“IN EUROPE SWAGGERING LITTLE BOYS SMOKE.”
“IN EUROPE SWAGGERING LITTLE BOYS SMOKE.”
Went to see Clara Morris in Adolphe Belot’s “Article 47,” at the Opera House, last night. Clara Morris is a powerful actress, but, like most actors and actresses who go “starring” through America, badly supported. I watched the audience with great interest. Nineteen mouths out of twenty were chewing—the men tobacco,the women gum impregnated with peppermint. All the jaws were going like those of so many ruminants grazing in a field. From the box I occupied the sight was most amusing.
On returning to Denison House from the theater, I went to have a smoke in a quiet corner of the hall, far from the crowd. By and by two men, most smartly dressed, with diamond pins in their cravats, and flowers embroidered on their waistcoats, came and sat opposite me. I thought they had chosen the place to have a quiet chat together. Not so. One pushed a cuspidore with his foot and brought it between the two chairs. There, for half an hour, without saying one word to each other, they chewed, hawked, and spat—and had a good time before going to bed.
.......
Trewey is nowhere as an equilibrist, compared to a gallant veteran who breakfasted at my table, this morning. Among the different courses brought to him were two boiled eggs, almost raw, poured into a tumbler according to the American fashion. Without spilling a drop, he managed to eat those eggs with the end of his knife. It was marvelous. I have never seen the like of it, even in Germany, where the knife trick is practiced from the tenderest age.
In Europe, swaggering little boys smoke; here they chew and spit, and look at you, as if to say: “See what a big man I am!”
Chicago (Second Visit)—Vassili Vereschagin’s Exhibition—The “Angelus”—Wagner and Wagnerites—Wanderings About the Big City—I Sit on the Tribunal.
Chicago,March15.
Arrivedhere this morning and put up at the Grand Pacific Hotel. My lecture to-night at the Central Music Hall is advertised as acauserie. My local manager informs me that many people have inquired at the box-office what the meaning of that French word is. As he does not know himself, he could not enlighten them, but he thinks that curiosity will draw a good crowd to-night.
This puts me in mind of a little incident which took place about a year ago. I was to make my appearance before an afternoon audience in the fashionable town of Eastbourne. Not wishing to convey the idea of a serious and prosy discourse, I advised my manager to call the entertainment “A causerie.” The room was full and the affair passed off very well. But an old lady, who was a well-known patroness of such entertainments, did not put in an appearance. On being asked the next day why she was not present, she replied: “Well, to tell you the truth, when I saw that they had given the entertainment a French name, Iwas afraid it might be something not quite fit for me to hear.” Dear soul!
.......
March16.
My manager’s predictions were realized last night. I had a large audience, one of the keenest and the most responsive and appreciative I have ever had. I was introduced by Judge Elliott Anthony, of the Superior Court, in a short, witty, and graceful little speech. He spoke of Lafayette and of the debt of gratitude America owes to France for the help she received at her hands during the War of Independence. Before taking leave of me, Judge Anthony kindly invited me to pay a visit to the Superior Court next Wednesday.
.......
March17.
Dined yesterday with Mr. James W. Scott, proprietor of the ChicagoHerald, one of the most flourishing newspapers in the United States, and in the evening went to see Richard Mansfield in “Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.” The play is a repulsive one, but the double impersonation gives the great actor a magnificent opportunity for the display of his histrionic powers. The house was crowded, though it was Sunday. The pick of Chicago society was not there, of course. Some years ago, I was told, a Sunday audience was mainly composed of men. To-day the women go as freely as the men. The “horrible” always has a great fascination for the masses, and Mansfield held his popular audience in a state of breathless suspense. There was a great deal of disappointment written on the faces when the light was turned down on the appearance of “Mr. Hyde,” with his horribly distorted features. A woman, sitting in a box next to the one I occupied, exclaimed, as “Hyde” came to explain his terrible secret to the doctor, in the fourth act, “What a shame, they are turning down the light again!”
.......
“DEAR SOUL!”
“DEAR SOUL!”
March18.
Spent yesterday in recreation intellectual—and otherwise. I like to see everything, and I have no objection to entering a dime museum. I went to one yesterday morning, and saw a bearded lady, a calf with two heads, a gorilla (stuffed), a girl with no arms, and other freaks of nature. The bearded lady had very, very masculine features, buthoni soit qui mal y pense. I could not help thinking of one of General Horace Porter’s good stories. A school-master asks a little boy what his father is.
“Please, sir, papa told me not to tell.”
“Oh, never mind, it’s all right with me.”
“Please, sir, he is the bearded lady at the dime museum.”
From the museum I went to the free library in the City Hall. Dime museums and free libraries—such is America. The attendance at the free libraries increases rapidly every day, and the till at the dime museums diminishes with proportionate rapidity.
After lunch I paid a visit to the exhibition of Vassili Vereschagin’s pictures. What on earth could possess the talented Russian artist, whose coloring is so lovely, to expend his labor on such subjects! Pictures like those, which show the horrors of a campaign in all their hideousness, may serve a good purpose in creatinga detestation of war in all who see them. Nothing short of such a motive in the artist could excuse the portrayal of such infamies. These pictures are so many nightmares which will certainly haunt my eyes and brain for days and nights to come. Battle scenes portrayed with a realism that is revolting, because, alas, only too true. The execution of nihilists in a dim, dreary, snow-covered waste. An execution of sepoys, the doomed rebels tied to the mouths of cannon about to be fired off. Scenes of torture, illustrative of the extent to which human suffering can be carried, give you cold shudders in every fiber of your body. One horrid canvas shows a deserted battlefield, the snow-covered ground littered with corpses that ravens are tearing and fighting for. But, perhaps worst of all, is a picture of a field, where, in the snow, lie the human remains of a company of Russian soldiers who have been surprised and slain by Turks. Among the bodies, outraged by horrible and nameless mutilations, walksa priest, swinging a censer. One seems to be pursued by, and impregnated with, a smell of cadaverous putrefaction. This collection of pictures is installed in a place which has been used for stabling horses in, and is reeking with stable odors and the carbolic acid that has been employed to neutralize them. Your sense of smell is in full sympathy with your horrified sense of sight: both are revolted.
.......
Now, behind the three large rooms devoted to the Russian artist’s works was a small one, in which hung a single picture. You little guess that that picture was no other than Jean Francois Millet’s “Angelus.” Millet’s dear little “Angelus,” that hymn of resignation and peace, alongside of all this roar and carnage of battle! The exhibitor thought, perhaps, that a sedative might be needed after the strong dose of Vassili Vereschagin, but I imagine that no one who went into that little room after the others was in a mood to listen to Millet’s message.
.......
March19.
Yesterday morning I went to see the Richmond Libby Prison, a four-story, huge brick building which has been removed here from Richmond, over a distance of more than a thousand miles, across the mountains of Pennsylvania. This is, perhaps, as the circular says, an unparalleled feat in the history of the world. The prison has been converted into a museum, illustrating the Civil War and African Slavery in America. The visit proved very interesting. In the afternoonI had a drive through the beautiful parks of the city.
In the evening I went to see “Tannhäuser” at the Auditorium. Outside, the building looks more like a penitentiary than a place of amusement—a huge pile of masonry, built of great, rough, black-looking blocks of stone. Inside, it is magnificent. I do not know anything to compare with it for comfort, grandeur, and beauty. It can hold seven thousand people. The decorations are white and gold. The lighting is done by means of arc electric lights in the enormously lofty roof—lights which can be lowered at will. Mr. Peck kindly took me to see the inner workings of the stage. I should say “stages,” for there are three. The hydraulic machinery for raising and lowering them cost $200,000.
Madame Lehmann sang grandly. I imagine that she is the finest lady exponent of Wagner’s music alive. She not only sings the parts, but looks them. Built on grand lines and crowned with masses of blond hair, she seems, when she gives forth those volumes of clear tones, a Norse goddess strayed into the nineteenth century.
M. Gounod describes Wagner as an astounding prodigy, an aberration of genius, a dreamer haunted by the colossal. For years I had listened to Wagner’s music, and, like most of my compatriots, brought up on the tuneful airs of Bellini, Donizetti, Rossini, Verdi, Auber, etc., I entirely failed to appreciate the music of the future. All I could say in its favor was some variation of the sentiment once expressed by Mr. Edgar W. Nye (“Bill Nye”) who, after giving the subjecthis mature consideration, said he came to the conclusion that Wagner’s music was not so bad as it sounded. But I own that since I went to Bayreuth and heard and saw the operas as there given, I began not only to see that they are beautiful, but why they are beautiful.
Wagnerian opera is a poetical and musical idealization of speech.
The fault that I, like many others, have fallen into, was that of listening to the voices instead of listening to the orchestra. The fact is, the voices could almost be dispensed with altogether. The orchestra gives you the beautiful poem in music, and the personages on the stage are really little more than illustrative puppets. They play about the same part in the work that pictures play in a book. Wagner’s method was something so new, so different to all we had been accustomed to, that it naturally provoked much indignation and enmity—not because it was bad, but because it was new. It was the old story of the Classicists and Romanticists over again.
If you wanted to write a symphony, illustrative of the pangs and miseries of a sufferer from toothache, you would, if you were a disciple of Wagner, write your orchestral score so that the instruments should convey to the listener the whole gamut of groans—the temporary relief, the return of the pain, the sudden disappearance of it on ringing the bell at the dentist’s door, the final wrench of extraction gone through by the poor patient. On the boards you would put a personage who, with voice and contortions, should help you, as pictorial illustrations help an author. Such is the Wagnerian method.
“A TERRIBLE WAGNERITE.”
“A TERRIBLE WAGNERITE.”
After the play I met a terrible Wagnerite. Most Wagnerites are terrible. They will not admit that anything can be discussed, much less criticised, in the works of the master. They are not admirers, disciples; they are worshipers. To them Wagner’s music is as perfect as America is to many a good-humored American. They will tell you that never have horses neighed so realistically as they do in the “Walküre.” Answer that this is almost lowering music to the level of ventriloquism, and they will declare you a profane, unworthy to live. My Wagnerite friend told me last night that Wagner’s work constantly improved till it reached perfection in “Parsifal.” “There,” he said, quite seriously, “the music has reached such a state of perfectionthat, in the garden scene, you can smell the violets and the roses.”
“Well,” I interrupted, “I heard ‘Parsifal’ in Bayreuth, and I must confess that it is, perhaps, the only work of Wagner’s that I cannot understand.”
“I have heard it thirty-four times,” he said, “and enjoyed it more the thirty-fourth time than I did the thirty-third.”
“Then,” I remarked, “perhaps it has to be heard fifty times before it can be thoroughly appreciated. In which case, you must own that life is too short to enable one to see an opera fifty times in order to enjoy it as it should really be enjoyed. I don’t care what science there is about music, or what labors a musician should have to go through. As one of the public, I say that music is a recreation, and should be understood at once. Auber, for example, with his delightful airs, that three generations of men have sung on their way home from the opera house, has been a greater benefactor of the human race than Wagner. I prefer music written for the heart to music written for the mind.”
On hearing me mention Auber’s name in one breath with Wagner’s, the Wagnerite threw a glance of contempt at me that I shall never forget.
“Well,” said I, to regain his good graces, “I may improve yet—I will try again.”
As a rule, the Wagnerite is a man utterly destitute of humor.
.......
March20.
Yesterday morning I called on Judge Elliott Anthony,at the Superior Court. The Judge invited me to sit by his side on the tribunal, and kindly explained to me the procedure, as the cases went on. Certainly kindness is not rare in Europe, but such simplicity in a high official is only to be met with in America.
Ann Arbor—The University of Michigan—Detroit Again—The French Out of France—Oberlin College, Ohio—Black and White—Are All American Citizens Equal?
Detroit,March22.
Oneof the most interesting and brilliant audiences that I have yet addressed was the large one which gathered in the lecture hall of the University of Michigan, at Ann Arbor, last night. Two thousand young, bright faces to gaze at from the platform is a sight not to be easily forgotten. I succeeded in pleasing them, and they simply delighted me.
The University of Michigan is, I think, the largest in the United States.
Picture to yourself one thousand young men and one thousand young women, in their early twenties, staying together in the same boarding-houses, studying literature, science, and the fine arts in the same class-rooms, living happily and in perfect harmony.
They are not married.
No restraint of any sort. Even in the boarding-houses they are allowed to meet in the sitting-rooms; I believe that the only restriction is that, at eight o’clock in the evening, or at nine (I forget which), the young ladies have to retire to their private apartments.
“But,” some European will exclaim, “do the young ladies’ parents trust all these young men?” They do much better than that, my dear friend—they trust their daughters.
During eighteen years, I was told, three accidents happened, but three marriages happily resulted.
The educational system of America engenders the high morality which undoubtedly exists throughout the whole of the United States, by accustoming women to the companionship of men from their infancy, first in the public schools, then in the high schools, and finally in the universities. It explains the social life of the country. It accounts for the delightful manner in which men treat women. It explains the influence of women. Receiving exactly the same education as the men, the women are enabled to enjoy all the intellectual pleasures of life. They are not inferior beings intended for mere housekeepers, but women destined to play an important part in all the stations of life.
No praise can be too high for a system of education that places knowledge of the highest order at the disposal of every child born in America. The public schools are free, the high schools are free, and the universities,4through the aid that they receive from the United States and from the State in which they are, can offer their privileges, without charge for tuition, to all persons of either sex who are qualified by knowledge for admission.
The University of Michigan comprises the Department of Literature, Science, and the Arts, the Departmentof Medicine and Surgery, the Department of Law, the School of Pharmacy, the Homœopathic Medical College, and the College of Dental Surgery. Each department has its special Faculty of Instruction.
I count 118 professors on the staff of the different faculties.
The library contains 70,041 volumes, 14,626 unbound brochures, and 514 maps and charts.
The University also possesses beautiful laboratories, museums, an astronomical observatory, collections, workshops of all sorts, a lecture hall capable of accommodating over two thousand people, art studios, etc., etc. Almost every school has a building of its own, so that the University is like a little busy town.
No visit that I have ever paid to a public institution interested me so much as the short one paid to the University of Michigan yesterday.
.......
Dined this evening with Mr. W. H. Brearley, editor of the DetroitJournal. Mr. Brearley thinks that the Americans, who received from France such a beautiful present as the statue of “Liberty Enlightening the World,” ought to present the mother country of General Lafayette with a token of her gratitude and affection, and he has started a national subscription to carry out his idea. He has already received support, moral and substantial. I can assure him that nothing would touch the hearts of the French people more than such a tribute of gratitude and friendship from the other great republic.
.......
In the evening I had a crowded house in the large lecture hall of the Young Men’s Christian Association.
After the lecture, I met an interesting Frenchman residing in Detroit.
“I was told a month ago, when I paid my first visit to Detroit, that there were twenty-five thousand French people living here,” I said to him.
“The number is exaggerated, I believe,” he replied, “but certainly we are about twenty thousand.”
“I suppose you have French societies, a French Club?” I ventured.
He smiled.
“The Germans have,” he said, “but we have not. We have tried many times to found French clubs in this city, so as to establish friendly intercourse among our compatriots, but we have always failed.”
“How is that?” I asked.
“Well, I don’t know. They all wanted to be presidents, or vice-presidents. They quarreled among themselves.”
“When six Frenchmen meet to start a society,” I said, “one will be president, two vice-presidents, one secretary, and the other assistant-secretary. If the sixth cannot obtain an official position, he will resign and go about abusing the other five.”
“That’s just what happened.”
It was my turn to smile. Why should the French in Detroit be different from the French all over the world, except perhaps in their own country? A Frenchman out of France is like a fish out of water. He loses his native amiability and becomes a sort ofsuspicious person, who spends his life in thinking that everybody wants to tread on his corns.
“When two Frenchmen meet in a foreign land,” goes an old saying, “there is one too many.”
THE TWO FRENCHMEN.
THE TWO FRENCHMEN.
In Chicago there are two Frenchmen engaged in teaching the natives of the city “how to speak and write the French language correctly.” The people of Chicago maintain that the streets are too narrow to let these two Frenchmen pass, when they walk in opposite directions. And it appears that one of them has lately started a little French paper—to abuse the other in.
I think that all the faults and weaknesses of the French can be accounted for by the presence of adefect, jealousy; and the absence of a quality, humor.
.......
Oberlin, O.,March24.
Have to-night given a lecture to the students of Oberlin College, a religious institution founded by the late Rev. Charles Finney, the friend of the slaves, and whose voice, they say, when he preached, shook the earth.
The college is open to colored students; but in an audience of about a thousand young men and women, I could only discover the presence of two descendants of Ham.
Originally many colored students attended at Oberlin College, but the number steadily decreased every year, and to-day there are only very few. The colored student is not officially “boycotted,” but he has probably discovered by this time that he is not wanted in Oberlin College any more than in the orchestra stalls of an American theater.
The Declaration of Independence proclaims that “all men are created equal,” but I never met a man in America (much less still a woman) who believed this or who acted upon it.
The railroad companies have special cars for colored people, and the saloons special bars. At Detroit, I was told yesterday that a respectable and wealthy mulatto resident, who had been refused service in one of the leading restaurants of the town, brought an action against the proprietor, but that, although there was no dispute of the facts, the jury unanimously decided against the plaintiff, who was moreover mulctedin costs to a heavy amount. But all this is nothing: the Young Men’s Christian Association, one of the most representative and influential corporations in the United States, refuses to admit colored youths to membership.
THE NEGRO.
THE NEGRO.
It is just possible that in a few years colored students will have ceased to study at Oberlin College.
I can perfectly well understand that Jonathan should not care to associate too closely with the colored people, for, although they do not inspire me with repulsion, still I cannot imagine—well, I cannot understand for one thing how the mulatto can exist.
But since the American has to live alongside thenegro, would it not be worth his while to treat him politely and honestly, give him his due as an equal, if not in his eyes, at any rate in the eyes of the law? Would it not be worth his while to remember that the “darky” cannot be gradually disposed of like the Indian, for Sambo adapts himself to his surroundings, multiplies apace, goes to school, and knows how to read, write, and reckon. Reckon especially.
It might be well to remember, too, that all the greatest, bloodiest revolutions the world has ever seen were set on foot, not to pay off hardships, but as revenge for injustice. “Uncle Tom’s Cabin” was called a romance, nothing but a romance, by the aristocratic Southerners; but, to use the Carlylian phrase, their skins went to bind the hundreds of editions of that book. Another “Uncle Tom’s Cabin” may yet appear.
America will have “to work her thinking machine” seriously on this subject, and that before many years are over. If the next Presidential election is not run on the negro question, the succeeding one surely will be.
4A fee of ten dollars entitles a student to the privileges of permanent membership in the University.
4A fee of ten dollars entitles a student to the privileges of permanent membership in the University.
Mr. and Mrs. Kendal in New York—Joseph Jefferson—Julian Hawthorne—Miss Ada Rehan—“As You Like It” at Daly’s Theater.
New York,March28.
TheNew York papers this morning announce that the “Society of Young Girls of Pure Character on the Stage” give a lunch to Mrs. Kendal to-morrow.
Mr. and Mrs. Kendal have conquered America. Their tour is a triumphal march through the United States, a huge success artistically, financially, and socially.
I am not surprised at it. I went to see them a few days ago in “The Ironmaster,” and they delighted me. AsClaireMrs. Kendal was admirable. She almost succeeded in making me forget Madame Jane Hading, who created the part at the Gymnase, in Paris, six years ago.
.......
This morning Mr. Joseph Jefferson called on me at the Everett House. The veteran actor, who looks more like a man of fifty than like one of over sixty, is now playing with Mr. William J. Florence in “The Rivals.” I had never seen him off the stage. I immediately saw that the characteristics of the actor were the characteristics of the man—kindness, naturalness,simplicity,bonhomie, andfinesse. An admirable actor, a great artist, and a lovable man.
At the Down-Town Club, I lunched with the son of Nathaniel Hawthorne—the greatest novelist that America has yet produced—Mr. Julian Hawthorne, himself a novelist of repute. Lately he has written a series of sensational novels in collaboration with the famous New York detective, Inspector Byrnes. Mr. Julian Hawthorne is a man of about forty-five, tall, well-proportioned, with an artistic-looking head crowned with grayish hair, that reminds a Frenchman of Alexandre Dumas,fils, and an American of Nathaniel Hawthorne. A charming, unaffected man, and a delightfulcauseur.
.......
In the evening I went to Daly’s Theater and saw “As You Like It.” That bewitching queen of actresses, Miss Ada Rehan, playedRosalind. Miss Rehan is so original that it would be perfectly impossible to compare her to any of the other great actresses of France and England. She is like nobody else. She is herself. The coaxing drawl of her musical voice, the vivacity of her movements, the whimsical spontaneity that seems to direct her acting, her tall, handsome figure, her beautiful, intellectual face, all tend to make her a unique actress. She fascinates you, and so gets hold of you, that when she is on the stage she entirely fills it. Mr. John Drew asOrlandoand Mr. James Drew asTouchstonewere admirable.
It matters little what the play-bill announces at Daly’s Theater. If I have not seen the play, I am sure to enjoy it; if I have seen it already, I am sure to enjoy it again.
Washington—The City—Willard’s Hotel—The Politicians—General Benjamin Harrison, U. S. President—Washington Society—Baltimore—Philadelphia.
Washington,April3.
Arrivedhere the day before yesterday, and put up at Willard’s. I prefer this huge hotel to the other more modern houses of the capital, because it is thoroughly American; because it is in its rotunda that every evening the leading men of all parties and the notables of the nation may be found; because to meet at Willard’s at night is as much the regular thing as to perform any of the official functions of office during the day; because, to use the words of a guide, which speaks the truth, it is pleasant to live in this historical place, in apartments where battles have been planned and political parties have been born or doomed to death, to become familiar with surroundings amid which Presidents have drawn their most important papers and have chosen their Cabinet Ministers, and where the proud beauties of a century have held their Court.
.......
On the subject of Washington hotels, I was told a good story the other day.
EVENING AT WILLARD’S.
EVENING AT WILLARD’S.
The most fashionable hotel of this city having outgrown its space, the proprietors sent a note to a lady, whose back yard adjoined, to say, that, contemplating still enlarging their hotel, they would be glad to know at what price she would sell her yard, and they would hand her the amount without any more discussion. The lady, in equally Yankee style, replied that she had been contemplating enlarging her back yard, andwas going to inquire what they would take for part of their hotel!
.......
How beautiful this city of Washington is, with its wide avenues, its parks, and its buildings! That Capitol, in white marble, standing on elevated ground, against a bright blue sky, is a poem—an epic poem.
I am never tired of looking at the expanse of cloudless blue that is almost constantly stretched overhead. The sunsets are glorious. The poorest existence would seem bearable under such skies. I am told they are better still further West. I fancy I should enjoy to spend some time on a farm, deep in the country, far from the noisy, crowded streets, but I fear I am condemned to see none but the busy haunts of Jonathan.
.......
In the evening I went to what is called a colored church. The place was packed with negroes of all shades and ages; the women, some of them very smartly dressed, and waving scarlet fans. In a pew sat a trio truly gorgeous. Mother, in black shiny satin, light-brown velvet mantle covered with iridescent beads, bonnet to match. Daughter of fifteen; costume of sky-blue satin, plush mantle, scarlet red, chinchilla fur trimmings, white hat with feathers. Second girl, or daughter, light-blue velvet, from top to toe, with large hat, apple-green and gold.
A GORGEOUS TRIO.
A GORGEOUS TRIO.
Every one was intently listening to the preacher, a colored man, who gave them, in graphic language and stentorian voice, the story of the capture of the Jews by Cyrus, their slavery and their delivery. A low accompaniment of “Yes!” “Hear, hear!” “Allelujah!”“Glory!” from the hearers, showed their approbation of the discourse. From time to time, there would be a general chuckle or laughter, and exclamations of delight from the happy grin-lit mouths, as, for instance, when the preacher described the supper of Belshazzar, and the appearance of the writing on the wall, in his own droll fashion. “’Let’s have a fine supper,’ said Belshazzar. ‘Dere’s ole Cyrus out dere, but we’ll have a good time and enjoy ourselves, and never mind him.’ So he went for de cups dat had come from de Temple of Jerusalem, and began carousin’! Dere is Cyrus, all de while, marchin’ his men up de bed ob de river. I see him comin’! I see him!” Then he pictured the state all that wicked party got in at the sight of the writing nobody could read, and by this time the excitement of the congregation was tremendous. The preacher thought this a good opportunity to point a moral. So he proceeded: “Now, drink is a poor thing; dere’s too much of it in dis here city.” Here followed a picture of certain darkies, who cut adash with shiny hats and canes, and frequented bars and saloons. “When folks take to drinkin’, somefin’s sure to go wrong.” Grins and grunts of approbation culminated in perfect shouts of glee, as the preacher said: “Ole Belshazzar and de rest of ’em forgot to shut de city gate, and in came Cyrus and his men.”
THE PREACHER.
THE PREACHER.
They went nearly wild with pleasure over the story of the liberation of the Jews, and incidental remarks on their own freeing. “Oh, let dem go,” said their masters, when they found the game was up, “dey’ll soon perish and die out!” Here the preacher laughed loudly, and then shouted: “But we don’t die out so easy!” [Grins and chuckling.]
One old negro was very funny to watch. When something met with his approval, he gave off a little “tchsu, tchsu!” and writhed forward and back on hisseat for a moment, apparently in intense enjoyment; then jumped off his seat, turning round once or twice; then he would listen intently again, as if afraid to lose a word.
“I see dis, I see dat,” said the preacher continually. His listeners seemed to see it too.
.......
At ten minutes to twelve yesterday morning, I called at the White House. The President had left the library, but he was kind enough to return, and at twelve I had the honor to spend a few minutes in the company of General Benjamin Harrison. Two years ago I was received by Mr. Grover Cleveland with the same courtesy and the same total absence of red tape.
The President of the United States is a man about fifty-five years old; short, exceedingly neat, and evenrecherchéin his appearance. The hair and beard are white, the eyes small and very keen. The face is severe, but lights up with a most gentle and kind smile.
General Harrison is a popular president; but the souvenir of Mrs. Cleveland is still haunting the minds of the Washingtonians. They will never forget the most beautiful lady who ever did the honors of theWhite House, and most of them look forward to the possibility of her returning to Washington in March, 1893.
.......
Washington society moves in circles and sets. The wife of the President and the wives and daughters of the Cabinet Ministers form the first set—Olympus, as it were. The second set is composed of the ladies belonging to the families of the Judges of the Supreme Court! The Senators come next. The Army circle comes fourth. The House of Representatives supplies the last set. Each circle, a Washington friend tells me, is controlled by rigid laws of etiquette. Senators’ wives consider themselves much superior to the wives of Congressmen, and the Judges’ wives consider themselves much above those of the Senators. But, as a rule, the great lion of Washington society is the British Minister, especially when he happens to be a real live English lord. All look up to him; and if a young titled Englishattachéwishes to marry the richest heiress of the capital, all he has to do is to throw the handkerchief, the young and the richest natives do not stand the ghost of a chance.
.......
Lectured last night, in the Congregational Church, to a large and most fashionable audience. Senator Hoar took the chair, and introduced me in a short, neat, gracefully worded little speech. In to-day’s WashingtonStar, I find the following remark:
The lecturer was handsomely introduced by Senator Hoar, who combines the dignity of an Englishman, the sturdiness of a Scotchman, thesavoir faireof a Frenchman, and the culture of a Bostonian.
The lecturer was handsomely introduced by Senator Hoar, who combines the dignity of an Englishman, the sturdiness of a Scotchman, thesavoir faireof a Frenchman, and the culture of a Bostonian.
What a strange mixture! I am trying to find where the compliment comes in, surely not in “thesavoir faireof a Frenchman!”
.......
Armed with a kind letter of introduction to Miss Kate Field, I called this morning at the office of this lady, who is characterized by a prominent journalist as “the very brainiest woman in the United States.” Unfortunately she was out of town.
I should have liked to make the personal acquaintance of this brilliant, witty woman, who speaks, I am told, as she writes, in clear, caustic, fearless style. My intention was to interview her a bit. A telegram was sent to her in New York from her secretary, and her answer was wired immediately: “Interviewhim.” So, instead of interviewing Miss Kate Field, I was interviewed, for her paper, by a young and very pretty lady journalist.
.......
Baltimore,April4.
I have spent the day here with some friends.
Baltimore strikes one as a quiet, solid, somewhat provincial town. It is an eminently middle-class looking city. There is no great wealth in it, no great activity; but, on the other hand, there is little poverty; it is a well-to-do citypar excellence. The famous Johns Hopkins University is here, and I am not surprised to learn that Baltimore is a city of culture and refinement.
A beautiful forest, a mixture of cultivated park and wilderness, about a mile from the town, must be a source of delight to the inhabitants in summer and during the beautiful months of September and October.
I was told several times that Baltimore was famous all over the States for its pretty women.
They were not out to-day. And as I have not been invited to lecture in Baltimore, I must be content with hoping to be more lucky next time.
.......
Philadelphia,April5.
After my lecture in Association Hall to-night, I will return to New York to spend Easter Sunday with my friends. Next Monday off again to the West, to Cincinnati again, to Chicago again, and as far as Madison, the State city of Wisconsin.
By the time this tour is finished—in about three weeks—I shall have traveled something like thirty thousand miles.
The more I think of it, the more I feel the truth of this statement, which I made in “Jonathan and His Continent”: To form an exact idea of what a lecture tour is in America, just imagine that you lecture to-night in London, to-morrow in Paris, then in Berlin, then in Vienna, then in Constantinople, then in Teheran, then in Bombay, and so forth. With this difference, that if you had to undertake the work in Europe, at the end of a week you would be more dead than alive.
“THE GOOD, ATTENTIVE, POLITE CONDUCTOR OF ENGLAND.”
“THE GOOD, ATTENTIVE, POLITE CONDUCTOR OF ENGLAND.”
But here you are not caged on the railroad lines, you can circulate. There is no fear of cold, no fear of hunger, and if the good, attentive, polite railway conductors of England could be induced to do duty on board the American cars, I would anytime go to America for the mere pleasure of traveling.
Easter Sunday in New York.
New York,April6 (Easter Sunday.)
Thismorning I went to Dr. Newton’s church in Forty-eighth Street. He has the reputation of being one of the best preachers in New York, and the choir enjoys an equally great reputation. The church was literally packed until the sermon began, and then some of the strollers who had come to hear the anthems moved on. Dr. Newton’s voice and delivery were not at all to my taste, so I did not sit out his sermon either. He has a big, unctuous voice, with the intonations and inflections of a showman at the fair. He has not the flow of ideas that struck me so forcibly when I heard the late Henry Ward Beecher in London; he has not thehistrionic powers of Dr. Talmage, either. There was more show than beauty about the music, too. A bellowing, shrieking soprano overpowered all the other voices in the choir, including that of a really beautiful tenor that deserved to be heard.
.......
New York blossoms like the rose on Easter Day. Every woman has a new bonnet and walks abroad to show it.