_American Houses.--Furniture.--Luxury.--The Clubs.--An Evening
at the Authors' Club.--An Eyesore.--A Wonderful Shot.--Bang,
right in the Bull's-eye!_
American houses are furnished very luxuriously, and for the most part in
exquisite taste. Here you see the influence of woman in the smallest
details of life; indeed, at every step you take, you see that woman has
passed that way.
Decorations and furniture, in New York especially, are dark,
substantial, and artistic. The liberal use of _portieres_ adds greatly
to the richness of effect. Even in the hall, doors are replaced by
hangings. On all sides there is pleasure for the eyes, whether it rests
on furniture, walls, or ceilings. The floors are covered with rich
carpets, and the ceilings are invariably decorated in harmony with the
rest of the room.
The reception-rooms are on the ground-floor, which is always twelve or
fifteen feet above the sidewalk. The suite is composed of three or four
rooms (sometimes more), divided one from another by _portieres_. Each
room is in a different style. One contains dark furniture and hangings,
oil paintings, costly art treasures, majestical tropical plants;
another, in Oriental style, invites the visitor to cosy chats among its
divans and screens; another, perhaps, has books, etchings, and
antiquities of all kinds; another, in the style of a boudoir, will be
strewn with knick-knacks, light bric-a-brac, water-colours, statuettes,
etc., in artistic disorder; yet another may serve as music-room--here,
no carpets, the parquet floor is waxed, the walls are unadorned--all has
been thought out with intelligence. Flowers in every room shed sweet
fragrance. When all the suite is lighted up, and the _portieres_ looped
back, the effect is enchanting; and when a score of American women,
elegant, handsome, and witty, add life to the scene, I can assure you
that you are not in a hurry to consult your watch.
The luxury, displayed at receptions, dinners, and dances, surpasses
European imagination. At a ball, given in New York in the month of
February, 1888, the walls were covered with roses, which did not cost
less than L2,000. When one considers that the supper, and everything
else, was on the same scale, it becomes doubtful whether such luxury is
to be admired. I was present one evening at a dinner, given in the large
dining-hall at Delmonico's restaurant, New York. We were eighty-seven
guests at an immense round table. The centre of the board was covered
with a gigantic star of flowers, roses, arum lilies, and heliotrope. At
that season lilies were worth a dollar each; and, all through the
winter, the price of roses was from a quarter to two dollars apiece,
according to kind. The Americans at this feast estimated the star of
flowers at L1,500 or L1,600.
At a dinner party given recently at Delmonico's, I heard that each
_menu_ had a chain attached, consisting of pearls and diamonds, and
valued at 1,000 dollars. Is this luxury? Surely it is bad taste, not to
say vulgarity.
* * * * *
The principal clubs, in the large American cities, are princely
habitations, full of everything that can minister to man's well-being.
The American clubs are as luxurious as those of London; but this is the
only resemblance which there is between them. The clubs, in large
English towns, are sad and solemn; those in the American cities are
bright and gay. In New York, Boston, Chicago, etc., the club is not
merely a place where a man goes to read the papers, or to dine when his
family is out of town; it is a place where men meet for converse, and to
enjoy various relaxations. All the members know each other almost
intimately.
The doors of American clubs are often opened to ladies, except in
Boston, I am told, where no opportunity for the display of Anglomania is
neglected. I was present at a very grand ball given by the Union League
Club of New York; and when I lectured in the Union League Club of
Chicago, at the invitation of the members, there were a great number of
ladies invited to be present.
Americans amuse themselves gaily, and ladies are always of the party.
They have not the English tendency to convert their pleasures into
funeral services.
The hospitality of American clubs is thoughtfully and generously
extended to foreigners who visit the States. I had not been a fortnight
in America before I was "put up" as honorary member of nearly all the
New York clubs. In the other large cities I visited, I met with the same
amiability, the same eager expression of cordiality.
A charming little club, but this one has no pretension to luxuriousness,
is the Authors' Club in New York. It only has three rooms, very modestly
furnished, where one may meet some of America's most charming writers,
playing at Bohemia, and chatting over a cigar. Once a fortnight there is
a reunion. A simple supper is served at ten o'clock: roast chickens,
green peas, and potatoes; cheese and beer. The members are waiting to
introduce champagne until Congress has passed the International
Copyright Bill. One hardly thinks of the fare in the company of this
aristocracy of American talent and intellect. To these gentlemen I owe
many a delightful hour passed in their midst.
A very interesting little ceremony takes place at the Authors' Club on
New Year's night. On the evening of the 31st December the members of the
club muster in force at their snug quarters in Twenty-fourth Street. At
two or three minutes to twelve all the lights are put out, and "Auld
lang syne" is sung in chorus, to bid good-bye to the year that is
passing away. As soon as the clock has struck the midnight hour[5], the
lights are relit, all the company strike up "He's a jolly good fellow,"
and there is a general hand-shaking and wishing of good wishes for the
coming year. Then everyone dives into his memory for an anecdote, a good
joke, or an amusing reminiscence, and the evening is prolonged till two
or three o'clock. I had the good luck to be present at the last of these
merry meetings. Mark Twain presided, and I need not tell you with what
spirited and inexhaustible mirth the celebrated humorist did the honours
of the evening.
[5] I think a clock is borrowed for the occasion.
* * * * *
In houses, in clubs, in offices, one cannot help admiring the ingenious
forethought, the wonderful care, with which the smallest wants and the
slightest commodities of life have been studied: it seems as if there
were nothing left to desire.
It is impossible, however, in speaking of American interiors, to pass
over in silence a certain eyesore, which meets your sight at every turn.
The most indispensable, most conspicuous, piece of furniture in America
is the spittoon. All rooms are provided with this object of prime
necessity; you find one beside your seat in the trains, under your table
in the restaurants: impossible to escape the sight of the ugly utensil.
In the hotel corridors, there is a spittoon standing sentinel outside
every door. In public edifices, the floors are dotted with them, and
they form the line all up the stairs.
The Americans, used to these targets from the tenderest age, are
marvellously adroit at the use of them: they never miss their aim. I saw
some really striking feats of marksmanship; but perhaps the best of all
at the Capitol, in Washington.
The Supreme Court of Judicature was sitting. As I entered, an advocate
was launching thunders of eloquence. All at once he stopped, looked at a
spittoon which stood two yards off, aimed at it, and, krrron, craaahk,
ptu!--right in the bull's-eye! Then on he went with his harangue. I
looked to see the seven judges and the public applaud and cry "Bravo!"
Not a murmur; the incident passed completely unnoticed. Probably there
was not a man in the hall who could not say to himself: "There's nothing
in that; I could do as much."