A Frenchman in America: Recollections of Men and Things

All that naïve philosophy, with which America abounds, must, I fancy, be the outcome of hardship endured by the pioneers of former days, and by the Westerner of our own times.

The element of exaggeration, which is so characteristic of American humor, may be explained by the rapid success of the Americans and the immensity of the continent which they inhabit. Everything is on a grand scale, or suggests hugeness. Then negro humor is mainly exaggeration, and has no doubt added its quota to the compound which, as I said just now, completely staggers certain foreigners.

Governor Hoard was telling me to-day that a German was inclined to be offended with him for saying that the Germans, as a rule, were unable to see through an American joke, and he invited Governor Hoard to try the effect of one upon him. The governor, thereupon told him the story of the tree, “out West,” which was so high that it took two men to see to the top. One of them saw as far as he could, then the second started from the place where the first stopped seeing, and went on. The recital did not raise the ghost of a smile, and Governor Hoard then said to the German: “Well, you see, the joke is lost upon you; you can’t see American humor.”

“Oh, but,” said the German, “that is not humor, that’s a tamnt lie!”

And he is still convinced that he can see through an American joke.

…

    Grand Rapids, April 24.

Have had to-day a lovely, sublime example of that preposterousness which so often characterizes American humor.

Arrived here this morning from Chicago. At noon, the Grand Rapidite who was “bossing the show” called upon me at the Morton House, and kindly inquired whether there was anything he could do for me. Before leaving, he said: “While I am here, I may as well give you the check for to-night’s lecture.”

“Just as you please,” I said; “but don’t you call that risky?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I may die before the evening.”

“Oh, that’s all right,” he interrupted. “I’ll exhibit your corpse; I guess there will be just as much money in it!”

…

Grand Rapids is noted for its furniture manufactories. A draughtsman, who is employed to design artistic things for the largest of these manufactories, kindly showed me over the premises of his employers. I was not very surprised to hear that when the various retail houses come to make their yearly selections, they will not look at any models of the previous season, so great is the rage for novelties in every branch of industry in this novelty-loving America.

No sinecure, that draughtsman’s position, I can tell you.

Over in Europe, furniture is reckoned by periods. Here it is an affair of seasons.

Very funny to have to order a new sideboard or wardrobe, “to be sent home without delay” for fear of its being out of date.

CHAPTER XLIII

Good-by to America – Not “Adieu,” but “Au Revoir” – On Board the “Teutonic” – Home Again

    New York, April 26.

The last two days have vanished rapidly in paying calls.

This morning my impresario gave me a farewell breakfast at the Everett House. Edmund Clarence Stedman was there; Mark Twain, George Kennan, General Horace Porter, General Lloyd Bryce, Richard Watson Gilder, and many others sat at table, and joined in wishing me bon voyage.

Good-by, my dear American friends, I shall carry away sweet recollections of you, and whether I am re-invited in your country or not, I will come again.

…

    April 27.

The saloon on board the Teutonic is a mass of floral offerings sent by friends to the passengers. Two huge beautiful baskets of lilies and roses are mine.

The whistle is heard for the third time. The hands are pressed and the faces kissed, and all those who are not passengers leave the boat and go and take up position on the wharf to wave their handkerchiefs until the steamer is out of sight. A great many among the dense crowd are friendly faces familiar to me.

The huge construction is set in motion, and gently and smoothly glides from the docks to the Hudson River. The sun is shining, the weather glorious.

The faces on land get less and less distinct. For the last time I wave my hat.

Hallo, what is the matter with me? Upon my word, I believe I am sad. I go to the library, and, like a child, seize a dozen sheets of note paper on which I write: “Good-by.” I will send them to New York from Sandy Hook.

The Teutonic is behaving beautifully. We pass Sandy Hook. The sea is perfectly calm. Then I think of my dear ones at home, and the happiest thoughts take the place of my feelings of regret at leaving my friends.

My impresario, Major J. B. Pond, shares a beautiful, well-lighted, airy cabin with me. He is coming to England to engage Mr. Henry M. Stanley for a lecture tour in America next season.

The company on board is large and choice. In the steerage a few disappointed American statesmen return to Europe.

Oh! that Teutonic! can any one imagine anything more grand, more luxurious? She is going at the rate of 450 miles a day. In about five days we shall be at Queenstown.

…

    Liverpool, May 4.

My most humble apologies are due to the Atlantic for libeling that ocean at the beginning of this book. For the last six days the sea has been perfectly calm, and the trip has been one of pleasure the whole time. Here is another crowd on the landing-stage at Liverpool.

And now, dear reader, excuse me if I leave you. You were present at the friendly farewell handshakings on the New York side; but, on this Liverpool quay, I see a face that I have not looked upon for five months, and having a great deal to say to the owner of it, I will politely bow you out first.

notes

1

J. B. O’Reilly died in 1890.

2

Destroyed by fire three days after I left Toronto.

3

Very strange, that church with its stalls, galleries, and boxes – a perfect theater. From the platform it was interesting to watch the immense throng, packing the place from floor to ceiling, in front, on the sides, behind, everywhere.

4

A fee of ten dollars entitles a student to the privileges of permanent membership in the University.