DEAREST MAMMA,--I have a theatre and dance to tell you of in this
letter. To begin with, the theatres themselves are far better built
than ours; everyone can see, and there is no pit, and the boxes are in
graduated heights so that you have not to crane your neck,--but the
decorations in every one we have yet been to are unspeakable. This one
last night had grouped around the proscenium what looked exactly like a
turkey's insides (I hope you aren't shocked, Mamma!). I once saw the
marmiton taken out at Arrachon, when I was a little girl and got into
the kitchen,--just those awful colours, and strange long, twisted,
curled-up tuby-looking things. They are massed on the boxes, too, and
were, I suppose, German "Art Nouveau."
I always think Art Nouveau must have been originated by a would-be
artist who got drunk on absinthe after eating too much pâté de foie
gras in a bâtard-Louis XV. room, then slept, then woke, and in a fit of
D.T. conceived it. He saw impossible flowers and almost rats running up
the furniture, and every leg and line out of balance and twisted; and
fancy, if one could avoid it, putting it in a theatre! The play itself
was very well acted, but, as is nearly always the case here, unless it
is a lovely blood-and-shooting, far West play, the heroine is drawn to
be a selfish puny character, full of egotism and thinking of her own
feelings. The men were perfectly splendid actors, but they distracted
my eye so with their padded shoulders it quite worried me. The hero was
a small person, and when he appeared in tennis flannels his shoulders
were sloping, and in proportion to his little body; but when the coat
got on again they were at least eight inches wider, and, as he lifted
his arms to clasp his lady, one saw where the padding ended; it was
absolutely ridiculous and made me laugh in a serious place.
When one looks down at the audience, the women not being in evening
dress gives the coup d'oeil a less festive note, but I think people in
theatres look perfectly awful anywhere, don't you, Mamma? One wonders
where they come from.
This was a play about "Graft," which as far as I can understand
means,--supposing you wanted to be elected a member of the Government,
you could agree with some large contractor, who had influence over
countless votes, to get the order for him to put up a public building
which millions had been voted for; and instead of making it of solid
marble, to face it and fill it up with rubbish, and you and he would
pocket the difference. I think that would be "graft," and there seems
to a lot of it about, judging from the play and the papers; and we were
told some of the splendid buildings in San Francisco showed all these
tricks when they fell down in the earthquake. I should hate to live in
an earthquake country, shouldn't you, Mamma? It could interrupt one in
such awkward or agreeable moments,--and one would feel one ought to be
ready and looking as attractive as possible all the time. It would be
so wearing.
I think English people are stodgy and behind-hand about things. Why
don't they come here and take a few hints before they build any more
theatres? You can't think how infinitely better these are to see in.
The difference in the comic operas to ours is, they have no refinement
or colours or subtleties to please the eye--all is gaudy and blatant.
The "Merry Widow," for instance, could make one weep, it is so vulgar
and changed, especially the end. But if the people prefer it like that
the managers are quite right to let them have what they want.
After the theatre we went, a huge party, to sup at such a funny place
which was all mirrors; and a man at the next table, who was perhaps a
little beyond "fresh," got perfectly furious thinking another man was
staring at him, and wanted to get up and fight him. The lady next him
pulled his sleeve, and had to keep telling him, "Hush, Bob, hush! Can't
you see it's yourself?" "Certainly not!" shouted the man, so loud we
could not help hearing. "I'll fight anyone who says I am that ugly
mug!" and he gesticulated at the reflection and it gesticulated back at
him. It was the funniest sight you can imagine, Mamma, and it was not
until the lady meekly demanded if the person he saw sitting by the
"ugly mug" resembled her that he could be convinced, and be got to go
on quietly with his supper. And all the rest of the time he kept
glancing at the glass and muttering to himself like distant thunder,
just as Agnès does when things displease her.
In Paris, at the restaurants one goes to, there is only the one
class--unless, of course, one is doing Montmartre, but I mean the best
ones bourgeoises would not think of thrusting themselves in; and in
London there is only the Ritz and Carlton where one goes, and it is the
rarest thing certainly at the Ritz to see any awful people there. But
here, heaps of the most ordinary are very rich and think they have the
best right, which of course they have if they pay, to enter the most
select places; so the conglomeration even at Sherry's sometimes is too
amusing, and at the mirror place, which society would only go to as a
freak, the company is beyond description. But they all seem such
kindly, jolly people, all amusing themselves, and gay and happy. I like
it, and the courtesy and fatherly kindness of the men to the women is
beautiful, and a lesson to the male creatures of other nations. I have
not yet seen an American man who is not the cavalier servante of his
wife and sisters and daughters. And what flowers they send one!
Everything is generous and opulent.
The dance was such fun, a bal blanc, as only young people were asked,
and they all come without chaperones, so sensible, and all seemed to
have a lovely romp, and enjoy themselves in a far, far greater degree
than we do. It was more like a tenants' ball or a children's party,
they seemed so happy; and towards the end lots of the girls' hair
became untidy and their dresses torn, and the young men's faces damp
and their collars limp.
The house was a perfectly magnificent palace, far up on Fifth Avenue,
which has been built so lately that the taste is faultless; but it was
a rather new family gave the dance, whom Valerie has not yet received.
She thinks she will next year, because the daughter is so lovely and
admired, and everyone else knows them.
At the beginning of the evening some of the girls looked beautiful, but
as a rule much too richly dressed, like married women; only when even
the most exquisite creatures get hot and dishevelled the charm goes
off--don't you think so, Mamma? It is more like France than England, as
there is very little sitting out; one just goes to the buffet. And
there is always the cotillon; but the favours and flowers are much
better than anyone would have in Paris. The girls must get quite rich
in trinkets at the end of a season.
We are told a real ball, where the married women are, is much more
rangé, and one does not see people get so untidy. But all the balls are
over now, so we shall not be able to judge.
What struck us most was the young people seemed much more familiar with
each other than we should ever allow them to be; just like playful
brothers and sisters, not a bit loverish, but almost as if it could
develop into what they call "rough-housing" in a minute, although it
never did at the dance.
"Rough-housing" is throwing your neighbour's bread across the table at
someone else, and he throwing his table napkin back at you, and yelling
and screaming with mirth; and it often ends with being mauled and
pulled about, and water being poured down someone's neck.
The Spleists had a young people's tea last week, which I have not had
time to tell you of, where they did all this. They flung themselves
about, and were as natural and tiresome as baby puppies are, barking
and bouncing and eating up people's shoes.
Fancy, Mamma, when Ermyntrude grows up, my allowing her to pour water
down a man's neck, and to be mauled and fought with in consequence! But
I am sure they are all as innocent and lighthearted as the young
puppies whose behaviour theirs resembles; so it may be a natural outlet
for high spirits, and have its good side, though we could not possibly
stand it.
The whole tenue in moving, of the girls, is "fling about," even in the
street, but no other nation can compare to them in their exquisitely
spruce, exquisitely soigné appearance, and their perfect feet and
superlatively perfect boots, and short tailor dresses. To see Fifth
Avenue on a bright day, morning or afternoon, is like a procession of
glowing flowers passing. Minxes of fifteen with merry roving eyes,
women of all ages, _all_ as beautifully dressed as it is possible to be,
swinging along to the soda-water fountain shops where you can get candy
and ice cream and lovely chocolates. No one has that draggled, too long
in the back and too short in the front look, of lots of English women
holding up their garments in a frightful fashion. Here they are too
sensible; they have perfect short skirts for walking, and look too
dainty and attractive for words. Also there are no old people much--a
few old women but never any old men. I suppose they all die off with
their hard life.
But isn't human nature funny, Mamma, and how male creatures' instincts
will break out sometimes even in a country like this, where sex does
not "amount to much." We are told that now and then the most
respectable father of a family will "side track," and go off on a jaunt
with a glaringly golden-haired chorus lady! But one thing is better
than with us, the eldest sons don't defy fate and marry them! When he
gets to fifteen I shall begin to have nightmares in case Hurstbridge
should bring me home a Gaiety daughter-in-law, though probably by then
there will be such numbers of Birdie and Tottie and Rosie Peeresses,
that I shall have got used to it, unless, of course, the fashion
changes and goes back to the time Uncle Geoffrey talks of, when those
ladies found their own world more amusing.
There is not much romance here. I don't see how they ever get in love.
How could one get in love with a young man whom one romped with and
danced with, till his face became dripping, and his collar limp; whom
one saw when one wanted to without any restrictions, and altogether
treated like a big brother? I suppose getting "crazy" about a person is
as near being in love as they know. Each country has its ways, but I
like romance.
Their astounding adaptability is what strikes one--the women's I mean.
The ones who have been to Europe only on trips even, have all acquired
a more reserved tone and gentler voices, while the girls who went to
school in Paris or have lived in England are wonders of brilliant
attraction. I do not know if any of those would make a noise and
rough-house. They would be clever enough to choose their time and place
if they did.
The children skate on roller skates along the streets, and on the
asphalte paths of the parks. There is a delightful happy-go-lucky-way
about everything. In the country trains cross the roads with no gates
to keep people off the track, and in every branch of life you have to
look out for yourself and learn self-reliance.
We are so amused because Octavia is considered to have "an English
accent," and mine not so strong, the papers say. What can an "English
accent" be, Mamma? Since English came from England and is till spoken
as we do, there would be some logic in saying "an American accent," but
what can an "English" one be! One might as sensibly remark upon a
Frenchman from Paris having a French accent, or a German from Berlin.
I suppose it must be the climate which obliges people to make such
disagreeable throat-clearing noises. In any public place it is
absolutely distressing, and makes one creep with disgust.
At all the restaurants we have been to, the food is most excellent, and
they have such delightfully original dishes and ways of serving things.
There are not such quantities of "coloured gentlemen" as one supposed,
about; and they don't have them even for servants in the big hotels,
but at a smaller one, where Southern people go, and we went to call on
some-one, there were lots of them; and they have such gentle voices and
good manners I like them.
Yesterday Octavia and I went to a "department store" to buy, among
other things, some of their lovely ready-made costumes to take out West
with us, and it was so amusing; the young ladies at the ribbon counter
were chatting with the young ladies at the flowers, divided by a high
set of drawers, so they had to climb up or speak through the passage
opening. Presently after we had tried to attract their attention, one
condescended to serve us, while she finished her conversation with her
friend round the corner perfectly indifferent as to our wants, or if we
bought or not! The friend surveyed us and chewed gum. But when we got
to the costume salon, they were most polite. Two perfect dears attended
to us, and were so sympathetic as to our requirements, and talked
intelligently and well on outside subjects. Octavia and I felt we were
leaving old friends when we went. Why should you be rude measuring off
ribbons, and polite showing clothes?
To-morrow we go to Philadelphia to stay with Kitty Bond, who as you
know isn't so colossally rich as the rest, but just as nice as Valerie;
and they have a house which has been there for a hundred years, so it
will be interesting to see the difference.
The Vicomte has been good and docile. I have not had to keep him in
order once, but he comes round all the time, and when he thinks people
are looking he gazes devotedly at Octavia, and everyone thinks he is
her affair. Isn't it intelligent of him, Mamma?
I am glad you have not scolded me about Harry and our quarrel in your
last letter; but there is no use your being angry with him and saying
he behaved like a brute. He did not, a bit, because it really was my
fault, principally; only it's all just as well, as I should never have
been allowed to come here if it had not happened, and I am enjoying
myself and seeing the world.
Good-bye, dearest Mamma. Best love from,
Your affectionate daughter,