It may be true that America is going to perdition; that all Americans
are rascals; that there are no American gentlemen; that culture,
refinement, and social manners can only be found in the Old World: but
if it be true, what an extraordinary anomaly it is that women, old and
young, ugly and handsome, can travel alone from one end of this great
country to the other, receiving only such attention as is acceptable.
Having journeyed up and down the land to the extent of twenty thousand
miles, I am persuaded that a woman can go anywhere and do anything,
provided she conducts herself properly. Of course it would be absurd to
deny that it is not infinitely more agreeable to be accompanied by the
"tyrant" called "man"; but when there is no tyrant to come to lovely
woman's rescue, it is astonishing how well lovely woman can rescue
herself, if she exerts the brain and muscle, given her thousands of
years ago, and not entirely annihilated by long disuse. I have been
nowhere that I have not been treated with greater consideration than if
I had belonged to the other sex. There is not a country in Europe of
which this can be said; and if a nation's civilization is gauged--as the
wise declare--by its treatment of women, then America, rough as it may
be, badly dressed as it is, tobacco-chewing as it often is, stands
head, shoulders, and heart above all the rest of the world. The
Frenchwoman was right in declaring America to be _le paradis des dames_,
and those women who exalt European gallantry above American honesty are
as blind to their own interests as an owl at high noon.
There is no royal railroad to lecturing. At best it is hard work, but
lecture committees "do their possible," as the Italians say, to lessen
the weight, and that "possible" is heartily appreciated by such of us as
inwardly long for a natural bridge between stations and hotels. A woman
is never so forlorn as when getting out of a car or entering a strange
hotel.
However, there never was a rule without its exception, and though
courtesy has marked the majority of lecture committees for its own, a
lecturer may occasionally find himself stranded upon a desert of
indifference, and languish for the comforts of a home not twenty miles
distant. Thus it happened that once upon arriving at my destination when
the shades of evening were falling fast, and glancing about for the
customary smiling gentlemen who smooth out the rough places by carrying
bags, superintending the transportation of luggage, and driving you to
your abiding-place in the best carriage of the period, I found no
gentlemen, smiling or otherwise, to deliver me from my own ignorance.
"Carriage, ma'am?" screamed a Jehu in top-boots ornamented with a
grotesque tracery of mud.
Well, yes, I would take a carriage; so up I clambered and sat down upon
what in the darkness I supposed was a seat, but what gave such palpable
evidences of animation in howls and attempts at assault and battery, as
to prove its right to be called a boy. "An' sure the lady didn't mane to
hurt ye, Jimmy," expostulated something that turned out to be the boy's
mother, whereupon a baby and a small sister of the small boy sent forth
their voices in unison with that of their extinguished brother.
"Driver, let me get out," I said pathetically.
"Certainly, ma'am, but where will you go to? There ain't no other
carriage left."
True; and I remained, and when I was asked where I wanted to stop, I
really did not know. Was there a hotel? Yes. Was there more than one
hotel? No. I breathed more freely, and said I would go to the hotel.
The driver evidently entertained a poor opinion of my mental capacity,
for he mumbled to himself that "people who didn't know where they was
agoin' had nuff sight better stay at home," and deposited me at the
hotel with a caution against pickpockets. This was sufficiently
humiliating, yet were there lower depths. Entering the parlor, I found
it monopolized by a young lady in green silk and red ribbons, and a pink
young man with his hair parted in the middle and his shirt-bosom
resplendent with brilliants of the last water. They were at the piano,
singing "Days of Absence" in a manner calculated to depress the most
buoyant spirits. I rang the bell, and the green young lady and pink
young man began on the second verse. No answer. Again I rang the bell,
and the songsters began on the third verse. No answer. Once more I rang
the bell, and the green young lady and pink young man piped upon the
touching lay of "No one to love." Little cared those "two souls with
but a single thought, two hearts that beat as one," for the third heart
and soul, victim of misplaced confidence. Ring! I rang that bell until I
ached to be a man for one brief moment. Does a man ever endure such
torture? No. He puts on his hat, walks into the hotel office, gives
somebody a piece of his mind, and demands the satisfaction of a
gentleman. But a woman can go to no office. She must remain up stairs
and cultivate patience on hunger and thirst and a general mortification
of the senses. "Victory, or destruction to the bell!" I said at last,
and pulled the rope with the desperation of a maniac.
"Did you ring?" asked a mild clerk, entering on the tips of his toes as
if there were not enough of him to warrant so extravagant an expenditure
as the use of his whole sole. Did I ring? I who had been doing nothing
else for half an hour! I who had but forty-five minutes in which to eat
my supper and dress for the lecture!
Presenting my card, I desired the mild clerk to show me to my room. The
mild clerk was exceedingly sorry, but the committee had left no order,
and there was not a vacant room in the house!
"What am I to do?" I asked in agony of spirit. "I _must_ have a room."
_Must_ is an overpowering word. Only say _must_ with all the emphasis of
which it is capable, and longings are likely to be realized.
Well, the mild clerk didn't know but as how he might turn out and let me
have _his_ room.
Blessed man! Had I been pope, he should have been canonized on the spot.
Following him up several steep flights of stairs, lighted by a kerosene
lamp that perfumed the air as only kerosene can, I was at last ushered
into a room where sat a young girl knitting. She seemed to be no more
astonished at my appearance than were the chairs and table, merely
remarking, when we were left alone, "That's my father. I suppose you
won't have any objections to my staying here as long as I please." How
could I, an interloper, say "no" to the rightful proprietor of that
room? I smiled feebly, and the damsel pursued her knitting with her
fingers and me with her eyes, until everything in the room seemed to
turn into eyes. The frightful thought came o'er me that perhaps my
companion was "our own correspondent" for the "Daily Slasher!"--a
thought that sent my supper down the wrong way, deprived me of appetite,
and made me thankful that my back hair did not come off! The damsel sat
and sat, knitted and knitted, until she had superintended every
preparation, and then, like an Arab, silently stole away.
What next? Why, the committee called for me at the appointed hour,
seemed blandly ignorant of the fact that they had not done their whole
duty to woman, and maintained that walking was much better than driving.
The wind blew, dust sought shelter within the recesses of eyes and ears
and nose, but patient Griselda could not have behaved better than I. In
fact, a woman who lectures must endure quietly what a singer or actress
would stoutly protest against, for the reason that lecturing brings down
upon her the taunt of being "strong-minded," and any assertion of rights
or exhibition of temper is sure to be misconstrued into violent hatred
of men and an insane desire to be President of the United States. This
can hardly be called logic, but it _is_ truth. Logic is an unknown
quantity in the ordinary public estimation of women lecturers.
Inwardly cross and outwardly cold, I delivered my lecture, and went back
to that much-populated room, thinking that at least I should obtain a
few hours' sleep before starting off at "five o'clock in the
morning,"--a nice hour to sing about, but a horrible one at which to get
up. I approached the bed. Shade of that virtue which is next to
godliness! the linen was--was--yes, it was--second-hand! and calmly
reposing on a pillow of doubtful color, my startled vision beheld an
"... ugly, creepin', blastit wonner,
Detested, shunn'd, by saunt an' sinner."
That I should come to this! I sought for a bell. Alas, there was none!
Should I scream? No, that might bring out the fire-engines. Should I go
in search of the housekeeper? How to find her at that hour of the night?
No; rather than wander about a strange house in a strange place, I would
sit up. Of course there was a rocking-chair; in that I took refuge, and
there I sat with a quaint old-fashioned clock for company, with such
stout lungs as to render sleep an impossibility. No fairy godmother came
in at the key-hole to transform my chair into a couch and that talkative
clock into a handmaiden. No ghosts beguiled the weary hours. Eleven,
twelve, one, two, three, four! As the clock struck this last hour, a
porter pounded on the door, and, not long after, I was being driven
through the cold, dark morning to a railroad station. My Jehu was he of
the previous day, and a very nice fellow he turned out to be. "I didn't
know it was you yesterday, you see, miss, or I wouldn't have said
nothing about pickpockets. You don't look like a lecturer, you see, and
that's what's the matter."
"Indeed, and how ought a lecturer to look?"
"Well, I don't exactly know, but I always supposed they didn't look like
you. Reckon you don't enjoy staying around here in the dark, so I'll
just wait here till the train comes," and there that good creature
remained until the belated train snatched me up and whisked off to the
city. When the express agent passed through the car to take the
baggage-checks, it was as good as a play to see the different ways in
which people woke up. Some turned over and wouldn't wake up at all;
others sat bolt upright and blinked; some were very cross, and wondered
why they could not be let alone; others, again, rubbed their eyes,
scratched their heads, said "All right," and would have gone to sleep
again had not the agent shaken them into consciousness.
"Where do you go?" asked the agent of a quiet old gentleman sitting
before me, who had previously given up his checks.
"Yes, exactly; that's my name," replied the old gentleman.
"Where do you go?" again asked the agent in a somewhat louder tone.
"Exactly, I told you so." And the old gentleman put a pocket
handkerchief over his face as a preliminary to sleep.
"Well, I never," exclaimed the agent, who returned to the charge. "I
asked you where you wanted to go?"
"Precisely; that's my name."
"Confound your name!" muttered the agent. "You're either deaf or insane,
and I guess you're deaf." So putting his mouth to the old gentleman's
ear, he shouted, "Where--do--you--want--to--go?"
"O, really, the ---- House," was the mild answer to a question that so
startled everybody else as to cause one man to jump up and cry, "Fire!"
very much to the gratification of his fellow-passengers. There is
nothing more pleasing to human beings than to see somebody else make
himself ridiculous, and the amusement extracted from the contemplation
of that car-load of men and women almost compensated me for the previous
experience.
I have since traveled in the far West, but have never looked upon the
counterpart of that New England hotel.