I that with all my to meet an Altrurian, I was in no
hospitable mood toward the traveler when he presented himself,
pursuant to the of sent me by the friend who him.
It would be easy to take of him in the hotel; I had to
engage a room for him, and have the tell him his money was not good
if he to pay for anything. But I had into my story; its
people were about me all the time; I its events and places, and
I did not see how I welcome my guest among them, or them for
him. Still, when he actually arrived, and I took his hand as he stepped
from the train, I it less difficult to say that I was to see
him than I expected. In fact, I was glad, for I not look upon his
face without a of for him. I had not the least
trouble in him, for he was so all the Americans who
dismounted from the train with him, and who all looked hot, worried, and
anxious. He was a man no longer young, but in what we call the of
life, when our own people are so in making for the
future that they may be said not to live in the present at all. This
Altrurian’s whole countenance, and his quiet, eyes,
expressed a contemporaneity, with of to the
end of time; or, at least, this was the of something in them which
I am to report in terms. He was above the middle
height, and he himself vigorously. His was sunburned, or
sea-burned, where it was not bearded; and, although I from my
friend’s that he was a man of learning and in his own
country, I should have him a person of life, he
was so from over with anything like the of thought.
When he took the hand I offered him in my half-hearted welcome he gave it
a that me to our daily to something much
less muscular.
“Let me have your bag,” I said, as we do when we meet people at the train,
and he a upon me, with a in
his eyes, as if it had been the favor. “Have you got
any checks?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said, in very good English, but with an new to me, “I
bought two.” He gave them to me, and I passed them to our hotel porter,
who was waiting there with the baggage-cart. Then I that we
should walk across the to the house, which is a of a mile
or so from the station. We started, but he stopped and looked
back over his shoulder. “Oh, you needn’t be about your trunks,” I
said. “The will them to the house all right. They’ll be in your
room by the time we there.”
“But he’s them into the himself,” said the Altrurian.
“Yes; he always that. He’s a fellow. He’ll manage it.
You needn’t--” I not saying he need not mind the porter; he
was to the station, and I had the of him
take an end of each and help the it into the wagon; some
lighter pieces he put in himself, and he did not stop till all the baggage
the train had left was of.
I his valise, unable to put it in my at
this performance, which had been not to me alone, but to
all the people who by the train, and all their friends who came
from the hotel to meet them. A number of these passed me on the tally-ho
coach; and a lady, who had got her husband with her for over Sunday, and
was in very good spirits, called to me: “Your friend fond
of exercise!”
“Yes,” I answered, dryly; the which ought to have come
to my help failed to up. But it was to be with the
Altrurian when he returned to me, by his with the baggage
and smiling.
“Do you know,” he said, “I that good was of my
helping him. I it didn’t a upon him in any way before
your people? I ought to have of that.”
“I we can make it right with him. I say he more surprised
than disgraced. But we must make a little now; your train was half
an hour late, and we shall not so good a for supper if we are
not there promptly.”
“No?” said the Altrurian. “Why?”
“Well,” I said, with lightness, “first come, served, you
know. That’s nature.”
“Is it?” he returned, and he looked at me as one who another
of joking.
“Well, isn’t it?” I retorted; but I to add: “Besides, I want to
have time after supper to you a of our landscape. I think you’ll
enjoy it.” I he had in Boston that by steamer, and I
now it high time to ask him: “Well, what do you think of America,
anyway?” I ought to have asked him this the moment he from
the train.
“Oh,” he said, “I’m interested,” and I that he spoke
with a reservation. “As the most country of its time,
I’ve always been very to see it.”
The last my again, and I said, confidently:
“You must our of baggage-checks delightful.” I said this
because it is one of the we of to foreigners, and I had
the of it. “By-the-way,” I to add, “I you meant to
say you _brought_ two when I asked you for them at the train just
now? But you said you _bought_ them.”
“Yes,” the Altrurian replied, “I gave a for them at the
station in Boston. I saw other people doing it,” he explained, my
surprise. “Isn’t it the custom?”
“I’m happy to say it isn’t yet, on most of our roads. They were tipping
the baggage-man, to make sure that he their in time and
put it on the train. I had to do that myself when I came up; otherwise it
might have got along here some time next day. But the is perfect.”
“The man looked out,” said the Altrurian, “and I am I
gave him something. He to have hundred pieces of to
look after, and he wasn’t embarrassed like your by my helping him
put my into the car. May I that the of the
station, its facilities, its waiting-rooms, and its
whole and gave me a impression?”
“I know,” I had to own, “it’s shameful; but you wouldn’t have found
another station in the city so bad.”
“Ah, then,” said the Altrurian, “I this particular road is too
poor to more baggage-men or new stations; they rather
shabby all the way up.”
“Well, no,” I was to confess, “it’s one of the in
the country. The stock at about 180. But I’m we shall
be late to supper if we don’t on,” I off; though I was not
altogether sorry to arrive after the had of the baggage. I
dreaded another of active on the part of my strange
companion; I have often sorry myself for the of hotels, but I
have of to help them the that
they manage.
The Altrurian was with the hotel; and in it did look
extremely pretty, with its piazzas full of well-dressed people,
and its green where the children were playing. I the way to the
room which I had taken for him next my own; it was furnished, but
it was sweet with matting, fresh linen, and pure walls. I
flung open the window-blinds and let him a of the mountains
purpling under the sunset, the beneath, and the foliaged
shores.
“Glorious! glorious!” he sighed.
“Yes,” I assented. “We think that’s fine.” He stood
tranced the window, and I I had say: “Well, now I
can’t give you much time to the of travel off; the dining-room
doors close at eight, and we must down.”
“I’ll be with you in a moment,” he said, off his coat.
I waited at the of the stairs, the question I
met on the and in the of my acquaintance. The of my
friend’s at the station must have spread through the whole place;
and to know who he was. I answered he was a
traveler from Altruria; and in some cases I and explained
that the Altrurians were peculiar.
In much less time than it my friend me; and then I had a
little for my in his behalf. I see that,
whatever people said of him, they the same at
sight of him that I had felt. He had a little in his dress,
and I that the him not only good-looking but
well-dressed. They him with their as we into the
dining-room, and I was proud of being with him, as if I somehow
shared the of his and good looks. The Altrurian himself
seemed most with the head-waiter, who us to our places, and
while we were waiting for our supper I a to that he
was a student from one of the fresh-water colleges, and was
serving here his vacation. This to my friend
so much that I on to tell him that many of the waitresses, he
saw there to the order of the guests, were country
school-mistresses in the winter.
“Ah, that is as it should be,” he said; “that is the of thing I
expected to meet with in America.”
“Yes,” I responded, in my national vanity, “if America means
anything at all it means the of work and the of personal
worth everywhere. I you are going to make a long with us. We
like to have travelers visit us who can the of our
institutions as well as read their letter. As a Europeans quite
get our point of view. Now a great many of these are ladies, in
the true of the word--selfrespectful, intelligent, refined, and fit
to grace--”
I was by the noise my friend in pushing his
chair and to his feet. “What’s the matter?” I asked. “You’re not
ill, I hope?”
But he did not me. He had the dining-hall toward the
slender girl who was us our supper. I had ordered rather
generously, for my friend had owned to a good appetite, and I was hungry
myself with waiting for him, so that the the girl was piled
up with dishes. To my I saw, than at that
distance, the Altrurian enter into a with her, and
then, as if all her by of will, possess
himself of the and make off with it toward our table. The child
followed him, to her hair; the head-waiter looking
helplessly on; the guests, who at that late hour were few,
were at the scandal; the Altrurian alone to think
his the most natural thing in the world. He put the on the
side-table near us, and in of our waitress’s upon
arranging the little bird-bath our plates. Then at last he
sat down, and the girl, and tremulous, left the room, as I could
not help suspecting, to have a good in the kitchen. She did not come
back, and the head-waiter, who was to send another in her
place, looked after our wants himself. He a on my
friend, as if he were not sure he was safe, but the Altrurian
resumed the with all that of which I
noticed in him after he helped the with the baggage. I did not
think it the moment to take him to for what he had just done; I was
not sure that it was the part of a to do so at all, and between
the one and the other I left the of talk to him.
“What a creature!” he began. “I saw anything prettier
than the way she had of my help, without or
affectation of any kind. She is, as you said, a perfect lady, and she
graces her work, as I am sure she would any of life. She
quite my of an American girl, and I see now what the spirit
of your country must be from such an of it.”
I to tell him that while a country school-teacher who at
table in a hotel is very much to be in her sphere, she is
not with that high which some other among us;
but I did not this very easy, after what I had said of our for
labor; and while I was how I hedge, my friend on.
“I liked England greatly, and I liked the English, but I not like
the of their or the of their
society. It to me iniquitous, for we that and
iniquity are the same in the last analysis.”
At this I myself able to say: “Yes, there is something terrible,
something shocking, in the with which Englishmen affirm
the of men. The of the equality
of men was the point of with us when we from
them.”
“I know,” said the Altrurian. “How it is in your
glorious Declaration!”
“Ah, you have read our Declaration of Independence, then?”
“Every Altrurian has read that,” answered my friend.
“Well,” I on smoothly, and I to what I was going to say
the means of him without the little
mistake he had just with the waitress, “of we don’t take that
in its literality.”
“I don’t you,” he said.
“Why, you know it was the political than the social of
England that we with, in the Revolution.”
“How is that?” he returned. “Didn’t you with and nobility,
and ranks and classes?”
“Yes, we with all those things.”
“But I them a part of the social as well as the political structure
in England. You have no kings or here. Have you any ranks or
classes?”
“Well, not in the English sense. Our ranks and classes, such as we
have, are what I may call voluntary.”
“Oh, I understand. I that from time to time ones among you
feel the need of serving, and ask of the to subordinate
themselves to the of the and perform all the offices in
it. Such must be in honor. Is it something like
that?”
“Well, no, I can’t say it’s like that. In I think I’d better
let you trust to your own of our life.”
“But I’m sure,” said the Altrurian, with a so that it was
a long time I it real, “that I shall approach
it so much more with a little from you. You say
that your social are voluntary. But do I that those
who among you do not wish to do so?”
“Well, I don’t they would if they help it,” I replied.
“Surely,” said the Altrurian, with a look of horror, “you don’t that
they are slaves.”
“Oh no! oh no!” I said; “the put an end to that. We are all free now,
black and white.”
“But if they do not wish to serve, and are not in for
serving--”
“I see that my word ‘voluntary’ has you,” I put in. “It isn’t the
word exactly. The among us are a of natural
selection. You will see, as you with the of
our institutions, that there are no here but the
fitness of the work for the man and the man for the work the
social rank that each one holds.”
“Ah, that is fine!” the Altrurian, with a of enthusiasm. “Then
I that these people who teach in winter
and at table in the are in a of state,
waiting for the of natural selection to they
shall be teachers or waiters.”
“Yes, it might be in some such terms,” I assented, though I was not
altogether easy in my mind. It to me that I was not candid
with this most spirit. I added: “You know we are a of
fatalists here in America. We are great in the that it
will all come out right in the end.”
“Ah, I don’t wonder at that,” said the Altrurian, “if the of
natural selection so perfectly among you as you say. But I am afraid
I don’t this of your service yet. I you
said that all work is in America. Then no social slight
attaches to service, I suppose?”
“Well, I can’t say that, exactly. The is, a social slight
does to service, and that is one why I don’t like to
have students wait at table. It won’t be for them to it
in after-life, and it won’t be for their children to remember
it.”
“Then the would descend?”
“I think it would. One wouldn’t like to think one’s father or mother had
been at service.”
The Altrurian said nothing for a moment. Then he remarked: “So it seems
that while all work is among you, there are some of
honest work that are not so much as others.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because some are more than others.”
“But why?” he persisted, as I thought, a little unreasonably.
“Really,” I said, “I think I must you to imagine.”
“I am I can’t,” he said, sadly. “Then, if service is
degrading in your eyes, and people are not among you, may
I ask why any are servants?”
“It is a question of bread-and-butter. They are to be.”
“That is, they are to do work that is and to
them they cannot live without?”
“Excuse me,” I said, not at all this of pursuit, and feeling
it to turn upon a guest who it up. “Isn’t it so with you in
Altruria?”
“It was so once,” he admitted, “but not now. In fact, it is like a waking
dream to one’s self in the presence of here that we
outlived so long ago.”
There was an in this speech that me, and
stung me to retort: “We do not to them. We them as
final, and as in nature itself.”
“Ah,” said the Altrurian, with a and courtesy, “have I
said something offensive?”
“Not at all,” I to answer. “It is not that you did not
get our point of view exactly. You will by-and-by, and then, I think, you
will see that it is the true one. We have that the logic of our
convictions not be to the problem of service. It is
everywhere a very and problem. The old solution
of the problem was to own your servants; but we that this was not
consistent with the of our free institutions. As soon as it was
abandoned the began. We had the period when the
housekeeper with her and they were her help, and were
called so; and we had to have to do all the work,
and to call them so. This of right to some of
our purest and best people. They fancied, as you to have done, that
to people through their to do your drudgery,
and to and them with a name which every American instinctively
resents, was neither Christian. Some of our tried
to by making their a part of their families; and in
the life of Emerson you’ll an account of his attempt to have
his eat at the same table with himself and his wife. It wouldn’t
work. He and his wife it, but the couldn’t.”
I paused, for this was where the laugh ought to have come in. The
Altrurian did not laugh, he asked, “Why?”
“Well, the knew, if they didn’t, that they were a whole
world in their traditions, and were no more fit to than
New-Englanders and New-Zealanders. In the of education--”
“But I you said that these girls who wait at table here were
teachers.”
“Oh, I your pardon; I ought to have explained. By this time it had
become impossible, as it now is, to American girls to take service
except on some such terms as we have in a hotel; and the
domestics were already foreigners, fit for nothing else. In such
a place as this it isn’t so bad. It is more as if the girls in a
shop or a factory. They their own time, in a measure, their hours
are fixed, and they have one another’s society. In a private
family they would be to order at all times, and they would have no
social life. They would be in the family, out not of it. American girls
understand this, and so they won’t go out to service in the way.
Even in a hotel the relation has its aspects. The of
giving fees to me to those who have to take them. To offer
a student or a teacher a for personal service--it isn’t right, or I
can’t make it so. In fact, the whole thing is with us.
The best that you can say of it is that it works, and we don’t know what
else to do.”
“But I don’t see yet,” said the Altrurian, “just why service is
degrading in a country where all of work are honored.”
“Well, my dear fellow, I have done my best to explain. As I intimated
before, we distinguish; and in the different of labor we distinguish
against service. I say it is of the of
independence which it involves. People naturally a dependant.”
“Why?” asked the Altrurian, with that of his which I was
beginning to trying.
“Why?” I retorted. “Because it weakness.”
“And is among you?” he pursued.
“In every it is practically, if not theoretically,” I
tried to explain. “The great thing that America has done is to offer the
race an opportunity--the opportunity for any man to above the rest
and to take the place, if he is able.” I had always been proud of
this fact, and I I had put it very well, but the Altrurian did not
seem much by it.
He said: “I do not see how it from any country of the past in
that. But you that to with it an obligation
to those ‘If any is among you, let him be your servant.’ Is it
something like that?”
“Well, it is not like that,” I answered, how very little
our self-made men as a class had done for others. “Every one is expected
to look out for himself here. I that there would be very little
rising if men were to for the of others, in America.
How is it with you in Altruria?” I demanded, to out of a
certain I in that way. “Do your men devote
themselves to the good of the after they to the top?”
“There is no among us,” he said, with what a of
the of my question; and he paused a moment he asked in
his turn: “How do men among you?”
“That would be a long story,” I replied. “But, it in the
rough, I should say that they rose by their talents, their shrewdness,
their ability to an and turn it to their own account.”
“And is that noble?”
“It is smart. It is at the than a
dead level of equality. Are all men equal in Altruria? Are they all alike
gifted or beautiful, or or tall?”
“No, they are only equal in and in rights. But, as you said just
now, that is a very long story. Are they equal in nothing here?”
“They are equal in opportunities.”
“Ah!” the Altrurian, “I am to that.”
I to a little uneasy, and I was not sure that this last
assertion of mine would water. Everybody but ourselves had now left
the dining-room, and I saw the head-waiter us impatiently. I pushed
back my chair and said: “I’m sorry to to you, but I should like
to you a very we have here it is too
dark. When we back, I want to you to a of my friends. Of
course, I needn’t tell you that there is a good of about
you, among the ladies.”
“Yes, I that the case in England, largely. It was the who
cared most to meet me. I that in America is managed
even more by than it is in England.”
“It’s in their hands,” I said, with the we all feel
in the fact. “We have no other class. The men among us are
generally hard workers; to is the rule; but, as soon as
a man the point where he can to pay for service,
his wife and to be from it to the of
their minds and the of social pleasures. It’s right.
That is what makes them so to foreigners. You must have heard
their in England. The English our men stupid,
I believe; but they think our are charming.”
“Yes, I was told that the of their were sometimes
Americans,” said the Altrurian. “The English think that you such
marriages as a great honor, and that they are very to your
national pride.”
“Well, I that is so in a measure,” I confessed. “I that it
will not be long the English as from
American as from kings’ mistresses. Not,” I added,
virtuously, “that we approve of aristocracy.”
“No, I that,” said the Altrurian. “I shall to your
point of view in this more by-and-by. As yet, I’m a
little about it.”
“I think I can make it clear to you,” I returned.
