_Characteristic Traits.--A Gentleman and a Cad.--Different
Ways of Discussing the Merits of a Sermon.--Contradictions and
Contrasts.--Sacred and Profane.--Players of Poker on Board
Ship.--A Meek and Humble Follower of Jesus.--The Open Sesame
of New York, Boston, and Philadelphia.--The Childish Side of
American Character.--The Three Questions Jonathan puts to
every Foreigner who lands in America.--Preconceived
Notions.--Request of an American Journalist.--Why the English
and the French do not put Questions on their Countries to the
Foreigner who visits them._
A nation, scarcely more than a hundred years old, and composed of many
widely different elements, cannot, in the nature of things, possess very
marked characteristic traits.
There are Americans in plenty, but _the American_ does not yet exist.
The inhabitant of the North-east States, the Yankee,[2] differs as much
from the Western man and the Southerner, as the Englishman differs from
the German or the Spaniard.
[2] The word "Yankee" is a corruption of the word "English,"
and only applies to the people of New England.
For example, call a Yankee "a cad," and he will get out of the room,
remarking, "You say so, sir, but that proves nothing." Call a
Pennsylvania man "a cad," and he will get out of temper, and knock you
down. Call a real Westerner "a cad," and he will get out his revolver,
and shoot you dead on the spot.
* * * * *
On leaving a New York theatre one night, I jumped into a tramcar in
Broadway. We were quite sixty persons packed upon the vehicle--sitting,
standing, holding on to the rail on the platform, trying to keep our
equilibrium as well as we could. A gentleman, well-dressed and looking
well-bred, signed to the conductor to stop, and tried to make his way
through the crowd. By dint of using his elbows as propellers, he reached
the door, and was preparing to alight, when a man, indignant at having
been pushed (there are people who, for twopence-halfpenny, expect to
travel as comfortably as in a barouche), cried:
"You are a cad, sir--a howling cad!"
The gentleman jumped off the car.
"You are a cad, I say," bellowed the individual after him; "a cad, do
you hear?"
The gentleman--for he was one--turned, lifted his hat, and replied:
"Yes; I hear. And you, sir, are a perfect gentleman."
The perfect gentleman looked very silly for a few moments. A hundred
yards further on, he stopped the car and made off.
Should a minister indulge in unorthodox theories in the pulpit, the
Eastern man will content himself with shaking his head, and going to
another church to perform his devotions the Sunday after. The
Pennsylvanian will open a violent polemic in the newspaper of the
locality; he will not be satisfied with shaking his head, he will shake
his fist. The Kansas man will wait for the minister at the church-door,
and gave him a sound thrashing.[3]
[3] I read in a large Eastern daily paper, under the head of
"Kansas News": "A clergyman in Kansas has just had his nose
bitten off by a member of his flock, who took exception to
some of his remarks in the pulpit."
* * * * *
The character of the American is English from the point of view of its
contrasts and contradictions, which are still more accentuated in him
than in the Englishman.
Is there anything more sublime than the way in which Jonathan can
combine the sacred and profane? He is a greater adept at it than John
Bull, and that is saying not a little.
On board the steamer, we had five Americans who passed eight days of the
voyage in playing poker. The smoking-room rang from morning to night
with the oaths that they uttered every time they laid a card on the
table. They were so fluent with them that they hardly used the same
twice in an hour. Their stock seemed inexhaustible. On Sunday, after
breakfast, a young lady sat down to the piano, and began playing hymns.
What happened then? Our five poker-players gathered round the lady, and
for two hours sang psalms and holy tunes to the edification of the other
occupants of the saloon.
I was dumbfounded.
In France, we have men who swear and men who sing hymns. The Anglo-Saxon
race alone furnishes men who do both with equal gusto.
In what other country than America could such an anecdote as the
following be told? It is the most typical anecdote I heard in the United
States. It came from Mr. Chauncey Depew, it is said. But, for that
matter, when a good story goes the round of the States, it is always put
down to Mr. Depew, Mark Twain, or the late Artemus Ward.
A new minister had been appointed in a little Kentucky town. No sooner
had he taken possession of his cure, than he set about ornamenting the
church with stained-glass windows of gorgeous hues. This proceeding
aroused the suspicions of several parishioners, who imagined that their
new pastor was inclined to lead them to Rome. A meeting was called, and
it was decided to send a deputation to the minister to ask him to
explain his conduct, and beg him to have the offending windows removed.
The head of the deputation was an old Presbyterian, whose austerity was
well known in the town. He opened fire by addressing the reverend
gentleman thus:
"We have waited upon you, sir, to beg that you will remove those painted
windows from our church as soon as possible. We are simple folks. God's
daylight is good enough for us, and we don't care to have it shut out by
all those images----"
The worthy fellow had prepared a fine harangue, and was going to give
the minister the benefit of it all; but the latter, losing patience,
thus interrupted him:
"Excuse me, you seem to be taking high ground. Who are you, may I ask?"
"Who I am?" repeated the Presbyterian spokesman. "I'm a meek and humble
follower of Jesus, and--d--n you, who are _you_?"
* * * * *
Without travelling very far, without even quitting the eastern coast of
America, you will see a complete difference in the spirit of towns that
are almost neighbours.
In New York, for instance--I am not speaking now of the literary world,
of which I shall speak later--in New York it is your money that will
open all doors to you; in Boston, it is your learning; in Philadelphia
and Virginia, it is your genealogy. Therefore, if you wish to be a
success, parade your dollars in New York, your talents in Boston, and
your ancestors in Philadelphia and Richmond.
* * * * *
There is a pronounced childish side to the character of all the
Americans. In less than a century they have stridden ahead of the
nations of the Old World; they are astonished at their own handiwork,
and, like children with a splendid toy of their own manufacture in their
hands, they say to you, "Look! just look, is it not a beauty?" And,
indeed, the fact is that, for him who will look at it with unprejudiced
eyes, the achievement is simply marvellous.
The Americans like compliments, and are very sensitive to criticism.
They have not yet got over Charles Dickens' _American Notes_, nor the
still older criticisms of Mrs. Trollope. Scarcely has a foreigner set
foot in the United States before they ask him what he thinks of the
country. Nine persons out of every ten you speak to put these three
questions to you:
"Is this your first visit to America?"
"How long have you been over?"
"How do you like our country?"
There are even some who push curiosity farther, and do not wait until
you have arrived to ask you for your opinion on their country.
I had only just embarked on board the _Germanic_ at Liverpool, when the
purser handed me a letter from America. I opened it, and read:
"Dear Sir,--Could you, during your voyage, write me an article
on the United States? I should be happy to have your
_preconceived notions_ of America and the Americans, so as to
publish them in my journal as soon as you arrive."
I do not think I am committing any indiscretion in saying that the
letter was signed by the amiable and talented editor of _The Critic_,
the first literary journal in the United States.
I had heard that the cabman who drove you to your hotel from the docks
asked you, as he opened the door of his vehicle, "Well, sir, and what
are your impressions of America?" But to ask me in Liverpool my
preconceived notions of America and the Americans, that outdid anything
of the kind I had heard on the subject.
* * * * *
An Englishman or a Frenchman will never ask you what you think of
England or France. The fact is, they both care little or nothing for the
foreigner's opinion. The Frenchman does not doubt that his country is
beyond competition. If he enter into the subject at all, it is to
congratulate the stranger upon coming to visit it.
The Englishman makes less noise over it. In his provokingly calm manner,
he is perfectly persuaded that England is the first country in the
world, and that everybody admits it, and the idea of asking an outsider
for his opinion of it would never enter his head. He would think it so
ridiculous, so amusing, so grotesque, that anyone should tell him
England was not at the head of all nations, that he would not take the
trouble to resent it. He would pity the person, and there the matter
would end.