Chapter XI

_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."