I lunched with Travers Jerome, Senior, it was the first time I had
met him. He talks well and every now and then he says things so like
Winston, and in the sort of way Winston says them, that I realize the
strength of the Jerome blood in us.
He told me a little about my family; there is, he says, a red-haired,
freckled strain that is very strong, and a black-haired strain that
was more delicate----. Winston is, of course, the red-haired strain,
and it has come out with great force in his children. Hugh’s[3] child,
too, has the red hair and freckles. Travers, referring to Shane
Leslie, said he did not recognize the Jerome in him. “We were never
dreamers----,” he said, “always practical and forceful.” He told me
rather a sweet story about Henry James, whom he apparently took down
to the East Side to show him around. To meet him, he invited Meyer
Shonfield, a Jewish sweatshop operator. He thought Meyer was the most
opposite pole to Henry, and that it would be interesting. To Meyer, he
said, “Study this man Henry James, he is a de-nationalized American,
and I want your opinion of him.” Henry, he says, was at his best that
night; he, so to speak, threw off his veil, and was, what so seldom
happened, the simple unmasked Henry. Afterwards, when they had parted,
Meyer turned to Travers, and with a glow of enthusiasm, said, “He’s a
real man! ain’t he----?” Surely as high a tribute as our beloved Henry
ever received.
Meanwhile I feel I am just beginning to get my bearings and to
understand the psychology of New York!
I am worn out going from one place to another that I am asked to, and
the odd spare moments are spent in writing little social notes of
refusal, or answering the telephone. It seems a terrible waste of time.
America has a genius for entertaining, but I came here for work, not
for food. At parties there are so many people, and they all talk so
loud that one cannot hear one’s neighbor speak. One comes out as one
went in, a stranger, knowing no names, and remembering few faces, and
having eaten too richly.
Everyone looks rather alike, the women have a curious expression of
amiability that makes it almost impossible for the submerged stranger
to remember any one as anything special. The face of the average
American woman has a curious serenity, the mother of a son of 18 may
look as if she were the mother of a son of 8--I suppose they live more
sheltered lives, and do not show the marks of battle as other women do.
I must say the American man is extremely good to them.
Any man in the world can be chivalrous towards the woman he is in love
with, but the American man is chivalrous to the woman he isn’t in love
with; and the woman takes it for granted!
At seven o’clock I dined at my first public dinner. It was the Society
of the Genesee at the Commodore Hotel, and I was the guest of Mr. Louis
Wiley. I had Judge Parker on one side of me, McEvoy was at our table
and Emil Fuchs, and Guardiabassé, otherwise no one I knew. It was a
huge affair.
To my amazement they began with a long grace! The Puritanism that still
survives in these people is remarkable.
All during dinner there were speeches. Admiral Huse discussed
armament, which he is in favor of. Of course, soldiers and sailors
are for armaments, otherwise where would they be? But armaments don’t
interest me much. I can’t see that it matters if the United States
wants to waste money in that way. She’s got plenty to spend. But what
is the armament for? The United States got on without it before, when
there was a strong England and a strong Germany. Now that Europe is “in
extremis” why suddenly is the United States on the defensive? Anyway,
none of the speeches were anti-British to my surprise, as I am looking
for that anti-British wave, and haven’t found it yet.
One speaker surprised me by telling a long submarine war story. We have
so completely finished with war stories in Europe, it was funny to find
it still going on here.
After dinner my neighbor on the left insisted on taking me to dance
at a restaurant called “Montmartre.” He assured me it was quite
respectable and that I should “have the time of my life.” I didn’t care
about the respectability, but it wasn’t amusing. A room thick with
smoke and filled with supper tables, and only the space of a plate to
dance in! A terrible crowd, and dancing a perfect impossibility.