AMERICAN CUSTOMS
The American is an interesting, though not always pleasant, study. His
perfect equipoise, his independence, his assumption that he is the best
product of the best soil in the world, comes first as a shock; but when
you find this but one of the many national characteristics it merely
amuses you. One of the extraordinary features of the American is his
attitude toward the Chinese, who are taken on sufferance. The lower
classes absolutely can conceive of no difference between me and the
"coolie." As an example, a boy on the street accosts me with "Hi, John,
you washee, washee?" Even a representative in Congress insisted on
calling me "John." On protesting to another man, he laughed, and said,
"Oh, the man don't know any better." "But," I replied, "if he does not
know any better how is it he is a lawmaker in your lower house?" "I give
it up," was his answer, and he ordered what they term a "high-ball."
After we had tried several, he laughed and asked, "Shall we consider the
matter a closed incident?" Many diplomatic, social, and political
questions are often settled with a "high-ball."
It is inconceivable to the average American that there can be an
educated Chinese gentleman, a man of real refinement. They know us by
the Cantonese laundrymen, the class which ranks with their lowest
classes. At dinners and receptions I was asked the most atrocious
questions by men and women. One charming young girl, who I was informed
was the relative of a Cabinet officer, asked me if I would not sometime
put up my "pig-tail," as she wished to photograph me. Another asked if
it was really true that we privately considered all Americans as "white
devils." All had an inordinate curiosity to know my "point of view";
what I thought of them, how their customs differed from my own. Of
course, replies were manifestly impossible. At a dinner a young man,
who, I learned, was a sort of professional diner-out, remarked to a
lady: "None of the American girls will have me for a husband; do you not
think that if I should go to China some pretty Chinese girl would have
me?" This was said before all the company. Every one was silent, waiting
for the response. Looking up, she replied, with charming _naivete_, "No,
I do not think so," which produced much laughter. Now you would have
thought the young man would have been slightly discomfited, but not at
all; he laughed heartily, and plumed himself upon the fact that he had
succeeded in bringing out a reply.
American men have a variety of costumes for as many occasions. They have
one for the morning, which is called a sack-coat, that is, tailless, and
is of mixed colors. With this they wear a low hat, an abomination called
the derby. After twelve o'clock the frock-coat is used, having long
tails reaching to the knees. Senators often wear this costume in the
morning--why I could not learn, though I imagine they think it is more
dignified than the sack. With the afternoon suit goes a high silk hat,
called a "plug" by the lower classes, who never wear them. After dark
two suits of black are worn: one a sack, being informal, the other with
tails, very formal. They also have a suit for the bath--a robe--and a
sleeping-costume, like a huge bag, with sleeves and neck-hole. This is
the night-shirt, and formerly a "nightcap" was used by some. There is
also a hat to go with the evening costume--a high hat, which crushes in.
You may sit on it without injury to yourself or hat. I know this by a
harrowing experience.
Many of the customs of the Americans are strange. Their social life
consists of dinners, receptions, balls, card-parties, teas, and smokers.
At all but the last women are present. At the dinner every one is in
evening dress; the men wear black swallowtail coats, following the
English in every way, low white vest, white starched shirt, white collar
and necktie, and black trousers. If the dinner does not include women
the coat-tails are eliminated, and the vest and necktie are black.
Exactly why this is I do not understand, nor do the Americans. The
dinner is begun with the national drink, the "cocktail"; then follow
oysters on the half-shell, which you eat with an object resembling the
trident carried in the ceremony of Ah Dieu at the Triennial. Each course
of the dinner is accompanied by a different wine, an agreeable but
exhilarating custom. The knife and fork are used, the latter to go into
the mouth, the former not, and here you see a singular ethnologic
feature. Class distinctions may at times be recognized by the knife or
fork. Thus I was informed that you could at once recognize a person of
the gentleman class by his use of the knife and fork. "This is
infallible," said my young lady companion. If he is a commoner, he eats
with his knife; if a gentleman, with his fork. This was a very nice
distinction, and I looked carefully for a knife eater, but never saw
one.
There is a vast amount of ceremony and etiquette about a dinner and
various rules for eating, to break which is a social offense. I heard
that a certain Madam ---- gave lessons in "good form" after the American
fashion, so that one could learn what was expected, and at my first
dinner I regretted that I had not availed myself of the services of the
lady, as at each plate there were nearly a dozen solid silver articles
to be used in the different courses, but I endeavored to escape by
watching my companion and following her example. But here the
impossibility of an American girl resisting a joke caused my downfall.
She at once saw my dilemma, and would take up the wrong implement, and
when I followed suit she dropped it and took another, laughing in her
eyes in a way in which the American girl is a prodigious adept; but
completely deceived by her nearly every time, knowing that she was
amusing herself at my expense, I said nothing. The Americans have a
peculiar term for the mental attitude I had during this trial. I "sawed
wood." The saying was particularly applicable to my situation. My young
companion was most engaging, and presently began to talk of the
superiority of America, her inventions, etc., mentioning the telephone,
printing, and others. "Yes, wonderful," I replied; "but the Chinese had
the telephone ages ago. They invented printing, gunpowder, the mariner's
compass, and it would be difficult," I said, "for you to mention an
object which China has not had for ages." She was amazed that I, a
Chinaman, should "claim everything in sight."
There is a peculiar etiquette relating to every course in a dinner. The
soup is eaten with a bowl-like spoon, and it is the grossest breach to
place this in your mouth, or approach it, endwise. You approach the
side and suck the soup from it. To make a noise would attract attention.
The etiquette of the fish is to eat it with a fork; to use the knife
even to cut the fish would be unpardonable, or to touch it to take out
the bones; the fork alone must be used. The punch course is often an
embarrassment to the previous wines, and is followed by what the French
call the _entree_. In fact, while the Americans boast that everything
American is the best, French customs are followed at banquets
invariably, this being one of the strange inconsistencies of the
Americans. Their clothes are copied from the English, though they will
claim in the same breath that their tailors are the best in the world.
For wines they claim to be unsurpassed, producing the finest; yet the
wines on their tables are French or bear French labels. Game is
served--a grouse or perhaps a hare, and then a vast roast, possibly
venison, or beef, and there are vegetables, followed by a salad of some
kind. Then comes the dessert--an iced cream, cakes, nuts, raisins,
cheese, and coffee with brandy, and then cigars and vermuth or some
cordial. After such a dinner of three hours a Southern gentleman clapped
me on the back and said, "Great dinner, that; but let's go and get a
drink of something solid," and I saw him take what he termed "two
fingers" of Kentucky Bourbon whisky--a very stiff drink. I often
wondered how the guests could stand so much.
The dinner has no attendant amusement, no dancing, no professional
entertainers, and rarely lasts over two hours. Some houses have stringed
bands concealed behind barriers of flowers playing soft music, but in
the main the dinner is a jollification, a symposium of stories, where
the guests take a turn at telling tales. Story-tellers can not be hired,
and the guest at the proper moment says (after having prepared himself
beforehand), "That reminds me of a story," and he relates what he has
learned with great _eclat_ and applause, as every American will applaud
a good story, even if he has heard it time and again. At one dinner
which I attended in New York story-telling had been going on for some
time when a well-known man came in late. He was received with applause,
and when called on for a speech told exactly the same story, by a
strange coincidence, that had been told by the last speaker. Not a guest
interfered; he was allowed to proceed, and at the end the point was
greeted with a roar of laughter. This appeared to me to be an excellent
quality in the American character. I was informed that these stories,
forming so important a feature of American dinners, are the product
mainly of drummers and certain prominent men; but why men that drum are
more skilful in story inventing I failed to learn. President Lincoln and
a lawyer named Daniel Webster originated a large percentage of the
current stories. It is difficult to understand exactly what the
Americans mean.
The American story is incomprehensible to the average foreigner, but it
is good form to laugh. I will relate several as illustrative of American
wit, and I might add that many of these have been published in books for
the benefit of the diner-out. A Cabinet minister told of a prisoner who
was called to the bar and asked his name. The man had some impediment in
his speech, one of the hundred complaints of the tongue, and began to
hiss, uttering a strange stuttering sound like escaping steam. The
judge listened a few moments, then turning to the guard said, "Officer,
what is this man charged with?" "Soda-water, I think, your honor," was
the reply. This was unintelligible to me until my companion explained
it. You must understand that soda-water is a drink that is charged with
gas and makes a hissing, spluttering noise when opened. Hence when the
judge asked what the prisoner was charged with the policeman, an
Irishman, retorted with a joke, the story-teller disregarding the fact
that it was an impertinence.
A distinguished New York judge told the following: Two tenement
harridans look out of their windows simultaneously. "Good-morning, Mrs.
Moriarity," says one. "Good-morning, Mrs. Gilfillan," says the other,
adding, "not that I care a d----, but just to make conversation." This
was considered wit of the sharpest kind, and was received with applause.
In their stories the Americans spare neither age, sex, nor relatives.
The following was related by a general of the army. He said he took a
friend home to spend the night with him, the guest occupying the best
room. When he came down in the morning he turned to the hostess and
said, "Mrs. ----, that was excellent tooth-powder you placed at my
disposal; can you give me the name of the maker?" The hostess fairly
screamed. "What," she exclaimed, "the powder in the urn?" "Yes," replied
the officer, startled; "was it poison?" "Worse, worse," said she; "you
swallowed Aunt Jane!" Conceive of this wretched taste. The guest had
actually cleaned his teeth with the cremated dust of the general's aunt;
yet he told the story before a dinner assemblage, and it was received
with shouts of laughter.
I did not hear the intellectual conversation at dinner I had expected.
Art, science, literature, were rarely touched upon, although I
invariably met artists, litterateurs, and scientific men at these
dinners. They all talked small talk or "told stories." I was informed
that if I wished to hear the weighty questions of the day discussed I
must go to the women's clubs, or to Madam ----'s Current Topics Society.
The latter is an extraordinary affair, where society women who have no
time to read the news of the day listen to short lectures on the news of
the preceding week, discussed pro and con, giving these women in a
nutshell material for intelligent conversation when they meet senators
and other men at the various receptions before which they wish to make
an agreeable impression.
The American has many clubs, but is not entirely at home in them. He
uses them as places in which to play poker or whist, to dine his men
friends, and in a great measure because it is the "proper thing." At
many a room is set apart for the national game of poker--a fascinating
game to the player who wins. Poker was never mentioned in my presence
that some did not make a joke on a supposed Chinaman named Ah Sin; but
the obscurity of the joke and my lack of knowledge regarding American
literature caused the point to elude me at first, which was true of many
jokes. The Americans are preeminently practical jokers, and the ends to
which they go is beyond belief. I heard of jokes which, if perpetrated
in China, would have resulted in the loss of some one's head. To
illustrate this, in the Spanish-American War the camps at Tampa were
besieged with newspaper reporters, and one from a large journal was
constantly trying to secure secret news by entertaining certain officers
with wine and cigars; so they determined to get rid of his
importunities, and what is known as a "job" in America was "put up" on
him. He was told that Colonel ---- had a detailed map of the forthcoming
battle, and if he could get the officer intoxicated he doubtless could
secure the map. This looked very easy to the correspondent, so the story
goes, and he dropped into the colonel's tent one night with a basket of
wine, and began to celebrate its arrival from some friends. Soon the
colonel pretended to become communicative, and the map was brought out
and finally loaned to the correspondent under the promise that it would
not be used. This was sufficient. The correspondent hied him to his
tent, wrote an article and sent the map to his paper in one of the
large cities, where it was duly published. It proved to be what
dressmakers call a "Butterick pattern," a maze of lines for cutting out
dresses for women. The lines looked like roads, and the practical jokers
had merely added towns and forts and bridges here and there.
The Americans are excellent parents, though small families are general.
The domestic life is charming. The family is denied nothing needed, the
only limit being the purse of the head of the family, so called, the
real head in many cases being the wife, who does not fail to assert
herself if the proper occasion opens. Well-to-do families have every
luxury, and no nation is apparently so well off, so completely supplied
with the necessities of life as the American. One is impressed by their
business sagacity, their cleverness in finance, their complete grasp of
all questions, yet no people are easier gulled or more readily
victimized. An instance will suffice. In making my investigations
regarding methods of managing railroads, I not only obtained information
from the road officials, but questioned the employees whenever it
happened that I was traveling. One day, observing that it was the custom
to "tip" the porters (give money), I asked the conductor what the men
were paid. "Little or nothing," was the reply; "they get from
seventy-five to one hundred dollars a month out of the _passengers_ on a
long run." "But the passengers paid the road for the service?" "Yes, and
they pay the salary of the porter also," said the man. With that in view
the men are poorly paid, and the railroad knows that the people will
make up their salaries, as they do. If you refused you would have no
service.
This rule holds everywhere, in hotels and restaurants. Servants receive
little pay where the patronage is rich, with the understanding that they
will make it up out of the customers. Thus if you go to a hotel you fee
the bell-boy for bringing you a glass of water. If you order one of the
seductive cocktails you fee the man who brings it; you fee the
chambermaid who attends to your room. Infinite are the resources of
these servants who do not receive a fee. You fee the elevator or lift
boy, or he will take the opportunity to jerk you up as though shot out
of a gun. You fee the porter for taking up your trunk, and give a
special fee for unstrapping it. You fee the head waiter, and when you
fee the table waiter he whispers in your ear that a slight fee will be
acceptable to the cook, who will see that the _Count_ or the _Judge_
will be cared for as becomes his station. When you leave, the sidewalk
porter expects a fee; if he does not receive it the door of the carriage
may possibly be slammed on the tail of your coat. Then you pay the
cabman two dollars to carry you to the station, and fee him. Arriving at
the station, he hands you over to a red-hatted porter, who carries your
baggage for a fee. He puts you in charge of the railroad porter, who is
feed at the rate of about fifty cents per diem.
The American submits to this robbery without a murmur; yet he is
sagacious, prudent. I can only explain his gullibility on the ground of
his innate snobbery; he thinks it is the "thing to do," and does it, and
for this reason it is carried to the most merciless lengths. To
illustrate. In the season of 1902, when I was at Newport, Mr. ----, a
conspicuous member of the New York smart set, known as the "Four
Hundred," lost his hat in some way and rode to his home without one.
The ubiquitous reporter saw him, and photographed him, bareheaded, and
his paper, the New York ----, gave a column the following day to a
description of the new fad of going without a hat. Thus the fashion
started, and the amazing spectacle was seen the summer following of men
and women of fashion riding and walking for miles without hats. This is
beyond belief, yet it attracted no attention from the common people, who
perhaps got the cast-off hats. Despite this, the Americans are
hard-fisted, shrewd, and as a nation a match for any in the field of
cunning.
I can explain it in no way than by assuming that it is due to
overanxiety to do the correct thing. Their own actors satirize them, one
especially taking them off in a jingle which read, "It's English, quite
English, you know." It is said of the men of the "Four Hundred" that
they turn up their trousers when it rains in London, special reports of
the weather being sent to the clubs for the purpose; but I cannot vouch
for this. I have seen the trousers turned up in all weathers, and found
no one who could explain why he did so. What can you make of so
contradictory a people?