Читать книгу Jonathan and His Continent: Rambles Through American Society - O'Rell Max - Страница 11

Table of Contents

American Houses.—Furniture.—Luxury.—The Clubs.—An Evening at the Authors' Club.—An Eyesore.—A Wonderful Shot.—Bang, right in the Bull's-eye!

merican houses are furnished very luxuriously, and for the most part in exquisite taste. Here you see the influence of woman in the smallest details of life; indeed, at every step you take, you see that woman has passed that way.

Decorations and furniture, in New York especially, are dark, substantial, and artistic. The liberal use of portières adds greatly to the richness of effect. Even in the hall, doors are replaced by hangings. On all sides there is pleasure for the eyes, whether it rests on furniture, walls, or ceilings. The floors are covered with rich carpets, and the ceilings are invariably decorated in harmony with the rest of the room.

The reception-rooms are on the ground-floor, which is always twelve or fifteen feet above the sidewalk. The suite is composed of three or four rooms (sometimes more), divided one from another by portières. Each room is in a different style. One contains dark furniture and hangings, oil paintings, costly art treasures, majestical tropical plants; another, in Oriental style, invites the visitor to cosy chats among its divans and screens; another, perhaps, has books, etchings, and antiquities of all kinds; another, in the style of a boudoir, will be strewn with knick-knacks, light bric-à-brac, water-colours, statuettes, etc., in artistic disorder; yet another may serve as music-room—here, no carpets, the parquet floor is waxed, the walls are unadorned—all has been thought out with intelligence. Flowers in every room shed sweet fragrance. When all the suite is lighted up, and the portières looped back, the effect is enchanting; and when a score of American women, elegant, handsome, and witty, add life to the scene, I can assure you that you are not in a hurry to consult your watch.

The luxury, displayed at receptions, dinners, and dances, surpasses European imagination. At a ball, given in New York in the month of February, 1888, the walls were covered with roses, which did not cost less than £2,000. When one considers that the supper, and everything else, was on the same scale, it becomes doubtful whether such luxury is to be admired. I was present one evening at a dinner, given in the large dining-hall at Delmonico's restaurant, New York. We were eighty-seven guests at an immense round table. The centre of the board was covered with a gigantic star of flowers, roses, arum lilies, and heliotrope. At that season lilies were worth a dollar each; and, all through the winter, the price of roses was from a quarter to two dollars apiece, according to kind. The Americans at this feast estimated the star of flowers at £1,500 or £1,600.

At a dinner party given recently at Delmonico's, I heard that each menu had a chain attached, consisting of pearls and diamonds, and valued at 1,000 dollars. Is this luxury? Surely it is bad taste, not to say vulgarity.

The principal clubs, in the large American cities, are princely habitations, full of everything that can minister to man's well-being. The American clubs are as luxurious as those of London; but this is the only resemblance which there is between them. The clubs, in large English towns, are sad and solemn; those in the American cities are bright and gay. In New York, Boston, Chicago, etc., the club is not merely a place where a man goes to read the papers, or to dine when his family is out of town; it is a place where men meet for converse, and to enjoy various relaxations. All the members know each other almost intimately.

The doors of American clubs are often opened to ladies, except in Boston, I am told, where no opportunity for the display of Anglomania is neglected. I was present at a very grand ball given by the Union League Club of New York; and when I lectured in the Union League Club of Chicago, at the invitation of the members, there were a great number of ladies invited to be present.

Americans amuse themselves gaily, and ladies are always of the party. They have not the English tendency to convert their pleasures into funeral services.

The hospitality of American clubs is thoughtfully and generously extended to foreigners who visit the States. I had not been a fortnight in America before I was "put up" as honorary member of nearly all the New York clubs. In the other large cities I visited, I met with the same amiability, the same eager expression of cordiality.

A charming little club, but this one has no pretension to luxuriousness, is the Authors' Club in New York. It only has three rooms, very modestly furnished, where one may meet some of America's most charming writers, playing at Bohemia, and chatting over a cigar. Once a fortnight there is a reunion. A simple supper is served at ten o'clock: roast chickens, green peas, and potatoes; cheese and beer. The members are waiting to introduce champagne until Congress has passed the International Copyright Bill. One hardly thinks of the fare in the company of this aristocracy of American talent and intellect. To these gentlemen I owe many a delightful hour passed in their midst.

A very interesting little ceremony takes place at the Authors' Club on New Year's night. On the evening of the 31st December the members of the club muster in force at their snug quarters in Twenty-fourth Street. At two or three minutes to twelve all the lights are put out, and "Auld lang syne" is sung in chorus, to bid good-bye to the year that is passing away. As soon as the clock has struck the midnight hour[5], the lights are relit, all the company strike up "He's a jolly good fellow," and there is a general hand-shaking and wishing of good wishes for the coming year. Then everyone dives into his memory for an anecdote, a good joke, or an amusing reminiscence, and the evening is prolonged till two or three o'clock. I had the good luck to be present at the last of these merry meetings. Mark Twain presided, and I need not tell you with what spirited and inexhaustible mirth the celebrated humorist did the honours of the evening.

In houses, in clubs, in offices, one cannot help admiring the ingenious forethought, the wonderful care, with which the smallest wants and the slightest commodities of life have been studied: it seems as if there were nothing left to desire.

It is impossible, however, in speaking of American interiors, to pass over in silence a certain eyesore, which meets your sight at every turn.

The most indispensable, most conspicuous, piece of furniture in America is the spittoon. All rooms are provided with this object of prime necessity; you find one beside your seat in the trains, under your table in the restaurants: impossible to escape the sight of the ugly utensil. In the hotel corridors, there is a spittoon standing sentinel outside every door. In public edifices, the floors are dotted with them, and they form the line all up the stairs.

The Americans, used to these targets from the tenderest age, are marvellously adroit at the use of them: they never miss their aim. I saw some really striking feats of marksmanship; but perhaps the best of all at the Capitol, in Washington.

The Supreme Court of Judicature was sitting. As I entered, an advocate was launching thunders of eloquence. All at once he stopped, looked at a spittoon which stood two yards off, aimed at it, and, krrron, craaahk, ptu!—right in the bull's-eye! Then on he went with his harangue. I looked to see the seven judges and the public applaud and cry "Bravo!" Not a murmur; the incident passed completely unnoticed. Probably there was not a man in the hall who could not say to himself: "There's nothing in that; I could do as much."