_The American Girl.--Her Liberty.--Her Manners.--Respect for
Woman.--Youthful Reminiscences.--Flirtation Perfected.--The
"Boston."--Why the Young American Lady does not Object to the
Society of Men.--European Coats of Arms Regilt and Redeemed
from Pawn.--Americans of the Faubourg Saint Germain.--Lady
Randolph Churchill.--Mating of May and December.--Stale Theme
of American Plays.--An Angel.--The Tell-tale Collodion.--The
Heroine of "L'Abbe Constantin."--What American Girls Admire in
a Man._
The liberty enjoyed by American girls astonishes the English as much as
the liberty of the English girl astonishes the French.
From the age of eighteen the American girl is allowed almost every
liberty. She takes the others.
She can travel alone, and go to concerts and even to theatres,
unattended by a _chaperone_.
She is supplied with pocket-money, which she spends at her own sweet
will in bonbons, knick-knacks, and jewels. If there is none left for the
milliner and dressmaker, Papa is coaxed to pay them. She visits and
receives whom she pleases, or rather those who please her. She has her
own circle of acquaintances. If, at a ball, she meet with a young man
who takes her fancy--I do not say touches her heart--she says to him: "I
am at home on such a day: come and see me." Next day he may send her a
ticket for the theatre, and be her escort for the evening. He may bring
her flowers, offer her refreshments after the play, and take her home in
a carriage. In America all this is the most natural thing in the world.
This leads to no intimacy: for a few days later, it may happen that he
meets the young lady at a ball, and she comes up to him and says: "I
want to present you to a friend; do tell me your name, I quite forget
it."
The American girl, who appears to us French so giddy, and even fast,
seems to me to act according to the dictates of common sense. Tired of
the old formula, "A lady cannot do that--it would be improper," she
says; "I will do it; and if I choose to do it, it becomes proper." It is
for women herself to make the law on these matters. "Why should I not go
to the theatre alone?" she says. "If your streets are impure, it is for
you to cleanse them. Why should not I receive my ball-partners who
please me? If one of them were to profit by my seeing him alone in the
drawing-room to take a liberty with me, he would be an ill-bred fellow,
and I should promptly have him shown out of the house; and certainly it
is not for such as he that I should change my habits."
* * * * *
It is the respect that women inspire in American men which allows the
young girl to go about with such freedom, and to queen it all through
the States. Jonathan might give more than one lesson on this subject to
the men of the Old World, even to the Frenchman, who, in the matter of
politeness, lives a good deal on the reputation of his ancestors.
Jonathan's respect for woman is disinterested, purely platonic. In
France, this respect takes the form of a politeness which verges on
gallantry, and is often not disinterested. A Frenchman will always stand
back to let a lady pass; but he will profit by the occasion to take a
good look at her. The American, in similar circumstance, will
respectfully lower his eyes.
In trains, where the seats are constructed to hold two persons, you will
see the American seek a place from one end of the train to the other
before he will go and seat himself by the side of a young girl. He will
only do so when there is no help for it. I have many times even noticed
men standing up in the local trains, rather than run the risk of
incommoding a young girl by sharing a seat with her. And I am not
speaking now of gentlemen only, but of men belonging to the middle, if
not lower, class--if the word "class" may be used in speaking of the
Americans.
* * * * *
With what pleasure I remember the young American girls whom I
occasionally met at Parisian parties in my youthful days. Their pretty
bright faces, their elegance, their unconventional charm of manner, and
animated, natural conversation--all these enchanted me. One never felt
awkward with them. Whereas, with a young French girl, I could generally
find nothing but absurd commonplaces to say, in the presence of
Jonathan's merry maidens I lost my timidity, and could chat away with
as little embarrassment as I would with a young brother-officer of my
regiment.
The American girl is still without rivals in Parisian drawing-rooms,
where she is more and more sought after. Men seek her for her gaiety,
wit, or beauty; mothers look favourably upon her for her dollars. The
younger women tear her to shreds; nothing is wanting to her success.
It was to her that Paris owed the introduction of that attractive dance,
the "Boston." An inspiration, this dance!
Someone, I forget whom, has remarked of the waltz: "It is charming, it
is fascinating; but one cannot chat." With the "Boston" it is different:
one can dance that, and chat, and flirt too. Now a flirtation with an
American girl is immensely agreeable, on account of the perfection which
she brings to the art. To be gallant is no longer sufficient; to say
things that are pretty, but insipid and commonplace, will not do at all;
you must surpass yourself in wit and amiability, while keeping well
within the bounds of the strictest propriety.
The "Boston" lends itself admirably to this charming amusement. It is
voluptuously slow; a go-as-you-please dance, offering the added charm of
a delightful _tete-a-tete_, when your partner is a bright and pretty
girl.
* * * * *
I also used to get a great deal of diversion in looking at the American
girls clearing the buffet. How they would fall-to! How they made the
ices disappear, and tossed off punch, champagne, or anything that came
to their pretty little hands! With what disdain they passed over the
syrups and _eau sucree_ that the French girls timidly sipped, looking
all the while to see whether Mamma was not staring round-eyed to show
that she disapproved of such dissipation. They must have something
serious and satisfying.
"A little more champagne, mademoiselle?"
"Yes, please."
"Another of these little cakes?"
"Yes, please."
Only the musicians, as they struck up the first bars of the next dance,
had fascination enough to draw them away from the refreshment-room.
And what spirit there was in their dancing! What animation! What eyes
lit up with pleasure! Not a moment's flagging: they danced with as much
suppleness at five in the morning as at the beginning of the evening.
And why not, indeed? Such pleasures are harmless; and it is not because
a woman has danced much in her girlhood that she should lead her husband
a dance, when she has one.
Good scholars are as easy to discover in the recreation-ground as in the
classroom. The morality of a youth is in direct proportion to the
delight he takes in play; that of a girl may be measured by her gaiety
and high spirits.
I shall never forget a young American girl who sat at the same table as
myself on board the steamer. The dear child, who was about seventeen,
performed prodigies. I could scarcely believe my eyes, and watched her
with never-flagging interest. What appetite! What a little _table
d'hote_ ogress! I trembled for our supplies, and wondered whether the
Company had foreseen the danger.
First of all, at seven in the morning, tea and bread-and-butter was
taken to the hungry one in her cabin. At half-past eight, she
breakfasted. At this meal she generally went straight through the bill
of fare. At eleven, she had beef-tea and biscuits brought to her on
deck. Lunch-time found her ready for three courses of solid food,
besides pastry, fruit, etc. At five, she had tea. At six o'clock, she
did valiantly again; and at ten, she was regularly served with a welsh
rabbit, or some other tasty trifle. Notwithstanding this, I rarely met
her on deck, or in the corridors, but she was munching sweets,
gingerbread, or chocolate.
After all, there are so few distractions on board ship! Men smoke, and
perhaps play poker. Some people sleep, some try to think, but
unsuccessfully, others read; some ladies knit. The American girl eats.
* * * * *
The American girl likes men's society for several reasons. First,
because she is well-educated and able to talk on almost all topics. She
can talk knick-knacks and pretty nonsense; but if she knows how to
describe the "cunningest bonnet" lately invented in Paris, she can also
tell you all about Octave Feuillet's latest novel, or even Herbert
Spencer's latest work. She likes men's society because it enlarges her
circle of acquaintances, and also because it increases her chances of
making a good match. No matter how much of a butterfly she may be, she
never loses sight of the future. She does not say, as she sits musing on
marriage, "What kind of man shall I suit?" but, "What kind of man shall
I choose?"
The society of men has all the less danger for her that her virtue rests
on a firm basis of calculation. She will not embark in the romance until
she sees her way to profit--and profits--thereby. Fortune, or a title,
that is her aim. She keeps it in view, even in the most _touching_
moments. Between two kisses, she will perhaps ask her lover: "Are you
rich?" It is the pinch of rhubarb between two layers of jam.
The constant aspiration of these young Republicans is to be one day
countess, marchioness, or duchess.
The number of European coats-of-arms which have been taken out of pawn,
or regilt, with American dollars is enormous.
Not long ago a writer on the staff of the Paris _Figaro_ counted, among
the guests in one of the most select drawing-rooms of the Faubourg
Saint-Germain, thirty-seven American ladies, bearing thirty-seven names
of the most authentic French nobility. To name only those which are
present at the moment in my memory: the Princess Murat, mother of the
Duchesse de Mouchy, is American; the Marquise de Chasseloup-Laubat is
American; the Comtesse de Saint-Ronan; _la Generale_ de Charette, the
Comtesse de Chevigne, and the Comtesse de Ganay are Americans. The
daughters of the Great Democracy have become not only French in heart,
but as Royalist as the most ultramontane of our old dowagers.
Everyone knows how many American women the English aristocracy counts in
its bosom, and that that Tory and most powerful political association,
called the Primrose League, originated with Lady Randolph Churchill, the
young and handsome daughter of Mr. Jerome, of New York.
How many noble _chevaliers d'industrie_ have exploited the American
market, and at a bound become accepted suitors by some of Jonathan's
daughters! It is known that Pranzini was in correspondence with the
daughter of a wealthy New York banker, to whom he would probably be
married now under the title of Count (I forget _whom_), had not the
cuffs which he left behind in poor Marie Regnault's room put the police
on his track.
* * * * *
That passion for rich marriages, which burns in the heart of so many
young American women, often leads to disastrous results.
If one may trust one's eyes, American law allows young girls to marry
their grandfathers, or at least the contemporaries of those worthies.
It is not rare, I may say it is quite common, to see girls of eighteen
and twenty married to men of seventy and over.
As a Frenchman, I know it scarcely becomes me to throw the first stone
at my neighbour for this: France is admittedly a country where _mariages
de convenance_ are common. Still, I must say the difference is enormous.
In France, it is the parents who are to blame, and not the girls. They
try to secure for their daughters what they are pleased to call a
position; whilst, in America, it is the young girl herself who chooses
her husband: she alone is responsible for this crime against Cupid's
laws. She has not, either, the French girl's excuse--ignorance of the
world; she knows better what awaits her on leaving the church. A French
girl sometimes passes straight from the convent to the marriage altar,
without her consent having been asked, or even her opinion consulted.
And, again, I must add that if French parents often cause a girl of
twenty to marry a man twice her age, they would shudder at the idea of
giving her into the arms of an old man.
The young American, indulged and petted by her father, counts that an
old husband will be more likely to put up with her caprices, and gratify
all her whims, than a young man whose fortune was not made. "A young
husband," she says to herself, "is all very fine; but there is my
father, who does just what I please; I am pretty, and have hosts of men
to tell me so every day; I am free to go where I like and receive whom I
like; I spend as much as I like: shall I exchange all this for a
husband, who will hamper me with a household and perhaps a large family;
who will talk of stocks, and perhaps preach economy; who will bore me
with the prices of grain or cotton-seed oil, and give me the headache
with listening to his politics and heaven knows what? No, no; I will
take a husband who will think of nothing but satisfying my caprices."
Perhaps she adds, in her wisdom: "A man of seventy or eighty I shall not
have to put up with very long."
This kind of marriage is the well-worn theme of many American comedies.
A woman is married to an old man or a rich matter-of-fact merchant. A
young lover of former days, who at the time of the wedding was
travelling abroad, appears upon the scene, and is thrown in contact with
the young wife. He reproaches her with her conduct, and reminds her of
his love for her, which has never ceased to live in his heart. The
husband is out of the way, occupied with business, wrapped up in
money-making, and the fair one listens to the tender reproaches of him
she loved, but dismissed in favour of a richer husband. The danger is
menacing; it is a struggle between love and duty. Duty triumphs, of
course; but the picture of American life remains none the less faithful.
* * * * *
An American told me that he once went a long journey in the same railway
carriage with an infirm, hoary old man of eighty, who was accompanied by
a girl of scarce more than twenty. This young woman was strikingly
beautiful. My American friend admitted to me that the sight of her
lovely face had the effect of making him fall quite in love with her
before their five days' journey was over. He did not have an opportunity
of conversing with her; but on arriving at their destination, he
resolved to put up at the same hotel as the old man, so as to perhaps
have a chance of making more ample acquaintance with his fair charge. To
find out the name of the young girl and her venerable grandfather, he
waited to sign his name in the hotel register until the patriarch had
inscribed his own. Imagine his feelings when he read:
"Mr. X. and wife."
Here is a joke that I culled from a Washington paper. Is it a joke?
"A bachelor lately advertised for a wife. A typographical error changed
his age from 37 to 87; but it made no difference, for he received over
250 applications, from ladies ranging in age from 16 to 60, and all
promising love and devotion to the rest of his existence."
Here is another, which I extract from a comic paper. The author seems to
believe that the American mother does not look on such marriages with
displeasure:
"_Mother._--'So you have engaged yourself to Mr. Jones. You must be a
goose. He has neither fortune nor position. I know he may one day be
well off; his grandfather may leave him part of his fortune, perhaps.'
"_Daughter._--'But, mamma, it is his grandfather I am engaged to.'
"_Mother._--'Kiss me, my child; you are an angel!'"
Whatever may be said on the subject, these marriages--I was going to say
these prostitutions--are but the exception; but the exception is too
frequent to be possible to pass it by in silence.
* * * * *
The American girl is past-mistress in the art of turning to account her
little capital of beauty, youth, and virtue. To bring about the
realisation of a dream, she knows how to employ all love's artillery,
and if the object of her desire is recalcitrant, she can fire red-hot
balls.
The late Alfred Assollant told how an American girl succeeded in making
a young English lord marry her. In certain States of the Union it is
sufficient to pass the night with a woman to be declared her husband by
the law in the morning. This damsel, it appears, invited the young lord
to sup in her own room. This is done, or was done, in certain parts of
America, and morals were perhaps none the worse for it. The bait took,
and at supper the scion of a lordly house got tipsy and went to sleep in
the maiden's room, all ignorant of the law.
At daybreak there is a knocking at the door. _Tableau!_ The fair one,
all tearful and dishevelled, unbolts it, and ushers in the minister, who
comes followed by the girl's parents and two witnesses, who are in the
plot. The young lord in vain protests his innocence; he is married then
and there, and the damsel only consents to his departure after having
been bribed by a sum of a hundred thousand dollars.
Here is another story of the same stamp, which I heard told in America.
It is not more authentic than Alfred Assollant's, but that which is very
certain is that such an anecdote could not originate outside America.
There are two kinds of truth: the truth that is true and the truth that
might be true; in other words, there is truth to fact as well as truth
to fiction.
This is the story, just as it was told:
An American girl adored a rich, handsome young fellow, who unhappily did
not respond to her flame. One fine day a luminous idea occurs to her.
She pretends to be ill, and sends to the young man to say she would like
to see him. He hurries to the home of the fair invalid, who receives him
lying on a sofa. She avows her love, and begs him to give her one kiss
and bid her a long adieu. The swain bends over the sofa. The young lady
encircles his neck with her arms, draws his head down, and imprints a
long, lingering kiss on his lips. During this time, a photographer,
hidden behind the hangings of the room, had his camera turned on the
young couple. Next day the cunning lass sent her unconscious dupe a
negative of the touching little scene of the day before, asking how many
copies she should get printed. In face of the betraying collodion, and
to save his honour, the youth saw that there was but one thing to be
done, and that was to walk to the altar, which he did without a murmur.
So much for caricature, or, if you prefer it, for the truth that is not
true.
To return to strict verity, it is perfectly certain that an American
girl does not fear to let a man understand that she loves him, and that,
if need be, she lets no false modesty prevent her from telling him so.
Bettina, in "L'Abbe Constantin," divines that Jean Reynaud loves her,
but that he is scrupulous about avowing it, and, in order to avoid her,
asks to be sent to join another garrison. She comes to him frankly. She
knows that Jean will not make the advances, and she does it instead. The
scene is as true to American life as it is pretty. It is the faithful
portrait of an American girl, a perfect photograph: one of those
artistic photographs that M. Ludovic Halevy is so clever at.
* * * * *
The real American girl admires male qualities in man. The perfumed
dandy, dressed in the latest fashion--the _dude_, as he is called in the
States--is not her admiration; she prefers a little roughness to too
much polish. At a large reception, given at the New York Union League
Club in the early part of the year, I asked a young lady who were ten or
a dozen young men who did not miss a single dance.
"Oh," she replied, with an air of sovereign contempt, "a few young
_dudes_, who have been invited by the club just to keep up the dancing:
marionettes, you know."