on to a play, in which -case he disposes of his nine courses with the same -lightning execution displayed at his quick-lunch, -only increasing his drink supply to facilitate the -process.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile there is the “Neapolitan Quartet,” -and the Hungarian Rhapsodist, and the lady in the -pink satin blouse who sings “The Rosary,” to amuse -our up-to-date Nero. I wonder what the Romans -would make of the modern cabaret? Like so many -French importations, stripped in transit of their saving -coat of French <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">esprit</i>, the cabaret in American becomes -helplessly vulgar. Extreme youth cannot carry -off the risqué, which requires the salt of worldly wisdom; -it only succeeds in being rowdy. And the noisy -songs, the loud jokes, the blatant dances—all the -spurious clap-trap which in these New York feeding-resorts -passes for amusement—point to the most -youthful sort of rowdyism: to a popular discrimination -still in embryo. But the New Yorker dotes on -it—the cabaret, I mean; if for no other reason, because -it satisfies his passion for getting his money’s -worth. He is ready to pay a handsome price, but he -demands handsome return, and no “extras” if you -please.</p> - -<p>When the ten-cent charge for bread and butter<span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">33</span> -was inaugurated by New York restaurateurs last -Spring, their patrons were furious; it hinted of the -parsimonious European charge for “cover.” But if -the short-sighted proprietors had quietly added five -cents to the price of each article on the menu, it would -have passed unnoticed: it is not paying that the -American minds, it is “being done.” Conceal from -him this humiliating consciousness, and he will empty -his pockets. Thus, at the theatre, seats are considerably -higher than in European cities, but they are also -far more comfortable; and include a program, sufficient -room for one’s hat and wrap, the free services -of the usher, and as many glasses of the beloved ice-water -as one cares to call for. People would not -tolerate being disturbed throughout the performance -by the incessant demands for a “<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">petite service</i>” and -other supplements that persecute the Continental -theatre-goer; while as for being forced to leave one’s -wraps in a <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">garde-robe</i>, and to pay for the privilege of -fighting to recover them, the independent American -would snort at the bare idea. He insists on a maximum -amount of comfort for his money, and on paying -for it in a lump sum, either at the beginning or -at the end. Convenience, the almighty god, acknowledges -no limits to its sway.</p> - -<p>It was convenience that until recently made it the -custom for the average New York play-goer to appear -at the theatre in morning dress. The tired business -man could afford to go to the play, but had not -the energy to change for it; so, naturally, his wife -and daughter did not change either, and the orchestra<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">34</span> -presented a commonplace aspect, made up of -shirtwaists and high-buttoned coats. Now, however, -following the example of society, people are beginning -to break away from this unattractive austerity; -and theatre audiences are enlivened by a sprinkling of -light frocks and white shirts.</p> - -<p>We have already commented on the most popular -type of dramatic amusement in America: the extravaganza, -and musical comedy so-called; it is time -now to mention the gradually developing legitimate -drama, which has its able exponents in Augustus -Thomas, Edward Sheldon, Eugene Walter, the late -Clyde Fitch, and half a dozen others of no less insight -and ability. Their plays present the stirring -and highly dramatic scenes of American business and -social life (using social in its original sense); and -while for the foreigner many of the situations lose -their full significance—being peculiar to America, in -rather greater degree than French plays are peculiar -to France, and English to England—even he must be -impressed with the vivid realism and powerful climax -of the best American comedies.</p> - -<p>The nation as a whole is vehemently opposed to -tragedy in any form, and demands of books and plays -alike that they invariably shall end well. Such brilliant -exceptions as Eugene Walter’s “The Easiest -Way” and Sheldon’s “The Nigger,” only prove the -rule that the successful piece must have a “happy -ending.” High finance plays naturally an important -part as nucleus of plots; also the marriage of working -girls with scions of the Upper Ten. But the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">35</span> -playwright has only to look into the newspapers, in -this country of perpetual adventure, to find enough -romance and sensation to fill every theatre in New -York.</p> - -<p>It seems almost as though the people themselves -are surfeited with the actual drama that surrounds -them, for they are rather languid as an audience, and -must be piqued by more and more startling “thrillers” -before moved to enthusiasm. Even then their applause -is usually directed towards the “star,” in -whom they take far keener interest than in the play -itself. It is interesting to follow this passionate individualism -of the nation that dominates its amusements -as well as its activities. The player, not the -play’s the thing with Americans; and on theatrical -bills the name of the principal actor or actress is always -given the largest type, the title of the piece next -largest; while the author is tucked away like an afterthought -in letters that can just be seen.</p> - -<p>The acute American business man, who is always -a business man, whether financing a railroad or a -Broadway farce, is not slow to profit by the <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">penchant</i> -of the public for “big” names. By means of unlimited -advertising and the right kind of notoriety, he -builds up ordinary actors into valuable theatrical -properties. Given a comedian of average talent, -average good looks, and an average amount of magnetism, -<em>and</em> a clever press agent: he has a star! This -brilliant being draws five times the salary of the leading -lady of former years (a woman star is obviously -a shade or two more radiant than a man), and in return<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">36</span> -has only to confide her life history and beauty -recipés to her adoring public, via the current magazines. -Furthermore stars are received with open arms -by Society (which leading ladies were not), and may -be divorced oftener than other people without injury—rather -with distinct advantage—to their reputation. -Each new divorce gives a fillip to the public curiosity, -and so brings in money to the box office.</p> - -<p>Not only in the field of the “legitimate” is a big -name the all-important asset of an artist. Ladies -who have figured in murder trials, gentlemen whom -circumstantial evidence alone has failed to prove assassins, -are eagerly sought after by enterprising -vaudeville managers, who beg them to accept the paltry -sum of a thousand dollars a week, for showing -themselves to curious crowds, and delivering a ten-minute -monologue on the deficiencies of American -law! How or why the name has become “big” is a -matter of only financial moment; and Americans of -rigid respectability flock to stare at ex-criminals, -members of the under-world temporarily in the limelight, -and young persons whose sole claim to distinction -lies in the glamour shed by one-time royal favour. -Thanks to press agents and newspapers, the affairs -of this motley collection—as indeed of “stars” of -every lustre—are so constantly and so intimately before -the public, that one hears people of all classes -discussing them as though they were their lifelong -friends.</p> - -<p>Thus at the theatre: “Oh, no, the play isn’t anything, -but I come to see Laura Lee. Isn’t she stunning?<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">37</span> -You ought to see her in blue—she says herself -blue’s her colour. I don’t think much of these dresses -she’s wearing tonight; she got them at Héloïse’s. -Now generally she gets her things at Robert’s—she -says Robert just suits her <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">genre</i>.”</p> - -<p>Again, at the restaurant: “How seedy May Morris -is looking—there she is, over by the window. You -know she divorced her first husband because he made -her pay the rent, and now she’s leading a cat-and-dog -life with this one because he’s jealous of the manager. -That’s Mrs. Willy Spry who just spoke to her; -well, I didn’t know she knew <em>her</em>!”</p> - -<p>What they do not know about celebrities of all -sorts would be hard to teach Americans, particularly -the women. They can tell you how many eggs Caruso -eats for breakfast, and describe to the last rosebush -Maude Adams’ country home; their interest in -the drama and music these people interpret trails -along tepidly, in wake of their worship for the successful -individual. Americans are not a musical people. -They go to opera because it is fashionable to be -seen there, and to concerts and recitals for the most -part because they confer the proper æsthetic touch. -But only a handful have any real knowledge or love -of music, and that handful is continually crucified by -the indifference of the rest. I can think of no more -painful experience for a sincere music-lover than to -attend a performance at the Metropolitan Opera; and -this not only because people are continually coming in -and going out, destroying the continuity of the piece, -but because the latter itself is carelessly executed and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">38</span> -often faulty. Here again the quartet of exorbitantly -paid stars are charged with the success of the entire -performance; the conductor is an insignificant quantity, -and the chorus goes its lackadaisical way unheeded—even -smiling and exchanging remarks in the -background, with no one the wiser. From a box near -the stage I once saw two priests in “<i>Aïda</i>” jocosely -tweak one another’s beards just at the moment of the -majestic <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">finale</i>. Why not? The audience, if it pays -attention to the opera at all, pays it to Caruso and -Destinn and Homer—to the big name and the big -voice; not to petty detail such as chorus and <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">mise-en-scène</i>.</p> - -<p>But of course opera is the last thing for which -people buy ten-dollar seats at the Metropolitan. The -“Golden Horse-Shoe” is the spectacle they pay to see; -the masterpieces of <i>Céleste</i> and <i>Héloïse</i> (as exhibited -by Madame Millions and her intimates) rather than -the masterpieces of Wagner or Puccini lure them -within the great amphitheatre. And certain it is that -the famous double tier of boxes boasts more beautiful -women, gorgeously arrayed, than any other place of -assembly in America. Yet as I first saw them, from -my modest seat in the orchestra, they appeared to be -a collection of radiant Venuses sitting in gilded bathtubs: -above the high box-rail, only rows of gleaming -shoulders, marvellously dressed heads, and winking -jewels were visible. Later, in the foyer, I discovered -that some of them at least were more modernly attired -than the lady who rose from the sea, but the first -impression has always remained the more vivid.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">39</span></p> - -<p>Society—ever deliciously naïve in airing its ignorance—is -heard to express some quaint criticisms at -opera. At a performance of <i>Tristan</i>, I sat next a -débutante who had the reputation of being “musical.” -In the midst of the glorious second act, she whispered -plaintively, “I do hate it when our night falls on -<i>Tristan</i>—it’s such a <em>sad</em> story!”</p> - -<p>It will be interesting to follow New York musical -education, if the indefatigable Mr. Hammerstein succeeds -in his present proposal to offer the lighter -French and Italian operas at popular prices. -Hitherto music along with every other art in America -has been so commercialized that wealth rather than -appreciation and true fondness has controlled it. But -meanwhile there has developed, instinctively and irrepressibly, -the much disparaged ragtime. It is the pose -among musical <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">précieux</i> loudly to decry any suggestion -of ragtime as a national art; yet the fact remains -that it has grown up spontaneously as the popular -and the only distinctly American form of musical expression. -Of course, the old shuffling clog-dances of -the negroes were responsible for it in the beginning. -I was visiting some Americans in Tokio when a portfolio -of the “new music” was sent out to them (1899), -and I remember that it consisted entirely of cakewalks -and “coon songs,” with negro titles and pictures -of negroes dancing, on the cover. But this has -long since ceased to be characteristic of ragtime as a -whole, which takes its inspiration from every phase of -nervous, precipitate American life.</p> - -<p>In the jerky, syncopated measures, one can almost<span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">40</span> -hear between beats the familiar rush of feet, hurrying -along—stumbling—halting abruptly—only to fly -ahead faster. Ragtime is the pell-mell, helter-skelter, -headlong spirit of America expressed in tune; and no -other people, however charmed by its peculiar fascination -and wild swing, can play or dance to it like -Americans. It is instinctive with them; where classical -music, so called, is a laboriously acquired taste.</p> - -<p>New Yorkers in particular take their artistic hobbies -very seriously; not only music and the conventional -arts, but all those occult and mystic off-shoots -that abound wherever there are idle people. To assuage -the ennui that dogs excessive wealth, they devote -themselves to all sorts of cults and intricate beliefs. -Swamis, crystal-gazers, astrologers, mind-readers, -and Messiahs of every kind and colour reap -a luxurious harvest in New York. Women especially -have a new creed for every month in the year; and -discuss “the aura,” and “the submerged self,” and -the “spiritual significance of colour,” with profound -solemnity. On being presented to a lady, you are apt -to be asked your birth date, the number of letters in -your Christian name, your favourite hue, and other -momentous questions that must be cleared away before -acquaintance can proceed, or even begin at all.</p> - -<p>“John?” cries the lady. “I knew you were a John, -the minute I saw you! Now, what do you think I -am?”</p> - -<p>You are sure to say a “Mabel” where she is an -“Edith,” or a Gladys where she is a Helen, or to commit -some other blunder which takes the better part<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">41</span> -of an hour to be explained to you. Week-end parties -are perfect hot-beds of occultism, each guest striving -to out-argue every other in the race to gain proselytes -for his religion of the moment.</p> - -<p>The American house-party on the whole is a much -more serious affair than its original English model. -The anxious American hostess never quite gains that -casual, easy manner of putting her house at the disposal -of her guests, and then forgetting it and them. -She must be always “entertaining,” than which there -is no more dreary persecution for the long-suffering -visitor. Except for this, her hospitality is delightful; -and it is a joy to leave the dust and roar of New -York, and motor out to one of the many charming -country houses on Long Island or up the Hudson -for a peaceful week-end. Americans show great good -sense in clinging to their native Colonial architecture, -which lends itself admirably to the simple, well-kept -lawns and old-fashioned gardens. In comparison -with country estates of the old world, one misses the -dignity of ancient stone and trees; but gains the airy -openness and many luxuries of modern comfort.</p> - -<p>As for country life in general, it is further advanced -than on the Continent, but not so far advanced -as in England. Americans, being a young -people, are naturally an informal people, however -they may rig themselves out when they are on show. -They love informal clothes, and customs, and the -happy-go-lucky freedom of out-of-doors. On the -other hand, they are not a sporting people, except by -individuals. They are athletes rather than sportsmen;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">42</span> -the passion for individual prowess being very -strong, the devotion to sport for sport’s sake much -less in evidence. The spirit of competition is as keen -in the athletic field as it is in Wall Street; and at the -intercollegiate games enthusiasm is always centred on -the particular hero of each side, rather than on the -play of the team as a whole. The American in general -distinguishes himself in the “individual” rather -than the team sports—in running, swimming, skating, -and tennis; all of which display to fine advantage -his wiry, lean agility.</p> - -<p>At the same time, there is nothing more typically -American or more inspiring to watch than one of the -great collegiate team games, when thirty thousand -spectators are massed round the field, breathlessly intent -on every detail. Even in an immense city like -New York, on the day of a big game, one feels a peculiar -excitement in the air. The hotels are full of -eager boys with sweaters, through the streets dash -gaily decorated motors, and the stations are crowded -with fathers, mothers, sisters and sweethearts on their -way to cheer their particular hopeful. For once, too, -the harassed man of affairs throws business to the -four winds, remembers only that he is an “old grad” -of Harvard or Princeton or Yale, and hurries off to -cheer for his Alma Mater.</p> - -<p>Then at the field there are the two vast semicircles -of challenging colours, the advance “rooting”—the -songs, yells, ringing of bells and tooting of horns—that -grows to positive frenzy as the two contesting -teams come in and take their places. And, as the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">43</span> -game proceeds, the still more fervent shouts—middle-aged -men standing up on their seats and bawling -three-times-threes, young girls laughing, crying, splitting -their gloves in madness of applause, small boys -screeching encouragement to “our side,” withering -taunts to the opponents; and then all at once a deathly -hush—in such a huge congregation twice as impressive -as all their noise—while a goal is made or a home -base run. And the enthusiasm breaks forth more -furious than ever.</p> - -<p>We are a long way now from the stodgy, dull-eyed -diner-out, in his murky lair; now, we are looking -on at youth at its best—its most eager and unconscious; -in which guise Americans in their vivid charm -are irresistible.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div id="toclink_44" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">44</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="I-IV">IV<br /> - -<span class="subhead">MISS NEW YORK, JR.</span></h2> -</div> - -<p>There is no woman in modern times of whom so -much has been written, so little said, as of the American -woman. Essayists have echoed one another in -pronouncing her the handsomest, the best dressed, the -most virtuous, and altogether the most attractive -woman the world round. Psychologists have let her -carefully alone; she is not a simple problem to expound. -She is, however, a most interesting one, and -I have not the courage to slight her with the usual -cursory remarks on eyes, hair, and figure. She deserves -a second and more searching glance.</p> - -<p>To her own countrymen she is a goddess on a -pedestal that never totters; to the foreigner she is a -pretty, restless, thoroughly selfish female, who roams -the earth at scandalous liberty, while her husband sits -at home and posts checks. Naturally, the truth—if -one can get at truth regarding such a complex creature—falls -between these two conceptions: the American -woman is a splendid, faulty human being, in -whom the extremes of human weakness and nobility -seem surely to have met. She is the product of the -extreme Western philosophy of absolute individualism,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">45</span> -and as such is constituted a law unto herself, -which she defies the world to gainsay. At the same -time she knows herself so little that she changes and -contradicts this law constantly, thus bewildering those -who are trying to understand it and her.</p> - -<p>For example, we are convinced of her independence. -We go with her to the milliner’s. She wants -a hat with plumes. “Oh, but, <em>my dear</em>,” says the saleslady -reprovingly, “they aren’t wearing plumes this -season—they aren’t wearing them <em>at all</em>. Everybody -is having Paradise feathers.” Madame New York -instantly declares that in that case she must have -Paradise feathers, too, and is thoroughly content -when the same are added to the nine hundred and -ninety-nine other feathers that flutter out the avenue -next afternoon. Plumes may be far more becoming -to her; in her heart she may secretly regret them; but -she must have what everyone else has. <em>She has not -the independence to break away from the herd.</em></p> - -<p>And so it is with all her costume, her coiffure, the -very bag on her wrist and brooch at her throat: every -detail must be that detail of the <em>type</em>. She neither -dares nor knows how to be different. But, within the -stronghold of the type, she dares anything. Are -“they” wearing narrow skirts? Every New York -woman challenges every other, with her frock three -inches tighter than the last lady’s. Are they slashing -skirts to the ankle in Paris? Madame New York -slashes hers to the shoe-tops, always provided she has -the concurrence of “those” of Manhattan. Once secured -by the sanction of the mass, her instinct for exaggeration<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">46</span> -is unleashed; her perverse imagination -shakes off its chronic torpor, and soars to flights of -fearful and wonderful audacity.</p> - -<p>Even then, however, she originates no fantasy of -her own, but simply elaborates and enlarges upon -the primary copy. Her impulse is not to think and -create, but to observe and assimilate. It would never -occur to her to study the lines of her head and arrange -her hair accordingly; rather she studies the head -of her next-door neighbour, and promptly duplicates -it—generally with distinct improvement over the -original. True to her race, she has a genius for imitation -that will not be subdued. But she is not an -artist.</p> - -<p>For this reason, the American woman bores us -with her vanity, where the Englishwoman rouses our -tenderness, and the Frenchwoman piques and allures. -There is an appealing clumsiness in the way the Englishwoman -goes about adding her little touches of -feminine adornment; the badly tied bow, the awkward -bit of lace, making their deprecating bid for favour. -The Frenchwoman, with her seductive devices of alternate -concealment and daring displays, lays constant -emphasis on the two outstanding charms of all femininity: -mystery and change. But when we come to the -American woman we are confronted with that most -depressing of personalities, the stereotyped. She has -made of herself a mannequin for the exposition of -expensive clothes, costly jewels, and a mass of futile -accessories that neither in themselves nor as pointers -to an individuality signify anything whatsoever. This<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">47</span> -figure of set elegance she has overlaid with a determined -animation that is never allowed to flag, but -keeps the puppet in an incessant state of laughing, -smiling, chattering—motion of one sort or another—till -we long for the machinery to run down, and the -show to be ended.</p> - -<p>But this never occurs, except when the entire -elaborate mechanism falls to pieces with a crash; and -the woman becomes that wretched, sexless thing—a -nervous wreck. Till then, to use her own favourite -expression, “she will go till she drops,” and the onlooker -is forced to watch her in the unattractive -process.</p> - -<p>Of course the motive of this excessive activity on -the part of American men and women alike is the -passionate wish to appear young. As in the extreme -East age is worshipped, here in the extreme West -youth constitutes a religion, of which young women -are the high priestesses. Far from moving steadily -on to a climax in ripe maturity, life for the American -girl reaches its dazzling apex when she is eighteen or -twenty; this, she is constantly told by parents, teachers -and friends, is the golden period of her existence. -She is urged to make the most of every precious minute; -and everything and everybody must be sacrificed -in helping her to do it.</p> - -<p>As a matter of course, she is given the most comfortable -room in the house, the prettiest clothes, the -best seat at the theatre. As a matter of course, she -accepts them. Why should it occur to her to defer -to age, when age anxiously and at every turn defers<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">48</span> -to her? Oneself as the pivot of existence is far more -interesting than any other creature; and it is all so -brief. Soon will come marriage, with its tiresome responsibilities, -its liberty curtailed, and children, the -forerunners of awful middle age. Laugh, dance, -and amuse yourself today is the eternal warning in -the ears of the American girl; for tomorrow you will -be on the shelf, and another generation will have come -into your kingdom.</p> - -<p>The young lady is not slow to hear the call—or to -follow it. With feverish haste, she seizes her prerogative -of queen of the moment, and demands the satisfaction -of her every caprice. Her tastes and desires -regulate the diversion and education of the community. -What she favours succeeds; what she -frowns on fails. A famous American actress told -me that she traced her fortune to her popularity with -young girls. “I never snub them,” she said; “when -they write me silly letters, I answer them. I guard -my reputation to the point of prudishness, so that I -may meet them socially, and invite them to my home. -They are the talisman of my career. It matters little -what I play—if the young girls like me, I have a -success.”</p> - -<p>The wise theatrical manager, however, is differently -minded. He, too, has his harvests to reap from -the approval of Miss New York, Jr., and arranges -his program accordingly. Thus the American play-goer -is treated to a series of musical comedies, full of -smart slang scrappily composed round a hybrid -waltz; so-called “society plays,” stocked with sumptuous<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">49</span> -clothes, many servants, and shallow dialogue; unrecognizable -“adapted” pieces, expurgated not only -of the <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">risqué</i>, but of all wit and local atmosphere as -well; and finally the magnificently vacuous extravaganza: -this syrup and mush is regularly served to -the theatre-going public, and labelled “drama”! Yet -thousands of grown men and women meekly swallow -it—even come to prefer it—because <em>Mademoiselle -Miss</em> so decrees.</p> - -<p>She also is originally responsible for the multitude -of “society novels,” vapid short stories, and profusely -illustrated gift books, which make up the literature -of modern America. On her altar is the vulgar -“Girl Calendar,” the still more vulgar poster; flaunting -her self-conscious prettiness from every shop window, -every subway and elevated book-stall. She is -displayed to us with dogs, with cats, in the country, -in town, getting into motors, getting out of boats, -driving a four-in-hand, or again a vacuum cleaner—for -she is indispensable to the advertising agent. Her -fixed good looks and studied poses have invaded the -Continent; and even in Spain, in the sleepy old town -of Toledo, among the grave prints of Velasquez and -Ribera, I came across the familiar pert silhouette with -its worshipping-male counterpart, and read the familiar -title: “At the Opera.”</p> - -<p>From all this superficial self-importance, whether -of her own or her elders’ making, one might easily -write the American girl down as a vain, empty-headed -nonentity, not worth thoughtful consideration. On -the contrary, she decidedly is worth it. Behind her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">50</span> -arrogance and foolish affectations is a mind alert to -stimulus, a heart generous and warm to respond, a -spirit brave and resourceful. It takes adversity to -prove the true quality of this girl, for then her arrogance -becomes high determination; her absurdities -fall from her, like the cheap cloak they are, and she -takes her natural place in the world as a courageous, -clear-sighted woman.</p> - -<p>I believe that among the working girls is to be -found the finest and most distinct type of American -woman. This sounds a sweeping statement, and one -difficult to substantiate; but let us examine it. -Whence are the working girls of New York recruited? -From the families of immigrants, you guess -at once. Only a very small fraction. The great majority -come from American homes, in the North, -South, or Middle West, where the fathers have failed -in business, or died, or in some other way left the -daughters to provide for themselves.</p> - -<p>The first impulse, on the part of the latter, is to -go to New York. If you are going to hang yourself, -choose a big tree, says the Talmud; and Americans -have written it into their copy-books forever. -Whether they are to succeed or fail, they wish to do -it in the biggest place, on the biggest scale they can -achieve. The girl who has to earn her living, therefore, -establishes herself in New York. And then begins -the struggle that is the same for women the -world over, but which the American girl meets with -a sturdiness and obstinate ambition all her own.</p> - -<p>She may have been the pampered darling of a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">51</span> -mansion with ten servants; stoutly now she takes up -her abode in a “third floor back,” and becomes her -own laundress. For it is part of all the contradictions -of which she is the unit that, while the most recklessly -extravagant, she is also, when occasion demands, -the most practical and saving of women. Her -scant six or seven dollars a week are carefully portioned -out to yield the utmost value on every penny. -She walks to and from her work, thus saving ten -cents and doing benefit to her complexion at the same -time in the tingling New York air. In the shop or -office she is quiet, competent, marvellously quick to -seize and assimilate the details of a business which -two months ago she had never heard of. Without -apparent effort, she soon makes herself invaluable, -and then comes the thrilling event of her first “raise.”</p> - -<p>I am talking always of the American girl of good -parentage and refinement, <em>who is the average New -York business girl</em>; not of the gum-chewing, haughty -misses of stupendous pompadour and impertinence, -who condescend to wait on one in the cheaper shops. -The average girl is sinned against rather than sinning, -in the matter of impudence. Often of remarkable -prettiness, and always of neat and attractive appearance, -she has not only the usual masculine advances -to contend with, but also the liberties of that -inter-sex freedom peculiar to America. The Englishman -or the European never outgrows his first -rude sense of shock at the promiscuous contact between -men and women, not only allowed, but taken as -a matter of course in the new country. To see an<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">52</span> -employé, passing through a shop, touch a girl’s hand -or pat her on the shoulder, while delivering some message -or order, scandalizes the foreigner only less than -the girl’s nonchalant acceptance of the familiarity.</p> - -<p>But among these people there is none of the sex -consciousness that pervades older civilizations. Boys -and girls, instead of being strictly segregated from -childhood, are brought up together in frank intimacy. -Whether the result is more or less desirable, in the -young man and young woman, the fact remains that -the latter are quite without that sex sensitiveness -which would make their mutual attitude impossible in -any other country. If the girl in the shop resents the -touch of the young employé, it is not because it is a -man’s touch, but because it is (as she considers) the -touch of an inferior. I know this to be true, from -having watched young people in all classes of American -society, and having observed the unvarying indifference -with which these caresses are bestowed and -received. Indeed it is slanderous to call them caresses; -rather are they the playful motions of a lot of -young puppies or kittens.</p> - -<p>The American girl therefore is committing no -breach of dignity when she allows herself to be -touched by men who are her equals. But I have noticed -time and again that the moment those trifling -attentions take on the merest hint of the serious, she -is on guard—and formidable. Having been trained -all her life to take care of herself (and in this she is -truly and admirably independent), without fuss or -unnecessary words she proceeds to put her knowledge<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">53</span> -to practical demonstration. The following conversation, -heard in an upper Avenue shop, is typical:</p> - -<p>“Morning, Miss Dale. Say, but you’re looking -some swell today—that waist’s a peach! (The young -floor-walker lays an insinuating hand on Miss Dale’s -sleeve.) How’d you like to take in a show tonight?”</p> - -<p>“Thank you, I’m busy tonight.”</p> - -<p>“Well, then, tomorrow?”</p> - -<p>“I’m busy tomorrow night, too.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, all right, make it Friday—any night you -say.”</p> - -<p>Miss Dale leaves the gloves she has been sorting, -to face the floor-walker squarely across the counter. -“Look here, Mr. Barnes; since you can’t take a hint, -I’ll give it you straight from the shoulder: you’re not -my kind, and I’m not yours. And the sooner that’s -understood between us, the better for both. Good -morning.”</p> - -<p>Here is none of the hesitating reserve of the English -or French woman under the same circumstances, -but a frank, downright declaration of fact; infinitely -more convincing than the usual stumbling feminine -excuses. It may be added that, while the American -girl in a shop is generally a fine type of creature, the -American man in a shop is generally inferior. Otherwise -he would “get out and hustle for a bigger job.” -His feminine colleagues realize this, and are apt to -despise him in consequence. Certainly there is little -of any over-intimacy between shop men and girls; -and the demoralizing English system of “living-in” -does not exist.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">54</span></p> - -<p>But there is a deeper reason for the general morality -of the American working girl: her high opinion -of herself. This passion (for it is really that), which -in the girl of idle wealth shows itself in cold selfishness -and meaningless adornment, in her self-dependent -sister reaches the point of an ideal. When the -American girl goes into business, it is not as a makeshift -until she shall marry, or until something else -turns up; it is because she has confidence in herself -to make her own life, and to make it a success. The -faint heart and self-mistrust which work the undoing -of girls of this class in other nations have no -place in the character of Miss America. Resolutely -she fixes her goal, and nothing can stop her till she -has attained it. Failure, disappointment, rebuff only -seem to steel her purpose stronger; and, if the worst -comes to worst, nine times out of ten she will die -rather than acknowledge herself beaten by surrendering -to a man.</p> - -<p>But she dies hard, and has generally compassed -her purpose long since. It may be confined to rising -from “notions” to “imported models” in a single -shop; or it may be running the gamut from office girl -to head manager of an important business. No matter -how ambitious her aspiration, or the seeming impossibility -of it, the American girl is very apt to get -what she wants in the end. She has the three great -assets for success: pluck, self-confidence, and keen -wits; and they carry her often far beyond her most -daring dreams of attainment.</p> - -<p>My friend, Cynthia Brand, is an example. She<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">55</span> -came to New York when she was twenty-two, with -thirty dollars and an Idea. The idea was to design -clothes for young girls between the ages of twelve -and twenty; clothes that should be at once simple -and distinguished, and many miles removed from -the rigid commonplaceness of the “Misses’ Department.” -All very well, but where was the shop, the -capital, the <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">clientèle</i>? In the tip of Cynthia’s pencil.</p> - -<p>She had two or three dozen sketches and one good -tailored frock. Every American woman who is successful -begins with a good tailored frock. Cynthia -put hers on, took her sketches under her arm, and -went to the best dressmaking establishment in New -York. That is another characteristic of American -self-appreciation: they always go straight to the best. -The haughty forewoman was bored at first, but when -she had languidly inspected a few of Cynthia’s -sketches she was roused to interest if not enthusiasm. -Two days later, Cynthia took her position as “designer -for <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">jeunne filles</i>” at L——’s, at a salary which -even for New York was considerable.</p> - -<p>Hence the capital. The <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">clientèle</i> developed inevitably, -and was soon excuse in itself for the girl to -start a place of her own. At the end of her third -year in New York, she saw her dream of independence -realized in a <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">chic</i> little shop marked <i>Brand</i>; at -the end of her fifth the shop had evolved into an establishment -of three stories. And ten years after the -girl with her thirty dollars arrived at an East Side -boarding-house, she put up a sky-scraper—at any -rate an eleven-story building—of her own; while the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">56</span> -hall bedroom at the boarding-house is become a beautiful -apartment on Central Park West. And meanwhile -someone made the discovery that Cynthia Brand -was one of <em>the</em> Brands of Richmond, and Society -took her up. Today she is a personage, as well as one -of the keenest business women, in New York.</p> - -<p>Marvellous, but a unique experience, you say. -Unique only in degree of success, not in the fact itself. -There are hundreds, even thousands, of Cynthia -Brands plying their prosperous trades in the -American commercial capital. As photographers, -decorators, restaurant and tea-room proprietors, jewellers, -florists, and specialists of every kind, these enterprising -women are calmly proving that the home -is by no means their only sphere; that in the realm -of economics at least they are the equals both in energy -and intelligence of their comrade man.</p> - -<p>It is interesting to contrast this strongly feminist -attitude of the American woman with the suffragism -of her militant British sister. No two -methods of obtaining the same result could be more -different. Years ago the American woman emancipated -herself, without ostentation or outcry, by -quietly taking her place in the commonwealth as a -bread-winner. Voluntarily she stepped down from -the pedestal (to which, however, her sentimental <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">confrère</i> -promptly re-raised her), and set about claiming -her share in the business of life. To disregard her -now would be futile. She is too important; she has -made herself too vital a factor in economic activity -to be disregarded when it comes to civic matters.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">57</span></p> - -<p>And so, while Englishwomen less progressive in -the true sense of the word have been window-smashing -and setting fires, the “rights” they so ardently desire -have been tranquilly and naturally acquired by -their shrewder American cousins. Fifteen of the -forty-odd States now have universal suffrage; almost -every State has suffrage in some form. And it will -be a very short time—perhaps ten years, perhaps fifteen—until -all of the great continent will come under -the equal rule of men and women alike.</p> - -<p>I had the interesting privilege of witnessing the -mammoth Suffrage Parade in New York, just before -the presidential election last fall. In more than -one way, it was a revelation. After the jeering, hooting -mob at the demonstrations in Hyde Park, this absorbed, -respectful crowd that lined both sides of Fifth -Avenue was even more impressive than the procession -of women itself. But seeing the latter as they -marched past twenty thousand strong gave the key -to the enthusiasm of the crowd. A fresh-faced, well-dressed, -composed company of women; women of all -ages—college girls, young matrons, middle-aged -mothers with their daughters, elderly ladies and even -dowagers, white-haired and hearty, made up the inspiring -throng. They greeted the cheers of the spectators -smilingly, yet with dignity; their own cheers -no less ardent for being orderly and restrained; and -about their whole bearing was a sanity and good -sense, joined to a thoroughly feminine wish to please, -which gave away the secret of their popularity.</p> - -<p>It was the American woman at her best, which<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">58</span> -means the American woman with a steady, splendid -purpose which she intends to accomplish, and in which -she enlists not only the support but the sympathy of -her fellow-men. With her own unique cleverness she -goes about it. President-elect Wilson stole into -Washington the day before his inauguration, almost -unnoticed, because everyone was off to welcome “General” -Rosalie Jones and her company of petitioners: -instead of kidnapping the President (as her English -sisters would have planned), the astute young woman -kidnapped the people; winning them entirely by her -sturdy good humour and daring combined, and refusing -to part with a jot of her femininity in the process.</p> - -<p>If I have seemed to contradict myself in this brief -analysis of so complex and interesting a character as -the American woman, I can only go back to my first -statement that she herself is a contradiction—only -definite within her individual type. The type of the -mere woman of pleasure, which implies the woman -of wealth, I confess to finding the extreme of vapidity -and selfishness, as Americans are always the extreme -of something. This is the type the foreigner -knows by heart, and despises. But the American -woman of intelligence, the woman of clear vision, fine -aim, and splendid accomplishment, he does not know; -for she is at home, earning her living.</p> - -<div id="ip_58" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 30em;"> - <img src="images/i_079.jpg" width="1414" height="1869" alt="" /> - <div class="caption"> - -<p class="credit"> -<i>Underwood & Underwood</i> -</p> - -<p>AMERICAN WOMAN GOES TO WAR!<br /> -(MARCH OF THE SUFFRAGISTS ON WASHINGTON)</p></div></div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div id="toclink_59" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">59</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="I-V">V<br /> - -<span class="subhead">MATRIMONY & CO.</span></h2> -</div> - -<p>Of all the acts which America has in solution, -marriage is as yet the most unsatisfactory, the least -organized. It is easy to dismiss it with a vague wave -of the hand, and the slighting “Oh, yes—the divorce -evil.” But really to understand the problem, with all -its complex difficulties, one must go a great deal further—into -the thought and simple animal feeling of -the people who harbour the divorce evil.</p> - -<p>Physiologically speaking, Americans are made up -of nerves; psychologically they are made up of sentiment: -a volatile combination, fatal to steadiness or -logic of expression. We have spoken of the everyday -habit of contact among them, the trifling touch -that passes unheeded between young men and girls, -from childhood into maturity. This is but a single -phase of that diffuseness of sex energy, which being -distributed through a variety of channels, with the -American, nowhere is very profound or vital. The -constant comradeship between the two sexes, from -babyhood throughout all life, makes for many fine -things; but it does not make for passion. And, as -though dimly they realize this, Americans—both men<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">60</span> -and women—seem desperately bent on manufacturing -it.</p> - -<p>Hence their suggestive songs, their suggestive -books, their crudely suggestive plays, and, above all, -their recognized game of “teasing,” in which the -young girl uses every device for plaguing the young -man—to lead him on, but never to lead him too far. -Always suggestion, never realization; as a nation -they retain the adolescent point of view to the end, -playing with sex, which they do not understand, but -only vaguely feel, yet about which they have the -typically adolescent curiosity.</p> - -<p>So much for the physiological side. It is not hard -to understand how under such conditions natural animal -energy is dissipated along a hundred avenues of -mere nerve excitement and satisfaction; so that when -it comes to marriage the American man or woman can -have no stored-up wealth of passion to bestow, but -simply the usual comradeship, the usual contact intensified. -This is all very well, to begin with, but it is -too slender a bond to stand the strain of daily married -life. Besides, there is the ingrained craving for -novelty that has been fed and fostered by lifelong -freedom of intercourse until it is become in itself a -passion dangerously strong. A few misunderstandings, -a serious quarrel or two, and the couple who a -year ago swore to cleave to one another till death are -eager to part with one another for life—and to pass -on to something new.</p> - -<p>But a formidable stumbling-block confronts -them: their ideal of marriage. Sentiment comes to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">61</span> -the front, outraged and demanding appeasement. -American life is grounded in sentiment. The idea of -the American man concerning the American woman, -the idea of the woman concerning the man, is a colossus -of sentiment in itself. She is all-pure, he is all-chivalrous. -She would not smoke a cigarette (in -public) because he would be horrified; he would not -confess to a <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">liason</i> (however many it might please him -to enjoy), because she would perish with shame. Each -has made it a life business to forget that the other is -human, and to insist that both are impeccable. When, -therefore, before the secret tribunal of matrimony, -this illusion is condemned to death, what is to be -done?</p> - -<p>Nothing that could reflect on the innocence of the -woman, or the blamelessness of the man. In other -words, the public ideal still must be upheld. With -which the public firmly agrees; and, always willing -to be hoodwinked and to hoodwink itself, makes a -neat series of laws whereby men and women may enjoy -unlimited license and still remain irreproachable. -Thus the difficulty is solved, sentiment is satisfied, and -chaos mounts the throne.</p> - -<p>I am always extremely interested in the American -disgust at the Continental marriage system. Here -the inveterate sentimentalism of the nation comes out -most decided and clear. In the first place, they say, -the European has no respect for women; he orders -them about, or betrays them, with equal coolness and -cruelty. He is mercenary to the last degree in the -matter of the <em>dot</em>, but himself after marriage makes<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">62</span> -no effort to provide his wife with more than pin-money. -After the honeymoon she becomes his housekeeper -and the mother of his children; while he spends -her dowry on a succession of mistresses and immoral -amusements elsewhere.</p> - -<p>All of which, as generalization, is true. The complementary -series of facts, however, the American -complacently ignores. He knows nothing, for instance, -of the European attitude to the young girl—how -could he? His own sisters and daughters are presented, -even before they are in long skirts, as objects -of intimacy and flirtation; harmless flirtation, admitted, -yet scarcely the thing to produce reverence for -the recipient. Instead she is given a free-and-easy -consideration, which to the European is appalling. -The latter may be a rake and a <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">debauché</i>, but he has -one religion ingrained and unimpeachable: in the -presence of a young girl he is before an altar. And -throughout all European life the young girl is accorded -a delicate dignity impossible to her less sheltered -American cousin.</p> - -<p>What good does that do her, asks the downright -American, if the minute she marries she becomes a -slave? On the contrary, she gains her liberty, where -the American girl (in her own opinion at least) loses -hers; but even if she did not it is a matter open to -dispute as to which is better off in any case: the -woman who is a slave, or the woman who is master? -For contentment and serenity, one must give the -palm to the European. She brings her husband -money instead of marrying him for his; she stands<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">63</span> -over herself and her expenditure, rather than over -him and his check-book; and she tends her house and -bears children, rather than roams the world in search -of pleasure. Yet she is happy.</p> - -<p>She may be deceived by her husband; if so, she -is deceived far without the confines of her own home. -Within her home, as mother of her husband’s children, -she is impregnable. She may be betrayed, but -she is never vulgarized; her affairs are not dragged -through the divorce court, or jaunted about the columns -of a yellow press. Whatever she may not be to -the man whom she has married, she is once and forever -the woman with whom he shares his name, and -to whom he must give his unconditional respect—or -kill her. She has so much, sure and inviolate, to -stand on.</p> - -<p>The American woman has nothing sure. In a -land where all things change with the sun, die and are -shoved along breathlessly to make room for new, she -is lost in the general confusion. Today she is Mrs. -Smith, tomorrow—by her own wish, or Mr. Smith’s, -or both—she is Mrs. Jones, six months later she is -Mrs. Somebody Else; and the conversation, which includes -“your children,” “my children,” and “our children,” -is not a joke in America: it is an everyday fact—for -the children themselves a tragedy.</p> - -<p>Young people grow up among such conditions -with a flippant—even a horrible—idea of marriage. -They look upon it, naturally, as an expedient; something -temporarily good, to be entered upon as such, -and without any profound thought for the future.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">64</span> -“She married very well,” means she married dollars, -or position, or a title; in the person of what, it does -not matter. If she is dissatisfied with her bargain, she -always makes an exchange, and no one will think any -the worse of her. For, while Americans are horror-stricken -at the idea of a woman’s having a lover -without the law, within the law she may have as many -as she likes, and take public sympathy and approval -along with her; so long as the farce of her <em>purity</em> is -carried out, these sentimentalists (whom Meredith -calls, in general, “self-worshippers”) smile complaisance.</p> - -<p>It is simply another light on the prevailing superficiality -that controls them, for that a woman shall be -faithful—where she has placed her affections of whatever -sort—they neither demand nor appear to think -of at all. She may ruin her husband buying chiffons, -or maintaining an establishment beyond his means, -and not a word of blame is attached to her; on the -contrary, when the husband goes bankrupt, it is he -who is outcast, while everyone speaks pitifully of “his -poor wife.” The only allegiance expected of the -woman is the mere allegiance of the body; and this -in the American woman is no virtue, for she has little -or no passion to tempt her to bodily sin.</p> - -<p>Rather, as we have seen, she is a highly nervous -organism, demanding nerve food in the shape of sensation—constant -and varied. Emotionally, she is a -sort of psychic vampire, always athirst for victims to -her vanity; experience from which to gain new knowledge -of herself. This is true not only of the idle<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">65</span> -woman of society, but of the best and intentionally -most sincere. They are wholly unconscious of it, they -would indignantly refute it; yet their very system of -living proves it: throughout all classes the American -woman, in the majority, is sufficient unto herself, and—no -matter in how noble a spirit—self-absorbed.</p> - -<p>If she is happily married, she loves her husband; -but why? Because he harmoniously complements the -nature she is bent on developing. In like fashion -she loves her children—do they not contribute a tremendous -portion towards the perfect womanhood she -ardently desires? And this is not saying that the -finer type of American woman is not a devoted mother -and wife; it is giving the deep, unconscious motive of -her devotion.</p> - -<p>But take the finer type that is not married, that -remains unmarried voluntarily, and by the thousands. -Take the Cynthia Brands, for example. Americans -say they stay single because “they have too good a -time,” and this is literally true. Why should they -marry when they can compass of themselves the things -women generally marry for—secure position and a -comfortable home? Why, except for overpowering -love of some particular man? This the Cynthia -Brands—<i>i. e.</i>, women independently successful—are -seldom apt to experience. All their energy is trained -upon themselves and their ambition; and that is never -satisfied, but pushes on and on, absorbing emotion—every -sort of force in the woman—till her passion -becomes completely subjective, and marriage has<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">66</span> -nothing to offer her save the children she willingly -renounces.</p> - -<p>Thus there is in America almost a third sex: a sex -of superwomen, in whom mentality triumphs to the -sacrifice of the normal female. One cannot say that -this side of the generally admirable “self-made” -woman is appealing. It is rather hard, and leads one -to speculate as to whether the victorious bachelor girl -of today is on the whole more attractive or better off -than the despised spinster of yesterday. Of course, -she has raised and strengthened the position of -women, economically speaking; socially, too. But one -cannot but think that she is after all only a partially -finished superwoman, and that the ultimate creature -will have more of sweetness and strong tenderness -than one sees in the determined, rather rigid faces -of the army of New York business women of the -present.</p> - -<p>As for the New York man (whom one is forever -slighting because his rôle is so inconspicuous), we have -a type much less complex—quite the simplest type of -normal male, in fact. The average New Yorker -(that is, the New Yorker of the upper middle class) -is a hard-working, obvious soul, of obvious qualities -and obvious flaws. His <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">raison d’être</i> is to provide -prodigally for his wife and children; to which end he -steals out of the house in the morning before the rest -are awake, and returns late in the evening, hurriedly -to dress and accompany Madame to some smart restaurant -and the play.</p> - -<div id="ip_66" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 46em;"> - <img src="images/i_089.jpg" width="2207" height="1391" alt="" /> - <div class="caption"> - -<p class="credit"> -<i>Underwood & Underwood</i> -</p> - -<p>THE TRIUMPHANT “THIRD SEX” TAKES WASHINGTON</p></div></div> - -<p>Here, as at the opera or fashionable reception, his -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">67</span>duty is simply that of background to the elaborate -gorgeousness and inveterate animation of his womenfolk. -Indeed, throughout all their activities the -American husband and wife seem curiously irrelevant -to one another: they work as a tandem, not as a team. -And there is no question as to who goes first. The -wife indicates the route; the husband does his best to -keep up to her. If he cannot do it, no matter what -his other excellences, he is a failure. He himself is -convinced of it, hence his tense expression of straining -every nerve toward some gigantic end that usually he -is just able to compass.</p> - -<p>The man who cannot support a woman, not in -reasonable comfort, but in the luxury she expects, -thinks he has no right to her. The woman has taught -him to think it. Thus a young friend of mine, who -on twenty-five thousand a year had been engaged to a -charming New York girl, told me, simply, that of -course when his income was reduced to five thousand -he could not marry her.</p> - -<p>I asked what the girl thought about it. “Oh, she’s -a trump,” he said enthusiastically; “she wouldn’t -throw me over because I’ve lost my money. But of -course she sees it’s impossible. We couldn’t go the -pace.”</p> - -<p>From which ingenuous confession we rightly -gather that “the pace” comes first with both husband -and wife, in New York; the person of one another -second, if it counts at all. Their great bond of union -is the building up of certain material circumstances -both covet; their home life, their friends, their instinctive<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">68</span> -and lavish hospitality—everything is regulated -according to this. Instead of a peaceful evening -in their own drawing-room, after the man’s strenuous -day at the office, the woman’s no less strenuous -day at bridge and the dressmaker’s, they must rush -into evening clothes and hasten to show themselves -where they should be seen. Other people’s pleasures -become to the American couple stern duties; to be -feverishly followed, if it helps them in ever so little -toward their goal.</p> - -<p>Thus we hear Mrs. Grey say to George: “Don’t -forget we’re dining with the Fred Baynes’ tonight. -Be home early.”</p> - -<p>“The deuce we are!” says George. “I wanted to -go to the club. I detest Bayne, anyhow.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, but he’s President of the <i>Security Trust</i>. -If you want to get their new contract, you’d best -dine, and get him to promise you. I’ve already -lunched her, so the ground’s prepared.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, very well,” growls George; “of course you’re -right. I’ll be on hand.”</p> - -<p>Result: They cement a friendship with two odious -people whom they are afterward obliged to invite; but -George gets the contract, and twenty thousand goes -down to the family bank account. This spirit is by -no means unknown in English and Continental life, -but certainly it has its origin and prime exponents -in America. No other people finds money sufficient -exchange for perpetual boredom.</p> - -<p>The European goes where he is amused, with -friends who interest him. He dares. The American<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">69</span> -does not; having always to prove that he can afford -to be in certain places, that he is of sufficient importance -to be with certain people. America is full -of ruinously expensive resorts that have sprung up in -response to this craving for self-advertisement on the -part of her “rising” sons and daughters. Squads of -newspaper reporters go with them, and the nation is -kept accurately informed to the minute as to what -Mrs. Spender wore this morning at Palm Beach, Mrs. -Haveall at Newport, Mrs. Dash at Hot Springs; -also how many horses, motor cars, yachts and petty -paraphernalia Charles Spender, Jimmy Haveall, and -Henry Dash are carrying about. The credit of these -men, together often with the credit of large business -firms, depends on the show they can afford to make, -and the jewels their wives wear.</p> - -<p>But I believe that no man has a duller life than -the rich man—or the moderately rich man of New -York. He is generally the victim of dyspepsia—from -too rich food taken in too great a hurry; he is -always the victim of the office. Not even after he has -retired, to spend the remainder of his days in dreary -luxury between his clubs and Continental watering -places, does the office habit cease to torment him. -Once and forever, it has murdered the enjoyment of -leisure and annihilated pleasure in peace.</p> - -<p>Being naturally heavy-minded on all subjects except -business, the American man with time on his -hands is in a pitiable plight. I have met some of these -poor gentlemen, wandering helplessly about the world -with their major-general wives, and I must say they<span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">70</span> -are among the most pathetic of married men. They -hibernate in hotel lounges, smoking their enormous -cigars and devouring their two-weeks-old New York -newspapers; or, when they get the chance, monologuing -by the hour on their past master strokes in the -land where “things hum.” Sometimes in self-defence -against the wife’s frocks and French hats, they have -a hobby: ivories, or old silver—something eminently -respectable. If so, they are apt to be laborious about -it, as they are about all culture which they graft on -themselves, or have grafted on them. Sometimes -they turn their attention to sport; but the real sport -of the American, man and woman, is climbing. It is -born in them, and they never actually give it up until -they die.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile the couple who have resisted divorce -and continued to climb together turn anxious eyes on -the upward advance of their children. If the latter -make a false step, mother with her trained wit must -repair it; father must foot the bill. No more extravagantly -indulgent parent exists than the American -parent who himself has had to make his own way. -His children are monarchs, weightedly crowned with -luxuries they do not appreciate; and for them he -slaves till death or nervous prostration lays him low. -One wonders when the nation that has lost its head -over the American girl will awake to the discovery -of the American father. For the present he is a -silent, deprecatory creature, toiling unceasingly six -days of the week, and on the seventh to be found in -some unfrequented corner of the house, inundated by<span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">71</span> -newspapers, or unobtrusively building blocks in the -nursery—where there is one.</p> - -<p>As a rule, American children own the house, -monopolize the conversation at meals, which almost -invariably they take with their elders—whether there -are guests or not, and are generally as arrogant and -precocious little tyrants as unlimited indulgence and -admiration can make them. They have been allowed -to see and read everything their parents see and read; -they have been taken to the theatre and about the -world, from the time they could walk; they have, -many of them, travelled abroad, and are ready to discuss -Paris or London with the languid nonchalance -of little old men and women; on the whole, these poor -spoiled little people, through no fault of their own, -are about as unpleasant and unnatural a type as can -be found.</p> - -<p>Instead of being kept simple and unsophisticated -they are early inculcated with the importance of -money and the things it can buy. American boys, -rather than vying with one another in tennis or swimming -vie with one another in the number of motor cars -they own or sail-boats or saddle-horses, as the case -may be. They would scorn the pony that is the English -boy’s delight, but it is true that many young -Americans at the tender age of twelve own their own -motors, which they drive and discuss with the <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">blasé</i> air -of men of the world. In like fashion the little girls, -from the time they can toddle, are consumed with the -idea of outdressing one another; and even give box -parties and luncheons—beginning, almost before they<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">72</span> -are out of the cradle, to imitate their mothers in ambition -and the consuming spirit of competition.</p> - -<p>Naturally, one is speaking of the children of the -wealthy, or at least well off; among the children of -the working classes, whatever their grade of intelligence -or education, we find the same sturdy independence -and ability that characterizes their mothers and -fathers. But all American children are sophisticated—one -glance at a daily newspaper is enough to make -them so; and they live in an atmosphere of worldly -wisdom and knowledge of the sordid, which those of -us who believe that childhood should be ingenuous -and gay find rather sad. The little pitchers, in this -case, have not only big ears but eyes and wits sharp to -perceive the sorry things they would naturally learn -soon enough.</p> - -<p>They are allowed to wander, unshielded, among -the perplexing mixed motives, the standards in disarray, -of this theatre where life in its myriad relations -is still in adjustment. Like small troubled gnomes -seeking light, they flit across the hazardous stage; -where their more experienced leaders have yet to extricate -order out of a sea of sentimental hypocrisies, -inflated ideals, and makeshift laws.</p> - -<p>American men and women have been at great -pains to construct “a world not better than the world -it curtains, only foolisher.” They have obstinately -refused to admit one another as they actually are—which, -after all, is a remarkably fine race of beings; -preferring the pretty flimsiness of a house of cards -of their own making to the indestructible mansion of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">73</span> -humanity. When their passion for inventing shall -be converted into an equally ardent passion for reflecting—as -it surely will be—they will see their mistake -in a trice; and, from that time, they are destined -to be not a collection of finely tuned nervous organisms, -but a splendid race of thinking creatures.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="PII"><span class="larger">II<br /> - -<span class="subhead">THE CURTAIN RISES<br /> - -<span class="small">(Paris)</span></span></span></h2> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div id="toclink_77" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">77</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="II-I">I<br /> - -<span class="subhead">ON THE GREAT ARTISTE</span></h2> -</div> - -<p>Out of the turmoil and struggling confusion of -rehearsal, to gaze on the finished performance of the -great <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">artiste</i>! For in Paris we are before the curtain, -not behind it; and few foreigners, though they may -adopt the city for their own, and lovingly study it -for many years, are granted more than an occasional -rare glimpse of its personality without the stage between. -From that safe distance, Paris coquets with -you, rails at you, laughs and weeps for you; but first -she has handed you a programme, which informs you -that she does the same for all the world, at a certain -hour each day, and for a fixed price. And if ever in -the ardour of your admiration you show signs of -forgetting, of seeking her personal favour by a rash -gesture or smile, she points you imperiously to the -barricade of the footlights—or vanishes completely, -in the haughtiness of her ire.</p> - -<p>Therefore, the tourist will tell you, Paris is not -satisfactory. Because to his greedy curiosity she does -not open her soul as she does the gates of her art -treasures and museums, he pronounces her shallow, -mercenary, heartless, even wicked. As her frankness<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">78</span> -in some things is foreign to his hypocrisy, as her -complex unmorality resists his facile analysis, he -grasps what he can of her; and goes away annoyed. -Really to know Paris is to offer in advance a store -of tolerance for her inconsistencies, patience for her -whims, and the sincere desire to learn finally to see behind -her mask—not to snatch it rudely from her face.</p> - -<p>But this cannot be done in the curt fortnight -which generally limits the casual visitor’s acquaintance. -Months and years must be spent, if true -knowledge of the City of Light is to be won. We -can only, in our brief survey of its more significant -phases, indicate a guide to further study of a place -and people well worth a wider scrutiny.</p> - -<p>The most prejudiced will not deny that Paris is -beautiful; or that there is about her streets and broad, -tree-lined avenues a graciousness at once dignified -and gay. Stand, as the ordinary tourist does on his -first day, in the flowering square before the Louvre; -in the foreground are the fountains and bright tulip-bordered -paths of the Tuileries—here a glint of gold, -there a soft flash of marble statuary, shining through -the trees; in the centre the round lake where the children -sail their boats. Beyond spreads the wide sweep -of the Place de la Concorde, with its obelisk of terrible -significance, its larger fountains throwing brilliant -jets of spray; and then the trailing, upward vista of -the Champs Elysées to the great triumphal Arch: -yes, even to the most indifferent, Paris is beautiful.</p> - -<p>To the subtler of appreciation, she is more than -beautiful: she is impressive. For behind the studied<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">79</span> -elegance of architecture, the elaborate simplicity of -gardens, the carefully lavish use of sculpture and -delicate spray, is visible the imagination of a race of -passionate creators—the imagination, throughout, of -the great artist. One meets it at every turn and -corner, down dim passageways, up steep hills, across -bridges, along sinuous quays: the masterhand and its -“infinite capacity for taking pains.” And so marvellously -do its manifestations of many periods through -many ages combine to enhance one another that -one is convinced that the genius of Paris has been -perennial; that St. Genevieve, her godmother, bestowed -it as an immortal gift when the city was born.</p> - -<p>From earliest days every man seems to have -caught the spirit of the man who came before, and -to have perpetuated it; by adding his own distinctive -yet always harmonious contribution to the gradual -development of the whole. One built a stately avenue; -another erected a church at the end; a third -added a garden on the other side of the church, and -terraces leading up to it; a fourth and fifth cut -streets that should give from the remaining two sides -into other flowery squares with their fine edifices. -And so from every viewpoint, and from every part -of the entire city, today we have an unbroken series -of vistas—each one different and more charming -than the last.</p> - -<p>History has lent its hand to the process, too; and -romance—it is not an insipid chain of flowerbeds we -have to follow, but the holy warriors of Saint Louis, -the roistering braves of Henry the Great, the gallant<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">80</span> -Bourbons, the ill-starred Bonapartes. These as they -passed have left their monuments; it may be only in -a crumbling old chapel or ruined tower, but there -they are: eloquent of days that are dead, of a spirit -that lives forever staunch in the heart of the fervent -French people.</p> - -<p>It comes over one overwhelmingly sometimes, in -the midst of the careless gaiety of the modern city: -the old, ever-burning spirit of rebellion and savage -strife that underlies it all; and that can spring to the -surface now on certain memorable days, with a vehemence -that is terrifying. Look across the Pont -Alexandre, at the serene gold dome of the Invalides, -surrounded by its sleepy barracks. Suddenly you are -in the fires and awful slaughter of Napoleon’s wars. -The flower of France is being pitilessly cut down for -the lust of one man’s ambition; and when that is -spent, and the wail of the widowed country pierces -heaven with its desolation, a costly asylum is built for -the handful of soldiers who are left—and the great -Emperor has done his duty!</p> - -<p>Or you are walking through the Cité, past the -court of the Palais de Justice. You glance in, carelessly—memory -rushes upon you—and the court -flows with blood, “so that men waded through it, up -to the knees!” In the tiny stone-walled room yonder, -Marie Antoinette sits disdainfully composed before -her keepers; though her face is white with the sounds -she hears, as her friends and followers are led out to -swell that hideous river of blood.</p> - -<p>A pretty, artificial city, Paris; good for shopping,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">81</span> -and naughty amusements, now and then. History? -Oh yes, of course; but all that’s so dry and uninspiring, -and besides it happened so long ago.</p> - -<p>Did it? In your stroll along the Rue Royale, -among the jewellers’ and milliners’ shops and Maxim’s, -glance up at the Madeleine, down at the obelisk -in the Place de la Concorde. Little over a hundred -years ago, this was the brief distance between life and -death for those who one minute were dancing in the -“Temple of Victory,” the next were laying their -heads upon the block of the guillotine. Can you see, -beyond the shadowy grey pillars of the Temple, that -brilliant circling throng within? The reckless-laughing -ballet girl in her shrine as “Goddess,” her worshippers -treading their wild measures among the -candles and crucifixes and holy images, as though -they are pursued? Look—a grim presence is at the -door. He enters, lays a heavy hand upon the shoulder -of a young and beautiful dancer. She looks into his -face, and smiles. The music never stops, but goes -more madly on; as the one demanded makes a low -<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">révérence</i>, then rising, throws a kiss over her shoulder -to her comrades who in turn salute her; calls a gay -“Adieu!” and with the smile still terrible upon her -lips—is gone.</p> - -<p>Ah, but the French are different now, you say. -Those were the aristocrats, the <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">vieille noblesse</i>; these -modern Republicans are of another breed. And yet -the same blood flows in their veins, the same scornful -courage animates them—who, for example, leads the -world in aviation?—and on days like the fourteenth<span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">82</span> -of July (the anniversary of the storming of the -Bastille), the common people at least show a patriotism -no less fiery if less ferocious than they showed in -1789. Let us see if they are so different after all.</p> - -<p>The first charge against the French invariably is -that of artificiality. Anglo-Saxons admit them to be -charming, of a delightful wit and keen intelligence; -but, they immediately add, how deep does it go? -Superficially, the Parisian is vastly agreeable; courteous -to the point of extravagance, an accomplished -conversationalist, even now and then with a flash of -the profound. Probe him, and what do you find? -A cynical, world-weary degenerate, who will laugh -at you when your back is turned, and make love to -your wife before your very eyes!</p> - -<div id="ip_82" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 47em;"> - <img src="images/i_107.jpg" width="2248" height="1548" alt="" /> - <div class="caption"><p>AN OPEN-AIR BALL ON THE 14TH JULY</p></div></div> - -<p>And why not? You should appreciate the compliment -to your good taste. It is when he begins to -make love behind one’s back that one must beware -of one’s French friend; for he is a finished artist at -the performance, and women know it, and are prepared -in advance to be subdued. He is by no means -a degenerate, however, the average Frenchman; he -has to work too hard, and besides he has not the -money degeneracy costs. He may have his “<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">petite -amie</i>,” generally he has; but quite as generally she is -a wholesome, well-behaved little person,—a dressmaker -in a small way, or <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">vendeuse</i> in a shop—content -to drink a bock with him in the evening, at their favourite -café, and on Sundays to hang on his arm during -their excursion to St. Germain or Meudon. Just -as a very small percentage of New Yorkers are those -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">83</span>who dwell in Wall Street and corner stocks, so a very -small percentage of Parisians are those who feed -<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">louis</i> to night restaurants and carouse till morning -with riotous demi-mondaines.</p> - -<p>It is a platitude that foreigners are the ones who -support the immoral resorts of Paris; yet no foreigner -seems to care to remember the platitude. The -best way to convince oneself of it forever is to visit -a series of these places, and take honest note of their -personnel. The employés will be found to be -French; but ninety-eight per cent. of the patrons are -English, German, Italian, Spanish, and North and -South American. The retort is made that nevertheless -the Parisians started such establishments in the -first place. They did; but only after the stranger -had brought his crude sensuality to their variety theatres -and night cafés, stripping the first of their -racy wit, the second of their rollicking <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">bonhomie</i>, -taking note only of the license underlying both—and -blatantly revelling in it. Then it was that the ever-alert -commercial sense of the Frenchman awoke to -a new method of making money out of foreigners; -and the vulgar night-restaurant of today had its beginning.</p> - -<p>But not only in the matter of degeneracy is the -common analysis of the Parisian open to refutation; -his inveterate cynicism also comes up for doubt. The -attitude that calls forth this mistaken conclusion on -the part of those not well acquainted with French -character is more or less the attitude of every instinctively -dramatic nature: a kind of impersonal<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">84</span> -detachment, which causes the individual to appreciate -situations and events first as bits of drama, <em>seen</em> in -their relation to himself. Thus, during the recent -scandal of the motor bandits, I have heard policemen -laugh heartily at some clever trick of evasion on the -part of the criminals; only to see them turn purple -with rage the next minute, on realizing the insult to -their own intelligence.</p> - -<p>A better example is the story of the little <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">midinette</i> -who, though starving, would not yield to her -former <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">patron</i> (desirous also of being her lover), -and whom the latter shot through the heart as she was -hurrying along the Quai Passy late at night. “<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Quel -phenomène</i>!” she exclaimed, with a faint shrug, as -her life ebbed away in the corner <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">brasserie</i>; “to be -shot, while on the way to drown oneself—<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">c’est inoui</i>!” -The next moment she was dead. And all she had to -say was, “what a phenomenon—it’s unheard of!”</p> - -<p>Is this cynicism? Or is it not rather the characteristic -impersonality of the histrionic temper, which -causes the artist, even in death, to gaze at herself and -at the scene, as it were, from the critical vantage of -the wings? And the light shrug—which so often -grounds the idea of heartlessness, or simply of shallow -frivolity, in the judgment of the stranger—look -closer, and you will see it hiding a brave stoicism that -this race of born actors makes every effort to conceal. -The French throughout embody so complex a combination -of Latin ardour, Spartan endurance, and -Greek ideality as to render them extremely difficult -of any but the most superficial comprehension. They<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">85</span> -laugh at things that make other people shudder; -they take fire at things that leave other people cold; -they burn with a white flame for beauties other people -never see. As a great English writer has said, -“below your level, they’re above it:—and a paradox -is at home with them!”</p> - -<p>But I do not think that they are always ridiculing -the foreigner, when the latter is uncomfortably -conscious of their smiling glance upon him. There -are travelling types at whom everyone laughs, and -these delight the Frenchman’s keen humour; but the -ordinary stranger has become so commonplace to -Paris that, unless he or she is especially distinguished, -no one takes any notice. Here, however, we have in -a nutshell the reason for that smile that sometimes -irritates the foreigner: it is often a smile of pure -admiration. The great artist’s eye knows no distinction -of nationality or an iota of provincial prejudice. -When it lights upon ugliness, it is disgusted—or -amused, if the ugliness has a touch of the comic; -when, on the other hand, it lights upon beauty—and -how instant it is to spy out the most obscure trait of -this—enthusiasm is kindled, regardless of kind or -race, and the <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">vif</i> French features break into a smile -of pleased appreciation. Here, he would say, is someone -who contributes to the scene; someone who helps -to make, not mar, the radiant <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">ensemble</i> we are striving -for.</p> - -<p>Paris, as no other city in the world, offers a playhouse -of brilliant and charming <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">mise-en-scène</i>; and -gives the visitor subtly to understand that she expects<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">86</span> -him to live up to it. Otherwise she has no interest in -him. For the well-tailored Englishman, the striking -<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Américaine</i>, for anyone and everyone who can claim -title to that supreme quality, <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">chic</i>, Paris is ready to -open her arms and cry kinship. Those whom she -favours, however, are held strictly to the mark of her -fine standard of the exquisite; and if they falter—oblivion.</p> - -<p>“I am never in Paris two hours,” said an American -friend of mine, “before I begin to perk and -prink, and furbish up everything I have. One feels -that each man and woman in the street knows the -very buttons of one’s gloves, and quality of one’s -stockings; and that every detail of one’s costume -<em>must</em> be right.” Many people have voiced the same -impression: as of being consciously and constantly -“on view”—before spectators keenly critical. The -curtain seems to rise on oneself alone in the centre -of the stage, and never to go down until the last -pair of those appraising eyes has passed on.</p> - -<p>It is a very different appraisement, however, from -the “inventory stare” of Fifth Avenue. Here, not -money value but beauty of line—blend of colour, -grace, <em>verve</em>—is the criterion. And the modestly -gowned little <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">midinette</i> receives as many admiring -glances as the gorgeous demi-mondaine, if only she -has contrived an original cut to her frock, or tied a -clever, new kind of bow to her hat. Novelty, novelty, -is the cry of the exacting <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">artiste</i>; and who obeys -wins approval—who has exhausted imagination is -laid upon the shelf.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">87</span></p> - -<p>But, again, this is not the shifting, impermanent -temper of Madame New York; it is the fickle variability -of the great artist, exercising her eternal prerogative: -caprice. She accepts a fashion one week, -discards it the next for one newer; throws that aside -two days later, and demands to know where everyone’s -ideas have gone. It is not that she is pettish, -but simply that she is used to being slaved for, and -to being pleased—by something different, something -more charming every hour. Infinite pains are taken -to produce the merest trifle she may fancy. Look -from your window into the rows of windows up and -down the street, or that line your court: everywhere -people are sewing, fitting minute bits of delicate -stuffs into a pattern, threading tiny pearls to make -a border, straining their eyes in dark work-rooms,—toiling -indefatigably—to create some fragile, lovely -thing that will be snatched up, worn once or twice, -and tossed aside, forgotten for the rest of time.</p> - -<p>Yet no one of the workers seems to grow impatient -or disheartened over this; the faces bent absorbedly -over their tasks are bright with interest, -alert and full of eagerness to make something that -will captivate the difficult mistress, if only for an -hour. They may never see her—when she comes to -inspect their handiwork, they are shut behind a dingy -door; at best, they may only catch a glimpse of her -as she enters her carriage, or sweeps past them outside -some brilliant theatre of her pleasure. But one -cries to another: “She’s wearing my fichu!” The -other cries back: “And I draped her skirt!” And<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">88</span> -supreme contentment illumines each face, for each has -helped towards the goddess’s perfection—and they -are satisfied.</p> - -<p>As I heard one unimportant little <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">couturière</i> remark, -“<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Dieu merci</i>, in Paris we <em>all</em> are artists!” And -so they all are responsible for the finished success of -the star. One cannot help contrasting this ideal that -animates the most insignificant of them—the ideal of -sheer beauty, towards which they passionately toil to -attain—with the stolid “what-do-I-get-out-of-it” attitude -of the Anglo-Saxon artisan. French working -people are poorly paid, they have little joy in life beyond -the joy of what they create with their fingers; -yet there is about them a fine contentment, an almost -radiance, that is inspiring only to look upon. When -they do have a few francs for pleasure, you will find -them at the <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Français</i> or the <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Odéon</i>—the best to be -had is their criterion; and when the theatres are out -of their reach, on Sundays and holidays they crowd -the galleries and museums, exchanging keenly intelligent -comment as they scrutinize one masterpiece -after another.</p> - -<p>The culture of the nation, at least, is not artificial; -but deep-rooted as no other race can claim: in the -poorest <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">ouvrier</i>, no less than in the most polished -gentleman, there exists the insatiable instinct for what -is fine and worthy to be assimilated. And if the prejudiced -concede this perhaps, but add that it remains -an intellectual instinct always—an artistic instinct, -while the heart of French people is callous and cold, -one may suggest that there are two kinds of artists:<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">89</span> -those who give away their hearts in their art, and -those who jealously hide theirs lest the vulgar tear it -to pieces.</p> - -<p>And the <em>great</em> artiste, however gracious she may -be for us, however kind may be her smile, never lets -us forget that we are before a curtain; which, though -she may draw it aside and give us brief glimpses of -her wonder, conceals some things too precious to be -shown.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div id="toclink_90" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">90</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="II-II">II<br /> - -<span class="subhead">ON HER EVERYDAY PERFORMANCE</span></h2> -</div> - -<p>Sight-seeing in Paris must be like looking at the -Venus of Milo on a roll of cinematograph films—an -experience too harrowing to be remembered. I am -sure it is the better part of discretion to forswear -Baedeker, and without system just to “poke round.” -Thus one catches the artists, in the multiform moods -of their life, as ordinary beings; and stumbles across -historic wonders enough into the bargain.</p> - -<p>Really to take Paris unawares, one must get up -in the morning before she does, and slip out into the -street when the white-bloused baker’s boy and a -sleepy <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">cocher</i> or two, with their drowsy, dawdling -horses, are all the life to be seen. One walks along the -empty boulevards, down the quiet Rue de la Paix, -into the stately serenity of the Place Vendôme and -on across the shining Seine into the grey, ancient -stillness of the crooked Rue du Bac. And in this -early morning calm, of solitary spaces and clear sunshine, -fresh-sprinkled streets and gently fluttering -trees, one meets with a new and altogether different -Paris from the dazzling, exotic city one knows by day -and at night.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">91</span></p> - -<p>Absent is the snort and reckless rush of motors, -the insistent jangling of tram and horse’s bells, the -rumble of carts and clip-clop of their Norman stallions’ -feet; absent the hurrying, kaleidoscopic throngs -who issue from the subway stations and fill the thoroughfares; -absent even that familiar smell-of-the-city -which in Paris is a fusion of gasoline, wet asphalt, -and the faint fragrance of women’s <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">sachet</i>: -this virgin morning peace is without odour save the -odour of fresh leaves, without noise, without the -bustle of moving people. The city stretches its -broad arms North and South, East and West, like a -serene woman in the embrace of tranquil dreams; and -suggests a soft and beautiful repose.</p> - -<p>But, while still you are drinking deep of it, she stirs—opens -her eyes. A distant cry is heard: “<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">E-e-eh, -pommes de terre-eeeeh!</i>” And then another: “<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Les -petites fraises du bois! Les petites fraises!</i>” And -the cries come nearer, and there is the sound of steps -and the creak of a hand-cart; and Paris rubs her eyes -and wakes up—she must go out and buy potatoes!</p> - -<p>The same fat, brown-faced woman with the same -two dogs—one pulling the cart, one running fussily -along-side—has sold potatoes in the same streets -round the Place Vendôme, ever since I can remember. -For years, her lingering vibrant cry has roused this -part of Paris to the first sign of day. And while she -is making change, and gossiping with the concierge, -and the smaller dog is sniffing impatiently round her -skirts, windows are opened, gratings groan up, at the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">92</span> -corner some workmen call to one another—and the -day is begun.</p> - -<p>While the streets are still comparatively empty, -let us follow the first abroad—the little <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">midinette</i> -(shop-girl) and her mother—to mass. They will -choose one of the old, unfashionable churches, like -St. Roch or <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">La Trinité</i>; though on Sundays they go -to the Madeleine to hear the music, and revel in splendid -pomp and pageantry. France at heart is agnostic; -a nation of fatalists, if anything. But the vivid -French imagination is held in thrall by the colour -and mystic ritual of the Catholic church: by the most -perfect in ceremonial and detail of all religions. -When the curtain rises on the full magnificence of -gorgeous altar, golden-robed bishop and officiating -priests; when, in accompaniment to the sonorous <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Aves</i>, -exquisite music peals forth, and the whole is blended, -melted together by the soft light of candles, the -subtle haze of incense: into French faces comes that -ecstasy with which they greet the perfect in all its -manifestations. They are <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">dévotes</i> of beauty in the -religious as in every other scene.</p> - -<p>But now our <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">midinette</i> and her <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">maman</i> enter a -dusky unpretentious old church, where quietly they -say their prayers and listen to the monotonous chanting -of a single priest, reading matins in a little corner -chapel. The two women cross themselves, and go out. -In the <i>Place</i>, the younger one stops to spend twopence -for a spray of muguet—that delicate flower -(the lily-of-the-valley) that is the special property of -the <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">midinettes</i> of Paris, and that they love. On their<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">93</span> -Saint Catherine’s Day (May 1st), no girl is without a -little bunch of it as a “<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">porte-bonheur</i>” for her love -affairs during the next year.</p> - -<p>But the <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">midinette</i> calls, “<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">au ’voir</i>”; and the <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">maman</i> -returns, “<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">à ce soir</i>!” And they disappear, the one to -her shop, the other to her duties as concierge or storekeeper, -and we are left in the Place alone. What -about coffee? Let us take it here at the corner brasserie, -where the old man with his napkin tucked in -his chin is crumbling “crescents” and muttering imprecations -at the government—which he attacks -through the <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Matin</i> or <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Figaro</i> spread upon his knees. -A young man, with melancholy black moustaches and -orange boots, is the only other client at this early hour. -He refuses to eat, though a <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">café complet</i> is before -him; and looks at his watch, and sighs. We know -what is the matter with <em>him</em>.</p> - -<p>Considerate of the lady who is late, we choose a -table on the other side—all are outdoors of course, in -this Springtime of the year—and devote ourselves to -discussing honey and rolls and the season’s styles in -hosiery, which young persons strolling towards the -boulevard benevolently offer for our inspection. Occasionally -they pause, and graciously inquire if we -“have need of someone?” And on our replying—with -the proper mixture of apology and admiration—that -all our wants seem to be attended to, pass on -with a shrug of resignation.</p> - -<p>Motor-buses are whirring by now, and a maze of -<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">fiacres</i>, taxis, delivery-boy’s bicycles, and heavy trucks -skid round the slippery corner in dangerous confusion.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">94</span> -The traffic laws of Paris are of the vaguest, -and policemen are few and far between; all at once, -the Place seems unbearably thick and full of noise. -We call for our <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">addition</i>, exchange complaisances -with the waiter, and depart—just as the young man -with the orange boots, with a cry of “<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">enfin!</i>” tucks -the hand of a bewitchingly pretty young lady (doubtless -a mannequin) within his arm, and starts towards -the Rue de la Paix.</p> - -<p>The Rue de la Paix at half past nine in the morning -does not intrigue us. We prefer to wait for it -until the sensational <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">heure des rendez-vous</i>, in the -evening. Why not jump into a cab and bowl leisurely -out to the Bois? It will be cool there, and quiet -during the hour before the fashionable <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">cavaliers</i> come -to ride. With a wary eye for a horse of reasonable -solidity, we engage a blear-eyed Gaul to tow us to -the Porte Dauphine. We like this Gaul above other -Gauls, because his anxious flop-eared dog sitting -next to him on the box gives every sign of liking him. -And though, even before we have turned into the -Champs Elysées, there have been three blood-curdling -rows between cabby and various colleagues who -presumed to occupy a place in the same street; -though whips have been brandished and such ferocious -epithets as “brother-in-law of a bantam!” “son -of a pigeon-toed hen!” have been brandished without -mercy by our remorseless Jehu, we take the reassuring -word of his dog’s worshipping brown eyes that -he is not a bad sort after all.</p> - -<p>He cracks us out the Champs Elysées at a smart<span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">95</span> -pace; yet we have time to gloat over the beauties of -this loveliest of all avenues: its spacious gardens, its -brilliant flower-plots, its quaint little <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">guignols</i> and -donkey carriages for children. Vendors of jumping -bunnies and squeaking pigs thread in and out the -shady trees, showing their fascinating wares; and one -does not wonder at the swarm of small people with -their bright-ribboned nurses, who flock round to admire—and -to buy.</p> - -<p>This part of the avenue—from the Concorde to -the Rond-Point—is given over to children; and all -kinds of amusements, wise and unwise, are prepared -for them. But by far the most popular are the -<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">guignols</i>: those theatres-in-little, where Punch and -Judy go through their harassing adventures, to the -accompaniment of “<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">c’est joli, ça!</i>” and “<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">tiens, que -c’est chic!</i>”; uttered by enthusiastic small French -throats, seconded by applauding small French hands. -For in Paris even the babies have their appreciation -for the drama that is offered them before they can -talk; and show it so spontaneously, yet emphatically, -that one is arrested by their vehemence.</p> - -<p>But we can take in these things only in passing, -for Jehu and the flop-eared dog are carrying us on -up the suavely mounting avenue, beyond the haughty -portals of fashionable hotels and automobile houses -<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">de luxe</i>; round the stately Arc de Triomphe, and into -the Avenue du Bois. Here a sprinkling of governesses -and their charges, old ladies, and lazy young -men are ranged along in the stiff luxury of penny -chairs. On a Sunday we might stop and take one<span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">96</span> -ourselves, to watch the parade of toilettes and the -lively Parisian <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">jeunesse</i> at its favourite game of -“<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">faire le flirt</i>”; but this morning the terrace is half -asleep, and above it the houses of American millionaires -and famous ladies of the demi-monde turn forbidding -closed shutters to our inquiring gaze. Jehu -speeds us past them, and we alight at the Porte -Dauphine, the principal entrance to the Bois.</p> - -<p>Green grass, the glint of a lake, broad, sandy -roads and intimate slim <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">allées</i> greet us, once within -the gates; while all round and overhead are the -slender, grey-green French poplars, fashioned into -gracious avenues and seductive pathways, with its -gay little restaurant at the end. Of all styles and -architecture are these last: Swiss châlets, Chinese -pagodas, Japanese tea-houses, and the typical French -<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">pavillon</i>; they have one common trait, however—that -of serving atrocious food at a fabulous price. Let us -abjure them, and wander instead along the quite expansive -lake, to the rocks and miniature falls of <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Les -Rochers</i>.</p> - -<p>All through the Bois one is struck with the characteristic -French passion for vistas. There is none of -the natural wildness of Central Park, or the uninterrupted -sweep of green fields that gives the charm of -air and openness to the parks of London; but—though -here in Paris we are in a “wood”—everywhere -there is the elaborate simplicity of French landscape -gardening: trees cut into tall Gothic arches, or -bent into round, tunnel-like curves; brush trimmed -precisely into formal box hedges; paths leading into<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">97</span> -avenues, that in turn lead into other avenues—so that -before, behind, and on every side there is that prolonged -silver-grey perspective. One sees the same -thing at Versailles and St. Cloud: in every French -forest, for that matter. The artist cannot stay her -hand, even for the hand of nature.</p> - -<p>And so, in the Bois, rocks have been built into -grottos, and trickling waterfalls trained to form -cascades above them; and little lakes and islands have -been inserted—everything, anything, that the artistic -imagination could conceive, to enhance the sylvan -scene for the critical actors who frequent it. Which -reminds us that these last will be on view now—it is -eleven o’clock, their hour for riding and the promenade. -So let us leave <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Les Rochers</i>, and the greedy -goats of the <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Pré Catalan</i>, and hasten back to the Avenue -des Acaçias and the famous Sentier de Vertu.</p> - -<p>Here, a <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">chic</i> procession of <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">élégantes</i> and their admirers -are strolling along, laughing and chatting as -they come upon acquaintances, forming animated little -groups, only to break up and wander on to join -others. Cavaliers in smart English coats, or the dashing -St. Cyr uniform, canter by; calling gay greeting -to friends, for whose benefit they display an elaborately -careless bit of clever horsemenship <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">en passant</i>. -Ladies and “half-ladies” in habits of startling yet -somehow alluring cut and hue—heliotrope and brick -pink are among the favourites—allow their mounts -to saunter lazily along the allées, while their own -modestly veiled eyes spy out prey. They are viewed -with severity by the <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">bonne bourgeoise</i> of the tortoise-shell<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">98</span> -lorgnettes and heavy moustache; who keeps her -limousine within impressive calling distance, while -she, with her fat poodle under her arm, waddles along -ogling the beaux.</p> - -<p>A doughty regiment of these there are: young -men with marvellous waists and eager, searching -eyes; middle-aged men with figures “well preserved,” -and eyes that make a desperate effort at eagerness, -but only succeed in looking tired; and then the old gallants, -waxed and varnished, and gorgeously immaculate, -from sandy toupée to gleaming pointed shoes—the -three hours they have spent with the barber and -in the scrupulous hands of their valet have not been -in vain. They do the honours of the <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Sentier</i>, with a -courtliness that brings back Louis Quatorze and the -days of Ninon and the lovely Montespan.</p> - -<p>But there are as lovely—and perhaps as naughty?—ladies -among these who saunter leisurely down the -grey-green paths today. In wonderfully simple, -wonderfully complicated <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">toilettes de matin</i>, they stroll -along in pairs—or again (with an oblique glance over -the shoulder, oh a quite indifferent glance), carelessly -alone with two or three little dogs. I read -last week in one of the French illustrated papers a -serious treatise on ladies’ dogs. It was divided into -the three categories: “Dogs for morning,” “Dogs -for afternoon,” “Dogs of ceremony”—meaning full-dress -dogs. And the article gravely discussed the correct -canine accessory that should be worn with each -separate costume of the <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">élégante’s</i> elaborate day. It -omitted to add, however, the incidental value of these<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">99</span> -costly scraps of fuzz, as chaperones. But with a -couple of dogs, as one pretty lady softly assured me, -one can go anywhere, feeling <em>quite</em> secure; and one’s -husband, too—for of course he realizes that the sweet -little beasts <em>must</em> be exercised!</p> - -<p>So the conscientious ladies regularly “exercise” -them; and if sometimes, in their exuberance, Toto -and Mimi escape their distressed young mistresses, -and must be brought back by a friend who “chanced” -to be near at hand—who can cavil? And if the kind -restorer walks a little way with the trio he has reunited, -or sits with them for a few moments under the -trees, why not? They are always three—Toto and -Mimi and the lady—and one’s friends who may happen -to pass know for themselves how hard dogs are -to keep in hand!</p> - -<p>So we have a series of gay, well-dressed couples -wandering down the intimate allées, or scattered in -the white iron chairs within the trees: a very different -series from those who will be here at eleven o’clock -tonight—and every night. The Bois is far too large -to be policed, and the grotesque shapes that haunt it -after dark—crouching, low-browed figures that slink -along in the shadows, greedy for any sort of prey—make -one shudder, even from the security of a closed -cab. All about are the brilliant, bright-lit restaurants -with their crowds of feasting sybarites; yet at the -very door of these—waiting to fall upon them if -they take six steps beyond the threshold—is that -grisly, desperate band, some say of Apaches, others -say monsters worse than those.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">100</span></p> - -<p>At all events, it is better in the evening to turn -one’s eyes away from the shadowy paths, and towards -the amusing tableaux to be seen in passing fiacres -and taxis. To the more reserved Anglo-Saxon, -French frankness of demonstration in affairs of the -affections comes always as a bit of a shock. To see -a lady reclining against the arm of a gentleman, as -the two spin along the boulevard in an open horse-cab; -to watch them, quite oblivious of the world looking -on, ardently turn and kiss one another: this is a -disturbing and meanly provocative scene to put before -the susceptible American. No one else pays any attention -to it—they have acted that scene so many -times themselves; and when, in the friendly darkness -of the Bois at night, all lingering discretion is thrown -to the winds, and behind the cabby’s broad, habituated -back anything and everything in the way of fervid -love-making goes on—who cares? Except to smile -sympathetically, and return to his own affair, more -ardently than ever. The silhouettes one sees against -taxi-windows and the dust-coloured cushions of -<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">fiacres</i> are utterly demoralizing to respectable American -virtue.</p> - -<p>Let us turn on the light of day, therefore, and in -a spasm of prudence mount a penny-bus that traffics -between the Étoile and the Latin Quarter. It is a -flagrant <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">faux-pas</i> to arrive in the Latin Quarter by -way of anything more sumptuous than a penny-bus -or a twopenny tram. It shrieks it from the cobbles, -that one is a “<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">nouveau</i>”; and that, in the Quarter, is -a disgrace too horrible to be endured.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">101</span></p> - -<p>We rock across the Pont Royal, then, on the precarious -upper story of an omnibus; and wind along -the narrow Rue du Bac, which, since our visit of early -morning, has waked to fitful life in its old plaster -and print shops. Second-hand dealers of all kinds -flourish here, and the medley of ancient books, musty -reliquaries, antique jewelry, and battered images -minus such trifles as a nose or ear, makes the street -into one continuous curiosity-shop. Until one reaches -the varnish and modern bustle of the Bon Marché -stores; then, when we have been shot through the -weather-beaten slit of the Rue des Saints Pères, I -insist that we shall climb down and go on foot up -quaint, irregular Notre-Dame-des-Champs to the -garden where I spent many joyous days as a student.</p> - -<p>It is in a crooked little street which runs breathlessly -for a block between Notre-Dame-des-Champs -and the Boulevard Montparnasse—and there stops; -leaving you with the insinuation that it has done its -best to squeeze in on this frazzled boundary of the -old Quarter, and that more cannot be expected of it. -On one side of the abrupt block, rambles the one-time -<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">hôtel</i> of the Duchesse de Chevreuse; <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">intrigante</i>, -cosmopolitan, irresponsible lover of adventure, who -kept Louis XIII’s court in a hubbub with her pranks -and her inordinate influence over Queen Anne.</p> - -<p>The grey court that has seen the trysts of Chalais, -Louvigni, even of the great Richelieu himself, rests -still intact; and they say the traditional secret passage -also—leading from a hidden recess in the garden to -the <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">grands palais</i>. But that is only legend (which,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">102</span> -by some vagary, still clings to the feelers of the practical -twentieth century mind), and I have never seen -it. The <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">hôtel</i> is now covered yearly with a neat coat -of yellow paint, and used as an apartment house; -crowded by the usual rows of little Quarter shops: a -cobbler’s, a blanchissage, a goldsmith’s on the East -wing; the beaten-down door of an antiquary on the -West: until its outraged painted bricks seem to bulge -out over the thread of a side-walk, in continual effort -to rub noses with the <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">hôpital</i> opposite—the only other -house of any age in the street.</p> - -<p>One peep at the garden—and you will admit it is -worth it, with its lovely plaintive iris, its pale wistaria, -its foolish pattering fountain—and we turn towards -the Boulevard and lunch. I have said this bit of a -street along which we are walking is on the boundary -of the old Quarter. Alas, in these days there is -no Quarter. One tries to think there is, particularly -if one is a new-comer to the Left Bank, and enthusiastic; -but one learns all too soon that there is not. -There are students, yes, and artists; and the cafés -and paintshops and pretty grisettes that go with -students and artists. But the quarter of Rudolph and -Mimi, of Trilby and Svengali: can you find it in -steam-heated apartments, where ladies in Worth -gowns pour tea? Or in the thick blue haze about the -bridge and poker games at the Café du Dôme?</p> - -<p>The Quarter has passed; there remains only its -name. And that we should use with a muttered “forgive -us our trespasses”; for it is the name of romance, -shifted onto commonplaceness.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">103</span></p> - -<p>Yet one can still enjoy there the romance of a -delicious meal for two francs fifty; and there are any -number of jealously hidden places from which to -choose. Let us go to Henriette’s, this tiny hole-in-the-wall, -where one passes the fragrant-steaming -kitchen on the way to the little room inside, and calls -a greeting to the cook—an old friend—where he -stands, lobster-pink and beaming, over his copper -sauce-pans. Back under a patched and hoary skylight -the tables are placed; and a family of mild-mannered -mice clamber out over the glass to peer -inquiringly at the gluttons below—who eat at one -bite enough cheese to keep any decently delicate -mouse for a week.</p> - -<p>We order an omelette <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">aux champignons</i>, a Chateaubriand -(corresponding to our tenderloin of steak) -with pommes soufflés; as a separate vegetable, <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">petits -pois à la Française</i>, and for dessert a heaping plate of -wild strawberries to be eaten with one of these delectable -brown pots of thick <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">crême d’Isigny</i>—aih! It -makes one exquisitely languid only to think of it, all -that luscious food! We lean back voluptuously in -our stiff little chairs, and gaze about us while waiting -for it.</p> - -<p>At the half dozen tables round us are seated the -modern prototypes of Rudolph and Mimi: mildly -boisterous American youths from the Beaux Arts and -Julien’s; careworn English spinsters with freckles -and paint-smudged fingers; a Russian couple, with -curious “shocked” hair and vivid, roving black eyes; -a stray Frenchman or two, probably shop-keepers<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">104</span> -from the Boulevard, and a trio of models—red-lipped, -torrid-eyed, sinuously round, in their sheath-fitting -tailored skirts and cheap blouses. They are -making a nonchalant meal off bread and cheese, and -a bottle of <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">vin ordinaire</i>: evidently times are bad, or -“<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">ce bon garçon</i> Harry’s” remittance has not come.</p> - -<p>Proof of other bad times is in the charming frieze -painted, in commemoration of the Queen of Hearts, -by two girl artists of a former day, who worked out -their over-due bill to the house in this decorative -fashion. For the poverty, at least, of the traditional -Quarter survives; though smothered into side streets -and obscure “passages” by the self-styled “Bohemians” -of Boulevards Raspail and Montparnasse. And -one notices that the habitués of Henriette’s and of all -the humbler restaurants have their own napkin-rings -which they take from the rack as they come in; does -it not save them ten centimes, an entire penny, on the -charge for <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">couvert</i>?</p> - -<p>They have their own tobacco too, and roll their -cigarettes with care not to spill a single leaf at the -process; and you feel a heartless Dives to sit smoking -your fragrant Egyptians after your luxurious meal -and sipping golden Bénédictine at the considerable -price of forty centimes (eight cents). Our more -frugal neighbours, however, show no sign of envy, or -indeed of interest of any sort; their careless indifference -not only to us, but to their own meal and -the desultory chatter of their comrades, speaks of -long and familiar experience with both. Somehow -they are depressing, these Rudolphs without their<span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">105</span> -velveteens, these Mimis without their flowers and -other romantic trappings of poverty; the hideous -modern garments of the shabbily genteel only emphasize -a sordid lack of petty cash.</p> - -<p>I suggest that we run away from them, and hie -us to the lilac-bushes and bewitching <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">bébés</i> of the -Jardin du Luxembourg; for in the realm of the great -<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">artiste</i> even the babies contribute to the scene, and in -their fascinating short frocks, and wee rose-trimmed -bonnets, are a gladsome troupe of Lilliputians with -whom to while away one’s melancholy. But you may -have an inhuman apathy towards babies, and prefer to -taxi out to St. Germain for a view of the terrace, and -a glimpse en route of sadly lovely Malmaison—the -memory-haunted home of Josephine. Or you may -suggest the races—though I hope you won’t, because -in France the sport is secondary; and mannequins -are a dull race. I had rather you chose an excursion -up the Seine, on one of the fussy little river-boats; -though of course at St. Cloud we should be sure to -find a blaring street fair in possession of the forest, -and at Meudon the same: the actors must bring their -booths and flying pigs into the very domain of Dame -Nature herself; being no respecters of congruity -where passion for the theatric is concerned.</p> - -<p>But we should have the cool vistas of the inner -forest, and the stately satisfaction of historic stone -stairs and mellow creamy-grey urns and statues -through the trees; or we can go down the river instead -to old Vincennes, and have a look at the grim<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">106</span> -prison-castle that has sheltered many a noble in disgrace. -Which shall it be? To use Madame La -France’s borrowed Spanish expression: I am “<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">tout -à votre disposition</i>.”</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div id="toclink_107" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">107</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="II-III">III<br /> - -<span class="subhead">AND ITS SEQUEL</span></h2> -</div> - -<p>Whichever it is, we must be back in time for tea -at one of the fashionable “<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">fiv’ o’clocks</i>”; for, though -many ladies who buy their clothes in Paris do not -know it, looking at <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">grandes dames</i> is vastly different -from looking at mannequins or the demi-monde; and -the French <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">grande dame</i> is at her best at the tea -hour. Someone has said, with truth, that the American -woman is the best-dressed in the morning, the -Englishwoman the best-dressed at night; but that the -Parisienne triumphs over both in the gracious, clinging -gown of afternoon.</p> - -<p>Let us turn into this exclusive little establishment -in the Place Vendôme, and from the vantage of a -window-table in the mezzanine observe the lovely -ladies as they enter. The first to come is in the simplest -frock of leaf-green—the average American -woman would declare it “positively <em>plain</em>”; there is -not a sign of lace or hand embroidery about it, only -at the open throat a soft fall of finest net, snowy as -few American women would take pains to have it. -And the lady’s hair is warm copper, and her hat a -mere ingenious twist of leaf-green tulle; but a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">108</span> -master hand has draped it and the simple frock of -green; and the whole is a beautiful blend of line and -colour, as unstudied as a bit of autumn woodland.</p> - -<p>Here is a combination more striking. The lady -just stepping from the pansy limousine has chosen -yellow for her costume of shimmering crêpe; a rich -dull ochre, with a hint of red in its flowing folds. -At the neck and wrists are bits of fragile old embroidery, -yellow too with age, and that melt into the -flesh-tones of the wearer till they seem part of her -living self; while at the slim waist-line is a narrow -band of dusky rose—the kind of rose that looks -faintly coated with silver—and daringly caught up -high at the right side, a single mauve petunia. The -hat of course is black—a mere nothing of a tiny toque, -with one spray of filmy feather low against the lady’s -blond hair.</p> - -<p>“But she is not pretty at all,” you realize suddenly; -“she’s really almost ugly, and <span class="locked">yet—”</span></p> - -<p>Exactly. A Frenchwoman can be as ugly as it -pleases perverse Heaven to make her; there is always -the “and yet” of her overwhelming charm. You may -call it artificial if you like—the mere material allurements -of stuffs and bits of thread; but to arrange -those stuffs there must be a fine discrimination, to -know how to use those bits of thread, a subtle science -no other woman has—or ever quite acquires. Look -about you in the tea-room—now fast filling with -women of all ages and all tastes—what is it that -forms their great general attraction? White hands, -shown to perfection by a fall of delicate lace, or the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">109</span> -gleam of a single big emerald or sapphire; hands -moving daintily among fragile china, the sheen of -silver, the transparency of glass. And above the -hands, <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">vif</i> faces, set in the soft coquetry of snowy -ruches, graceful fichus, piquant Medici collars, but -all open upon the alluring V of creamy throat.</p> - -<p>What is it these women have? You can set down -what they have on, but what is it you cannot set down, -yet that you know they possess? It is the art of -supreme femininity, carried out in the emphasis of -every charm femininity has; by means of contrast, -colour, above all by the subtlest means in everything: -simplicity. And there is added to their conscious art -a pervading delicate voluptuousness, that underlies -the every expression of themselves as women; and -that completes the havoc of the male they subjugate.</p> - -<p>Look at him now. Do you know any man but an -Englishman who <em>likes</em> tea? Yet here they are, these -absinthe-ridden Frenchmen drinking it with a -fervour; but their eyes are not within their cups! -For again the highly proper little dogs are present—“dogs -for the afternoon,” of course; and the management -has been thoughtful in providing discreet -corners and deep window-seats, where a tête-a-tête -may be enjoyed without too many interruptions on -the part of the <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">chic</i> waitress with a windward eye to -tips.</p> - -<p>Another precaution these abandoned couples -take is a third person—usually a young girl—to be -with them. Madame starts out with the young girl, -by chance they meet Monsieur X at the five-o’clock,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">110</span> -and have tea with him; of course he escorts the ladies -home, and equally of course the young girl is -“dropped” first. If between her house and that of -Madame’s, the better part of an hour is employed in -threading the tangled traffic of that time of evening, -who can say a word except the chauffeur—who is -given no reason to regret his long-suffering silence -on such subjects. Thus during the hour after tea, -the hour between six and seven, when kindly dusk -lends her cloak to the game, husbands and wives play -at their eternal trick of outwitting one another.</p> - -<p>It may be a game that disgusts you, you may find -it sordid, even repellent, to watch; but, among people -with whom the marriage of convenience is universal -(and in most respects turns out excellently well), -what can you expect? A lover or a divorce, for both -parties; and the French man and woman prefer to -maintain the stability of house and name, and to wink -at one another’s individual peccadilloes. They are -generally very good friends, and devoted to their -children; and never, never do they commit that crassness -of the Anglo-Saxon, in bringing their amours -within the home.</p> - -<div id="ip_110" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 45em;"> - <img src="images/i_137.jpg" width="2160" height="1499" alt="" /> - <div class="caption"><p>L’HEURE DU RENDEZ-VOUS. RUE DE LA PAIX</p></div></div> - -<p>So let us watch the departing couples whirl away -from the little tea-room, without too great severity; -and ourselves wander out into the Place, and up the -short, spectacular Rue de la Paix. This above all -others is the hour to see it—when fashion throngs the -narrow pavements, or bowls slowly past in open motor -cars; and when the courts of the great dressmaker’s -shops are filled with young blades, waiting for the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">111</span>mannequins to come down. One by one these marvellously -slim, marvellously apparelled young persons -appear; each choosing the most effective moment she -can contrive for her particular entrance into the twilight -of the street. A silken hum of skirts precedes -her; the swains in the doorway eagerly look up—adjust -their scarf-pins, give a jauntier tilt to their top-hats—and -the apparition, sweetly smiling and emphatically -perfumed, is among them.</p> - -<p>There are murmured greetings, a suggestion from -two of the bolder of the beaux, a gracious assent from -the lady; and the three spin away in a taxi, to Armenonville -or Château Madrid, for dinner. They have a -very pleasant life, these mannequins; for lending the -figure the <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">bon Dieu</i> gave them—or that they painstakingly -have acquired—they receive excellent salaries -from the great <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">couturiers</i>. In consideration of which -they appear at the establishment when they please, -or not at all, when they have the caprice to stay away. -If the figure is sufficiently remarkable, there is no -limit to the whims they can enjoy—and be pardoned, -even eagerly implored to return to their deserted -posts. And then, as we see, after professional hours—what -pleasaunce of opportunity! What boundless -possibilities of <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">la vie chic</i>! Really, saith the ex-midinette -complacently, it is good to have become a mannequin.</p> - -<p>Some there are who at this excellent business-hour -of evening, make a preoccupied exit; sweep past -the disappointed gentlemen in waiting, and walk -swiftly towards the maze and glitter of the Boulevard.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">112</span> -The gentlemen shrug, comprehending. A -<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">rendez-vous</i>. Out of idle curiosity, one of them may -follow. “<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Mais, ma chère!</i>” he murmurs reproachfully, -at sight of the ill-restored antiquity the lady -annexes at the corner.</p> - -<p>She makes a deprecatory little face, over her -shoulder, which says, “You ought to understand, one -must be practical. But what about tomorrow night?” -And a bit of paste-board flutters from her gold purse -and at the feet of the reproachful gentleman; who -smiles, picks it up, reads it, shrugs, and strolls back -to his doorway, to find other extravagance for this -evening.</p> - -<p>What a Paris! you exclaim; is there anything in -it besides the <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">rendez-vous</i>? Not at this hour. For -mechanics and midinettes, bank-clerks and <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">vendeuses</i>, -shop-keepers and ever-thrifty daughters of joy, pour -into the boulevards in a human flood; and always, following -Biblical example, they go two by two. In another -hour they will be before their <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">croute-au-pot</i>, in -one of these omnipresent cafés; for the present they -anxiously wait on corners, or, with a relieved smile, -link arms and move off at an absorbed, lingering gait -down the boulevard.</p> - -<p>Some halt, to sit down at the little tables on the -side-walk, and drink an <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">apéritif</i>. Here too, the old -dogs of commerce and industry get together over a -<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Pernod</i> or a <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Dubonnet</i>, and in groups of twos and -threes heatedly thrash out the unheard-of fluctuations -of the Bourse today. The <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">bon bourgeois</i> meets -his wife, and hears of the children’s cleverness, the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">113</span> -servant’s perfidy, over a <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">sirop</i>; two anæmic young -government clerks gulp Amer Picon, and violently -contradict one another about the situation in Morocco; -a well-known <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">danseuse</i> sips vermouth with the long-haired -youth who directs the orchestra at the Folies -Bergères: it is as though, between six and seven, all -Paris is strung along outside the cafés that link the -boulevard into a chain of chairs and tables. And in -the street, down the middle, motor-buses honk their -horns, horse-buses crack their whips, cochers and -chauffeurs shout anathema to one another and malediction -on policemen and the human worm in general; -while the traffic thickens and crawls slower with every -minute, and a few helpless <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">gendarmes</i> struggle in -vain to preserve order.</p> - -<p>Let us out of it all, and to dine. We can go to -Château Madrid, and eat under the trees, and watch -the gorgeous Parisiennes in the gallery as instinctively -they group themselves to lend heightened effect -to the <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">ensemble</i>; or we can go to Paillard’s and pay -ten dollars apiece for the privilege of sitting against -the wall and consuming such sauces as never were in -Olympus or the earth beneath; or we can dine above -the gardens of the <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Ambassadeurs</i>, in the elegant little -balcony that overhangs a miniature stage, and -later look on at the <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">revue</i>. Or we can sail up the river -in the balmy gloaming, and eat a <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">friture</i> of smelts -on the terrasse of the <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Pêche Miraculeuse</i>—there are a -score of places where we can find a delicious meal, and -in each observe a different world; running from <em>do</em> -to <em>do</em> in the scale of the race.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">114</span></p> - -<p>I suggest, however, that we choose a café in the -Quarter—not one of the tiny eating-houses like -Henriette’s where we lunched, but a full-fledged, -prosperous café; frequented by the better-off artists -and the upper-class Quarter grisettes. Ten minutes -in the Underground lands us at the door of one of -the best-known of these places. In the front room, -with big windows open to the street, is the <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">café des -consommateurs</i>; in the rear, the restaurant and card -rooms, and a delightful galleried garden, where also -one may dine. Alluring strains of Hoffmann’s -<i>Barcarolle</i> entice us thither with all speed; and soon -our enthusiasm is divided between chilled slices of -golden melon and the caressing sensuousness of the -<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">maître d’orchestre’s</i> violin.</p> - -<p>In passing, one may note that good music in Paris -is a rare quantity. Though many people come to -study singing, there are few vocal concerts, and the -<i>Touche</i> and the <i>Rouge</i> are the only orchestras of any -importance. They give weekly concerts in small halls, -hardly bigger than an ordinary-sized room, and the -handful of attendants smoke their fat porcelain pipes -and extract cherries out of glasses of <em>kirsch</em>, and -happily imagine themselves music-lovers. But the -great <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">artiste</i> is an artist through sight rather than -through sound; and even in opera, where the dramatic -element is or should be subservient to the music, -the superdramatic French are ill-at-ease and hampered. -Some of the performances at the Opéra Comique -are delightful, for here the lighter pieces of -Massenet and Debussy are given, with the French lilt<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">115</span> -and dash peculiar to these masters. But, at the Opéra -itself, the Wagnerian compositions are poorly conducted, -the audience uninterested and uninteresting; -and even the beautiful foyer—which, since the famous -New Year’s Eve balls have been done away with, -knows no longer its former splendours—cannot compensate -for the thoroughly dull evening one endures -there.</p> - -<p>Far happier is one listening to the serenades and -intermezzos of the cherubic Alsatian violinist at the -Quarter café-restaurant. And, after dinner, he plays -solos out in the café proper, for the same absorbed -polyglot audience that has listened to him for years. -Let us range ourselves in this corner against the wall, -between the two American lady artists of masculine -tailoring and Kansas voices, and the fierce-mustachioed -Czek, mildly amused over a copy of the <i>Rire</i>. -Every seat in the big double room is taken now, and -we are a varied crew of French <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">bourgeois</i>, Russian, -Norwegian, and German students, English and -American tourists, Japanese attachés (or so one supposes -from their conversation, in excellent French, -with our neighbour Czek), and blond and black -bearded artists who might be of any nation except the -Oriental.</p> - -<p>They all know each other, and are exchanging -jokes and cigarettes over their <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">café crême</i>—which -they drink, by the way, out of glass tumblers—and -paying goodnaturedly for a <i>bock</i> for Suzanne or -Madeleine, whose <i>bocks</i> some other person should be -paying. The room has taken on the look of a big<span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">116</span> -family party, some talking, some writing letters, -others reading from the shiny black-covered comic -papers; all smoking, and sipping absently now and -then from their steaming glasses or little <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">verres de -liqueur</i>. The music drifts in soothingly, between -spurts of conversation, and one is conscious of utter -contentment and well-being.</p> - -<p>Suddenly a door is flung open. In whirls a small -hurricane, confined within a royal purple coat and -skirt; gives one lightning glance round the circle -of surprised merry-makers, and with a triumphant -cry pounces on Suzanne yonder, with the fury of a -young virago. “So!” pants the vixen, shaking poor -Suzanne. “So you thought to outwit me, you thought -to oust me, did you? <em>Me</em>, whom he knew six months -before ever he saw you—me whom he took to Havre, -to Fontainebleau, to—to—traitress! Coward! <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Scélérate!</i> -Take that—and that—and that!”</p> - -<p>She slaps Suzanne soundly on both cheeks; -Suzanne pulls her hat off—each makes a lunge at the -other’s hair. “<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Mesdames, mesdames</i>,” cries the -<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">patron</i>, hurrying forward. “<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Je vous en prie</i>—and -monsieur,” reproachfully, “can you do nothing?”</p> - -<p>Monsieur—the monsieur who kindly, and quite -disinterestedly, paid Suzanne’s book—sits by, lazily -tapping his fingers against the glass. “What would -you?” he says, with a shrug. “Women—” another -shrug—“one had as well let them finish it.”</p> - -<p>But the <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">patron</i> is by no means of this mind. He -begins telling those ladies that his house is a serious -house; that his clients are of the most serious, that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">117</span> -he himself absolutely demands and insists upon seriousness; -and that if these ladies cannot tranquillize -themselves <span class="locked">instantly——</span></p> - -<p>But of a sudden he halts—pulled up short by the -abrupt halt of the ladies themselves. In the thick of -the fray Suzanne has flung contemptuous explanation; -Gaby, the virago, has caught it. A truce is -declared. Curt conversation takes place. Monsieur, -still lazily tapping, consents to confirm the defendant’s -statement as fact. Gaby, though still suspicious, -consents to restore the hated rival’s hat; and in -ten minutes the three are tranquilly discussing Cubism -and a new round of <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">demi-brunes</i>. The audience, -who have gazed on the entire comedy with keen but -quite impartial interest, shrug their shoulders, light -fresh cigarettes, and return to their papers and pens. -Since the first start of surprise, there has not been a -murmur among them; only complete concentration -on the drama, which the next minute they as completely -forget.</p> - -<p>There are a dozen such scenes a day, in one’s wandering -about Paris; that is, a dozen scenes as sudden, -as intense, and as quickly over. The everyday life -of the people is so vivid, of such swift and varied contrast, -that the theatre itself, to satisfy them, must -overreach into melodrama before it rouses. I believe -that no other city in the world, unless it be the next -most dramatic, New York, could support a theatre -like the <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Grand Guignol</i> for example. I have seen -there, in one evening, gruesomely realistic representations -of a plague scene in India; the destruction of a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">118</span> -submarine, with all the crew on board; and the operating-room -of a hospital, where a woman is unnecessarily -murdered to pay the surgeon’s wife’s hat bill.</p> - -<p>The French imagination, turned loose on dramatic -situations, is like a cannibal before a peck of missionaries; -only instead of eating ’em alive, the -Frenchman makes them live—and diabolically accurate. -But not for the doubtful interest of -studying French psychology through its horrors, shall -we end our day by a visit to the <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Guignol</i>. Nor yet -to the <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Français</i> or the <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Odéon</i>, as we are a bit tired to -follow Molière or Racine tonight. What do you say -to looking in at the cheerful rowdyism of the <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Moulin -Rouge</i>, and then on for a bite at one of the restaurants -on “the Hill”? It would never do for you, as a -self-respecting American, to leave Paris without -properly “doing” Montmartre; and as for me, I want -to prove to you my assertion that Montmartre exists -for and off visiting strangers like ourselves.</p> - -<p>Let us make short work of the <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Moulin</i> therefore—which -is neither more nor less raw than the rest of -the variétés prepared for foreign consumption—and -go on up to the Place Pigalle; to the racket and -ribaldry of the <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Café Royal</i>. Other night-restaurants -make some pretense of silver-gilding their vulgarity; -the <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Abbaye</i> and the <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Rat Mort</i> have their diamond -dust of luxury to throw into one’s eyes. But the -<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Royal</i> is unadulterated Montmartre: the girls, most -of them, shabby—their rouge put on without art; -the harsh red coats of the tziganes seemingly made of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">119</span> -paper, and their songs lacking even the thinnest -veneer of French wit.</p> - -<p>In the small low room upstairs fresh air is left behind -by those who enter. Instead, the heavy-scented -powder of the dancing girls, the sweet sickening -perfume of great baskets of roses on sale, and the -pervading odour of lobster, combine to assail us as -we steer through the crowded room to a table. These -last are arranged in the familiar hollow square round -the wall, leaving a cleared space in the centre for -dancers.</p> - -<p>We order supper, and then look about us. It is -still a different world from the many we have seen -today: a world of “wire-pulled automatons,”, who -laugh dead laughter, and sing dead tuneless songs, -in their clock-work dance of pleasure. There is a -sinister host of these puppet-people: girls of seventeen -and eighteen, with the hard, settled features of -forty; Englishmen, very red and embarrassed, -blatantly over for a “larky weed-end”; next them a -mere baby of fourteen, with sleek curls to her shoulders, -and a slazy blue frock to her knees—chattering -shrilly to the Polish Jew with the pasty white face, -and the three pasty-white necks rolling over his collar. -Yonder, a group of Brazilians, most of them very -boys, who have captured the prettiest <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">danseuse</i> and -carried her off for champagne; beyond them, torpid-eyed -Germans seeking shatzkinder, and American -drummers by the dozen—their feet on the bar-rail, -their hats on the back of their heads, grinning half<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">120</span> -sheepishly like nasty little boys on a forbidden holiday.</p> - -<p>Well, does it amuse you—this “typical slice of -French life,” as the guidebooks label it? And what -of the dances—but, rather than look at them, let us -talk to this girl who is passing. She seems different -from the rest, in her dark “tailor-made” and plain -white shirt; among the satin and tinsel of the other -women, her costume and her white, almost transparent -face cry attention to themselves by very modesty. -Perhaps she will talk real talk; occasionally—when -she finds she has nothing to gain as marionette—one -of them will.</p> - -<p>We ask her to have some champagne. Nonchalantly -she accepts, and sits down. Is she new at the -<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Royal</i>? is the leading question. Oh no, she has been -coming here for nearly a year. But this gentleman -is new (quickly)? You reply, with a certain intonation, -that you will always be “new,”—that you will not -come again. She sends you a searching side-glance—and -understands.</p> - -<p>The preliminaries clearly disposed of, we get to -the meat of things; baldly and with no apology, now -that we have thrown down our hand. What is she -doing here? Can’t she find a better place? Has she -no family to help her?</p> - -<p>She smiles, flicks the ash from her cigarette. But -yes, she has a family: a blind mother, two little sisters, -and a half-witted brother. She is sole bread-winner -for the lot. As for this place—a shrug, laconic, unresentful, -as she throws a glance round the murky<span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">121</span> -room—it is not <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">chic</i>, true it is second-rate; but the -commissions are good, and clothes here do not cost -much, and— “the simple fact,” says she, gazing -quietly over our shoulder into the glass, is, “that to -work any trade successfully, one must have the -proper tools. I was young, or I should have thought -of that before I began.”</p> - -<p>You gasp, under your breath. This French girl, -when she draws aside the curtain, draws it to reveal—with -terrible sincerity—a thin white face. She tells -no tale of an attempt to live “honestly,” of pitiful -struggles as dressmaker, shop-girl, and the rest of the -sentimental dodges. She bares her tragedy simply -as only a French person can; and it is that she has -not the proper tools!</p> - -<p>You mumble something meant to be consoling, -and shamefacedly slip a louis under her plate. She -accepts it with no trumped-up emotion, but a frank -“<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">merci!</i>” And evidently fearing to bore us, moves -away with the nonchalance characteristic of her type.</p> - -<p>When she is gone, we are suddenly aware of wanting -to leave. For, among the grinning ghosts, reality -has passed; touching with her grim wand the puppets, -to show them as naked souls—each with its uncovered -reason. So seen, they send a shudder through -us: the baby-faced girl in her blue frock, now sleepily -batting kohl from her eyes in desperate effort to remain -amusing; the dancing-girls with their high nervous -laughter; the set, determined smiles of the -better-dressed <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">cocottes</i>: it is the artist playing in the -meanest of all theatres, the artist born without the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">122</span> -“proper tools,” or who lost hers, but playing stoically -to the end.</p> - -<p>And the tziganes are twanging deafening accompaniment -on their guitars, and shouting “Patita” at -the top of their execrable voices; and smoke and the -thick smell of sauces and the scent of the women’s -<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">sachet</i> hangs in sickening haze through the place. -Let us go—let us flee from it! For this is not Paris; -it is the harlot’s house: and that is the loathsome property -of the universe.</p> - -<p>We rush from it out into the silent street—the air -strikes sharp and fresh upon our faces. For it rains, -a pearly mist, and the thousand lights make rainbows -on the flat wet flags of paving. We hail a cab, but -leave the top open to the grateful dampish cool; and -glide away down the slippery hill into what looks -like dawn.</p> - -<p>But it is only other lights—mist-veiled, and gleaming -more intimately now; like the gems of a woman -who has gone to her boudoir, but not yet taken off her -jewels. The woman calls, softly. Can you keep -yourself from answering? You may have your loyalty -to faithful London, the Comrade; you may burn -your reverential candle before the mystic vestal, -Rome; or shout yourself hoarse before the triumph of -New York, the star: but can you resist the tugging, -glowing, multiple allurement of everyman’s One -Woman, Paris?</p> - -<p>Can you go back over this night when her jewels -flashed for you into the Seine, when the rich rumble -of her voice called to you across the bridges, when the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">123</span> -cool, sweet smell and the throb and cling of her were -for you—<em>you</em>; and not thrill to her and yearn for her, -as men in spite of their inconstancy have thrilled and -yearned and come back to One out of all the rest, -throughout the history of women?</p> - -<p>I hope that you cannot. For, as you return again -and again, the “make-up” of the woman fades; the -great artist lays aside the cautious mask, steps down -from the stage, and for you becomes that greatest of -all: a simple human being.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="PIII"><span class="larger">III<br /> - -<span class="subhead">THE CHILDREN’S PERFORMANCE<br /> - -<span class="small">(Vienna)</span></span></span></h2> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div id="toclink_127" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">127</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="III-I">I<br /> - -<span class="subhead">THE PLAYHOUSE</span></h2> -</div> - -<p>To see Vienna properly, one should be eighteen, -and a young person of good looks and discretion. -Patsy was all this, and I, being Patsy’s uncle, was allowed -my first peep at the jolliest of cities through -her <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">lunettes de rose</i>. It was a bleak, grey morning -in January—with the mercury at several degrees below -zero—when we rattled through the quiet streets -to our hotel.</p> - -<p>“Ugh!” said Patsy, some three minutes after we -had left the station, “what a horrid dreary place!”</p> - -<p>I suggested deprecatingly that places had a fashion -of so appearing at ten after seven in the morning.</p> - -<p>“Yes, but look at those great, gloomy buildings -and you know, Uncle Peter, you always say that what -people build betrays what they are.”</p> - -<p>“Dear me, Patsy, do I say that?” It is alarming -to be confronted with one’s platitudes before breakfast!</p> - -<p>“Yes (emphatically). Well, <em>I</em> think that, if the -Viennese are like their architecture, they must be appallingly -dull!” And Patsy wraps her furs and an air -of bitter disappointment round her, and subsides into -silence.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">128</span></p> - -<p>I am secretly apprehensive. To carry off a young -lady of capricious fancy and unquestionable loveliness, -from the thick of the balls and parties of her -first season, under oath that she shall enjoy even -giddier gayety in the Austrian Carnival; and to behold -her gravely displeased with the very bricks and -stones of the place—you will admit the situation -called for anxiety.</p> - -<p>I did what I always do in such a case, and with such -a young lady: fed her—as delectable and extensive a -breakfast as I could command; and then sent for a -young man. To be exact, I had taken this latter precaution -two or three days before, being not unacquainted -with Patsy’s psychology and predilections. -The young man arrived—an officer (it is always best -to get an officer when one can) of no mean proportions -in his dashing blue uniform and smart helmet. -I introduced him to Patsy as the son of my friend -Count H——, former minister to the United States. -Patsy smiled—as Patsy can, and gave him a dainty -three fingers. Captain Max clicked his heels together, -bowed from his magnificent waist, and kissed her -hand with an impressive: “<i xml:lang="de" lang="de">Ich habe die Ehre, gnädige -fräulein!</i>” And we went to watch Guard Change in -the Burg.</p> - -<p>It is fascinating enough in itself, this old courtyard -with its many gates, and weather-beaten walls -surrounding the residence of the Hapsburg princes; -and when filled with the Emperor’s Guards, in their -grey and scarlet, and the rousing music of the royal -band—to say nothing of that fierce white-whiskered<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">129</span> -old presence in the window above, surrounded by his -brilliant gentlemen—I assure you it can thrill the -heart of even an uncle!</p> - -<p>Nowhere as in this ancient stronghold, under the -gaze of those stern, shaggy-browed old eyes, does the -tragic history of Austria so haunt one. Admitting -only the figures and episodes of the life of this present -Emperor, one is assailed by the memory of -Elizabeth—his Empress—and her shameful assassination -at Geneva; the ghastly mystery of the death of -Crown Prince Rudolf, the one son of the ill-starred -royal pair; and the hardships and struggles of Maria -Christina (the Emperor’s sister) in Spain, and the -terrible murder of his brother Maximilian—sent -forth in splendour to be Emperor of Mexico, but -marked for death from the first. One sees the desolate -mad figure of his widow shut within the wild beauty -of Castle Mirmar, and wonders only how the Emperor -himself can have escaped her fate. Bereft of his -beautiful wife, the son he idolized, the brother he himself -unknowingly sent to his destruction, Francis -Joseph of Austria is at once the most solitary and indomitable -personality among the rulers of the world -today. Never, through all his misfortunes, has his -iron pride given way to complaint or regret; and -never has he confessed himself beaten.</p> - -<p>At the age of eighty-four, he still sits erect in his -saddle, and commands with characteristic imperious -fire. The people sometimes laugh at his eccentricities, -and are impatient of his old-fashioned ideas on certain -things, but the tone in which they pronounce his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">130</span> -title, “<i xml:lang="de" lang="de">Unser Kaiser</i>,” conveys their acceptance of his -divine right as the pivot of their universe. In the -recent war of the Balkan Allies, when the progressive -Austrian party under Archduke Ferdinand -clamoured against the conservative policy of the -crown, the great mass of the people stood loyally by -the Emperor—and so perhaps were saved the horrors -and draining expense of a war of their own.</p> - -<p>Austria is always in a ferment of one kind or another, -composite as she is of half a dozen distinct and -antagonistic strains of blood that have yet to be really -amalgamated; but her Grand Old Man does his best -to keep peace between his Slavs and Hungarians, -Bohemians and Poles—and generally succeeds. He -loves the pomp attached to his imperial prerogative, -and is never so happy as when the centre of some elaborate -ceremonial in one of his kingdoms. It tickles -his vanity always to have extravagant precautions -taken for his safety; and on the days when he drives -to Schönbrunn (his favourite country residence) two -plain clothes men and two uniformed guards are stationed -at every block of the entire way from the Burg -to the palace. Punctuality is another of his strong -points; he departs or arrives on the dot of the hour -appointed, and demands the same exactness of the -officials and detectives along the road.</p> - -<p>With all his dignity, he is an old person with a -temper, and an obstinacy hard to subdue. During one -of his recent illnesses he absolutely refused to be -shaved; also, what was more important, to eat. The -entire palace was in despair, when Mademoiselle<span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">131</span> -Z—— arrived one afternoon on her daily visit. She is -a homely lady (formerly a great actress) of almost as -many years as the Emperor, and comes every day -to play chess with him. When she heard of his stubborness -on this particular occasion, she marched into -the imperial presence with a bowl of soup and some -biscuits, and called out: “Come, Franz Joseph, don’t -be a fool! Sit up and eat.”</p> - -<p>The Emperor gave her one furious look—and -obeyed; afterwards meekly suffering himself to be -shaved and put in proper order as an invalid. He and -the doughty old <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">artiste</i> have been close friends for -forty years, and he is fond of remarking that there is -one woman in the world who makes up in brains what -she lacks in features. I should like to see the two -shrewd old heads over their chess.</p> - -<p>Instead, I must remember my responsibilities, and -come back to Patsy and her <i xml:lang="de" lang="de">hauptmann</i>. He is -bending towards her solicitously; suggesting a walk -in the Garden, a cup of chocolate at Demel’s, the -concert at the Volksgarten after lunch, perhaps in -the evening some skating at his club? Patsy finds -time to whisper to me that she thinks the Viennese -not <em>too</em> dull, after all. She hears they even have balls—masked -balls, in fancy dress, on the ice. Doesn’t -Uncle Peter think waltzing on ice sounds rather -nice?</p> - -<p>Uncle Peter, who has rheumatism, feebly agrees -that it does <em>sound</em> very nice; and falls into his proper -background as chaperone, while the young people -dart ahead down the narrow street to the Garden.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">132</span> -Here, in the fashionable short promenade, an exhilarating -sense of prosperity fills the air. There is the -soft elegance of furs, the scent of violets, the occasional -gleam of scarlet lining an officer’s picturesque -white cloak; brilliant shops draw their knots of pretty -women to the windows, well set-up men stroll by in -long fur coats or drive their own superb horses to and -fro: all is easy, gay and care-free, betokening an idle -happiness.</p> - -<p>“And there are no beggars,” sighs Patsy contentedly, -“I <em>am</em> glad of that!”</p> - -<p>It is true—and rather extraordinary for a city of -almost two million inhabitants; but, on the surface at -least, there seem to be no actually poor people in -Vienna. The more one knows the place the more one -is impressed with the fact that, while the upper classes -are extravagant and show-loving, the lower seem to -have imbibed a spirit of cheerful thrift which keeps -them from real poverty. They have enough to eat -and to wear, and for an occasional bit of pleasure; -what more, their good-humoured faces seem to ask, -could they want?</p> - -<p>Only the very wealthy Viennese can afford a -house to himself. The great majority of people rent -a story, or half a story, of the huge residence buildings -that give the city its monotonously gloomy look. -Row after row of these line the streets, all the same -height and the same style; but in no way do they resemble -the typical “apartments” of England, America -or France. Each dwelling in itself is the size of a -house of moderate dimensions, with its own inner<span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">133</span> -stairways and separate floors. There are certain conveniences -in the arrangement, but I cannot say I find -it on the whole satisfactory. One has constantly the -feeling of having strayed into a public building to -eat and sleep; which causes one to do both under a depressing -sense of apology.</p> - -<p>The people unconsciously admit this lack of home -attraction by their incessant attendance at cafés. -While the Frenchman or the Spaniard spends an hour -a day in his favourite café, chatting with friends, the -Viennese spends an entire morning, afternoon or -evening—or all three. Coffee or chocolate with -whipped cream (the famous <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Wiener Mélange</i>) is the -usual drink with which he pays for his seat, and the -illustrated papers that are his obsession. He, or -Madame his friend, will remain in a comfortable -corner of the window hour after hour, reading and -smoking, smoking and reading; only looking up to -sip chocolate, or to stare at some newcomer. The -café, also the constant cigarette-smoking, is as much -a habit with the women of Vienna as with the men. -And one is not surprised to hear that there are over -six hundred of these (literally) “coffee-houses” in -the city, and that all of them are continually full.</p> - -<p>Some of the larger establishments provide excellent -music—and here we are fingering the edges of -Viennese character and culture: next to (or along -with) love of gayety go a love and understanding -of music, that amounts almost to a passion. Besides -the café concerts, there are military concerts, philharmonic -concerts and symphony concerts; to say<span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">134</span> -nothing of the host of notable recitals crowding one -another for attention.</p> - -<p>One is struck by the enormous and enthusiastic -patronage given to these affairs, each and all. In -Anglo-Saxon countries the ventures of a concert-manager -are at best precarious, and, in spite of the -high price of tickets, frequently result in a dead loss. -An Anglo-Saxon audience is tepid, for both music -and drama, being roused to fervour not by either art -in itself, but only by a great name made actual upon -the stage. In Germany music is a religion; in -Vienna there is added a fire and dash which make it -no less pure, while more seductive. From <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">operette</i> to -<i xml:lang="it" lang="it">concerto</i>, the Viennese run the gamut of musical expression, -in every phase pre-eminent.</p> - -<p>Nor have they an ounce of the artistic snobbishness -made fashionable by peoples with whom music -is an acquired taste rather than an instinct. They are -as frank in enjoyment of “The Merry Widow” as -of a Strauss recital with the master conducting; because -they regard each as a high art unto itself. -There is no aristocracy of music, and so there is no -commercialism to degrade it. One may hear grand -opera from an excellent seat for fifty cents; or the -Philharmonic Orchestra, with Weingartner conducting, -for the same price. The secret of the whole system -is that to the Viennese good music is not a -luxury, but food and drink and essential to life; and -therefore to be had by everyone.</p> - -<p>Concert audiences are attentive to a degree, and -during the performance the slightest disturbing sound<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">135</span> -is sternly hissed. This is true even in the public -parks where the people listen in crowds to the fine -military bands that play every day. While at the -Volksgarten (frequented by the middle classes and -by nobility as well) Patsy was crushed on her first -afternoon by the stertorous rebuke of a <i xml:lang="de" lang="de">wienerische</i> -dowager, because the child removed her gloves during -the overture!</p> - -<p>“Disagreeable old thing,” grumbled Patsy, when -it was finished, “doesn’t she know I can’t hear with -my gloves on?”</p> - -<p>Captain Max, in a tumult of perturbation over the -episode, solemnly suggested that he convey this unhappy -fact to the good lady. But Patsy’s naughty -mouth was twitching at the corners, and she said she -had rather he ordered chocolate. She has a conscience -somewhere, has Patsy; in spite of being a pretty -woman.</p> - -<p>We drank our delicious brew of <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Mélange</i> between -Beethoven and Bach, and had another after -the Schumann Symphony—being seated like everyone -else at one of the little tables that fill the Volksgarten. -This is under cover in winter, and three times -a week indoor classical concerts are held, under the -direction of the leading conductors. Ladies bring -their crochet, young girls their gallants; and during -the intermissions it is a lively scene, when tables are -pushed together, waiters hurry to and fro with the -creamy chocolate, or big frothing <i xml:lang="de" lang="de">seidels</i> of Münchener, -and conversation and good cheer hum all round.</p> - -<p>Let the orchestra reappear, however, and there is<span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">136</span> -silence—so prompt as to be almost comical. Sentences -are left unfinished, chairs are hastily and noiselessly -shoved back, and the buzzing crowd of two -minutes ago is still as a pin; alert for the first note -of music. The tickets for these symphonious feasts -cost thirty cents, but the audience could not show -more devoted attention (or get finer return) if they -had paid five dollars.</p> - -<p>Here, as everywhere in Vienna, one is impressed -with the good looks and attractiveness of the people -in general. In their careful grooming and prevailing -air of prosperity, they bear a distinct resemblance to -Americans; and one may go deeper under the surface -and find a reason for this in the highly complex -mixture of race in both nations. There is the same -tall, rather aggressive build among the men; the same -piquant features, bright hair and pretty colouring -among the women of the two countries. And, to go -further, there is the same supreme fondness for dress -and outward show, that results in reckless extravagance.</p> - -<p>With the Viennese, however, this trait is not subjective—i. e., -to create a personal impression—but -simply part and parcel of the central aim of their -existence: to have a good time, and enjoy life to the -fullest. They are by no means a people with a purpose, -like Americans; they have neither the desire, -nor the shrewdness, nor the ambition to make something -remarkable of themselves. Rather do they -frolic through life like thoughtless children; laughing, -crying, falling down and picking themselves up—only<span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">137</span> -to fall again; but always good-natured, kindly -and gay, with a happy-go-lucky cheerfulness that -is very appealing as well as contagious whilst one is -among them.</p> - -<p>There is none of the studied courtesy of the Parisian, -nor yet his studied elegance; but a bright spontaneity -both in outward effect and natural manner, -which shows itself in many captivating little customs -of everyday. Take for instance the pretty fashion of -kissing a lady’s hand: in France this is confined to -occasions of ceremony, and so creates at once an -atmosphere of the formal; in Vienna it is the ordinary -expression of joyous welcome, so that even the -shop-keepers, on the entrance of a lady customer, exclaim: -“<i xml:lang="de" lang="de">Kuss die Hand, gnädige Frau!</i>” While to a -gentleman they declare: “I have the honour (to -greet you) <i xml:lang="de" lang="de">meinherr</i>!”</p> - -<p>Everyone is anxious to please, and quick to help -the stranger in his struggles with language. As in -Bavaria, the German spoken is softened of its original -starchiness; so that <i xml:lang="de" lang="de">mädchen</i> becomes <i xml:lang="de" lang="de">mädl</i>, <i xml:lang="de" lang="de">bischen -bissell</i>, etc. Strict Hanoverians scorn such -vandalism, but in the mouth of the gentler-tongued -Southerners it is very pretty. The “low dialect” of -the people, that is, the typical <i xml:lang="de" lang="de">wienerisch</i>, is an appalling -jargon quite incomprehensible to the foreigner. -But kindliness, the language spoken by one -and all of the warm-hearted Viennese, is everywhere -recognized and appreciated.</p> - -<p>Patsy assures me that, even in their impertinences, -the young blades of the town are never crass; but<span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">138</span> -show, rather, a lively humour and child-like interest -in the lady of their admiration. I well remember that -first evening, after the <i xml:lang="de" lang="de">hauptmann</i> had left us, when -my niece told me seriously that she was convinced of -the grave libel cast on Austrians as a whole and -Austrian officers in particular.</p> - -<p>“You know, Uncle Peter,” says she, swinging to -my arm, as we enter our hotel, “they say they are horrid -and dissipated, and will take the first opportunity -to say shocking things to a girl. But <em>I</em> think they are -far too clever for that, besides too fine. I am sure -they know what one is, the minute they look at one; -and behave accordingly. Don’t you,” adds Patsy -anxiously, “think so too, Uncle Peter?”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps, perhaps,” I return dubiously, “but -there’s their architecture, you know. You can’t get -round that. What people <span class="locked">build—”</span></p> - -<p>A slim hand is clapped over my mouth. And, -“you are to remember please,” says Patsy severely, -“we are talking now not of architects but of officers.”</p> - -<p>It was true. And, singularly, we have been talking -of them a good deal ever since.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div id="toclink_139" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">139</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="III-II">II<br /> - -<span class="subhead">THE PLAYERS WHO NEVER GROW OLD</span></h2> -</div> - -<p>Not many days after our establishment in the -Carnival City, Patsy had her first experience with the -smart “masher” and his unique little game. I being -by no means bred to chaperoning, and in all respects, -besides, immorally modern, allowed the young lady -to go round the corner to a sweet-shop unaccompanied. -She came back with a high colour instead of -caramels, and—no, there is no way of softening it—she -was giggling.</p> - -<p>Patsy never giggles unless something scandalous -has happened. “What’s the matter?” I asked, instantly -alarmed.</p> - -<p>She tumbled into a chair, laughing helplessly. -“The—the funniest thing,” she began, gasping.</p> - -<p>“A man, I suppose?”</p> - -<p>Patsy stopped laughing, and regarded me admiringly. -“What an analyst you are, Uncle Peter! -Yes, of course a man; <span class="locked">but—”</span></p> - -<p>“Did he follow you—did he speak to you?” I -may be modern, but I had one eye on my hat and -overcoat.</p> - -<p>Patsy giggled again. “No—oh no, Uncle Peter.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">140</span> -He didn’t follow me, he <em>went ahead</em> of me; and, when -I reached the corner, there he was standing, hat in -hand, with the most injured air—as though our appointment -was for half past two and I had kept him -waiting quite an hour! His expression was perfectly -heavenly—plaintive resignation just giving way to -radiant delight—I can’t think how he managed it on -such short notice. Probably by extensive practice before -the glass.</p> - -<p>“Anyhow, there was one moment of awful apprehension -for him, just as I came up; and then—the -most crestfallen disappointment you can imagine. -He had arranged everything so considerately and -subtly for me, and I, all unconscious of him, passed -on! I didn’t dare look back, but out of the tail of my -eye I could see his chagrin as I disappeared—into the -side entrance of the hotel. All that art gone for nothing -I suppose he thought; and to be begun over again -at the next corner,” added Patsy, who is a young -woman of rather terrible discernment, at times.</p> - -<p>“But it is nice of them not to speak, isn’t it?” she -said. “It shows how really clever they are. No Englishman -or Frenchman of the same er—proclivities -would have been as subtle.”</p> - -<p>Nor as dangerous, thinks Uncle Peter to himself, -with a promise to curb his modernity for the future. -It is all very amusing, this manœuvre of the flirtatious -Viennese male; and, since Patsy’s encounter, I -have seen it so many times as to know it to be typical; -but in its very refinement lies its evil. If the Austrian, -even in his vices, were not so free from crudity—so<span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">141</span> -transparently naïve, his attraction would be -halved—if not lost entirely. But Patsy was right in -her surmise that he can place a woman at a glance; -and if he ventures to lead her a bit further than her -looks suggest, and than he afterwards finds possible, -he is quick to realize his mistake and if he can to make -reparation.</p> - -<p>As a student, like his German cousin, he lives in -frank unmorality. There are thousands of students -in Vienna—students at the universities, medical students, -music students—each with his <i xml:lang="de" lang="de">schatzkind</i>, who -often shares his studies as well as his garret. This -thoroughly cosmopolitan set of young people plays -a distinct part in the free and easy jollity of the city -as a whole. You see them in the streets and cafés, in -the topmost gallery at the Opera, and forming enthusiastic -groups at all concerts; their shabby velveteens -a nice contrast with their vivid, impressionable -faces.</p> - -<p>During Carnival they are natural leaders in the -routs and festivities; this entire season is for them one -rollicking fancy-dress ball. They may go hungry, -but they can always arrange a new and clever costume; -and one meets them coming home arm-in-arm -through the dusk, carrying bulky parcels and humming -the waltz from the latest operette. They smile -at everybody, and everybody smiles back, and unconsciously -starts humming too. Patsy says there is -something about dusk, and big packages, and soft-falling -snow that makes one hum. I feared from the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">142</span> -first that this was a demoralizing atmosphere for -Patsy.</p> - -<p>It would have been different if we hadn’t known -people. But we did know people—a delightful handful, -eager to lavish their boundless hospitality on the -<i xml:lang="de" lang="de">wunderschönes mädl</i>. And then there was Captain -Max, whose marvellous uniforms and crisp black -moustache soon became as familiar to our hotel as -the bow of the head waiter. Two or three days after -our arrival, Captain Max and his mother took Patsy -to her first Viennese ball. I stayed at home to nurse -my rheumatism, which the freezing temperature and -constant snow had not improved. But I was waiting -by our sitting-room fire to “hear all about it,” when -Patsy returned at half past three—her arms full of -roses, her auburn head less strictly coiffed than when -she sallied forth.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Uncle Peter!” She kissed me at her favourite -angle somewhere behind the ear, and sank -into a cushion with her chiffons like a flower into its -petals.</p> - -<p>“Well, well, did you amuse yourself? The -Countess wasn’t difficult?”</p> - -<p>“She was a duck! (I should no more think of -apologizing for Patsy’s English than for her <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">retroussé</i> -nose. Both, as my French friend says, intrigue -me infinitely.) She danced harder than -anyone, and <i xml:lang="de" lang="de">lieber Himmel</i>,” says Patsy with a gusty -sigh, “how they do dance! But I’ll begin at the beginning -and tell you everything.</p> - -<p>“Of course you know it was this club Captain Max<span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">143</span> -belongs to, and that they dance every month in the -ball-rooms of the different hotels. There are only -thirty or forty members in the club, so it’s nice and -small—not one of those herd affairs. Most of the -people had arrived before us, and were sitting in the -galleries round the ball-room; and before ever the -dancing began, Uncle Peter, they all were eating and -drinking things. The galleries are raised by just a -few steps from the floor of the room itself, and there -are lots of tables where continuous supper goes on—really, -one is expected to eat <em>something</em> between -every two dances.</p> - -<p>“Fancy, Uncle Peter, one is busily dissecting a -quail when one’s partner appears; one finishes the -waltz, and returns to take another bite, only to be -interrupted again, and carried off. It is provoking! -But the tables are convenient as an anchor to steer for -and much more fun for the chaperones, I should -think, than those dreary chairs against the wall, at -home.</p> - -<p>“I haven’t told you the appalling ordeal of actually -arriving, however. Every girl with her escort, -must walk the length of the ball-room <em>alone</em>, while -the lucky ones who are already settled in the gallery -pass judgment on one’s frock, coiffure and all the -rest. Captain Max hadn’t warned me, and when I -found myself under that battery of lorgnettes and -monocles I was petrified. I knew that my train was -a fright, and every pin in my hair about to fall; but -somehow I got across that terrible expanse of slippery -floor, and to our table.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">144</span></p> - -<p>“The Countess’s sister was there—the one who -called on Sunday you know—and her son and daughter, -such a pretty girl, Uncle Peter! Black hair and -creamy skin—of course the whole family shows the -Hungarian strain—and a delicious frock just to her -ankles. It seems all the young girls here wear short -dresses for dancing, and so they don’t have that -draggled look we get with our trains. Everyone at -the table, including the women, rose during introductions; -and of course all the men kissed one’s hand. -Then they brought dozens of other men. Captain -Max says there are always three times as many as -there are girls at these dances—and I met such a lot -that for the rest of the evening I had no idea whom -I knew and whom I didn’t.</p> - -<p>“We began to dance directly, and oh, my dear, the -Vienna waltz! I’ve seen it on the stage, and it looked -easy—just standing in one spot and whirling round; -but when one actually attempted it—! At first I was -so dizzy, I could only hold up my train and keep my -feet going. I know now all the sensations of a top -when it’s spun at full speed, and never allowed to die -down. But, after a while, I regained sufficient consciousness -to catch the little step they take on the -second step, and then it was easier. There’s a sort -of swing to it, too, that’s rather fascinating; and -Captain Max does do it well.”</p> - -<p>Patsy, on her cushion, gazed into the fire—then at -the roses in her lap. “Ahem!” I coughed, as an -uncle will when the clock points to four of the dawn. -“You were saying?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">145</span></p> - -<p>“Oh!—yes. Well, the music of course was heavenly; -one could have danced to it all night, as most of -them do here. The Frau Gräfin said hardly anyone -goes home before six in the morning, and some at -eight! That is why the Viennese laugh at their own -custom of paying the porter twenty <i xml:lang="de" lang="de">hellers</i> for opening -the door after half past ten; they all come home -in the morning, after the house is unlocked again!</p> - -<p>“But I couldn’t have kept it up any longer, Uncle -Peter. In the first place you are never allowed to -sit out a dance, not even part of one. The minute -you drop into a chair out of sheer weariness, some one -comes and clicks his heels together, bows profoundly, -and off you have to go with him. Then they have a -habit of breaking in, that is convenient at times, and -annoying at others. All the men who have no partners -stand in the middle of the room, and when you -have had a round or two with one person, another -very courteously but firmly stops you and claims his -turn. In this way, each dance is divided between four -or five men. It’s all very well when you don’t like -your partner of the moment, <span class="locked">but—”</span></p> - -<p>Patsy again was looking at her yellow roses. -“There are disadvantages?” I suggested.</p> - -<p>“Yes. Oh, several kinds of disadvantages, Uncle -Peter. Most of my dances were silent as the grave. -I would say, ‘you speak English?’ My partner would -reply, ‘alas, fräulein, a few words only. But you, -surely you speak German?’ ‘Unfortunately, not at -all.’ Then dead silence. But they are all kindness in -trying to understand, and everyone wants to learn our<span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">146</span> -way of waltzing—‘<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">so langsam</i>,’ they say wonderingly. -When Captain Max and I tried it, so that I -might get a little rest, all the others stopped dancing -and watched the performance. Then every man I -met wanted me to teach him—they are just like children -over something new.</p> - -<p>“Poor Uncle Peter, you’re yawning. Only let me -tell you about the other dances, and then you can go -to bed. There were two quadrilles, not the old-fashioned -kind, but quite like cotillon figures—really -charming. They showed the pretty costumes of the -girls and the uniforms of the officers to much -better advantage than the round dances do. Then -there was a terrible thing called the <i xml:lang="de" lang="de">Polka Schnell</i>—faster -even than the regular waltz, and that makes -one giddy to watch. But the Countess and all the -chaperones threw themselves into it as madly as the -younger ones, and weren’t in the least out of breath -at the end. I believe Viennese women never grow -old. They seem to have as good a time at sixty as at -sixteen, and to be as popular.</p> - -<p>“After the second quadrille, we had ‘supper’—though -we’d been eating, as I told you, all evening. -But now we sat down formally to chicken and salad, -cakes of all sorts and cheese and beer. It was a funny -supper, wasn’t it, Uncle Peter? I suppose they’d -sniff at our champagne and ices; they like a substantial -meal. The dance immediately after supper is -Ladies’ Choice, and it’s amusing to watch the frantic -efforts of each man to engage the favour of his particular -divinity. They lean against a pillar and stare<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">147</span> -into one’s eyes with the most despairing gaze, looking -anxiously meanwhile to see if one holds their bouquet. -I forgot to tell you the pretty custom they have of -bringing one roses and violets all during the evening. -The men have great baskets of flowers in their dressing-room, -and hurry to and fro with posies for the -ladies they admire. By the time you are ready to -go home, you have quite an imposing collection.”</p> - -<p>“All of one colour, it seems,” I observed innocently, -as Patsy herself stifled a yawn, and rose regretfully -from her cushioned nest.</p> - -<p>“Oh,” said Patsy with immoderate indifference, -“they’re all in my room—the violets and everything. -These”—looking down at Captain Max’s roses—“I -must have forgotten these!” she decides with a brilliant -smile. “Goodnight, Uncle Peter—you’re rather -a dear.”</p> - -<p>That settled it; as any properly trained uncle -would have known. When a healthy young woman -begins to call her moth-eaten male relatives by endearing -names, it is time to lock the stable door—or -at least to realize one’s temerity in having opened it -in the first place. But, as Patsy’s mother, from her -severe infancy, has told me, I am most improperly -trained; so I hastened to accept an invitation from -Countess H——, bidding my niece and me to a skating -party at her son’s rink next evening.</p> - -<p>Every true Viennese has his private rink membership, -as he has his other clubs, and is an expert -skater. All afternoon and evening the various skating -resorts are crowded with devotees of the graceful<span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">148</span> -sport; which is held, by the way, out of doors—the -large rinks being simply walled in from the street. -Captain Max’s is of quite imposing proportions, a -very different affair from the cramped, stuffy “ice-palace” -of Paris or London. There is a building, to -be sure, but this is merely for the <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">garde-robe</i> and the -inevitable refreshment rooms. The skating takes -place on the vast field of ice outside.</p> - -<p>At night this is brilliantly illuminated with parti-coloured -lights, and the scene during Carnival—when -the skaters are frequently in fancy-dress—is fascinating -beyond description. As I first saw it, gipsies -were gliding over the ice with pierrots, geisha girls -with pierrettes; Arabs in the ghostly burnous swept -past with Indians, painted and feathered, and a whole -regiment of Rough Riders swooped down upon them, -with blood-thirsty yells. A wonderful polar bear -(under his skin a lieutenant of cavalry) lumbered -about with his friend an elephant; and devils, ballet-girls -(by day perfect gentlemen), <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">toreros</i> and jockeys, -frisked from one end of the rink to the other—while -one of the two seductive Viennese bands was -always playing.</p> - -<p>Patsy at last saw dancing on the ice, and lost her -heart once for all to this marvellous accomplishment. -When Captain Max, in his subduing red-and-black -Mephistopheles costume, begged her to try it, she -clapped her hands like a child and flew with him to a -quieter corner of the rink where he might teach her -the difficult gyrations. Before the evening was over -she was waltzing delightedly in the centre, with the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">149</span> -best of them. I struggle not to dote, but I must set -down here that I have seen few sights as alluring as -that young witch, in her bright Cossack’s jacket and -trim skirt, gliding and whirling in the slippery dance; -with the maze of other brilliant costumes round her, -the fairy lights overhead, and in the air the lilt and -thrill of a Vienna waltz.</p> - -<p>When we went into the pavilion later for something -hot, I noticed with amazement how many of the -pierrots had grey hair under their caps, and how -many of the geisha girls and pierrettes were addressed -as “mother.” “But certainly!” said our -charming Frau Gräfin with spirit. “Because they -have children, are they dead? Because they have gone -through much trial in life, are they to mope in a -corner and know none of life’s joy? Pardon me, honored -<i xml:lang="de" lang="de">meinherr</i>, if I suggest that they are not as old as -some of your American young people of twenty!”</p> - -<p>I saw that we had fallen on a tender subject with -the delightful lady; who, herself the mother of a boy -of twenty-eight, is (as Patsy remarked) quite as -lively as any girl of sixteen. And who, if I remember -rightly, was rather harshly criticised thereupon -at the time of her residence in Washington. She had -certainly a just revenge in her own criticism of the -blasé, weary American youth of today; and the contrast -between him and the Viennese of middle age or -even advanced years as other nations number them. -Fresh, <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">vif</i>, alert with interest for everything, and time -for everything as well, the Austrians may be children<span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">150</span> -to the end of their days; but they are wise children, -who stay young by design, not by incapacity.</p> - -<p>As we have said before, they are so entirely unself-conscious -that they never fear making fools of -themselves; and, in consequence, do not do so. Young -and mature, they throw themselves into everything, -with a whole-hearted abandon that in itself stimulates -a like enthusiasm in all about them. They are -each other’s currents of energy that is never exhausted, -but always procreative. And nothing is too -much trouble. They will take infinite pains, and go -to any amount of expense, to help towards the success -of the smallest festivity, while their thought and -generosity for others in either joy or trouble is a -revelation to the more stolid Anglo-Saxon.</p> - -<p>Among our Viennese friends was a charming -bachelor, Herr von G——. He started to Paris one -week-end, and had got as far as Munich when he -heard from someone that Patsy had tonsilitis. He -took the next train back to Vienna, and presented -himself at our hotel the same evening. It distressed -me very much when I heard why he had come, as the -child was really not seriously ill; but Herr von G—— -said earnestly, “I do not return to bore you; I am -merely on hand if you need me.” And for a wonder -he was not in love with Patsy. The act was one of -simple friendship for us both.</p> - -<p>When Patsy had recovered, Herr von G——, instead -of going on with his postponed journey, took -us up to Semmering for two or three days of winter -sports. Here, within an hour’s ride of their own city,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">151</span> -the Viennese revel in the delights of lugeing, ski-ing, -and sleighing—as well as skating, of course; giving -themselves to the healthful exercise with characteristic -zest and skill. The tiniest children manage their skis -with lightning dexterity, and it is beautiful to watch -their small swaying bodies skim across the snow like -white birds on wing. This kind of flying combines -the æsthetic with the practical, and leaves to its natural -majesty the clearest of crisp blue skies overhead.</p> - -<p>Tobogganing is scarcely less favoured by the -Austrians, who sweep down their dizzy hills with a -vim that knows no fear. Horses are waiting at the -foot, to drag the toboggans up again; and all day -long the laughing groups of men and women, young -girls, officers and children, dart down the snowy -steeps—ten and twenty strong on each sled—and are -hauled back to begin anew. Observing the crowds of -Viennese who daily go to and from Semmering, and -knowing as one does many of them who would think -a week without this excursion shorn of its greatest -pleasure, one does not wonder at the happy healthy -faces and splendid colour of this sport-loving people.</p> - -<p>In the Spring and Fall they play tennis and ride -in the Prater—a large park on the outskirts of -Vienna; while in the summer everyone who can goes -walking in the Tyrol or the German mountains. -Women as well as men are expert walkers and mountain-climbers, -and their horsemanship is the pride of -the nation. It is interesting to note that the Viennese -have never paid much attention to golf, and the reason: -it is too tame for them. All their sports are<span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">152</span> -swift, dashing, and full of a light individual grace. -They are devoted to fencing—to anything that calls -into play the quick and skilful move of the individual -body; the heavy and brutal are unknown to them. -Like children they boldly attack the feat that lures -the eye; and, like children always, achieve therein a -<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">succès fou</i>.</p> - -<p>What is a rheumatic uncle among such people? -All he can do is to open doors—which by no amount -of gymnastics is he able to shut when he should.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div id="toclink_153" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">153</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="III-III">III<br /> - -<span class="subhead">THE FAIRY PLAY</span></h2> -</div> - -<p>Between officers’ cotillons and opera, <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">thés dansants</i> -and military concerts at the Stadt Park, Patsy sandwiched -conscientious layers of sight-seeing. I am not -of those who follow Baedeker (even in a shame-faced -brown linen cover), but I dutifully accompanied her -to the gallery and the royal stables, and to worship -before Maria Theresa’s emeralds in the Treasury. -At the Rathaus I balked—nothing except rice pudding -is as depressing to me as a town-hall; when it -came to the Natural History Museum I was tepid -also. And from that time forth Patsy—with the -irrepressible superiority that belongs to born sightseers -and to people who take cold baths—announced -that she would take the maid.</p> - -<p>I thought this a philanthropic idea, and for several -reasons worthy of encouragement. So Patsy and the -red-cheeked <i xml:lang="de" lang="de">mädl</i> embarked on a heavy sea of -churches, the <i xml:lang="de" lang="de">mädl</i> munching apples under rose-windows, -while Patsy inspected the pulpit. A week had -been spent in this innocent diversion, when the dire -news came to us that the <i xml:lang="de" lang="de">mädl</i> had been taken to a -hospital with peritonitis. The sour-faced spinster -who succeeded her Patsy would have none of. “I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">154</span> -shall go alone to see the engravings,” she announced -firmly.</p> - -<p>I resigned myself to accompany her; but when we -reached the Albertina Burg I was persuaded to take -“a tiny stroll” into the Graben, and return for -Patsy in half an hour. There seemed nothing out of -bounds in this, as the library where Archduke Albert -housed his engravings, like most libraries, is sternly -shunned by all but the semi-defunct and care-takers. -It shares the usual old court with the usual old palaces -of mediæval Austrian nobility; and I waited at the -gate till Patsy had entered the open square, hesitated -a moment before the several doors confronting her, -and finally followed sedately in the wake of some -Americans—past a pompous gold-lace porter—into -the first door on the right. The rest of the story is -hers.</p> - -<p>She walked leisurely up some shallow stairs, without -noticing at first that the Americans had stayed -behind to converse with the porter; and that finally -they went out instead of following her above. She -did think the porter was rather elaborate for a library, -said Patsy, but in Austria he didn’t seem extraordinary. -The staircase was, however; and she wondered -why Baedeker had passed it by. Beautifully carved -in white marble, it was carpeted with old Turkish -rugs and hung with splendid portraits of the Hapsburgs, -and—at the landings—with charming old -French clocks.</p> - -<p>Patsy admired all these treasures at length, -serenely ignoring another and still more imposing<span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">155</span> -guard who scrutinized her sharply as he passed. She -has a way with guards, has Patsy; they are generally -reduced to becoming humility, no matter how arrogantly -they start in. This one stalked on downstairs, -leaving her to proceed on her way upward. -She was still searching Baedeker for the key to the -interesting portraits, and also to the whereabouts of -the famous engravings—as yet nowhere to be seen.</p> - -<p>According to the guide-book, these should be “in -two long rows above the book-cases”; and “one should -sit down at the small tables provided for inspecting -them, as the crowd of tourists makes it difficult to -see the drawings satisfactorily.” This was puzzling. -Patsy, now in solitary possession of the large room at -the head of the stairs, saw neither engravings nor -tables nor tourists. She was quite alone in the centre -of the beautiful empty apartment.</p> - -<p>She looked at the Louis Quinze furniture, at the -gorgeous onyx table set with miniatures; at the impressive -portrait of Maria Theresa over the mantelpiece, -and several autographed pictures of kings. -Baedeker said nothing of all this. It occurred to -Patsy then that it must have been the reception-room -of the late Archduke, and that the engravings were -probably on the floor above. But, before going on, -she paused in one of the gold and grey chairs for a -moment, further to admire the exquisite room.</p> - -<p>While she sat there, she was startled by the sudden -appearance of two footmen, in the same grey -and gold livery of the porter downstairs. They -showed no signs of surprise at her presence, however,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">156</span> -but mumbled obsequious greetings and backed into -the room beyond. Hardly had they disappeared when -another installment of flunkies came in, carrying -great trays of food; they too, at sight of Patsy, bent -as low as they could under the circumstances—but she -now was thrown into a tumult of trepidation. When -the door into the other room was opened again, she -had a glimpse of a great round table laid with gold -plate and crystal and <i>sèvres</i>; grand high-backed chairs -surrounded it, and more Hapsburg portraits lined the -walls.</p> - -<p>Patsy gasped with terror and astonishment. At -last it dawned on her that she was in the wrong place!</p> - -<p>She caught up her furs and the miserable guide-book, -and started towards the door. Only to suffer -still worse fright, when she was confronted there by -a tall man in uniform; who in most courteous French -insisted on her staying to lunch. He was young and -had black hair and blue eyes (I will not vouch for the -authenticity of these details, as Patsy just then saw -all uniforms possessed of black hair and blue eyes); -and it was hard to be stiff with him. But she managed -to explain with some dignity that she had come -to the Albertina to see the engravings, but had evidently -entered the wrong door; that she deeply -regretted the intrusion, which she begged this gentleman -to excuse, and that she must forthwith find her -uncle who was waiting in the court below.</p> - -<p>I wasn’t, but that is beside the story. The blue -eyes of the young man being as keen as most Austrians’ -at a second glance, he realized his own mistake,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">157</span> -and apologized in turn; hastening to add that -mademoiselle could not intrude in this house, as it -was honoured by her presence, and that she and her -esteemed uncle would be welcome whenever they -might be gracious enough to visit it. He begged leave -to accompany her downstairs and, as Patsy could -hardly refuse, she went with him—“knees wobbling, -and my heart still in my mouth, Uncle Peter! When -the glum old porter saw us, he all but went into -catalepsy; and bowed to the ground, while the nice -uniformed man was talking fast to him in German.</p> - -<p>“Then he—the nice man—kissed my hand, and -held the door for me himself, and said all the polite -things over again. I was feeling relieved by this time, -so I thought I might smile when I said <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Au revoir</i>, -and begged pardon once more for my stupidity. I -stole a last look too at that lovely staircase and the -fierce old portraits; and now, Uncle Peter, I want to -get Captain Max and find out directly whose they -are!”</p> - -<p>Captain Max was inclined to be what Patsy calls -“starchy” over the affair. “Gray uniform—blue eyes—black -hair?” he repeated tersely. “And the door -was the first on the right, in the Albertina Palace?”</p> - -<p>Patsy nodded. Suspense overpowered her speech.</p> - -<p>“Then it was Salvator, brother of Archduke -Ferdinand, the heir to the throne. He was probably -having one of his famous little luncheons in the -Archduke’s palace.” And Captain Max scowled -darkly, first at Patsy, then at me. He thinks, poor<span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">158</span> -enamoured young man, I should have a guardian, myself.</p> - -<p>“Then I was in the Archduke Ferdinand’s palace?” -cried Patsy. “But why was I allowed? Where -were all the guards and things? I might have had a -bomb in my muff!”</p> - -<p>“We don’t have suffragettes in Austria,” said -Captain Max loftily. “And the Heir is what you say -‘strong’ for democracy. He has fewer servants than -anybody. Those that he has were probably getting -Salvator’s luncheon ready!”</p> - -<p>A look I well know came into Patsy’s limpid eyes. -“It looked like a very nice luncheon,” said she; “I -wish now that I’d stayed.”</p> - -<p>The <i xml:lang="de" lang="de">hauptmann</i> coloured furiously. Then all at -once he laughed. “You will have a chance to tell him -so,” he said blandly, “when you make your curtsey -to him at the ball next week!”</p> - -<p>Really, he is not so bad, this young man for whom -I opened the door.</p> - -<p>The ball was the famous <i xml:lang="de" lang="de">Metternich Redoute</i>, -given every year, during Carnival, by the old Countess -who was Austrian ambassadress at the court of the -third Napoleon. Each year she names her <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">masque</i> by -a different fantasy and, once it is announced, excitement -runs high over costumes, head-dress, etc. This -winter it was <i xml:lang="de" lang="de">Meeresgrund</i>, “The Bottom-Of-The-Sea -Ball,” and the shops along the Graben and Kärtnerstrasse -displayed seductive ropes of coral, glittering -fish-skins, pearls and golden seaweed—all the -heart of mermaid could desire. The one topic of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">159</span> -conversation at parties, between acts at the opera, and -in the boudoir at home, closeted with anxious maids, -was: what shall her costume be for the <i xml:lang="de" lang="de">Meeresgrund</i>?</p> - -<p>It must be something original, something <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">chic</i> -(that word that is almost more Viennese than -French), something beautiful and costly—for does -not Royalty open the ball? Patsy’s Titian head all -but turned grey during the racking period of indecision. -When finally with impressive secrecy she and -the recovered <i xml:lang="de" lang="de">mädl</i> had spirited her disguise behind -locked doors, there was still a tantalizing week before -the great event. I did what I could to assuage impatience, -in the way of opera tickets, concerts and a -performance of Duse.</p> - -<p>Over the actress Patsy went as mad as any Viennese; -and even I cried a mild <em>bravo</em> or two. Curious, -how the sight of a charming woman playing a captivating -part, like <i>La Locandiera</i>, has the effect of -opening one’s mouth, and making one emit strange -sounds! The same thing happened to me at the Sunday-morning -concert of the <i xml:lang="de" lang="de">Männergesangverein</i>—it -looks like a Sanskrit idiom, but it is a simple society -of simple Viennese business-men, clubbed together to -sing a delightful two hours on an occasional Sabbath -morning. They make no pretense at high art, but are -fated (by birth and every instinct) to achieve it; and -when they stand up, two hundred strong, and roll out -the majestic phrases of Beethoven’s “Hymn of -Praise,” it is time for even a moth-eaten mere relative -to make a fool of himself.</p> - -<p>I behaved better at opera. If there is any behaviour<span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">160</span> -in one, opera will bring it out. In Vienna, -I mean, of course; not in New York or Paris or -Covent Garden, where manners and clothes to be <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">au -fait</i> must be <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">au minimum</i>—and where the real performance -is mannequin parade, by the great jewellers -and dressmakers. In Vienna, opera-goers have -the unique custom of going to hear opera. They -arrive on time; or if they do not they wait outside in -the corridor till the end of the first act. The conclusion -is drawn by the audience in general, that it is -present to hear and see what is going on up on the -stage; any interruption to this, whether of whispering -or rattled programmes, is rudely hissed. While one -who attempts to leave or to approach his seat after the -first note of the overture has been sounded finds himself -detained with greater force than fondness. The -rare premise is entertained that opera is designed to -furnish music, and that the music is worth hearing. -It does not seem to occur to anyone to dispute this by -leaving before the final note is struck, and the final -curtain falls. To the New Yorker especially, thirsting -for his champagne and lobster, this must be a -diverting system.</p> - -<p>But the New Yorker has probably disdained -Vienna opera altogether as too cheap to be worth anything. -The best seats in the house are only three dollars, -while excellent places may be had for half that -price, and the students and enthusiasts up in the gallery -pay a sixth of it. Officers come off better still: -in the circular pit reserved for them, though they have -to stand, these servants of the Emperor pay the Imperial<span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">161</span> -Opera only eighty <i xml:lang="de" lang="de">hellers</i> (eight-pence). Of -course there is a goodly show of uniforms all over the -house as well; and, with the pretty toilettes of the -women, the audience is a gay and attractive one. -Though the horseshoe is only about half the size of -the New York Metropolitan Opera, there is a comfortable -intimacy in its rich gold and scarlet loges; -besides (the one elegance the Metropolitan lacks) the -quartered trappings of the royal box.</p> - -<p>This last is often occupied by one or another of the -Archdukes and their wives, and several times a year -the Emperor himself is present. Then it is gala performance, -and all ladies who attend must be in light -evening frocks; gentlemen, of course, in the regulation -claw-hammer. It is somewhat disconcerting to -see—as I did for the first time—this fashionable assembly -extract from its coat pockets a generous ham -sandwich, and begin to eat it before the curtain goes -up; also to watch the rows of elegant ladies and gentlemen -waiting their turn in line at the refreshment -bar between acts, and to behold the enthusiasm with -which they devour large cheese cakes and beer. The -fact is that opera in Vienna begins so early—seven -o’clock, as a rule—few people have a chance to dine -before they leave home; and they are far too sensible -to sit hungry through a long performance, or to -satisfy their appetite surreptitiously, as Anglo-Saxons -would. They want food, and they go and get -it—in as frank quantity as they desire. I have seen -our charming Frau Gräfin dispose of as many as nine -ham sandwiches in the course of an evening, calmly<span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">162</span> -whisking the crumbs from her white satin gown meanwhile.</p> - -<p>It is superfluous to speak of the all-satisfying delight -of the music itself at the Imperial Opera. No -one who has seen Weingartner conduct needs to have -it described. For no one who has not seen him can it -be described. Sufficient to say that the merits of the -piece are not left in the hands of a quartet of fabulously -paid principals, or to the luxurious detail of -extravagant mounting; but that every voice in the -chorus, every inconspicuous instrument of the orchestra, -is planned and trained and worked into an -<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">ensemble</i> as perfect as a master ear can make it. And -the <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">bravos</i> that resound at the end of each act are the -sure token of the master’s success; for nowhere is -there a more critical or a more appreciative opera audience -than in Vienna.</p> - -<p>This is true of the <i xml:lang="de" lang="de">Volksopera</i> as well as of the -Imperial. Though at the “People’s Opera” the -lighter pieces are given for half the price charged at -the more pretentious house, the lower middle class who -attend them are no less musically trained and difficult -to satisfy.</p> - -<p>But while every class demands and is given high -excellence in classical music, it is in the operette that -they unconsciously recognize and worship the true -soul of Vienna. As far removed from English musical -comedy as caviar from candy, this sparkling, -rippling, dashing whirl of airs and waltzes seems to -catch up the familiar types out of the streets and -cafés, ballrooms and boudoirs, and present them here<span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">163</span> -on the stage <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">en masse</i>. In place of the musical comedy -milkmaid, with her Louis heels and pink satin -décolleté, we have the well-known students and <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">grisettes</i>, -<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">grandes dames</i> and varnished old <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">noceurs</i> seen -in the Graben every day. They wear real clothes, and -say real things, and make real mistakes—all to the -most entrancing music Franz Lehar or Leo Fall can -contrive; and the result is a madness of delight on the -part of the audience, such as comes only when people -are shown <em>themselves</em>.</p> - -<p>Shocking? Yes, frequently. The Viennese and -their operettes that reflect them are apt to shock many -a conventional-minded foreigner. They even shock -themselves sometimes—but excuse the episode a minute -later. For they are quick to forgive, and are not -over-particular as to morals, if the person eschewing -them be gay, attractive and clever. Hence the heroes -and heroines of their operettes are audacious to a degree -somewhat startling to the uninitiated in Viennese -life.</p> - -<p>But they make up for it in <em>verve</em> and brilliancy. -See them dash through three acts of wit and lightning -movement—with all their liveliness they never -romp; hear them sing their complicated, racing songs, -without a fault; watch them whirl and glide in the -heady waltz—laughing, dancing, singing all at once, -and perfectly. Shocking? you cry, pounding your -cane to bits in time with the tune. Piffle!</p> - -<p>It does not do to say this to Patsy. But Patsy, -happily, understands very little German; so that I -was able to indulge my vice for operettes with her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">164</span> -uncurbed. Patsy’s thoughts were all on the <i xml:lang="de" lang="de">Meeresgrund</i>. -As we intended to leave Vienna the day after -that, it may without fantasy be supposed that some of -her less well-behaved thoughts left the bottom of the -sea for a certain skating rink, where she had learned -the guiding value of blue eyes and black hair. But -outwardly everything was concentrated on the Redoute.</p> - -<p>I am not a spiteful person, but I was inclined to -gloat when the momentous night arrived, and Patsy, -in her shimmering costume, confronted our good -Countess. American youth settled its score, I think. -For the good lady—herself marvellous in lobster pink -and a white wig—flew to Patsy, kissed her on both -cheeks, and cried: “<i xml:lang="de" lang="de">Aber!</i> It is of an enchantment, -a loveliness of fairies, <i xml:lang="de" lang="de">wunderbar</i>!”</p> - -<p>And, if I do say it who had no part in the creation, -she was right. Patsy stood before us as a -fisher girl, her filmy golden nets caught over her shoulders -and round the waist with glistening crabs and -little brilliant lizards. In contrast with the other -women present and their elaborate headgear, the -witch had let down her rippling auburn curls to fall -in simple glory to her waist. Her cheeks were softly -flushed, and her big yellow-brown eyes were shining -as she asked demurely, “Do you like me, Uncle -Peter?”</p> - -<p>I was not too dazzled to forget it was not I -actually being asked. But as Captain Max maintained -absolute silence—that most ominous of answers!—I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">165</span> -replied with nice restraint that I found her -charming. And we entered the ball.</p> - -<p>It was a vast hall surrounded by shallow galleries, -and at the far end a platform arranged in the style -of a royal drawing-room. In the ballroom itself -great ropes of seaweed and ruddy coral hung -pendant down the blue-green walls; mammoth shells -of palest pink held the mermaids’ chaperones; a fairy -ship twinkled one entire side of the hall with favors -and fancies awaiting the dance of the sirens; while -at every nook and corner lustrous crinkled pearls -gleamed forth light.</p> - -<p>The glassy floor pool in the midst of all this fantasy -was crowded with Neptunes and nereids, water -sprites, lovely white chiffon gulls, and Loreleis with -their combs of gold. But they were very modern -Loreleis, who kept their hair up in correct ondulation, -and whose fascinations proved less irresistible -than those of one little red-locked fisher girl. Like -everybody else, she was masked, and flitted about the -giant circle of the promenade with a tall Captain -of the Guards in brilliant full-dress uniform. The -Metternich Redoute is the one event of Carnival at -which only the women appear in fancy dress. The -officers and civilians, in sober garb, form a phalanx -in the center of the room, whence they watch the gorgeous -procession of <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">promeneuses</i>. For until the -Court arrives everyone walks about and admires -everyone else, while one of the two royal bands plays -constantly. Laughing masked ladies, unknown to -one another, exchange gay greetings; compliments<span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">166</span> -are bestowed and received in German, French, English, -Spanish, Italian and Hungarian; while the familiar -“<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">du</i>” is the rule of the evening.</p> - -<p>All at once something electric passes over the chattering -assembly. From a splendid shifting mass it -divides into two solid lines, leaving a broad open -space down the centre. The sprightly old hostess is -in her place, the bands burst into the stirring chords -of the national hymn—and the Court enters!</p> - -<p>First the old Emperor with his two gentlemen of -the Household: erect, fiercely handsome in his blue-gray -uniform of the Hapsburgs glittering with orders. -The young lieutenants who have spent the -afternoon ridiculing his war policy, at sight of the -well-known, grizzled head, forget their grievances and -salute with a fervour. The old man, haughtily unconscious, -passes on. Next comes the young Heir Apparent, -with Archduchess Maria Annunziata—the -Emperor’s niece and the first lady of the land—who -wears Maria Theresa’s emeralds and a magnificent -tiara overshadowing those of the ladies who follow -her. But each of them, too, is ablaze with jewels, -while for sheer beauty and distinction a more remarkable -retinue of women could not be found.</p> - -<p>There is the ruddy fairness of the German, the -wild grace of the Slav, the rich olive and great dark -eyes of the Hungarian, the chestnut hair and black -brows of Lombardy: every type as it passes is sworn -the loveliest—and then forsworn when the next comes -by. The court ladies have confined their fantasy to -the coiffure, and some of these headdresses are marvels<span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">167</span> -of ingenuity and elegance. Wigs are much favoured; -white and high, and crowned with ships of -jewels, or monster pearls, or nets of diamonds interwoven -with every sort of precious stone. The archdukes -and high officers, in their mere uniforms, for -once are insignificant in the trail of this effulgence of -their women; and Patsy did not even see her Prince -Salvator till all of them were seated on the platform -and the ball was formally begun.</p> - -<p>Twelve young girls and men of the nobility open -the dance with a quadrille, prescribed according to -court etiquette, and marked by a quaint stateliness. -The girls are dressed alike in simple frocks of white -and silver, while the young men are in more or less -elaborate uniform. After the quadrille, dancing is -general, but the crowd is too great for it to be any -pleasure at first. Not till after the Court has gone -is there really room to move about in. Meanwhile, -favoured personages are led to the Master of Ceremonies, -and by him presented to Royalty on its dais.</p> - -<p>Thanks to Countess H——, Patsy and I were -permitted to pay homage; and even the severe old -Emperor himself unbent to smile at the witch in her -shimmering frock when she made her <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">révérence</i>. -There was a look about Patsy that night that a stone -image must have melted to—a radiance at once so -soft and so bright, no man could have resisted, or -woman failed to understand. I can see her now, the -colour deepening in her cheek as she made her curtsey -to Archduke Salvator. Captain Max was just behind -her, the Countess and I at one side.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">168</span></p> - -<p>The Archduke—who did have blue eyes and black -hair—was about to return Patsy’s salutation with his -bow of ceremony when suddenly he looked into her -face. His own for a moment was a study. Then, -gazing over her shoulder at Captain Max in his glowering -magnificence, he inquired gravely: “And this, -then, is the uncle?”</p> - -<p>The rose swept Patsy’s cheek to her slender neck. -For an instant she hesitated; then, looking straight -at me instead of at the Archduke, she said sturdily: -“This is the uncle’s nephew-to-be, and your Highness -is the first one to learn of it.”</p> - -<p>Of course the Countess turned faint, and all but -forgot court etiquette in a frenzied hunt for her -salts; and the Archduke kissed Patsy’s hand and -shook Max’s, and amid a host of incoherent congratulations, -discovered that he and Max belonged to the -same regiment; and somehow we bowed ourselves out -of the Presence and into the gallery again.</p> - -<p>The Countess embraced Patsy, within shelter of -a blue—pasteboard—grotto, and would have carried -her off for a good cry, but Patsy turned to me. -“Uncle Peter,” she swung to my arm with that destructive -wheedlesomeness of hers, “Uncle Peter, you -<em>are</em> pleased?”</p> - -<p>Max, too, approached me with an anxiety that -would have flattered a Pharaoh. “Patsy,” said I, admirably -concealing my overwhelming surprise, “I -have only one thing to say: <em>you</em> shall be the one to -tell your mother!”</p> - -<p>Of course she wasn’t. I knew from the first that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">169</span> -she wouldn’t be; and I meekly endured the consequences. -But all that is sequel. For the rest of the -Redoute I sat with the Countess in the jaws of a -papier mâché crocodile, and ate macaroons and discussed -family pedigree; and Patsy and my nephew-elect -fed off glances and waltzed till five in the morning. -It was the most hectic evening of my two score -years and ten.</p> - -<p>When at last we left the bottom of the sea, gaiety -was at its crest. The Court had departed long since, -but nymphs and nereids whirled more madly than -ever, Lorelies spun their lures with deeper cunning -than before—now they were unmasked; and mere men -were being drawn forever further and further into -the giddy, gorgeous opalescence of the maze. In -retrospect they seemed caught and clung to by the -twining ropes of coral; mermaids and men alike enmeshed -within the shining seaweed and pale, rosy -shells—compassed, held about by the blue-green walls -of their translucent prison. The pearly lights gleamed -softer, the music of the sirens floated sweeter and -more seductive on each wave, the water sprites and -cloudy gulls circled and swam in wilder, lovelier haze.</p> - -<p>And then—the wand of realism swept over them. -They were a laughing, twirling crowd of Viennese, -abandoned to the intoxication of their deity: the -dance. Reckless, pleasure-mad, never flagging in -pursuit of the evanescent <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">joie de vivre</i>, they became -all at once a band of extravagant, lovable children -who had stayed up too late and ought to have been -put to bed.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">170</span></p> - -<p>But I was always a doting uncle. I left them to -their revel, and departed. I shall go back some day, -for I have now in Vienna the gay, the <i xml:lang="de" lang="de">gemütlich</i>, a -niece named Patsy—and it all came from choosing a -train that arrived before breakfast!</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="PIV"><span class="larger">IV<br /> - -<span class="subhead">THE BROKEN-DOWN ACTOR<br /> - -<span class="small">(Madrid)</span></span></span></h2> -</div> - -<div id="ip_170" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 29em;"> - <img src="images/i_202.jpg" width="1393" height="2063" alt="" /> - <div class="caption"><p>THE SOUL OF OLD SPAIN</p></div></div> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div id="toclink_173" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">173</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="IV-I">I<br /> - -<span class="subhead">HIS CORNER APART</span></h2> -</div> - -<p>In spirit, as in distance, it is a far cry from the -childlike gaiety and extravagance of Vienna to the -gloom and haughty poverty of Madrid. Gloomy in -its psychic rather than its physical aspects is this city -of the plain, for while the sun scorches in summer -and the wind chills in winter, thanks to the quite modern -architecture of New Madrid, there is ample light -and space all the year round.</p> - -<p>Any Spanish history will tell you that Charles V -chose this place for his capital because the climate -was good for his gout. One author maintains that -it was for the far subtler reason that Madrid was -neutral ground between the jealous cities of Toledo, -Valladolid and Seville. But everyone, past and present, -agrees that the Spanish capital is the least Spanish -of any town in the kingdom. It shares but one -distinctive trait with the rest of Spain—and that the -dominant trait of the nation: pride, illimitable and -unconditioned, in the glory of the past; oblivion to -the ruin of the present.</p> - -<p>Like a great artist whose star has set, Spain sits -aloof from the modern powers she despises; wrapped -in her enshrouding cloak of self-sufficiency, she -dreams or prattles garrulously of the days when she<span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">174</span> -ruled without peer—not heeding, not even knowing, -that the stage today is changed beyond her recognition.</p> - -<p>The attitude is, however, far more interesting than -the bustle and mere business efficiency of the typical -modern capital. After the vastness and confusion of -Waterloo and St. Lazare, one arrives in Madrid at a -little station suggestive of a sleepy provincial town. -Porters are few and far between, and one generally -carries one’s own bags to the primitive horse cabs -waiting outside. Taxis are almost unheard of, and -the few that are seen demand prices as fabulous as -those of New York. Every <i xml:lang="es" lang="es">Madrileño</i> who can possibly -afford it has a carriage, but the rank and file -use the funny little trams—which I must say, however, -are excellently conducted and most convenient.</p> - -<p>Both the trams and all streets and avenues are -plainly marked with large clear signs, and the pleasant -compactness of the city makes it easy to find one’s -way about. The centre of life and activity is the -Puerto del Sol—Gate of the Sun—an oval plaza -which Spaniards fondly describe as “the busiest -square in the world.” There is no doubt at all that -it is the noisiest; with its clanging trams, rattling -carriages, shouting street vendors, and ambulant musicians.</p> - -<p>These latter, with the beggars, form to my mind -the greatest plague of Madrid; their number is legion, -their instruments strangely and horribly devised, and -they have the immoral generosity to play on, just -the same, whether you give them money or not.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">175</span> -Though, as a matter of fact, when you walk in the -Puerta del Sol, they are forever under your feet, -shaking their tin cups for <i xml:lang="es" lang="es">centimos</i> and whining for -attention.</p> - -<p>I infinitely prefer the gentle-voiced old men—of -whom there is also an army—who offer soft balls of -puppies for sale; and, when they are refused, tenderly -return the cherished scrap to their warm pockets. -The swarm of impish newsboys are hard to snub, -too: Murillo has ingratiated them with one forever—their -rags and their angelic brown eyes in rogues’ -faces.</p> - -<p>But I find no difficulty at all in refusing the beggars. -These are of every age, costume and infirmity; -and enjoy full privilege of attacking citizen or -stranger, without intervention of any kind by the -police. A Spanish lady naïvely explained to me that -they had indeed tried to deal with the beggars; that -the government had once deported them one and all -to the places where they were born—for <em>of course</em> -none of them came originally from Madrid! But, -would I believe it, within a week they were all back -again? Perhaps I, as a foreigner, could not understand -how the poor creatures simply loved Madrid -too passionately to remain away.</p> - -<p>I assured the señora gravely I could understand. -In fact, it seems to me entirely normal to be passionately -attached to a place that yields one a tidy -income for nothing. No, rather for the extensive development -and use of one’s persuasive powers. Imagination, -too, and diplomacy must be employed; and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">176</span> -sometimes the nice art of “coming down.” The -monologue runs like this:</p> - -<p>“Good afternoon, gentleman. The gentleman is -surely the most handsome, the most kind-hearted, the -best-dressed, and most polite of all the world. If the -gentleman could part with a peseta—nine-pence—to -a brother in deepest woe, God would reward him. -God would give him still more elegant health and -more ravishing children. If he has no children, God -would certainly send him some—for only half a -peseta, oh, gracious gentleman. To a brother whose -afflictions could not be recited from now till the end -of the world, so multiple, so heartrending are they. -I am an old man of seventy, oh, most beautiful gentleman—old -as the gentleman’s illustrious father, may -Mary and the angels grant him long life! Only -twenty centimos, my gentleman—God will give you -a million. Ten centimos—five!... <i xml:lang="es" lang="es">Caramba!</i> a -curse on your hideous face and loping gait. There -is no uglier toad this side of hell!”</p> - -<p>One thing beggars <em>can</em> choose with proficiency: -their language. In Madrid they would be less disgusting -were it not for their loathsome diseases and -deformities. The government is far too poor to -isolate them in asylums, so they continue to possess -the streets and the already overcrowded Gate of the -Sun.</p> - -<p>From this plaza the principal thoroughfares of -the city branch off in a sort of wheel, and mules, goats -and donkeys laden with every imaginable sort of burden -pass to and fro at all hours of day and night.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">177</span> -Shops there are, of course, of various kinds; and -cafés crowded round the square; but the waiters carry -the trays on their heads, and the whole atmosphere is -that of a mediæval interior town rather than a modern -cosmopolitan city.</p> - -<p>To be sure, in Alcalà, the principal street off the -Puerta del Sol, there are clubs and up-to-date restaurants; -but only men are supposed to go to the restaurants, -and in the clubs they look ill at ease and incongruous. -The life of the Spaniard is inalienably the -life in the streets, where you will find him at all hours, -strolling along in his clothes of fantastic cut and -colour or sitting at a café, drinking <i xml:lang="es" lang="es">horchatas</i>—the -favourite beverage, made from a little nut. His constant -expression is a steady stare; varying from the -dreamily absent-minded to the crudely vulgar and -licentious.</p> - -<p>The widely diversified ancestry of the Spanish -people is keenly interesting to follow out in the features -of the men and women of today; among no -race is there greater variety of type, though it is four -hundred years since the Moors and Jews were driven -out, and new blood has been practically excluded from -Spain. Yet one sees the Moorish and Jewish casts as -distinct today as ever they were; to say nothing of -the aquiline Roman or the ruddy Gothic types from -the far more ancient period.</p> - -<p>In names, too, history is eloquent: we find Edwigis, -Gertrudis, and Clotilde of the Gothic days; -Zenaida and Agueda of the Moorish; Raquel, Ester -of the Jewish. I think that in no language is there<span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">178</span> -such variety or beauty in women’s names. Take, for -example, Consuelo, Amparo (Succour), Luz—pronounced -Luth and meaning Light—or Felicitas, Rosario, -Pílar, Soledad, and a wealth of others as liquid -and as significant.</p> - -<p>It is hard to attach them to the rather mediocre -women one sees in the streets on their way to mass: -dressed in cheap tailored frocks, a flimsy width of -black net over their heads. The mantilla is no longer -current in Madrid, except for <i xml:lang="es" lang="es">fiestas</i> and as the caprice -of the wealthy; but this shoddy offspring of the mantilla—the -inferior black veil—is everywhere seen on -all classes of women. The <i xml:lang="es" lang="es">Madrileña</i> who wears a -hat announces herself rich beyond recounting, and is -charged accordingly in the shops. Needless to say, -there is no such thing as a fixed price in any but the -places of foreign origin.</p> - -<p>I have often wondered whether Spanish women -are stupid because they are kept in such seclusion or -whether they are secluded because they are stupid. -It is hard to separate the cause from the effect. But -certainly the Spanish beauty of song and story is -rarer than rubies today; while the animation that -gives charm even to an ugly French or American -woman is utterly lacking in the <i xml:lang="es" lang="es">Española’s</i> heavy, -rather sensual features. I am inclined to think, from -the fact that it is saliently a man’s country, she is as -he has made her, or allowed her to become. And -when you remember that her highest enjoyment is to -drive through the rough-paved streets, hour after -hour, that she may see and be seen; when you consider<span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">179</span> -that the rest of her day is spent in a cheerless -house without a book or a magazine, or any occupation -but menial household drudgery, you pity rather -than condemn the profound ignorance of the average -Spanish woman.</p> - -<p>Married at sixteen, the mother of four or five children -by the time she is twenty-five, she grows old -before her time even as a Latin woman. While by -men she is disregarded and treated with a rudeness -and lack of respect revolting to the Anglo-Saxon. -Her husband precedes her into and out of the room, -leaves her the less comfortable seat, blows smoke in -her face, and expectorates in her presence; all as a -matter of course, which she accepts in the same spirit. -Her <i xml:lang="de" lang="de">raison d’être</i> is as a female; nothing more. What -wonder that the brain she has is expended in gossip -and intrigue and that her husband openly admits he -cannot trust her out of his sight?</p> - -<p>Like the Eastern women she resembles, she is -superstitiously devout; as, indeed, the men are, too, -when they remember to be. All the morning, weekdays -as well as Sunday, the churches are full; one -mass succeeds another. It is a favourite habit of the -younger men to wait outside the fashionable churches -until the girls and their duenas come out, and then -to remark quite audibly on the charms of the former. -The compliments are of the most bare-faced variety, -but are affably received; even sometimes returned by -a discreet retort <i xml:lang="it" lang="it">sotto voce</i>. The blades call the custom -“throwing flowers”; and the bolder of the maidens<span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">180</span> -are apt to fling back over their shoulder, “thanks -for the flower!”</p> - -<p>One can always see this little comedy outside the -well-known church of San Isidro—patron saint of -Madrid—which, with the more important clubs and -public buildings, is in the Street of the Alcalà. The -Alcalà connects the Puerta del Sol with the famous -promenades of the Prado and the Castellana, which -are joined together by an imposing plaza with a fountain, -and extend as far as the park of the Retiro.</p> - -<p>Spaniards are firmly convinced that the Castellana -is finer than the Champs Elysées; but it is, in -reality, a rather stupid avenue—broad, and with -plenty of trees in pots of water, yet quite flat, and -lacking the quaint <i xml:lang="es" lang="es">guignols</i> and smart restaurants -that give color to the French promenade. Galician -nursemaids, with their enormous earrings, congregate -round the ice-cream booths, while their overdressed -charges play “bullfight” or “circus” in the allées -nearby.</p> - -<p>But the Castellana is an empty stretch of sand, -for the most part, until half-past six in the evening, -when it becomes for an hour or two the liveliest quarter -of the city. The mansions on either side of the -street open their gates, carriages roll forth, <i xml:lang="es" lang="es">señoras</i> -in costumes of French cut but startling hue are -bowled into the central driveway, <i xml:lang="es" lang="es">señors</i> in equally -impressive garments appear on horseback, and the -“<i xml:lang="es" lang="es">paseo</i>”—the event of the day—has begun.</p> - -<p>Strangers who have not been asked to dine with -their Spanish friends because the latter cannot afford<span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">181</span> -a cook will be repeatedly taken to drive in a luxurious -equipage with two men on the box and a pair of -high-stepping bays. For a Spanish family will -scrimp and save, and sometimes actually half starve, -in order to maintain its place in the daily procession -on the Castellana. This is true of all classes, from -the impoverished aristocracy to the struggling bourgeoisie; -and is so much a racial characteristic that the -same holds in Manila, Havana, and many of the -South American cities. What his house is to the -Englishman, his trip to Europe to the American, his -carriage is to the Spaniard. With this hallmark of -social solvency he can hold up his head with the proudest; -without it he is an outcast.</p> - -<p>The Madrileños tell among themselves of certain -ladies who afford the essential victoria by dressing -fashionably from the waist up only. A carriage rug -covers the other and well-worn part of their apparel. -This is consistent with stories of economy carried into -the smallest item of the household expenses—such as -cooking without salt or pepper, and foregoing a tablecloth—in -order that the family name may appear -among the box-holders at the opera. Spanish people -look upon these sacrifices, when they know them, as -altogether admirable; from peasant to grandee, they -are forever aiding and abetting each other at that -most pitiful of all games: keeping up appearances. -But, however petty the apparent motive, there is a -certain tragic courage behind it; the desperate, final -courage of the <i xml:lang="de" lang="de">grand artiste</i>, refusing to admit that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">182</span> -his day is dead. And under all his burdens, all his -bitter poverty, silent, uncomplaining.</p> - -<p>Seen in this light, that stately queue of carriages -on the Castellana takes on something more than its -mere superficial significance—which is to show oneself, -and further to show one’s daughters. Officers -and civilians walk up and down, on either side of the -driveway, or canter along near the carriages, with one -object: to stare at the young girls. Far from being -snubbed, their interest is welcomed with complaisance, -and many and many a marriage is arranged from one -of these encounters on the Castellana.</p> - -<p>The young man notices the same girl for two -or three days, then asks to be presented to her; the -heads of the two families confer, finances are frankly -discussed, and, if everything is found satisfactory, -the courtship is allowed to proceed. Parents are generally -easy to satisfy, too, being in frantic haste to -marry off their daughters. The old maid and the -bachelor girl are unknown quantities in Spain, and an -officer with a salary of five pounds a month is eagerly -snapped up as an excellent catch.</p> - -<p>This gives some idea of the absolute pittance -whole families are used to live on, and to consider -ample. The bare necessities of life are gratefully -counted by Spaniards as luxuries; while luxuries, in -the modern sense of the word, are practically unheard -of. Private motor cars, for example, are so rare as -to be noticed when they pass through the streets; -while, on the other hand, a sleek pair of mules is considered -almost as emphatic a sign of prosperity as a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">183</span> -pair of horses. It is an everyday sight to see the gold -cockades of royalty, or the silver of nobility, on the -box behind two mules. And a Spaniard realizes nothing -curious about this. If it is a habit of his countrymen, -it is right, and proper, and elegant, and to be -emulated by all who can afford it.</p> - -<p>If you tell him, moreover, of the conveniences of -other countries—not in comparison with his own, but -quite casually—he looks at you with an indulgent -smile, and believes not a word of it. He himself is -far too poor to travel, so that naturally he is skeptical -of what he calls “traveller’s tales.” I once showed -a Marqués whom I was entertaining in Madrid a picture -of the Metropolitan Tower in New York. He -laughed, like an amused child. “Those Americans! -They are always boasting,” he said, “but one must -confess they are clever to construct a photograph like -that.” Nor was I able to convince him during the -remainder of the evening that such a building and -many others as tall actually did exist.</p> - -<p>The old actor sits with his eyes glued to his own -pictures, mesmerizing himself into the belief that they -are now as ever they were: representative of the -greatest star of all the stage. He cares not to study -the methods of the new generation, for he loftily -ignores its existence. Tradition is the poison that -infests his bones, and is surely eating them away.</p> - -<p>He has a son who would save him if the dotard -would permit: a tall young man, with a splendid -carriage and an ugly, magnetic face—alert to every -detail of modern régime. But the young man is a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">184</span> -king, and kings, as everyone knows, have the least -power of anybody. Alfonso XIII, with all his indefatigable -energy, can leaven but a very small lump -of the blind self-sufficiency of Spain. He plays a -hopeless part bravely and is harder-working than most -of his peasants.</p> - -<p>His palace stands at the edge of old Madrid, on -the high land above the river, where the old Moorish -Alcazar once stood: a magnificent situation. The -façade fronts and dominates the city; the rear looks -out on the river Mazanares and beyond, on the royal -park of the Casa del Campo. Here one can often -see the King shooting pigeons in the afternoon or -taking tea with the Queen and the Queen Mother. -The people are not permitted in this park, but foreigners -may apply for a card of admission and go -there at any time, provided their coachman is in livery.</p> - -<div id="ip_184" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 29em;"> - <img src="images/i_215.jpg" width="1391" height="2196" alt="" /> - <div class="caption"> - -<p class="credit"> -<i>Franzen</i> -</p> - -<p>THE QUEEN OF SPAIN AND THE PRINCE OF THE ASTURIAS</p></div></div> - -<p>One Sunday I saw the royal children, with their -nurses, building a bonfire in a corner of the park. -They were shouting and running about most lustily, -and it was a relief to see royalty—though at the age -of three and four—having a good time. The little -Prince of the Asturias was in uniform, Prince Jaimé -in sailor’s togs, and the two small Infantas in white -frocks with blue sashes. They all looked simply and -comfortably dressed, and a credit to the good sense of -their father and mother. The nurses, who are Englishwomen—pink-cheeked -and cheerful—wore plain -blue cotton frocks and shady straw hats, like anyone -else’s nurses. It was a satisfying picture, after the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">185</span>elaborateness and false show that surround the average -Spanish child.</p> - -<p>Of all the royal children, Jaimé is the beloved of -the people. He has a singularly sweet and at the same -time animated face, and, the Spaniards proudly declare, -is the true Spanish type. Doubtless, too, his -sad infirmity—he was born a deaf mute—and his patience -and cleverness in coping with it have endeared -this little prince to everybody.</p> - -<p>The reigning Spanish family are the last of the -powerful Bourbons, and their court is conducted with -all the Bourbon etiquette of Louis XIV. It is a less -brilliant court than the Austrian, being very much -poorer, but the shining white grandeur of the palace -itself makes up for elegance foregone by the courtiers. -For once, Spain’s overweening pride is justified: -she boasts the loveliest royal residence of any -nation.</p> - -<p>An interesting time to visit it is at Guard Mount -in the morning. Then the beautiful inner court is -filled with Lancers in plumed helmets and brilliant -blue uniforms, riding splendidly matched roans. Two -companies of infantry, in their darker blue and red, -line the hollow square; and in the centre are the officers, -magnificently mounted and aglitter with gold -braid and orders. They advance into the court to the -slow and stately measure of the Royal March, and -sometimes the King appears on the balcony above—to -the delight of the people, who are allowed to circulate -freely in the passages of the pillared <i xml:lang="es" lang="es">patio</i>.</p> - -<p>Peasants are there by the score, in their shabby<span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">186</span> -earth-brown corduroys, and soft-eyed girls with stout -duenas, swaying fans between the threadbare fingers -of their cheap cotton gloves. Students with faded -capes swung from their shoulders; swarms of children -and shuffling old men in worn sombreros; priests, bullfighters, -beggars, and vendors of everything from -sweetmeats to bootlaces, wander in and out the arcades -while the band plays.</p> - -<p>In spite of the modern uniforms of the soldiers, -it is a scene out of another age: a sleepy, sunny age, -when all the simple people demanded was a heel of -bread and the occasional spectacle of the pomp of -their masters. Yet it is the Spain of today; in the -foreground its brave show of traditional splendour; -peering out from behind, its penury and rags.</p> - -<p>The old actor sees none of this. In his forgotten -corner he has wound himself within his gorgeous tattered -cloak of long ago; and crouches into it, eyes -closed upon a vision in which he never ceases to play -the part of Cæsar.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div id="toclink_187" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">187</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="IV-II">II<br /> - -<span class="subhead">HIS ARTS AND AMUSEMENTS</span></h2> -</div> - -<p><i xml:lang="es" lang="es">Pan y toros!</i> The old “Bread and the circus” of -the Romans, the mediæval and modern “Bread and -the bulls!” of Spain. One feels that the dance should -have been worked in, really to make this cry of the -people complete. For in the bullfight and the ancient -national dances we have the very soul of Spain.</p> - -<p>Progressive Spaniards like to think the <i xml:lang="es" lang="es">corrida de -toros</i> is gradually dying out; many, many people in -Madrid, they tell you, would not think of attending -one. This is true, though generally the motive behind -it is financial rather than humane. And the great -mass of the people, aristocracy as well as <i xml:lang="de" lang="de">bourgeoisie</i>, -put the bulls first, and go hungry for the bread if -necessary. Every small boy, be he royal or beggar, -plays “bullfight” from the time he can creep; every -small girl looks on admiringly, and claps her hands. -And when the small boy is grown, and dazzles the -Bull Ring with his daring <i xml:lang="es" lang="es">toreo</i>, the girl in her brilliant -dancer’s dress still applauds and flings him her -carnations. Throughout Spain the two are wedded in -actual personal passion, as in symbolic truth.</p> - -<p>It is said that the bullfight was founded by the -Moors in Spain in the twelfth century, though bulls<span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">188</span> -were probably fought with before that in the Roman -amphitheatres. The principle on which the play depends -is courage, coolness, and dexterity—the three-in-one -characteristics of the Arabs of the desert. In -early days gentlemen, armed only with a short spear, -fought with the bulls, and proved their skill and -horsemanship. But with the coming of the Bourbons -as the reigning house of Spain the sport changed -from a fashionable into a national one, and professional -bullfighters took the place of the courtly players -of before.</p> - -<p>It is by no means true, however—as so many foreigners -imagine—that the <i xml:lang="es" lang="es">toreros</i> are invariably men -of mean birth and vulgar education. On the contrary, -they are frequently of excellent parentage and -great mental as well as physical capability; while always -their keen science and daring make them an -aristocracy of themselves which the older aristocracy -delights to worship. They are the friends and favourites -of society, the idols of the populace; you never -see one of them in the streets without an admiring -train of hangers-on, and the newspapers record the -slightest item in connection with each fighter of the -hour. Whole pages are filled with photographs of -the various feats and characteristic poses of distinguished -<i xml:lang="es" lang="es">toreros</i>; and so well known do these become -that an audience in the theatre recognizes at once an -“imitation” of Bombita, or Gallito, or Machaquito—and -shouts applause.</p> - -<p>Even the average bullfighter is a rich man and -known for his generosity as well. Directly there is a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">189</span> -disaster—railway accident, explosion or flood—a <i xml:lang="es" lang="es">corrida</i> -is arranged for the sufferers; and the whole band -of fighters give their earnings to the cause. The -usual profits of a skilled <i xml:lang="es" lang="es">torero</i> are seven thousand -pesetas—two hundred and eighty pounds—a performance. -Out of this he must pay his assistants -about three thousand pesetas, and the rest he has for -himself. When not the lover of some famous dancer, -he is often a married man, and they say, aside from -his dangerous profession, makes an excellent husband -and father. One and all, the bullfighters are religious; -the last thing they do before entering the arena -is to confess and receive absolution in the little chapel -at the Bull Ring, and a priest remains with extreme -unction always in readiness in case of serious accident.</p> - -<p>The great part of the bullfighters come from -Andalucia—there is an academy at Seville to teach -the science—but some are from the North and from -Mexico and South America, and all are impatient to -fight at Madrid, since successful <i xml:lang="es" lang="es">toreo</i> in this city -constitutes the bullfighter’s diploma. At the first—and -so of course the most exciting—fight I saw the -<i xml:lang="es" lang="es">matadors</i> were Bombita and Gallito, from Seville, -and Gaona, from Mexico. The latter was even more -cordially received by the Spaniards than their own -countrymen after they saw his splendid play; but -Bombita is acknowledged the best <i xml:lang="es" lang="es">matador</i>—killer—in -Spain, and Gallito, a mere boy of eighteen, is -adored by the people. Each of the three killed two -bulls on the afternoon I attended my first <i xml:lang="es" lang="es">corrida</i>.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">190</span></p> - -<p>It is impossible to describe the change that comes -over the whole aspect and atmosphere of Madrid on -the day of a bullfight. The old actor in his corner -rubs his eyes, shakes himself and looks alive. Crowds -are in the streets, buckboards packed with country -people dash through the Puerta del Sol and towards -the Plaza de Toros; the languid <i xml:lang="es" lang="es">madrileño</i> in the -cafés is roused to rapid talk and excited betting -with his neighbour, and in the clubs, where the <i xml:lang="es" lang="es">toreros</i> -are gathered in their gorgeous costumes, the betting -runs higher. Ticket booths are surrounded -by a mob of eager enthusiasts, while behind her -grating the señora is shaking out her mantilla, -fixing the great red and white carnations in her -hair, draping the lace above them and her monstrous -comb. A carriage drives swiftly down the street to -her door, her husband hurries in, calling impetuously -to make haste. The slumbrous eyes of the lady catch -fire with a thousand sparks; she clicks her fan, flashes -a last triumphant smile into her mirror, and is swept -away to the Bull Ring.</p> - -<div id="ip_190" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 47em;"> - <img src="images/i_223.jpg" width="2236" height="1434" alt="" /> - <div class="caption"><p>FAIR ENTHUSIASTS AT THE BULL FIGHT</p></div></div> - -<p>Here all is seething anticipation: the immense -coliseum black with people moving to their seats or -standing up to watch the crowd in the arena below; -Royalty just arrived, Doña Isabel and her ladies lining -the velvet-hung box with their picturesque mantillas; -the President of the Bull Ring taking his place -of honour; ladies unfurling fans and gossiping, <i>aficionados</i> -waving to one another across the ring and calling -final excited bets; small boys shouting cushions, -cigarettes, postcards, or beer and <i xml:lang="es" lang="es">horchatas</i>. Suddenly<span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">191</span> -a bugle sounds. People scuttle to their seats, -the arena is cleared as by magic, and, to a burst of -music and thunderous applause from ten thousand -pairs of hands, the splendid <i xml:lang="es" lang="es">entrada</i> takes place.</p> - -<p><i xml:lang="es" lang="es">Matadors</i> in their bright suits heavy with gold, -<i xml:lang="es" lang="es">banderilleros</i> in their silver, <i xml:lang="es" lang="es">picadors</i> on their sorry -horses, march proudly round the ring; while the band -plays and the crowd shouts itself hoarse—just for a -starter. Then the <i xml:lang="es" lang="es">picadors</i> go out, the <i xml:lang="es" lang="es">torero</i> who is -to kill the first bull asks the President for the keys -to the ring; the President throws them into the arena, -and—the first bull is loosed!</p> - -<p>From this point on there is no wit in regarding the -spectacle from a humane or sentimental standpoint. -He who is inclined to do so had better never have left -home. If he has eyes for the prodigal bloodshed, the -torture of the bull with the piercing darts, the sufferings -of the horses, he will be acutely wretched from -beginning to end. But if he can fix his attention -solely on the beauty of the <i xml:lang="es" lang="es">torero’s</i> body in constant -action, on the utter fearlessness and superb audacity -of the man in his taunting the beast; if, in short, he -can concentrate on the science and skill of the thing, -he will have something worth remembering all his -life.</p> - -<p>I shall never forget Bombita, with his grave, -curiously <em>detached</em> expression, his dark face almost -indifferent as he came forward to kill the first bull. -This is by far the most interesting part of the fight—after -the horses have been disposed of and the stupid -<i xml:lang="es" lang="es">picadors</i> have made their exit—when the <i xml:lang="es" lang="es">matador</i> advances<span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">192</span> -with his sword sheathed in the red <i xml:lang="es" lang="es">muleta</i>. -He has made his speech to the President, he has ordered -his assistants to retire to the background, and -he and the bull face one another alone in the centre -of the arena.</p> - -<p>Then comes the lightning move of every moment -in the encounter between man and beast. The spot -between the shoulders where the bull is killed covers -only about three inches, and must be struck absolutely -true—or the crowd is furious. At best it is exceedingly -capricious, hissing, whistling and shouting on -the slightest provocation, but going literally mad over -each incident of the matador’s daring; and finally, -if he makes a “neat kill,” throwing their hats and -coats—anything—into the arena while the air reverberates -with “Bravos!”</p> - -<div id="ip_192" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 46em;"> - <img src="images/i_227.jpg" width="2202" height="1382" alt="" /> - <div class="caption"> - -<p class="credit"> -<i>L. R. Marin</i> -</p> - -<p>THE SUPREME MOMENT: MAN AND BEAST JUGGLE FOR LIFE</p></div></div> - -<p>Meantime, however, the <i xml:lang="es" lang="es">matador</i> plays with death -every second. He darts towards the bull, taunting -the now maddened beast with the fiery muleta, mocking -him, talking to him, even turning his back to him—only -to leap round and beside him in the wink of -an eye when the bull would have gored him to death. -Young Gallito strokes his second bull from head to -mouth several times; Gaona lays his hat on the animal’s -horns, and carelessly removes it again; while -Bombita, who is veritable quicksilver, has his magnificent -clothes torn to pieces but remains himself unscratched -in his breath-taking manœuvres with the -beast. Finally, with a swift gesture, he raises his -arm, casts aside the muleta, drives his sword straight -and true between the shoulders of his adversary. A -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">193</span>shout goes up—wild as that of the Coliseum of old: -“Bombita! Bombita! <i xml:lang="es" lang="es">El matador—Bombita!</i>” And -we know that the bull is dead, but that Bombita, who -has been teasing death, scoffing at it, for the last -twenty minutes, lives—triumphant.</p> - -<p>And what is it all about? Atrocious cruelty, a -bit of bravado, and ecco! A hero! Exactly. Just -as in the prize ring, the football field, or an exhibition -of jiu-jitsu. We pay to be shocked, terrified, and -finally thrilled; by that which we have neither the -skill nor the courage to attempt ourselves. But, you -say, these other things are fair sport—man to man; -we Anglo-Saxons do not torture defenceless animals. -What about fox hunting? There is not even the dignity -of danger in the English sport; if the hunter -risks his life, it is only as a bad rider that he does so. -And certainly the wretched foxes, fostered and cared -for solely for the purpose of being harried to death, -are treated to far more exquisite cruelty than the -worn-out cab horses of the bullfight—whose sufferings -are a matter of a few minutes.</p> - -<p>I am not defending the brutality of the bullfight; -I merely maintain that Anglo-Saxons have very little -room to attack it from the superiority of their own -humaneness. And also that Spaniards themselves are -far from gloating over the sickening details of their -sport as they are often said to do. In every bullfight -I have attended the crowd has been impatient, even -exasperated, if the horses were not killed at once and -the <i xml:lang="es" lang="es">picadors</i> put out of the ring. We need not -greater tolerance of cruelty, but greater knowledge<span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">194</span> -of fact, in the study and criticism of things foreign -to us.</p> - -<p>I doubt, for instance, if any person who has not -lived in Madrid knows that every man who buys a -ticket to the bullfight is paying the hospital bill of -some unfortunate; for the President of the Bull Ring -is taxed ten thousand pounds a year for his privilege, -and the government uses this money for the upkeep -of charity hospitals.</p> - -<p>One cannot say as much for the proceeds of the -stupid sport of cock fighting—nor anything in its -favour at all. Patrons of the cockpit are for the most -part low-browed ruffians with coarse faces, and given -to loud clothes and tawdry jewellery. They stand up -in their seats and scream bets at one another during -the entire performance, each trying to find “takers” -without missing a single incident of the contest. The -bedlam this creates can only be compared with the -wheat pit in Chicago; while to one’s own mind there -is small sport in the banal encounter of one feathered -thing with another, however gallant the two may be.</p> - -<p>More to the Anglo-Saxon taste is the Spanish -game of <i xml:lang="es" lang="es">pelota</i>: a kind of racquets, played in a three-sided -oblong court about four times the length of a -racquet court. The fourth side of the court is open, -with seats and boxes arranged for spectators, and -bookmakers walk along in front, offering and taking -wagers. At certain periods of the game there is -much excitement.</p> - -<p>It is played two on a side—sometimes more—the -lighter men about halfway up the court, the stronger<span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">195</span> -near the end. The ball used is similar to a racquet -ball and is played the long way of the court; but, -instead of a bat, the player has a basketwork scoop -which fits tight on his hand and forearm. The object -of the game is for one side to serve the ball against -the opposite wall, and for the other side to return it; -so that the ball remains in play until a miss is scored -by one of the two sides. Should the side serving fail -to return, the service passes to the opponents. A miss -scores one for the opponents, and the game usually -consists of fifty points. There are the usual rules -about fouls, false strokes, etc., but the fundamental -principle consists in receiving the ball in the scoop -and whacking it against the opposite wall. It sounds -very simple, but the players show a marvellous agility -and great endurance, the play being so rapid that -from the spectator’s point of view it is keenly entertaining.</p> - -<p>Of course the upper classes in Madrid play the -usual tennis, croquet and occasionally polo, but the -Spaniard is not by instinct a sportsman. Rather he -is a gambler, which accounts for the increasing vogue -for horse racing in Madrid. The course, compared -with Longchamps and Epsom, is rather primitive and -the sport to be had is as yet inferior to the fashion -and beauty to be seen. Intermissions are interminable—else -how could the ladies see each other’s -frocks, or the gallants manage their flirting? On the -whole, the races in Spain are affairs of society rather -than of sport.</p> - -<p>Riding is very seldom indulged in by ladies, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">196</span> -the men who canter up and down the Castellana in -the evening have atrocious seats and look thoroughly -incongruous with their handsome mounts. There is -practically no country life throughout Spain, the few -families who own out-of-town houses rarely visit -them, and still more rarely entertain there. When the -upper class leaves Madrid it is for Biarritz or San -Sebastian or Pau—some resort where they may satisfy -the Spaniard’s eternal craving: to see and be -seen. This explains why the Madrileño is maladroit -at those outdoor sports he sometimes likes to affect -as part of his Anglo-mania, but which he never really -enjoys.</p> - -<p>On the other hand, he adores what the French call -the “<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">vie d’intérieure</i>.” Nothing interests him, or his -señora, more than their day at home, which in Spanish -resolves into a <i xml:lang="es" lang="es">tertulia</i>. No matter what time of day -this informal reception takes place, ladies appear in -morning dress—as the Anglo-Saxon understands the -word—and visits are paid by entire families, so that -sometimes the onslaught is rather formidable. Chocolate -is served, about the consistency of oatmeal porridge, -but deliciously light and frothy nevertheless. -It is eaten instead of drunk, by means of little bits of -toast, dipped into the cup. Sometimes in the evening -meringues are served, but always the refreshments are -of the simplest, the feast being one of chatter and -familiar gossip rather than of stodgy cakes and -salads.</p> - -<p>When there is dancing, no sitting out or staircase -flirtations are allowed; but, on the other hand, there<span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">197</span> -is not the depressing row of chaperones round the -walls nor the bored young men blocking the doorways -during intermissions. Everyone gathers in little -groups and circles, the men keeping the stifling rooms -in a constant haze of smoke, and a wild hubbub of -conversation goes on until the next dance. The foreigner -is disappointed in Spanish dancing. Having -in his mind the wonderful grace and litheness of the -professional <i xml:lang="es" lang="es">bailarina</i>, he is shocked by the hop-skip-and-jump -waltzing he meets with in drawing-rooms. -The fact is that only in their own national or characteristic -local dances are the Spanish graceful; when -they attempt the modern steps of other countries, as -when they attempt the clothes and sports of other -countries, they become ridiculous.</p> - -<p>But, happily for the young people, they do not -know it; and during the ungainly waltz they make -up in ardent flirtation for the loss of the balconies, -window seats and other corners <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">à deux</i> beloved by -less formally trained youth. What goes on in the -dance, <i xml:lang="es" lang="es">dueñas</i> wink at. After all, the chief business -of Spanish life is to marry off the children, and when -the latter are inclined to help matters along so much -the better.</p> - -<p>In passing, it may be of interest to add that, while -the New Woman is an unknown quantity in Spain, -the Spanish woman is the only one who retains her -maiden name after marriage. Thus Señorita Fernandez -becomes Señora Fernandez de Blank, and her -children go by the name of Blank <i xml:lang="es" lang="es">y Fernandez</i>. Also, -if she is a lady of rank, her husband immediately<span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">198</span> -assumes her title; and this last descends through the -female line, if there are no sons. Such a law forms -an interesting vagary of the country where woman’s -position on the whole reflects the Oriental. In Toledo -there is a convent for the education of penniless -daughters of noblemen. Each of the young ladies -is given a dowry of a thousand dollars, and is eagerly -sought in marriage as a person of importance. All -this in accordance with the Spanish tradition that -there is no such thing as an old maid.</p> - -<p>Naturally, in a land thoroughly orthodox in both -religion and social conventions, divorce is <em>tabu</em>; the -solution of the unhappy marriage being intrigue—which -is overlooked, or, at the worst, separation—in -which case the woman has rather a hard time of it. -At best, she is completely under the thumb of her -husband, and would lose her head altogether were she -suddenly accorded the liberty of the American woman, -for example. I have often thought what a treasure -one of these unaggressive Españolas would make for -the brow-beaten American man; who, if he had a -fancy to follow in the footsteps of his ambitious -sisters, might buy a wife and a title, and—by purchase -of property with a rental of ten thousand dollars—a -life seat in the senate, all at the same time!</p> - -<p>And never, never again would he be seen with his -hang-dog effacement, shuffling into a restaurant as a -sort of ambulant peg for the wraps of a procession -of ladies. Once a real Spaniard, he would stalk in -first at cafés, and find his own cronies, leaving -madame to find hers in the separate “section for<span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">199</span> -señoras.” When he was ready to depart, she—no -matter what her fever to finish the gossip of the moment—would -depart without a murmur. Outrageous! -cries the American, who pads his own leading-strings -with the pretty word of “chivalry.”</p> - -<p>I think I have said that Spanish ladies do not -attend restaurants, except those of the larger hotels; -but they are devoted to cafés, where they eat chocolate -and <i xml:lang="es" lang="es">tostas fritas</i>, or drink a curious—and singularly -good—mixture of lemon ice and beer, while -shredding the affairs of their neighbours. Owing to -the segregation of the masculine and feminine contingents, -the Madrid café presents a quite different -picture from the <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">rendez-vous intime</i> of the Parisian, -or the <i xml:lang="de" lang="de">gemütlich</i> coffee house of Vienna. There is -no surreptitious holding of hands under the table, no -laying of heads together over the illustrated papers, -no miniature orchestra playing a sensuous waltz. The -amusement of the <i xml:lang="es" lang="es">Madrileño</i> in his favourite café is -to look out of it onto the street; of the <i xml:lang="es" lang="es">Madrileña</i>, -ditto—each keeping up a running fire of chatter the -while.</p> - -<p>The manners of both ladies and gentlemen are -somewhat startling at times. Toothpicks are constantly -in evidence, some of the more exclusive carrying -their own little instruments of silver or gold, and -producing them from pocket or handbag whenever -the occasion offers. It is not uncommon, either, for -ladies as well as gentlemen to expectorate in public; -in cafés, or even from carriages on the Castellana, -one sees this done with perfect <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">sang froid</i>. On the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">200</span> -other hand, there is an absolute simplicity and freedom -from affectation. With all their interest in the -appearance and affairs of their neighbours, Spanish -men and women are without knowledge of the word -“snob.” So thoroughly grounded in that unconscious -assurance newer civilization lacks, they would -not know how to set about “impressing” anyone. -They are what they are, and there’s an end to it.</p> - -<p>When they stare, as the foreigner complains they -do constantly, it is the frankly direct stare of a child. -And few ladies use pince-nez—for which they have -the excellent word, “<i xml:lang="es" lang="es">impertinentes</i>.” Some of these -Spanish words are delightfully descriptive: there is -“<i xml:lang="es" lang="es">sabio-mucho</i>” for the little donkeys that trot ahead -of the mules in harness, and in their careful picking -of the way prove their title of “know-it-all.” And -there is <i xml:lang="es" lang="es">serreno</i> for the night watchman, who prowls -his district every hour, to assure the inhabitants that -“it is three o’clock and the night serene!”</p> - -<p>To the English night-owl, the custom of leaving -one’s latchkey with the <i xml:lang="es" lang="es">serreno</i> appeals as rather precarious, -in several ways. But Spaniards are notoriously -temperate; also discreet; and, as Spanish keys -are apt to weigh a pound or two, it is the easiest thing -for the señor when he reaches his own door to clap -his hands twice—and the <i xml:lang="es" lang="es">serreno</i> comes running. It -seems a quaint custom to have a night watchman in a -city like Madrid, where life goes on all night, and the -Puerta del Sol is as full and as noisy at half-past -three in the morning as at the same hour of the afternoon.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">201</span></p> - -<p>All the best amusements begin very late, following -the rule of the nine-o’clock dinner; and as theatre -tickets are purchased in sections—<i>i. e.</i>, for each separate -act or piece—it is generally arranged so that the -finest part of a performance begins at half after ten, -or even eleven o’clock. Of course, the Teatro Real, -or opera-house, is the first theatre of Madrid, and we -have already spoken of the sacrifices endured for the -privilege of owning a box for the season.</p> - -<p>Ladies of society—and some who are not—delight -to receive in their <i xml:lang="es" lang="es">palcos</i>; and the long entr’actes lend -themselves to actual visits, instead of the casual -“looking in” of friends. Anyone, by paying the -nominal entrance fee, can enter the opera house—or -any theatre—on the chance of finding acquaintances -in the boxes, and so spend an hour or two going from -one group to another. This gives the house the look -of a vast reception, which it is, far more than a place -where people come to hear good music.</p> - -<p>It has not, however, the brilliancy or fascination -of the Metropolitan audience in New York, nor of -Covent Garden. The Teatro Real is a mediocre building, -in the first place; and neither the toilettes and -jewels of the women nor the distinction of the men -can compare with the splendid <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">ensemble</i> of an English -or American opera audience. While the music, -after Vienna, is execrable, and merits the indifference -the <i xml:lang="es" lang="es">Madrileños</i> show it. About the most interesting -episode of the evening comes after the performance -is over—when, on the pretext of waiting -for carriages, society lingers in the entrance hall, chatting,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">202</span> -laughing, engaged in more or less mild flirtation—for -the better part of an hour. Here one sees the -<i xml:lang="es" lang="es">Madrileña</i> at her best; eyes flashing, jewels sparkling, -fan swaying back and forth to show or again to conceal -her brave “best gown”; above all, smiling her -slow Eastern woman’s smile with a grace that makes -one echo her adorers’ exclamation: “At your feet, -señora!”</p> - -<p>She is seen to less advantage at the ordinary -theatre, which is usually in itself a dingy affair, and -where evening dress is conspicuous by its absence. -Even the orchestra is apt to come garbed in faded -shades of the popular green or brown, and always -with hats on—until the curtain rises.</p> - -<p>We have spoken already of the prevalence of the -one-act play in Spanish theatres. The people pay an -average charge of two <i xml:lang="es" lang="es">reales</i>—ten cents—for each -small piece, and the audience changes several times -during an evening. At the better theatres, orchestra -seats are seventy-five cents—a price to be paid only by -the very wealthy!—and the plays are generally unadulterated -melodrama. The always capricious audience -cheers or hisses in true old melodramatic fashion, -so that at the most touching moment of a piece -one cannot hear a word of it, for the piercing <i xml:lang="es" lang="es">Bravos</i>—or -again catch the drift of the popular displeasure -which shows itself in groans and whistling. The complete -<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">naïveté</i> of the Spanish character is nowhere better -displayed than at the theatre; but I think it must -keep the actors in a constant fever of suspense.</p> - -<p>The latter are rather primitive in method and appearance<span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">203</span> -according to modern notions, but play their -particular <i>genre</i> with no small cleverness. They use -little or no make-up, so that the effect at first is rather -ghastly; however, one gets used to it, and even comes -to prefer it to the over-rouged cheeks and exaggerated -eyes of the Anglo-Saxon artist. It is interesting, -too, that, even in the world of make-believe, the -Spaniard is as little make-believe as possible. There -is nothing artificial in his composition, and even when -professionally “pretending” he pretends along the -line of his own strong loves and hates, with no attempt -at subtilizing, either.</p> - -<p>One is apt to think there is no subtlety at all in -this people—until one sees its national dancers. After -the banal “Boston” and one-step of the ultra-moderns, -the old ever-beloved Spanish dances come as -a revelation; while the professional <i xml:lang="es" lang="es">bailarina</i> herself -is as far removed from her kind in other lands as -poetry from doggerel.</p> - -<p>Tall, swayingly slender, delicately sensuous in -every move, she glides into vision in her ankle-long -full skirts, like a flower rising from its calyx. There -is about her none of the self-consciousness of the -familiar lady of tarletans and tights; but a little air -of dignity on guard that is very alluring. She does -not smirk, she does not pirouette; she sways, and -bends, and rises to stamp her foot in the typical -<i xml:lang="es" lang="es">bozneo</i>, with a litheness and grace indescribable. And -her castanets! Long before she actually appears, -you hear their quick <em>toc-toc</em>: first a low murmur, then -louder and ever louder, till with her proud entrance<span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">204</span> -they beat a tempestuous allegro—only to grow fainter -and fainter and die away again with the slow measures -of the dance.</p> - -<p>Her long princess frock sheathes the slim figure -closely, to swell out, however, at the ankles in a swirl -of foamy flounces. Brilliant with sequins or the -multi-coloured broidery of the <i xml:lang="es" lang="es">mantón</i>, the costume -curls about her in a gorgeous haze of orange, azure, -mauve, and scarlet while she dances. Her fine long -feet are arched and curved into a thousand different -poses; her body the mere casing for a spirit of flame -and mystery; her face the shadow curtain of infinite -expression, infinite light.</p> - -<p>And while her castanets are sounding every shade -of rhythm and seduction, and her white long arms -are swaying to and fro—in the ancient <i xml:lang="es" lang="es">Jota</i>, or the -<i xml:lang="es" lang="es">Olé Andaluz</i>, or perhaps in the <i xml:lang="es" lang="es">Sevillana</i>, or the -<i xml:lang="es" lang="es">Malagueña</i>—the dance of her particular city; while -men’s throats grow hoarse with shouting <i xml:lang="es" lang="es">bravos</i> and -women’s eyes dim with staring at such grace, there -lives before one not La Goya, La Argentina, Pastora -Impéria—not the idol favourite of the hour, but something -more wonderful and less substantial: the ghost -of old Spain. It flits before one there, in its proud -glory; its beauty, its passion, and its power; baring -the soul of half of it—the woman soul, that is.</p> - -<p>And when one looks beyond her fire and lovely -dignity, over her shoulder peers the cool, dark face of -a <i xml:lang="es" lang="es">torero</i>.</p> - -<div id="ip_204" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 43em;"> - <img src="images/i_241.jpg" width="2062" height="1388" alt="" /> - <div class="caption"><p>A TYPICAL POSTURE OF THE SPANISH DANCE</p></div></div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div id="toclink_205" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">205</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="IV-III">III<br /> - -<span class="subhead">ONE OF HIS “BIG SCENES”</span></h2> -</div> - -<p>Twenty-eight years ago Alfonso XII died, leaving -a consort whom the Spanish people regarded with -suspicion, if not with actual dislike. She was Maria -Christina of Austria, the second wife of the king; -and six months after his death her son, Alfonso XIII, -was born.</p> - -<p>Sullenly Spain submitted to the long regency of -a “foreigner”; and Maria Christina set about the -desperate business of saving her son to manhood. -From the first he was an ailing, sickly child, and his -mother had to fight for him in health as well as in -political position every inch of the way. She was -tireless, dauntless, throughout the struggle. Time -after time the little king’s life was despaired of; she -never gave up.</p> - -<p>Every morning during his childhood the boy was -driven to the bracing park of La Granja, where he -ate his lunch and stayed all day, only coming back to -Madrid to sleep. In this and a hundred other ways it -was as though his mother, with her steel courage, -literally forbade him to die. And today, for her -reward, she has not only a king whom the entire<span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">206</span> -world admires with enthusiasm, but a son whose devotion -to herself amounts almost to a passion.</p> - -<p>I like to remember my first glimpse of the king—it -was so characteristic of his personal simplicity in -the midst of a court renowned for its rigid ceremonial. -I was one of the crowd that lined the Palace galleries -on a Sunday before Public Chapel; we were herded -between rows of halberdiers, very stiff and hushed, -waiting for the splendid procession soon to come.</p> - -<p>Suddenly the cry rose: “<i xml:lang="es" lang="es">El Rey!</i>” And, attended -only by two gentlemen and a grey-haired lady in -black, the king came down the corridor. He was in -striking blue uniform, and wore the collar of the -Golden Fleece, but what occurred to one first was his -buoyant look of youth and his smile—as the Spaniards -say, “very, very <i xml:lang="de" lang="de">simpatico</i>.” He saluted to the -right and left, skimming the faces of the crowd with -that alertness that makes every peasant sure to the -end of his days that the king certainly saw <em>him</em>. -Then he stooped while one of his gentlemen held -open a little door much too low for him, and slipped -quickly through to the other side. “Exactly,” murmured -an old woman disappointedly, “like anyone -else.”</p> - -<p>That is a large part of the greatness of this king, -as it was of that of Edward VII of England: he is -exactly like anyone else. And, like anyone else, he -must submit to a routine and certain obligatory duties -which are utterly irksome to him. When he came -back from Chapel later, in the tedious procession, his -face was quite pale and he looked tired out. With<span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">207</span> -all his mother’s indefatigable care and training, his -health at best is very irregular; and I remember hearing -one of his guards say that he would have died -long ago if he could have taken time for it!</p> - -<p>But to go back to Royal Chapel: on the days -when this is public, anyone, beginning with the raggedest -peasant, may walk into the Palace and upstairs -to the galleries, as though he were a prince of -the blood. True, if he arrives early he must stand in -line, to be moved along as the guards shall direct. -But if he comes, as I did, just before the hour, he -walks upstairs and along the thick-carpeted corridors, -to take his place where he chooses. Of course -one is literally barricaded by halberdiers—two of -them to every three persons, as a rule—and a very -imposing line they make in their scarlet coats, white -knee breeches and black gaiters, their halberds glittering -round the four sides of the galleries.</p> - -<p>These are hung, on one or two gala Sundays a -year, with marvellous old tapestries, so that not an -inch of stone wall can be seen. It makes a beautiful -background for the gold lace and rich uniforms of the -grandees as they pass through on their way to the -Assembly Chamber. For half an hour before the -procession forms, these gorgeous personages are arriving, -many of them in the handsome court costume -of black, finely worked in gold embroidery, and with -the picturesque lace ruff. Others wear various and -splendid uniforms, with—as many as have them—ribbons -of special orders, and, of course, every medal -they can produce, strung across their chests. Some<span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">208</span> -of the older men are particularly distinguished, while -all the officers stalk in, in the grand manner, shoulders -square, swords clanking.</p> - -<p>An especially interesting group is the Estada -Mayor—six grandees out of the seven hundred odd -who wear a gold key over their right hip, as a sign -that they may enter the palace and confer with the -sovereign at any time. These men have the title of -Marqué in addition to any others they may have inherited, -and are supposed to spend one week each in -the palace during the year. They are tall, splendid-looking -creatures, in bright red coats, white trousers -with black boots, and helmets with waving white -feathers. And on Public Chapel days they enter -last into the Assembly Chamber, so that their appearance -is the signal that the procession is about to start.</p> - -<p>When they have gone in, the chief of the halberdiers -cries: “The King! Do me the favour to uncover -your heads!” And the favour is done, while -detectives all about are taking a final sharp survey -of the closely guarded crowd. Then two plainly -dressed persons, known by the modest title of <i xml:lang="es" lang="es">bandero</i> -(sweeper) hurry up and down the line to make sure -no presumptuous subject has his feet on the royal -carpet; and finally two ancient major domos in scarlet -breeches and much gold lace solemnly march several -yards ahead of the procession, peering searchingly -from right to left. For, as everyone knows, -the King of Spain’s life is in momentary danger -from anarchists, and no amount of precaution ever<span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">209</span> -really satisfies the inquietude of his people when he -is in public.</p> - -<p>At last the dignified line of grandees appears. -Some of them we recognize as they go by: The Duke -of Medina y Cœli, with his twenty-eight titles, the -most of any noble in Spain; the Duke of Alba, who -holds the oldest title, and the head of whose family -always registers a formal protest on the accession of -each king—with the insinuation, of course, that by -right of birth the Alba should reign. Further on -come the three royal princes, Don Carlos, Don Fernando, -and Don Alphonso—the King’s cousin. And -finally, between his two <i xml:lang="es" lang="es">gentilhombres</i>, the King.</p> - -<p>It is not the boyish young man now, slipping -inconspicuously from one room to another, but the -sovereign, erect and on duty, facing his rows of -scrutinizing subjects steadily and with a quiet confidence. -I should like more than most things to have a -true picture of him at that moment—walking unself-consciously -in the midst of his haughty court. On -all sides of him pomp and stateliness: the lovely -old tapestries, the rich shrines at every corner of the -galleries, the brilliant uniforms of the tall halberdiers, -the dazzling garb of the grandees, and the flashing -jewels of their ladies: among all this magnificence the -King walked with truest dignity, yet utterly <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">sans -façon</i>. He had even, behind the gravity due the -occasion, the hint of a twinkle in his eye, as though to -say, “It’s absurd, isn’t it, that all this is for me? That -a plain man who likes to ride, and to shoot, and to -prowl round in the forest with his dogs should be the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">210</span> -centre of this procession as King of Spain! Really, -it’s almost a joke.”</p> - -<p>I’m sure he actually was thinking that, for he has -a delightful sense of humour, besides being wholly -natural, and he and the Queen are noted for their -simplicity and their readiness to be considered as -ordinary humans. The King, in walking to and from -Chapel, passes close enough to the people for any one -of them to reach out and touch him, and his alert eyes -seem to convey, with his frank smile, individual greeting -to each person present. No one can look even -once into that ugly, animated face without feeling -both the magnetism and the tremendous courage with -which Alfonso XIII rules Spain.</p> - -<p>On this morning that I saw him the Queen was -not present; but she usually walks with him to Chapel, -and is extravagantly admired by the people, who find -her blond beauty “<i xml:lang="es" lang="es">hermosisima</i>” (the most lovely) -and her French gowns the last word of elegance. -Both she and the Queen-mother reached the Chapel -by an inner entrance on the day of which I speak; -so that the Infantas Isabel and Maria Luisa with their -ladies followed the King.</p> - -<div id="ip_210" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 46em;"> - <img src="images/i_249.jpg" width="2204" height="1397" alt="" /> - <div class="caption"> - -<p class="credit"> -<i>L. R. Marin</i> -</p> - -<p>THE ROYAL FAMILY OF SPAIN, AFTER A CHAPEL SERVICE</p> - -<p>(<i>Left to right.</i>) 1. Infanta Isabel. 2. The King. 3. Prince of Asturias. 4. Infanta Maria Luisa. 5. Don Alfonso. -6. Don Carlos. 7. Don Fernando. 8. The Queen Mother. 9. Princess Henry of Battenberg. -(Third from the right in the front row is the favourite little Prince Jaimé).</p></div></div> - -<p>Doña Isabel, with her strong, humorous face, and -white hair, is always an interesting figure. She is -constantly seen at the bullfight, and driving through -the Puerta del Sol or in the Castellana; and is generally -wearing the mantilla. This morning she wore -a very beautiful white one, held by magnificent diamond -clasps, and falling over a brocade dress of great -richness. Her train, carried by a Marqués of the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">211</span>household, was of white satin embroidered in iris, and -clusters of the flower were scattered over the stuff -itself.</p> - -<p>The Infanta Maria Luisa, who is considered one -of the most beautiful of all princesses, was also in -white satin and a white mantilla, and looked exceedingly -Spanish and attractive. She had wonderful -jewels, a string of immense pearls being among the -most prominent; and a great emerald cabochon that -hung from a slender chain. Each of the Infantas had -her lady-in-waiting, also in court trains and the mantilla; -and one could not help reflecting how much -more picturesque and becoming this latter is than the -stiff three feathers prescribed by the English tradition. -On the other hand, it is true that only Spanish -ladies know how to wear the gracious folds of lace -which on women of other nations appear incongruous -and even awkward.</p> - -<p>After the Infantas and their ladies came the -diplomats and various foreign ambassadors, all in -full regalia; and finally the six officers of the Estada -Mayor brought up the rear. I have forgotten to -mention the band of the Palace Guards which preceded -the entire procession, and played the royal -march all this while. I think there can be no music -at once so grave and so inspiring as this is; if it thrills -the imagination of the foreigner, what must it mean -to the Spaniard with his memories?</p> - -<p>When the court had passed into the Chapel, the -crowd was at liberty to break ranks and walk about -the galleries. During this intermission, the detectives<span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">212</span> -were again in evidence; scouring the place for any -signs of violence. Since the King was fired at, on the -day of the swearing-in of the recruits (April 13, -1913), efforts to protect his life have been redoubled. -This was the third attack since his marriage, including -the terrible episode of his wedding-day itself.</p> - -<p>On that occasion, when the bomb that was thrown -at him, as he was leaving the church with the Queen, -killed thirty-four people besides the horses of the -royal coach, and caused the Queen’s wedding-dress to -be spattered with blood, the poor bride in her terror -was on the point of collapsing. Through the babel -of screams and shouting, the King spoke to her distinctly: -“The Queen of Spain never faints!” said -he. And he placed her in another carriage, and drove -off, coolly, as though nothing had happened.</p> - -<div id="ip_212" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 46em;"> - <img src="images/i_253.jpg" width="2211" height="1392" alt="" /> - <div class="caption"> - -<p class="credit"> -<i>L. R. Marin</i> -</p> - -<p>KING ALPHONSO SWEARING IN THE RECRUITS ON THE DAY OF THE ATTEMPT ON HIS LIFE (APRIL 13, 1913)</p></div></div> - -<p>Again, at the time of the attack last April, the -King was the first to see the man rushing towards -him, pistol uplifted. Instantly he started forward, -on his horse, to ride down the assassin; and when the -shots rang out, and people realized what was happening, -the King was the first to reach his would-be -murderer, and to protect him from the mob. Then -the crowd forgot the criminal, and went mad over -the sovereign. Spaniards themselves say that never -has there been such a demonstration for any monarch -in the history of Madrid. One can imagine the tingling -pride of those recruits who, when the confusion -was past, had still to go through the impressive ceremony -of kissing the cross made by their sword against -the flag: what it must have meant to swear allegiance -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">213</span>to such a man at such a moment. As I heard a young -girl say, at the time: “There is just one adjective -that describes him: he’s <em>royal</em>, through and through.”</p> - -<p>He looked more than ever royal when, coming -back from Chapel, he knelt head bared before the -shrine at our end of the gallery. All the procession -now carried lighted candles, and their number was increased -by the bishop and richly clad priests who had -conducted service. At each of the four shrines they -halted, while prayers were sung; and one was struck -with the opportunity this offered for an attack upon -the King. As he knelt there, head lowered between -the two lines of people, he made an excellent mark -for the anarchist’s pistol; but, as usual, seemed utterly -unconscious of his danger.</p> - -<p>The court, on its knees, looked very bored; and -made no pretence at devoutness while the beautiful -<i xml:lang="es" lang="es">Aves</i> were being sung. But the King played his -part to the end, with a dignity rather touching in such -a frankly boyish man; though, when the ceremony -was over, he heaved a very natural sigh of relief as he -rose to his feet again.</p> - -<p>Back stalked the “sweepers,” the old major-domos, -the haughty grandees; back came Don Carlos, Don -Fernando, Don Alfonso. And then, for the fourth -time that morning so near us, the King; smiling, -with his first finger on his helmet, in the familiar -gesture. The Infantas followed him, then the diplomats; -finally the six nobles of Estada Mayor. The -chief of the halberdiers pounded on the floor with his -halberd; the guards broke ranks; the people surged<span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">214</span> -out of line and towards the stairs—and Royal Chapel -was ended.</p> - -<p>Yet not quite, for me. Thanks to a friend in the -Estada Mayor, I had still to see one of the finest -pictures of the morning: the exit from the palace, of -the famous Palace Guards. Six abreast they came, -down the grand staircase of the beautiful inner court, -two hundred strong as they filed out to their solemn -bugle and drum. All of them men between six and -seven feet, in their brilliant red and black and white -uniform, I shall never forget the sight they made, -filling the splendid royal stairs. They seemed the -living incarnation of the old Spanish spirit; the spirit -of Isabella’s time, but none the less of that heroic -woman of today who, though not of Spanish blood -herself, has given to Spain a king to glory in and -revere.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div id="toclink_215" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">215</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="IV-IV">IV<br /> - -<span class="subhead">HIS FOIBLES AND FINENESSES</span></h2> -</div> - -<p>“The salient trait of the Spanish character,” says -Taine, “is a lack of the sense of the practical.” For -want of it, Ferdinand and Isabella themselves—the -greatest rulers Spain ever had—drove the Moors and -the Jews out of the country; and laid the cornerstone -of its ruin. Far from realizing they were expelling -by the hundred thousand their most wealthy -and intelligent subjects, the Catholic sovereigns saw -only the immediate religious triumph; the immediate -financial gain of confiscating the estates of the infidels, -and refusing to harbour them within their -realm.</p> - -<p>Time after time, the blind arrogance of the -Spaniard as champion of orthodoxy throughout the -world, has rebounded against him in blows from -which he will never recover. The Inquisition in itself -established an hereditary fear of personal thinking -that remains the stumbling-block in the way of -Spanish progress to this day. Too, the natural -indolence of the people inclines them to accept without -question the statements and standards handed -down from their directors in Church or State.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">216</span></p> - -<p>Some of these are so absurd as to call for pity -rather than exasperation on the part of outsiders. -For example, the conviction of even educated -Spaniards with regard to the recent war with the -United States is that the latter won because they -sent out every man they had; while Spain was too -indifferent to the petty issues involved to go to the -expense of mustering troops! Half the nation has no -idea what those issues were, nor of the outcome of the -various battles fought over them; indeed, so distorted -were the accounts of the newspapers and the -governmental reports that Admiral Cervera was welcomed -home to Spain with as much enthusiasm, if -not as much ceremony, as was Admiral Dewey to -America!</p> - -<p>The few insignificant changes in the map, resulting -from that war, the Spaniard tells you seriously, -came from foul play on the part of “<i xml:lang="es" lang="es">los Yankees</i>.” -That the stubborn ignorance and meagre resources of -his own countrymen had anything to do with it he -would scout with utter scorn. And this, not from a -real and intense spirit of patriotism, but because he -is forever looking back over his shoulder at the -glories of the past; until they are actually in his -mind the facts of the present.</p> - -<p>There is little intelligent patriotism throughout -Spain, the local partisan spirit of old feudalism taking -its place. Thus Castilians look down on Andalucians; -Andalucians show a bland pity for Aragonese; -Catalonians hate and are hated by every other tribe -in the country; while the Basques coolly continue to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">217</span> -this day to declare that they are not Spaniards, but a -race unto themselves.</p> - -<p>The extraordinary oath with which they accept -each king, on his accession, is luminous: “We who are -as good as you, and who are more powerful than you, -elect you king, that you may protect our rights and -liberties.” It scarcely expresses a loyalty with which -to cement provinces into a united kingdom! But it -must be remembered that the monarchs of the past -have made a scare-crow of loyalty, with their draining -wars for personal aggrandizement, and the terrible -persecutions of their religious bigotry. The people -themselves are far from being to blame for their lack -of patriotism, or the mediæval superstition which -with them takes the place of intelligent faith.</p> - -<p>Catholics of other countries are revolted by what -they see in their churches in Spain. The shrine of one -famous Virgin is hung with wax models of arms and -legs, purchased by devotees praying relief from suffering -in these members. Childless women have -added to the collection small wax dolls; also braids of -their own hair, sacrificed to hang in the gruesome row -beside the altar. Looking at these things, hearing the -fantastic stories told (and firmly believed) about -them, one can with difficulty realize that one is in a -Christian country of the twentieth century.</p> - -<p>On the other hand, there is a respect shown religion, -and the mysteries of life and death, which is -impressive in this callous age of materialism. Spanish -women invariably cross themselves when passing -a church—whether on foot or in a tram or carriage;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">218</span> -and every man, grandee or peasant, uncovers while a -funeral procession goes by. I have noticed this especially -on days of the big bull-fights, when the trams -are packed to the doors; not a man, whatever his -excitement over the approaching <i xml:lang="es" lang="es">corrida</i>, or his momentary -interest in his neighbour, omits the instinctive -gesture of respect when a hearse passes.</p> - -<p>Which, alas, it does very often in Madrid; -pathetically often, bearing the small casket of a child. -It is said that a Spaniard, once grown to maturity, -lives forever; but the mothers consider themselves -fortunate if they save only half of their many children -to manhood or womanhood. This is so literally -true that one woman who had had sixteen said to -me quite triumphantly, “and eight are alive! And -my sister, who had fourteen, now has seven.”</p> - -<p>One has not to search far for the cause of this -terrible mortality. In the first place, it is a case of -inbreeding; no new blood having come into the country -since the Jews and Moors left it. In the second, -the simplest laws of personal or public hygiene are -unheard-of. Even among the lower middle class, for -a mother to nurse her child is a disgrace not to be endured; -and the peasant women to whom this duty is -entrusted are appallingly ignorant, and often of -filthy personal habits. From its birth, a baby is given -everything it cries for—or is supposed to cry for; -including cheese, pieces of meat with rice, oranges, -fried potatoes, and sweetmeats of every description.</p> - -<p>This applies not only to the poorer classes but to -people of supposed education and enlightenment.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">219</span> -When the child is two or three years old, it comes -to the table with the family; though the hours of -Spanish meals are injudicious even for grown persons. -The early cup of chocolate is had generally -about ten or eleven; luncheon is at half after one, -dinner between half after eight and nine. When -this is over, the parents take the children to walk in -the streets, or to the stifling air and lurid entertainment -of the cinema. They all go to bed about midnight, -or later; and the parents cannot understand -why, under such a régime, the children should have -the nerves and waxen whiteness of little old men and -women. Until I went to Spain, I had always considered -the French child the most ill-treated in the -world; but I now look upon his upbringing as positively -model, compared with the ignorance and hygienic -outrage visited upon the poor little <i xml:lang="es" lang="es">español</i>.</p> - -<p>Yet no people love their children more passionately, -or sacrifice for them more heroically, than do -the Spaniards. It is simply that in the laws of -health, as in everything, their conception is that of -by-gone centuries. In railway carriages, trams, restaurants -and cafés they sit through the hottest -months of summer with every door and window tight -shut. More than once on the train, I have been -obliged to stand in the corridor all day, because my -five carriage-companions insisted on sealing themselves -for ten hours or more within an airless compartment -eight feet square. Even in their own -carriages on the Castellana, the Madrileños drive up<span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">220</span> -and down in the months of July and August with -the windows entirely closed.</p> - -<p>One does not wonder at their being a pale and -listless race, attacked by all manner of disease.</p> - -<p>It must be remembered throughout this discussion -that we are dealing with the general mass of the -people; though with the mass drawn from all classes. -There is in Madrid the same ultra-smart set (augmented -largely by wealthy South Americans), the -same set of <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">littérateurs</i> and artists, the same set of -charming and distinguished cosmopolitans, that one -finds in every big city. But, in the Spanish capital, -these shining exceptions are so far in the minority as -to have very limited power to leaven the mental -stodginess of society as a whole.</p> - -<p>The King and Queen, by their open fondness for -foreigners, and (quite naturally) for the English in -particular, have set the fashion for the Anglo-mania -that rules a certain portion of the aristocracy. As in -Paris, a number of English words are currently used, -but with a pronunciation apt to make the polite -Anglo-Saxon’s lip twitch at times. The “Boy -Scoots,” for example, are a favourite topic of conversation -in progressive drawing-rooms; while the -young bloods are wont to declare themselves, eagerly, -keen for good “spor” and “the unt.” In the English -Tea Rooms—always crowded with Spaniards—I -have even been gravely corrected for my pronunciation -of “scones.” “The señora means <i>thconais</i>,” -says the little waiter, in gentle Castilian.</p> - -<p>Many <i xml:lang="es" lang="es">Madrileños</i> affect English tailoring,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">221</span> -though the results are a bit startling as a rule. Brown -and green, in their most emphatic shades, vie with one -another for popularity; and checks or stripes seen on -a Spanish Brummel <em>are</em> checks or stripes—no indecision -on the part of the pattern. Women, of -course, lean to Paris for their fashions; but Paris is -too subtle for them, and they copy her creations in -colours frankly strident. Orange and cerise, bright -blue and royal purple share the señora’s favour; -while, to be really an <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">élégante</i>, her hair must be tinted -yellow, her face a somewhat ghastly white.</p> - -<p>An interesting variation of conventional feminine -standards is this tendency of the chic <i xml:lang="es" lang="es">Madrileña</i> to -appear like a French cocotte; while the women of the -demi-monde themselves are demurely garbed in black, -without make-up, without pretension of any sort. -But all women, to be desirable, must be fat. Not -merely plump, as Anglo-Saxons understand the word, -but distinctly on the ample side of <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">embonpoint</i>. The -only obesity cures in Spain are for men; women, including -actresses, professional beauties, and even -dancers, live to put on flesh.</p> - -<p>One explanation of this curious and, to our taste, -most unæsthetic idea of feminine beauty is its being -another of those relics of Orientalism—constantly -cropping up in the study of the Spanish character. I -often wonder, when I see a slender Spanish girl, if -she will ever be driven to the extremity of the “Slim -Princess” of musical comedy fame; who, when all -else failed, filled her frock with bolsters, and her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">222</span> -cheeks with marshmallows, and then—unfortunately—sneezed.</p> - -<p>If you told that story to a Madrileño, he would -answer seriously, “Oh, but no Spanish girl would ever -think of such a foolish thing.” I am sure, on second -thoughts, that she would not. That is, in fact, of all -Spanish faults the gravest: they never, never think -of foolish things. Only the King dares laugh at -himself, and at the weighty affairs of his family. -Last year, just after the publication of the memoirs -of a certain royal lady of the house, and the high -scandal that ensued, a new little infanta was born. In -presenting her to his ministers on the traditional gold -platter, the King said with his dry grin: “I have -already told her she is never to write a book!”</p> - -<p>Speaking generally, however, the Spanish sense -of humour is not over-acute. I doubt, for instance, -if any other people could solemnly arrange and carry -out a bullfight for the benefit of the S. P. C. A. -Yet this actually occurred in Madrid a few years ago; -and, the Madrileños will tell you with much pride, -though the seats were much dearer than at other bull-fights, -<em>every one</em> was filled by some patron of the -noble cause!</p> - -<p>Like all people of prodigious dignity, the old actor -never sees the funny side of his own performance. -He will go off into gales of laughter over the mere -shape of a foreigner’s hat; but, himself, says and does -the most absurd things without the slightest jolt to -his personal soberness. An English lady in Madrid -told me of a case in point: she was visiting one of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">223</span> -the unique foundling-convents of Spain, where superfluous -babies may be placed in an open basket in the -convent wall; the bell that is rung swinging the -basket inside at the same time. My friend was trying -to learn more of this highly practical institution, -but the nuns whom she questioned were so overwhelmed -with amusement at her boots, they could -only look at her and giggle.</p> - -<p>Finally, in despair, she concluded, “Well, at least -tell me how many children are brought to you a -year!”</p> - -<p>By supreme effort, one of the sisters recovered -her gravity. “We receive about half a baby a day, -señora,” she said, sedately, and could not understand -why the lady smiled!</p> - -<p>That continual rudeness in the matter of staring -and laughing at strangers was at first a great surprise -to me—who had always heard of the extravagant -politeness of the Spaniard. I came to know -that he is polite only along circumscribed lines—until -he knows you. After that, I believe that you could -take him at the literal words of his lavish offers, and -burn his house or dismantle it entirely without protest -on his part. Though too poor to invite you to a meal, -he will call at your hotel twice a day to leave flowers -from his garden, and declare himself at your disposition; -or to take you to drive in the Castellana. He -will go to any amount of trouble to prepare small -surprises for you: a box of sweets, that he has made -especially; a bit of majolica he has heard you admire; -an old fan that is an heirloom of his family: every day<span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">224</span> -there is something new, some further token of his -friendship and thought.</p> - -<p>It is true that, even when able to afford it, he -shows an Eastern exclusiveness about inviting you to -his house. I know people who have lived in Madrid -seventeen years without having been once inside the -doors of some of their Spanish friends. But this is -racial habit: the old Oriental tradition of the home -being sacred to the family itself: not personal slight, -or snobbishness. There is in it, however, a certain -caution which offends the franker hospitality of the -Anglo-Saxon. To go into petty detail, I for one -have never been able to overcome my resentment of -the brass peep-holes (in every Spanish door) through -which the servant peers out at you, before he will let -you in. I realize that my irritation is quite as childish -as their precaution; but I cannot conquer my annoyance -at the plain impudence of the thing.</p> - -<p>The same is true of their boundless interest in -one’s affairs. Peasants, shop-keepers, well-dressed -ladies and gentlemen—everyone!—will gather round, -to hear a simple question addressed to a policeman in -the street. They take it for granted that no foreigner -speaks Spanish, and when the contrary proves the -case, their curiosity and amazement are increased -ten-fold.</p> - -<p>I was once in the office of a French typewriter -company of Madrid, arranging to rent a machine. -During the intervals in which the agent and I conversed -in French he discussed my requirements, appearance, -and probable profession with a postman, a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">225</span> -delivery-boy, an officer who came in to buy pens, and -the two young lady stenographers in the next room. -In Spanish, of course, all this; which I, as a foreigner, -could not possibly understand.</p> - -<p>This happens over and over again, especially at -<i>pension</i> tables, where one gleans astounding information -as to the geography and customs of one’s country -(from various good Spaniards who have never -left their own), until a modest request for the salt—proffered -in Castilian—throws the entire company -into horrified confusion. Even then, they will go on -to comment most candidly to one’s face on the peculiarities -and generally inferior character of one’s countrymen. -But if you turn the tables ever so discreetly, -they retort in triumph: “Then why have you come to -Spain? If your own country pleases you, why don’t -you stay there?”</p> - -<p>Travel for amusement or education is simply outside -their comprehension—naturally enough, since it -is outside the possibilities of most of them today as it -was in the middle ages. We have already seen their -ideas of other countries to be of the most naïve. I -have been seriously congratulated by Madrileños on -the privilege of beholding so fine a thoroughfare as -the Castellana, such splendid shops as the handful -scattered along the San Geronimo, such a wonderful -building as the Opera House, which they fondly believe -“the most beautiful in the world.” They are -generously delighted for me, that after the primitive -hotels I must have known in other countries I can enjoy<span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">226</span> -for a while the magnificence of their modern -“Palace.”</p> - -<p>They, alas, are too poor to enjoy it. I think there -is something almost tragic in this fact that the entire -society of Madrid cannot support the very moderate -charges of the one first class hotel in the city. When -one thinks of the dozens of luxurious stopping-places -in London, New York, and Paris—always crowded -by a mob of vulgar people with their purses overflowing, -it seems actually cruel that the <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">vieille noblesse</i> of -the Spanish capital have no money for the simple establishment -they admire with child-like extravagance. -The old actor does so delight in pomp—of even the -mildest variety; and his youthful shortsightedness has -left him so pitiably unable to secure it, now in the beggardom -of his old age.</p> - -<p>Half a dozen years ago, the porter of a friend of -mine in Madrid won a lottery prize of ten thousand -dollars. No sooner had he come into this fabulous -wealth, than he and his wife proceeded to rent a house -on the Castellana, a box at the opera, another at the -bull-ring; and of course the indispensable carriage -and pair. The señor had his clubs and racers, the -señora her jewels, and frocks from Paris; they -amazed Madrid with their magnificence.</p> - -<p>At the end of six months the ten thousand dollars -were gone; and the couple went back to the porter’s -lodge, where they have lived happily ever since. -Could one make the last assertion of two people of -any other race in the same circumstances? Certainly -not of two Americans! But, of course, had they been<span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">227</span> -Americans, they would promptly have invested the -ten thousand dollars, and doubled it; in five years they -would probably have been “millionaires from the -West.” Not so the ingenuous Spaniards. With no -thought for the morrow, they proceeded to outdo all -competitors in making a gorgeous today; and, when -that was done, retired without bitterness to rest on -their laurels.</p> - -<p>In all of which the good couple may have been -wiser than they seem. Being true children of their -race—that is, without the first instincts for “making -money”—they would naturally have taken what they -had won, and stretched it carefully over the remaining -half century of their lives. So they could have -existed in genteel poverty without working. As it -was, they had their fling—such a one as to set Madrid -by the ears; they are still famous for their unparalleled -prodigality; and they jog along in the service to -which they were born, utterly content if at the end -of the day they have an hour or two in which to gloat -over their one-time splendour. When I think of the -enforced scrimping and soul-shrivelling calculation -of the average Madrileño, I am always glad to remember -two who threw their bonnets over the mill, -and had what Americans call “one grand good time.”</p> - -<p>It is impossible to conclude this cursory glance at -some of the more striking of Spanish characteristics -without mention of the two finest: honesty and lack of -self-interest. They go hand in hand throughout this -country of rock-rooted impulse, and are forever surprising -one used to the modern rule of look-sharp-or-be-worsted.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">228</span> -My first shock was in the Rastro (the old -Thieves’ Market of Madrid), when an old man -candidly informed me that the chain I admired was -not of gold. It had every appearance of gold, and I -should have bought it as such; but the shabby old -salesman shook his head, and gave it to me gladly for -twenty cents.</p> - -<p>As Taine tells us, the Spanish are not practical; -which endows them, among other things, with the unprofitable -quality of honour. In Toledo, just as I -was taking the train, I discovered that I had lost my -watch. It occurred to me that I might have dropped -it in the cab our party had had for a long drive that -afternoon; but when the hotel proprietor telephoned -to the stables, he found that the cab had not yet returned. -“However,” he told me confidently, “tomorrow -the <i xml:lang="es" lang="es">cosaria</i> goes to Madrid, and if the watch -is found she can bring it to you.”</p> - -<p>The <i xml:lang="es" lang="es">cosaria</i> (literally the “thing” woman) is an -institution peculiar to Spain; she goes from town to -town delivering parcels, produce, and what not—in -short, she is the express company. Of course I never -expected to see my watch again, but before six -o’clock of the following day the <i xml:lang="es" lang="es">cosaria</i> appeared at -my door in Madrid with the article lost in Toledo—seventy -miles away. The charge for her services was -two pesetas (forty cents). When I suggested a -reward for the coachman, she replied with amazement -that it would be to insult him! I have visions of an -American driver running risk of such “insult.” He<span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">229</span> -would have been at the pawnshop, and got his ten -dollars long since.</p> - -<p>An American friend of mine who conducts a -school for girls in Madrid tells of a still rarer experience. -One day her butcher came to her in great -distress. He had been going over his books, and he -found that the price his assistant had been charging -the school for soup-bones (daily delivered) was -twice what it should have been. This, said he with -abject regret, had been going on unknown to him -since the first of the year; he therefore owed the -señora nine hundred pesetas (one hundred and eighty -dollars) for bones, and begged her to accept this -sum on the spot, together with his profoundest -apologies.</p> - -<p>I call such experiences rare, yet they are of everyday -occurrence in Spain; so that one knows it was -not here that Byron said: “I never trust manners, -for I once had my pocket picked by the civilest gentleman -I ever met with!” In Spain, manners and -morals have an original habit of walking out together; -and one need not, as in other countries, fear -a preponderance of the former as probable preclusion -of the latter. That lack of the practical sense, which -we wise analysts deplore, has its engaging side when -it brings back our watch, or saves us paying a gold -price for brass.</p> - -<p>In the matter of servants, too, one is allured by a -startling readiness on their part to do as much as, -even more than, they are paid for. After the surly -thanks and sour looks of the New York or London<span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">230</span> -menial for anything under a quarter, the broad smile -of the Spanish for five cents is quite an episode in -one’s life. The breath-taking part of it is that the -smile is still forthcoming when the five cents is not; -this is frightfully disturbing to one’s nicely arranged -opinions of the domestic class.</p> - -<p>But it makes living in Madrid very agreeable. -Like the rest of their countrymen, servants before -they know you are inclined to be suspicious, and polite -only along circumscribed lines, but once they have -accepted you your position in their eyes is unimpeachable, -and the service they will render has no -limits. This standard of judgment of a very old -country: the standard, throughout all classes, of judgment -of the individual for what he proves himself to -be, is extremely interesting as opposed to the instantaneous -judgment and unquestioning acceptance of -him as he outwardly appears to be by the very young -country of America. To the American it is a disgrace -to serve—or, at least, to admit that he is serving; -to the Spaniard it is a disgrace not to serve, with -his utmost powers and grace, anyone worthy of recognition -whatsoever.</p> - -<p>Wherefore Spanish maids and men are the most -loyal and devoted the world over. They will run their -feet off for you all day long, and sit up half the night -too if you will let them, finishing some task in which -they are interested. When you are ill, they make the -most thoughtful of nurses, never sparing themselves -if it is to give you even a fractional amount of comfort. -And to all your thanks they return a deprecating<span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">231</span> -“for nothing—for nothing.” They have never -heard of “an eight-hour day”; the Union of Domestic -Labour would be to them a title in Chinese; yet they -find life worth living. They are even—breathe it not -among the moderns!—contented; still more strange, -they are considered, and whenever possible spared, by -their unmodern masters and mistresses.</p> - -<p>It is the civilization of an unpractical people; a -people not in terror of giving something for nothing, -but eager always to give more. They are, I believe, -the one people to whom money—in the human relations -of life—never occurs. And so, of course, they -are despised by other peoples—for their poverty, their -lack of “push.” Nowadays we worship the genius of -Up-To-Date: his marvellous invention, his lightning -calculation and keen move; his sweating, struggling, -superman’s performance, day by day—and his final -triumph. We disdain the old actor of mere grandiloquence, -content to dream, passive in his corner.</p> - -<p>Yet are his childishness and self-sufficiency, even -his ignorance, so much meaner than the greed and -sordidness and treachery of the demigod of today? -And is the inexorable activity of the modern “Napoleon -of finance” so surely worth more than the attitude -of the shabby old man who refused to sell brass -for gold?</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="PV"><span class="larger">V<br /> - -<span class="subhead">IN REVIEW<br /> - -<span class="small">(London)</span></span></span></h2> -</div> - -<div id="ip_231" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 46em;"> - <img src="images/i_278.jpg" width="2221" height="1414" alt="" /> - <div class="caption"> - -<p class="credit"> -<i>Underwood & Underwood</i> -</p> - -<p>“THE RESTFUL SWEEP OF PARKS”</p></div></div> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div id="toclink_235" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">235</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="V-I">I<br /> - -<span class="subhead">THE CRITICS</span></h2> -</div> - -<p>Coming into London from Paris or New York, -or even from Madrid, is like alighting from a brilliant -panoramic railway onto solid, unpretentious mother -earth. The massive bulk of bridges, the serene stateliness -of ancient towers and spires, the restful green -sweep of park—unbroken by flower-beds or too many -trees; the quiet leisure of the Mall, and the sedate -brown palace overlooking it: all is tranquil, dignified, -soothing. One leans against the cushions of one’s -beautifully luxurious taxi, and sighs profound contentment. -Here is order, well-being, peace!</p> - -<p>And yonder, typical of it all, as the <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">midinette</i> is -typical of Paris and the <i xml:lang="es" lang="es">torero</i> of Spain, stands the -imperturbable London “bobby.” Already you have -met his Southampton or Dover cousin on the pier; -where the latter’s calm, competent orders made the -usual flurried transfer from boat to train a simple -matter. Too, you have made acquaintance with that -policeman-in-embryo, the English porter. His -brisk, capable answers: “Yes, sir. This way, please -sir. Seven-twenty at Victoria, right, sir!”: and his -deft piloting of you and your luggage into the haven<span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">236</span> -of an empty carriage—in these days of frenzied democracy, -whence can one derive such exotic comfort -as from a servant who acknowledges himself a servant, -and performs his servant’s duties to perfection?</p> - -<p>I used to wonder why travelling in England is -so much more agreeable than travelling in America, -with all the conveniences the latter boasts. I think -it is because, where America gives you things to make -you comfortable, England gives you people—a host -of them, well trained and intent only on serving you. -The personal contact makes all the difference, with -one’s flattered vanity. The policeman, the porter, the -guard who finds one a seat, the boy who brings one a -tea-basket, finally the chauffeur who drives one to an -hotel and the doorman who grasps one’s bag: each -and all tacitly insinuate that they exist to look out for -oneself in particular, for all men in general. What -wonder that Englishmen are snobs? Their universe -revolves round them, is made for as well as by them; -and what they want, when they want it, is always -within arm’s reach. They are the inventors and perfectors -of the Groove.</p> - -<p>But no one can accuse them of being sybarites. -Comfort, luxury, the elaborate service with which -they insist on being surrounded are only accessory to -a root-idea which may even be called a passion: the -producing of great men. To this, as to all great creation, -routine is necessary; and the careful systematizing -of life into classes and sub-classes, each with its -special duties. English people actually love their -duties, they are taught from childhood to love them;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">237</span> -and to attend to them before everything. As reward, -when work is finished, they have the manifold pleasures -of home. This is odd indeed, to the American or -European—to whom duty is a dreary thing, to be -avoided whenever possible; and home a place to leave, -in search of pleasure, not to come back to. In consequence, -the general summary of England is: “dull.”</p> - -<p>English people are called dull—“heavy” is the -more popular word—because they do not gather on -street-corners or in cafés, arguing and gesticulating, -but go methodically about their business; leaving the -stranger to do the same. Of course, if the latter has -no business, this is depressing. Here he is in an unknown -country, with nothing to do but sight-see, -which bores him infinitely. There is no one with whom -to talk, no pleasant congregating-spot where he could -at least look on at, if not share in, the life of the people. -He is thrown dismally back upon himself for -diversion. So what does he do? He goes and sees the -sights, which was his duty from the beginning. Just -as he goes to bed at midnight because every place -except bed is closed against him; and to church on -Sundays because every building except church is shut. -England not only expects every man to do his duty, -she makes it practically impossible for him to do anything -else; by which she shrewdly gains his maximum -efficiency when and where she needs it.</p> - -<p>In return, or rather in preparation, she gives him -a remarkably fine groundwork, both mental and physical, -to start with. No foreigner can fail to be impressed -with the minute care and thought bestowed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">238</span> -upon English children, and the sacrifices gladly made -to secure their health and best development. In comparison -with French and American and Spanish parents, -the English mother and father may seem -undemonstrative, even cold; they do not gush over -their children in public, nor take them out to restaurants, -or permit them to share their own meals at -home. Neither, however, do they give them the least -comfortable rooms in the house, and decree that their -wants and needs shall be second to those of the adult -members of the family. The children have a routine -of their own, constructed carefully for them, and -studied to fit their changing requirements. They have -their own rooms—as large and light and sunny as the -parents can contrive—their own meals, of wholesome -food served at sensible hours; their fixed time for exercise -and study alike: everything is planned to give -them the best possible start for mind and body.</p> - -<p>“But,” the French or American mother objects, -when one extols this system, “it takes so much money; -so many rooms, so many servants—two distinct households, -in fact.” It takes a different distribution of -money, that is all. As the children are never on show, -their clothes are simple; the clothes of the parents are -apt to be simple too. Amusement is not sought outside -the home in England, as it is in other countries; -both interest and money are centred within the house -and garden that is each man’s castle. This makes -possible many comforts which people of other countries -look upon as luxuries, but which to the Englishman -and woman are the first necessities. And primary<span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">239</span> -among these is a healthful, cheerful place to -rear their children.</p> - -<p>Not only the wealthy, but people in very modest -circumstances insist upon this; and in houses of but -six or seven rooms one finds the largest and airiest -given over to the day and night nurseries for the children. -Fresh chintz and white paint and simple furniture -make these the most attractive as well as most -sensible surroundings for the small people. Nurses, -teachers, school-fellows, the whole chain of influence -linking the development of the English child, emphasize -the idea of physical fitness as a first essential. -And this idea is so early instilled, and so -constantly and emphatically fostered, that it becomes -the kernel of the grown man’s activity. The stern -creed that only the fit survive rules England almost -as it ruled old Sparta: a creed terrible for the weak, -but splendid for the strong; and that has produced -such men as Gordon, Rhodes, Kitchener, Curzon and -Roberts—and hundreds of others, the fruit of this -rigorous policy.</p> - -<p>First the home, then the public schools teach it. -At school, a boy must establish himself by his proven -prowess in one direction or another. To gain a footing, -and then to hold it, he must do something—row, -or play cricket or football; but play, and play hard, -he must. The other boys force him to it, whether he -will or no; hardness is their religion, and those who do -not conform to it are practically finished before they -begin. The reputation won at school lays or permanently -fails to lay the foundation of after success.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">240</span> -“Hm ... yes, I remember him at Eton,” has summarized -many a man’s chances for promotion or failure. -Rarely does he prove himself to be worth later -more than he was worth then.</p> - -<p>It is interesting to follow the primitive ideal, of -bodily perfection, throughout this old and perhaps -most finely developed civilization of the present. In -the hurry-scurry of modern affairs, when other men -pay little or no heed to preserving their bodily -strength, never does this cease to be the first consideration -of the Englishman. He wants money and -position and power quite as keenly as other men want -them; but he has been born and reared in the knowledge -that to gain these things, then to enjoy them, -sound nerves are necessary. His impulse is to store -up energy faster than he spends it, and not to waste -himself on a series of trifles someone else can do as -well if not better than he.</p> - -<p>Hence the carefully ordered routine he follows -from childhood; the systematic exercise, the frequent -holidays his strenuous American cousin scoffs at. -All are designed to keep him hard and fit, and ready -for emergencies that may demand surplus strength. -Middle-aged men play the game and follow the hobbies -of young men; the elderly vie with the middle-aged. -In England, the fast and fixed lines that -divide youth from maturity are blurred by the hearty -good comradeship of sport; in which all ages and -classes share alike. Sport is not a hobby with the -Englishman; it is the backbone of his existence. -Therefore, I think, it is so hard for the foreigner to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_241">241</span> -enter into the real sports spirit of England: he never -quite appreciates the vital motive behind it. With the -Frenchman and the American and the Spaniard—even -with the Austrian—sport is recreation; they take -it apart from the business of life, where the Englishman -takes it as essential to life itself. By it he establishes -and maintains his working efficiency, and -without it he would have lost his chief tool, and his -perennial remedy for whatever ills befall him.</p> - -<p>Obviously, it is this demand for physical perfection -that underlies and engenders the national worship -of race; and that is responsible, in the last analysis, -for the renowned snobbishness of the English. -Someone has said that English Society revolves -round the King and the horse—or, as he might -have added, round the supreme symbols of human -and animal development. That towards -which everyone is striving—to breed finer and -stronger creatures—is crystallized in these two superlative -types. While from the King down, on the human -side, the scale is divided into the most minute -shades of gradation.</p> - -<p>As government in England tends to become more -and more democratic, society tends to become more -aristocratic—as far as magnifying ancient names and -privileges is concerned. “A title is always a title,” -said a practical American lady, “but an English title -is just a bit better.” It is, because English people -think so, and have thought it so long and so emphatically -that they have brought everyone else to that -opinion. The same is true of many English institutions,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_242">242</span> -admirable in themselves but which actually are -admired because the English admire them. Every -nation is more or less egoist, but none is so sincerely -and consistently egoist as the English. They travel -the earth, but they travel to observe and criticize; not -to assimilate foreign things.</p> - -<p>The American is a chameleon, taking on the habits -and ideas of each place as he lives in it; Latins have -not a little of this character too. But the Briton, -wherever he goes, remains the Briton: you never mistake -him, in Palestine or Alaska or the South Sea Islands: -no matter where he is, he has brought his tea -and his tub and his point of view with him. And, -though he may be one among thousands of another -nationality, somehow these others become impressed -with his traditions rather than he with theirs. Perhaps -because away from home, he calmly pursues the -home routine, adjusting the life of his temporary habitation -to himself, rather than himself to it. If he -is accustomed to dress for dinner, he dresses; though -the rest of the company may appear in corduroys and -neckerchiefs. And continues to dress, imperturbably, -no matter how mercilessly he may be ridiculed or -even despised. If he is accustomed to take tea at a -certain hour, he takes it—in Brazil or Thibet, it makes -no difference. And the same is true of his religious -observance, his beloved exercise, his hobbies and his -study: of all these things he is too firmly convinced -to change them by one jot. Such an attitude is -bound to have its effect on these persistently confronted -with it; resentment, then curiosity, finally a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_243">243</span> -certain grudging respect is born in the minds of the -people on whom the Englishman serenely forces his -superiority. They wonder about his country—he -never sounds its praises or urges them to visit it. He -simply speaks with complete contentment of “going -home.”</p> - -<p>When the foreigner, often out of very <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">pique</i>, follows -him thither, he is met with the same indifference -shown him in his own land. Visiting strangers may -come or go: while they are in England, they are -treated with civility; when they choose to depart, they -are not pressed to remain. This tranquil self-sufficiency -is galling to the majority, who go away to sulk, -and to denounce the English as a race of “dull snobs.” -Yet they come back again—and again; and continue -to hammer at the door labelled “British Reserve,” and -to be snubbed, and to swallow their pride and begin -anew, until finally they pry their way in by sheer obstinacy—and -because no one cares very much, after -all, whether they are in or not. London is so vast and -so diverse, in its social ramifications, it can admit thousands -of aliens a year and remain quite unconscious -of them.</p> - -<p>Americans in particular are quick to realize this, -and, out of their natural arrogance, bitterly to resent -it. At home they explain rather piteously, they are -“someone”; here, their money is accepted, but they -themselves are despised—or, at best, barely tolerated. -They who are used to carry all before them find themselves -patronized, smiled at indulgently—or, worst of -all, ignored. In short, the inexperienced young actors<span class="pagenum" id="Page_244">244</span> -come before an audience of seasoned critics, whom -they cannot persuade to take them seriously. For -they soon discover that there is no “bluffing” these -calmly judicial people, but that merit alone—of one -sort or another—succeeds with them.</p> - -<p>They are not to be “impressed” by tales of reckless -expenditure or intimate allusions to grand dukes -and princesses seen on the promenades of Continental -“cures.” On the contrary, they are won over in no -time by something the American would never think -of using as a wedge—unaffected simplicity. But why -should one want to win them—whether one be American -or French, Spanish, German, or any other self-respecting -egoist-on-one’s-own? Why does one always -want to win the critical?</p> - -<p>Because they set a standard. The English have -set standards since ever they were at all: wise standards, -foolish standards, some broad and finely tolerant, -others absurdly narrow and short-sighted. But -always they live by strict established rule, to which -they demand of themselves exacting conformity. -Each class has its individual ten commandments—as -is possible where classes are so definitely graded and -set apart; each man is born to obey the decalogue of -his class—or to be destroyed. Practically limitless -personal liberty is his, within the laws of his particular -section of society; but let him once overstep these, -and he soon finds himself in gaol of one kind or another.</p> - -<p>Foreigners feel all this, and respond to it; just as -they respond to the French criterion of beauty, the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">245</span> -American criterion of wealth. England for centuries -has stood for the <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">précieux</i> of society, in the large -significance of the term; before her unwavering ideal -of race, other people voluntarily come to be judged -for distinction, as they go to Paris to be judged for -their artistic quality, to New York for their powers -of accomplishment. Today more than ever, London -confers the social diploma of the world which makes -it, of course, the world’s Mecca and chief meeting-place.</p> - -<p>This has completely changed the character of the -conservative old city, from a provincial insular capital -into a great cosmopolitan centre. Necessarily it has -leavened the traditional British self-satisfaction, while -that colossus slept, by the introduction of new principles, -new problems, new points of view. The critic -remains the critic, but he must march with the times—or -lose his station. And conservatism is a dotard -nowadays. Each new republic, as it comes along, -shoves the old man a foot further towards his grave. -Expansion is the battle-cry of the present, and critics -and actors alike must look alive, and modulate their -voices to the chorus.</p> - -<p>A bewildering babel of tunes is the natural result -in this transition period, but many of them are fine -and all are interesting. England lifts her voice to -announce that she is not an island but an Empire; -and it is the fashion in London now to treat Colonials -with civility, even actually to fête them. <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Autre -temps, autre mœurs!</i> We have heard Mr. Bernard -Shaw’s charwoman ask her famous daughter of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_246">246</span> -Halls: “But what’ll his duchess mother be thinkin’ -if the dook marries a ballyrina, with me for a mother-in-law!” -And the answer: “Indeed, she says she’s -glad he’ll have somebody to pay his income tax, when -it goes to twenty shillings in the pound!”</p> - -<p>The outcry against American peeresses and -musical comedy marchionesses has long since died into -a murmur, and a feeble murmur at that. Since another -astute playwright suggested that the race of -Vere de Vere might be distinctly improved by the -infusion of some healthy vulgar blood, and a chin -or two amongst them, the aristocratic gates have -opened almost eagerly to receive these alien beauties. -In politics, too, new blood is welcomed; as it is in the -Church, in the universities, and even in that haughtiest -of citadels, the county. The egoism of England is -becoming a more practical egoism: she is beginning -to see where she can use the things she has hitherto -disdained, and is almost pathetically anxious to make -up for lost time. But, for ballast, she has always her -uncompromising standards, by which both things and -people must be weighed and found good, before being -accepted.</p> - -<p>In short, while the bugaboo of invasion and the -more serious menace of Socialism have grown up to -lead pessimists to predict ruin for the country, subtler -influences have been at work to make her greater than -ever before. The signs of conflict are almost always -hopeful signs; only stagnation spells ruin. And -where once the English delighted to stagnate—or at -least to sit within their insular shell and admire themselves<span class="pagenum" id="Page_247">247</span> -without qualification—now they are looking -keenly about, to acquire useful men and methods from -every possible source. Finding, a bit to their own -surprise, that, rather than diminishing their prestige -in the process, they are strengthening it.</p> - -<p>The routine is being amplified, made to fit the -spirit of the time, which is a spirit of progress above -all things. John Bull has evolved from a hard-riding, -hard-drinking, provincial squire into a keen-thinking -tactician with cosmopolitan tendencies and breadth of -view. From London as his reviewing-stand, he -scrutinizes the nations as they pass; and his judgment—but -that is for another chapter.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div id="toclink_248" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_248">248</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="V-II">II<br /> - -<span class="subhead">THE JUDGMENT</span></h2> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“Now learn what morals critics ought to show,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">“For ’tis but half a judge’s task to know,”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="p0 in0">says Pope, who himself was hopelessly immoral in -the manufacture of couplets. And what two men -ever agreed on morality, anyhow? The personal -equation is never more prominent than in the expression -of the “individual’s views,” as nowadays ethics are -dubbed. One may fancy oneself the most catholic of -judges, yet one constantly betrays the hereditary -prejudices that can be modified but never quite cast -off.</p> - -<p>I was recently with an Englishman at an outdoor -variety theatre in Madrid. We sat restively through -the miserable, third-rate performance, grumbling at -each number as it proved worse than the last, and -finally waxing positively indignant over the ear-splitting -trills and outrageous contortions of the prima -donna of the evening. “Still,” said the Englishman -suddenly, “she <em>has</em> had the energy to keep herself fit, -and to come out here and do something. Really, she -isn’t so bad, you know, after all.”</p> - -<p>Before she had finished, he was actually approving<span class="pagenum" id="Page_249">249</span> -of her: her mere physical soundness had conquered -him, and her adherence to his elemental creed of “doing -something” and doing it with all one’s might. -The artistic and the sentimental viewpoints, which -the Englishman always wears self-consciously, slip -away from him like gossamer when even the most indirect -appeal is made to his fetish of physical fitness. -In respect of this, he is by no means a snob, but a true -democrat.</p> - -<p>As a matter of fact, there are many breaks in the -haughty traditional armour. It is in New York, not -London, that one hears severe discussion of A’s -charwoman grandmother, B’s lady’s maid mother, -C’s father who deals in tinned beans. What London -wants to know is what A, B, and C do; and how they -do it. Snobbism turns its searchlight on the individual, -not on his forbears; though to the individual it is -merciless enough. In consequence, the city has become -a sort of international Athenæum, a clearing-ground -for the theories, dreams and fanaticisms of -all men.</p> - -<p>I remember being tremendously impressed, at my -very first London tea-party, by the respect and keen -interest shown each of the various enthusiasts gathered -there. A Labour leader, a disciple of Buddhism, -the founder of a new kind of dramatic school, a missionary -from the Congo and a Post-Impressionist -painter: all were listened to, in turn, and their several -hobbies received with lively attention. The Labour -leader got a good deal of counter-argument, the Post-Impressionist -his share of good-humoured chaffing;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_250">250</span> -but everyone was given the floor, and a chance to beat -his particular drum as hard as he liked, until the next -came on.</p> - -<p>The essential thing, in London, is that one shall -have a drum to beat; small talk, and the polite -platitudes that sway the social reunions of New York -and Paris, are relegated to the very youthful or the -very dull. Nor is cleverness greeted with the raised -eyebrow of dismay; people are not afraid, or too lazy, -to think. One sees that in the newspapers, the books -and plays, as well as in the drawing-room conversation -of the English. The serious, even the so-called -heavy, topics, as well as the subtle, finely ironic, and -sharply critical, are given place and attention; not by -a few <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">précieux</i> alone, but by the mass of the people. -And not to be well informed is to be out of the world, -for both men and women.</p> - -<p>Of course, there is the usual set of “smart” fashionables -who delight in ignorance and whose languid -energies are spent between clothes and the newest one-step. -But these are no more typical of London society -than they are of any other; though in the minds -of many intelligent foreigners they have become so, -through having their doings conspicuously chronicled -in foreign newspapers and by undiscriminating visitors -returning from England. On one point, this -confusion of English social sets is easily understood: -they share the same moral leniency that permits all to -lend themselves to situations and ideas which scandalize -the foreigner.</p> - -<p>It is not that as a people they are more vicious<span class="pagenum" id="Page_251">251</span> -than any other, but they are franker in their vice; -they have no fine shades. An American woman told -me of the shock she received at her first English -house-party, where her hostess—a friend of years, -who had several times visited her in New York—knew -scarcely one-half of her own guests. The rest were -“friends,” without whom nothing would induce certain -ladies and gentlemen to come.</p> - -<p>“It wasn’t the <em>fact</em> of it,” said the <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Américaine</i>, -candidly; “of course such things exist everywhere, -but they aren’t so baldly apparent and certainly they -aren’t discussed. Those people actually quarrelled -about the arrangement of rooms, and changed about -with the most bare-faced openness. My hostess and -I were the only ones who didn’t pair, and we were -simply regarded as hypocrites without the courage of -our desires.”</p> - -<p>All of which is perfectly true, and an everyday occurrence -in English social life. The higher up the -scale, the broader tolerance becomes. “Depend upon -it,” said a lady of the old régime, “God Almighty -thinks twice before he condemns persons of quality!” -And, in England, mere human beings, to be on the -safe side, do not condemn them at all. The middle-class -(the sentimentalists of every nation) lead a life -of severe rectitude—and revel in the sins of their betters, -which they invent if the latter have none. But directly -a man is a gentlemen, or a woman a lady, everything -is allowable. Personal freedom within the class -laws holds good among morals as among manners; -and the result is rather horrifying to the stranger.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_252">252</span></p> - -<p>French people, for example, are far more shocked -at the English than the English are at them. With -the former, the offense is against good taste—always -a worse crime, in Latin eyes, than any mere breach of -ethics. The Englishman’s unvarnished candour in -airing his private affairs appears to the Latin as crass -and unnecessary; while in the Englishwoman it becomes -to him positively repellent. The difference, -throughout, in the two races, is the difference between -the masculine and the feminine points of view. England -is ever and always a man’s country. Even the -women look at things through the masculine vision, -and to an extent share the masculine prerogatives. -As long as a woman’s husband accepts what she does, -everyone accepts her; which explains how in the country -where women are clamouring most frantically for -equal privileges, a great number of women enjoy -privileges unheard of by their “free” sisters of other -lands.</p> - -<div id="ip_252" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 45em;"> - <img src="images/i_297.jpg" width="2177" height="1378" alt="" /> - <div class="caption"> - -<p class="credit"> -<i>Underwood & Underwood</i> -</p> - -<p>LONDON, THE EMPIRE CAPITAL</p></div></div> - -<p>It is a question of position, not of sex; and harks -back—moral privilege, I mean—to that core of all -English institutions: breeding. There are no bounds -to the latitude allowed the great, though it does not -seem to occur to the non-great that such license in itself -brings into question the rights of many who hold -old names and ancient titles. Succession, that all-important -factor of the whole social system, is hedged -about with many an interrogation point; which society -is pleased to ignore, nevertheless, on the ground of -<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">noblesse oblige</i>! Above a certain stratum, the English -calmly dispense with logic, and bestow divine -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_253">253</span>rights on all men alike; obviously it is the only thing -to do, and besides it confers divine obligations at the -same time.</p> - -<p>One must say for all Englishmen that rarely if -ever, in their personal liberty, do they lose sight -of their obligations. In the midst of after-dinner -hilarity, one will see a club-room empty as if -by magic, and the members hurry away in taxis or -their own limousines. One knows that a division is -to be called for, and that it wants perhaps ten minutes -of the hour. The same thing happens at balls or almost -any social function: the men never fail to attend -when they can, for they are distinctly social creatures; -but they keep a quiet eye on the clock, and slip out -when duty calls them elsewhere. This serves two -excellent purposes: of preventing brain-fag among -the “big” men of the hour, and leading the zest of -their interests and often great undertakings to society—which -in many countries never sees them.</p> - -<p>In England politics and society are far more -closely allied than in America or on the Continent. -Each takes colour from the other, and becomes more -significant thereby. The fact of a person’s being -born to great wealth and position, instead of turning -him into an idle spendthrift, compels his taking an -important part in the affairs of the country. The -average English peer is about as hard-working a man -as can be found, unless it be the King himself; and -the average English hostess, far from being a butterfly -of pleasure, has a round of duties as exacting as -those of the Prime Minister. Through all the delightful<span class="pagenum" id="Page_254">254</span> -superficial intercourse of a London season, there -is an undercurrent of serious purpose, felt and shared -by everyone, though by each one differently.</p> - -<p>At luncheons, dinners, garden-parties and receptions -the talk veers sooner or later towards politics -and national affairs. All “sets,” the fashionable, the -artistic, the sporting, the adventurous, as well as the -politicians themselves, meet and become absorbed in -last night’s debate or the Bill to come up for its third -reading tomorrow. By the way, for a foreigner to -participate in these bouts of keen discussion, he must -become addicted to the national habit: before going -anywhere, he must read the Times.</p> - -<p>As regularly as he takes his early cup of tea, every -self-respecting Englishman after breakfast retires -into a corner with the Times, and never emerges until -he has masticated the last paragraph. Then and only -then is he ready to go forth for the day, properly -equipped to do battle. And he speedily discovers if -you are not similarly prepared—and beats you. Of -all the characteristic English things I can think of, -none is so English as the Times. In it you find, besides -full reports of political proceedings and the -usual births, marriages, and deaths, letters from Englishmen -all the way from Halifax to Singapore. Letters -on the incapacity of American servants, the best -method of breeding Angora cats, the water system of -the Javanese (have they any?), how to travel comfortably -in Cochin China, the abominable manners of -German policemen, the dangers of eating lettuce in -Palestine, etc., etc. Signals are raised to all Englishmen<span class="pagenum" id="Page_255">255</span> -everywhere, warning them what to do and what -to leave undone, and how they shall accomplish both. -Column upon column of the conservative old newspaper -is devoted to this sort of correspondence club, -which has for its motto that English classic: prevention, -to avoid necessity for cure.</p> - -<p>The Englishman at home reads it all, carefully, -together with the answers to the correspondents of -yesterday, the interminable speech of Lord X in the -Upper House last night, the latest bulletins concerning -the health of the Duchess of Y. It is solid, unsensational -mental food, and he digests it thoroughly; -storing it away for practical future use. But the -foreigner, accustomed to the high seasoning of -journalistic epigram and the tang of scandal, finds it -very dull. Unfortunately, the mission of the newspaper -in most countries has become the promoting -of a certain group of men, or a certain party, or a -certain cause, and the damning of every other man or -party or cause that stands in the way. The English -press has none of this flavour. It is imbued with the -national instinct for fair play, which, while it by no -means prohibits lively discussion of men and measures, -remains strictly impersonal in its attitude of -attack.</p> - -<p>The critic on the whole is inclined to deserve his -title as it was originally defined; one who judges impartially, -according to merit. He is a critic of men -and affairs, however, rather than of art. He lives -too much in the open to give himself extensively to -artistic study or creation. And Englishmen have,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_256">256</span> -generally speaking, distinguished themselves as fighters, -explorers, soldiers of fortune, and as organizers -and statesmen, rather than as musicians, painters, and -men of letters.</p> - -<p>Especially in the present day is this true. There -are the Scots and Shackletons, the Kitcheners, Roberts, -and Curzons; but where are the Merediths, -Brownings, Turners, and Gainsboroughs? Literature -is rather better off than the other arts—there is -an occasional Wells or Bennett among the host of -the merely talented and painstaking; more than an -occasional novelist among the host of fictioneers. -But poets are few and uneventful, playwrights more -abundant though tinged with the charlatanism of the -age; while as for the painters, sculptors and composers, -in other countries the protagonists of the peculiar -violence and revolution of today—in England, -who are they?</p> - -<div id="ip_256" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 46em;"> - <img src="images/i_303.jpg" width="2185" height="1375" alt="" /> - <div class="caption"> - -<p class="credit"> -<i>Underwood & Underwood</i> -</p> - -<p>THE GREAT ISLAND SITE</p></div></div> - -<p>We go to exhibitions by the dozen, during the -season, and listen conscientiously to the latest tenor; -but seldom do we see art or hear music. In the past, -the great English artists have been those who painted -portraits, landscapes, or animals; reproducing out of -experience the men and women, horses, dogs, and out-of-doors -they knew so well; rather than creating out -of imagination dramatic scenes and pictures of the -struggle and splendour of life. Their art has been -a peaceful art, the complement rather than the mirror -of the heroic militancy that always has dominated -English activity. Similarly, the musicians—the -few that have existed—have surpassed in compositions -of the sober, stately order, oratorios, chorals, -hymns and solemn marches. Obviously, peace and -solemnity are incongruous with the restless, rushing -spirit of today, to which the Englishman is victim -together with all men, but which, with his slower articulation, -he is not able to express on canvas or in -chromatics.</p> - -<p>Cubism terrifies him; on the other hand he is, for -the moment at least, insanely intrigued by ragtime. -The hoary ballad, which “Mr. Percy Periwell will -sing this day at Southsea Pier,” is giving way at last -to syncopated ditties which form a mere accompaniment -to the reigning passion for jigging. No one -has time to listen to singing; everyone must keep -moving, as fast and furiously as he can. There is a -spice of tragi-comedy in watching the mad wave hit -sedate old London, sweeping her off her feet and -into a maze of frantically risqué contortions. Court -edicts, the indignation of conservative dowagers, the -severity of bishops and the press—nothing can stop -her; from Cabinet ministers to house-maids, from -débutantes to duchesses, “everybody’s doing it,” with -vim if not with grace. And such is the craze for -dancing, morning, noon and night, that every other -room one enters has the aspect of a <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">salle de bal</i>—chairs -and sofas stiff against the walls, a piano at one -end, and, for the rest, shining parquetry.</p> - -<p>Looking in at one of these desecrated drawing-rooms, -where at the moment a peer of the realm was -teaching a marchioness to turkey-trot, a lady of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_258">258</span> -old order wished to know “What, <em>what</em> would Queen -Victoria say?”</p> - -<p>“Madam,” replied her escort, also of the epoch of -square dances and the genteel crinoline, “the late -Queen was above all things else a gentlewoman. She -had no language with which to describe the present -civilization!”</p> - -<p>It is not a pretty civilization, surely; it is even in -many ways a profane one. Yet in its very profanities -there is a force, a tremendous and splendid vitality, -that in the essence of it must bring about unheard-of -and glorious things. Our sentimentalism -rebels against motor-buses in Park Lane, honking -taxis eliminating the discreet hansom of more leisurely -years; we await with mingled awe and horror -the day just dawning, when the sky itself will be -cluttered with whizzing, whirring vehicles. But give -us the chance to go back and be rid of these things—who -would do it?</p> - -<div id="ip_258" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 46em;"> - <img src="images/i_307.jpg" width="2194" height="1201" alt="" /> - <div class="caption"> - -<p class="credit"> -<i>Underwood & Underwood</i> -</p> - -<p>LINKING THE NEW ERA AND THE OLD</p></div></div> - -<p>As a matter of fact, we have long since crossed -from the sentimental to the practical. We are desperately, -fanatically practical in these days; we want -all we can get, and as an afterthought hope that it -will benefit us when we get it. England has caught -the spirit less rapidly than many of the nations, but -she has caught it. No longer does she smile superciliously -at her colonies; she wants all that they can -give her. Far from ignoring them, she is using -every scheme to get in touch; witness the Island Site -and the colonial offices fast going up on that great -tract of land beyond Kingsway. No longer does -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_259">259</span>she sniff at her American cousins, but anxiously looks -to their support in the slack summer season, and has -everything marked with dollar-signs beforehand! -Since the Entente Cordiale, too, she throws wide her -doors to her neighbours from over the Channel: let -everyone come, who in any way can aid the old island -kingdom to realize its new ideal of a great Empire -federation.</p> - -<p>Doctor Johnson’s assertion that “all foreigners -are mostly fools,” may have been the opinion of Doctor -Johnson’s day; it is out-of-date in the present. -English standards are as exacting, English judgments -as strict, as ever they were; but to those who -measure up to them, whatever their race or previous -history, generous appreciation is given. And I know -of no land where the reformer, the scientist, the -philosopher—the man with a message of any kind—is -granted fairer hearing or more just reward; always -provided his wares are trade-marked genuine.</p> - -<p>“Nonsense of enthusiasts is very different from -nonsense of ninnies,” was the conclusion of one of the -wisest Englishmen who ever lived. And the critical -country has adopted it as a slogan; writing across -the reverse side of her banner: “Freedom and fair -play for all men.”</p> - -<p class="p2 center wspace">THE END</p> - -<div class="chapter"><div class="transnote"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="Transcribers_Notes">Transcriber’s Notes</h2> - -<p>Punctuation, hyphenation, and spelling were made -consistent when a predominant preference was found -in the original book; otherwise they were not changed.</p> - -<p>Simple typographical errors were corrected; unbalanced -quotation marks were remedied when the change was -obvious, and otherwise left unbalanced.</p> - -<p>Illustrations in this eBook have been positioned -between paragraphs and outside quotations. In versions -of this eBook that support hyperlinks, the page -references in the List of Illustrations lead to the -corresponding illustrations.</p> - -<a href="#Page_32">Page 32</a>: “cabaret in American” was printed that way; perhaps should -be “America”. - -</div></div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MECCAS OF THE WORLD ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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