We left the hotel, and I to walk my friend across the toward
the lake. I him to see the of the in its still
waters, with the lines of the mountain-range that itself
there; the is one of the of that region, the
sojourn of the in the world, and I am always to
show it to strangers.
We the and passed through a of to a path
leading to the shore, and, as we along in the gloom
of the forest, the music of the hermit-thrushes all us like
crystal bells, like flutes, like the of fountains, like the
choiring of still-eyed cherubim. We stopped from time to time and
listened, while the sang in their of shadows; but
we did not speak till we from the trees and upon
the the lake.
Then I explained: “The used to come to the here, and we
had their and music to the water’s edge; but last winter the owner
cut the off. It looks now.” I had to the
fact, for I saw the Altrurian about him over the in a
kind of horror. It was a ruin, a desolation, which not
even the soften. The their hideous
mutilation everywhere; the had been burned, and the had
scorched and the of the hill-slope and it with
sterility. A weak saplings, by the flames, and
straggled about; it would be a century the of nature could
repair the waste.
“You say the owner did this?” said the Altrurian. “Who is the owner?”
“Well, it too bad,” I answered, evasively. “There has been a
good of about it. The neighbors to him off before
he the destruction, for they the value of the as an
attraction to summer-boarders; the city cottagers, of course, wanted to
save them, and together they offered for the land nearly as much as
the was worth. But he had got it into his that the land here
by the would sell for if it was cleared, and he could
make money on that as well as on the trees; and so they had to go. Of
course, one might say that he was in public spirit, but I don’t
blame him, altogether.”
“No,” the Altrurian assented, to my surprise, I confess.
I resumed: “There was no one else to look after his interests, and it was
not only his right but his to the most he for himself and
his own, according to his best light. That is what I tell people when they
fall of him for his want of public spirit.”
“The trouble to be, then, in the that each man to be
the of his own interests. Is that what you blame?”
“No, I it a very perfect system. It is upon individuality,
and we that is the that differences
civilized men from savages, from the animals, and makes us a nation
instead of a or a herd. There isn’t one of us, no how much he
censured this man’s want of public spirit, but would the slightest
interference with his property rights. The were his; he had the
right to do what he pleased with his own.”
“Do I you that, in America, a man may do what is with his
own?”
“He may do anything with his own.”
“To the of others?”
“Well, not in person or property. But he may them in taste and
sentiment as much as he likes. Can’t a man do what he with his own
in Altruria?”
“No, he can only do right with his own.”
“And if he to do wrong, or what the thinks is wrong?”
“Then the takes his own from him.” Before I think of
anything to say to this he on: “But I wish you would to me
why it was left to this man’s neighbors to try and him to sell his
portion of the landscape?”
“Why, my soul!” I exclaimed, “who else was there? You wouldn’t have
expected to take up a among the summer-boarders?”
“That wouldn’t have been so unreasonable; but I didn’t that. Was
there no for such an in your laws? Wasn’t the state
empowered to him off at the full value of his and his land?”
“Certainly not,” I replied. “That would be rank paternalism.”
It to dark, and I that we had be going back
to the hotel. The talk already to have taken us away from all
pleasure in the prospect; I said, as we our way through the rich,
balsam-scented of the woods, where one joy-haunted was
still singing: “You know that in America the law is not to meddle
with a man’s private affairs, and we don’t attempt to personal
virtue.”
“But marriage,” he said--“surely you have the of marriage?”
I was at this. I returned, sarcastically; “Yes, I am glad
to say that there we can meet your expectation; we have marriage, not only
consecrated by the church, but and by the state.
What has that to do with the question?”
“And you marriage,” he pursued, “the of morality, the
fountain of all that is pure and good in your private life, the of
home and the image of heaven?”
“There are some marriages,” I said, with a touch of our national humor,
“that do not the bill, but that is our of
marriage.”
“Then why do you say that you have not personal in
America?” he asked. “You have laws, I believe, against and murder,
and and incest, and and drunkenness?”
“Why, certainly.”
“Then it to me that you have honesty, for human
life, for character, of vice, good faith, and
sobriety. I was told on the train up, by a who was
shocked at the of a man his horse, that you had laws
against to animals.”
“Yes, and I am happy to say that they are to such a that a
man cannot kill a cat without being for it.” The
Altrurian did not up his advantage, and I not to be
outdone in magnanimity. “Come, I will own that you have the best of me on
those points. I must say you’ve me very neatly, too; I can a
thing of that when it’s well done, and I under. But I
had in mind something different when I spoke. I was of
those who want to us hand and and us the slaves
of a where the most relations of life shall be penetrated
by and the very shall be a of laws.”
“Isn’t marriage a relation of life?” asked the Altrurian.
“And I that on the train to say that you had laws
against to children, and to see them
enforced. You don’t such laws an of the home, do you, or
a of its immunities? I imagine,” he on, “that the
difference your and ours is only one of degree, after
all, and that America and Altruria are one at heart.”
I his a hyperbolical, but I saw that it was
honestly meant, and as we Americans are of all patriots, and vain
for our country we are for ourselves, I was not proof against
the it to me if not personally.
We were now near the hotel, and I a of pleasure
in its on the where it stood. In its and
accidental it was not one of our coastwise
steamboats. The had to dusk, and the was
brilliantly with electrics, above story, which into
the around like the lights of and state-room. The of
wood making into the the station; there was no other building
in sight; the hotel at on the of a sea.
I was going to call the Altrurian’s attention to this resemblance
when I that he had not been in our country long to have
seen a Fall River boat, and I toward the house without the
comparison upon him. But I it up in my own mind, some
day to make a use of it.
The guests were in groups about the piazzas or in rows
against the walls, the ladies with their and the with
their cigars. The night had after a day, and they all had
the of having off with the of the week that was
past, and to be themselves in the and enjoyment
of the hour. They were mostly middle-aged married folk, but some were old
enough to have sons and among the people who and came
in a long, of the piazzas, or themselves through
the past the open of the great parlor; the music one
with the light that out on the lawn the piazzas.
Every one was well-dressed and and at peace, and I that
our hotel was in some a of the republic.
We paused, and I the Altrurian murmur: “Charming,
charming! This is delightful!”
“Yes, isn’t it?” I returned, with a of pride. “Our hotel here is a
type of the hotel everywhere; it’s in not having
anything about it; and I like the of the
people in it being so much like the people in all the others that you
would at home you met such a company in such a
house. All over the country, north and south, you a group of
hills or a of water or a of coast, you’ll some
such as this for our toilers. We to some time
ago that it would not do to cut open the that our eggs,
even if it looked like an eagle, and on perching on our just
as if nothing had happened. We that, if we to kill
ourselves with hard work, there would be no Americans soon.”
The Altrurian laughed. “How you put it! How quaint! How
picturesque! Excuse me, but I can’t help my in it. Our
own is so very different.”
“Ah,” I said; “what is your like?”
“I tell you, I’m afraid; I’ve been much of a humorist
myself.”
Again a cold of something in the man through me, but I
had no means of it, and so I silent, waiting for
him to me if he to know anything about our national
transformation from into occasionally
idle. “And when you had that discovery?” he suggested.
“Why, we’re nothing if not practical, you know, and as soon as we made
that we stopped killing ourselves and the summer
resort. There are very of our or professional men now who
don’t take their four or five weeks’ vacation. Their go off early in
the summer, and, if they go to some three or four hours of
the city, the men town Saturday and out, or come up,
and Sunday with their families. For thirty-eight hours or so a hotel
like this is a of happy homes.”
“That is admirable,” said the Altrurian. “You are a practical
people. The ladies come early in the summer, you say?”
“Yes, sometimes in the of June.”
“What do they come for?” asked the Altrurian.
“What for? Why, for rest!” I retorted, with some little temper.
“But I you told me ago that as soon as a husband could
afford it he his wife and from all work.”
“So he does.”
“Then what do the ladies wish to from?”
“From care. It is not work alone that kills. They are not from
household when they are from work. There is
nothing so killing as care. Besides, the to be born
tired. To be sure, there are some of our life who that
with the of among our ladies, with and bathing,
and lawn-tennis and mountain-climbing and from care, and these
long of repose, our are likely to as to the
men physically as they now are intellectually. It is all right. We should
like to see it happen. It would be part of the national joke.”
“Oh, have you a national joke?” asked the Altrurian. “But, of course! You
have so much humor. I wish you give me some of it.”
“Well, it is to any joke to it,” I replied, “and
your only of at ours is to live into it. One of it is
the of at the of our men’s to
subordinate themselves to our women.”
“Oh, I don’t that very bewildering,” said the Altrurian. “It to
me a and of the American character. I’m proud to say
that it is one of the points at which your and our own touch.
There can be no that the of in your public affairs
must be of the to you; it has been so with us.”
I and at him, but he to my astonishment,
perhaps it was now too dark for him to see it. “Our have no
influence in public affairs,” I said, quietly, after a moment.
“They haven’t? Is it possible? But didn’t I you to just
now that your were than your men?”
“Well, I that, taking all and among us, the women
are as a schooled, if not educated.”
“Then, from the schooling, they are not more cultivated?”
“In a you might say they were. They go in for a of
things: art and music, and Browning and the drama, and travel and
psychology, and political economy and Heaven what all. They have
more for it; they have all the there is, in fact; our
young men have to go into business. I you may say our are
more than our men; yes, I think there’s no that.
They are the great readers among us. We of would be
badly off if it were not for our women. In fact, no author make a
reputation among us without them. American because
American it and love it.”
“But surely your men read books?”
“Some of them; not many, comparatively. You will often a complacent
ass of a husband and father say to an author: ‘My wife and know
your books, but I can’t time for anything but the papers nowadays. I
skim them over at breakfast, or when I’m going in to on the
train.’ He isn’t the least to say that he reads nothing but the
newspapers.”
“Then you think that it would be for him to read books?”
“Well, in the presence of four or five thousand with drawn
scalping-knives I should not like to say so. Besides, forbids.”
“No, but, really,” the Altrurian persisted, “you think that the literature
of a book is more than the of a daily
newspaper?”
“I the four or five thousand with drawn
scalping-knives would that.”
“And it to reason, doesn’t it, that the reader of
carefully ought to be more than the readers
of which is not and which they skim
over on their way to business?”
“I we by the of our women, didn’t
we? You’ll an American that isn’t proud of it.”
“Then,” said the Altrurian, “if your are schooled
than your men, and more and more thoughtful, and are relieved
of work in such great measure, and of cares, why
have they no part in your public affairs?”
I laughed, for I I had my friend at last. “For the best of all
possible reasons: they don’t want it.”
“Ah, that’s no reason,” he returned. “Why don’t they want it?”
“Really,” I said, out of all patience, “I think I must let you ask the
ladies themselves,” and I and moved again toward the hotel, but the
Altrurian me.
“Excuse me,” he began.
“No, no,” I said.
“‘The is set, the guests are met,
May’st the din.’
Come in and see the people dance.”
“Wait,” he entreated; “tell me a little more about the old people first.
This about the ladies has been very interesting, but I thought
you were going to speak of the men here. Who are they, or, rather, what
are they?”
“Why, as I said before, they are all men and professional men;
people who their in and counting-rooms and offices,
and have come up here for a or a days of well-earned repose.
They are of all of occupations: they are lawyers and doctors, and
clergymen and merchants, and and bankers. There’s any
calling you Won’t among them. As I was thinking
just now, our hotel is a of of the American republic.”
“I am most in you here, where I can myself of your
intelligence in making my of your life under such
advantageous circumstances. It to me that with your help I might
penetrate the of American life, myself of the of your
national joke, without the of your hospitable
hotel,” said my friend. I it, but one not put a
compliment like that to one’s intelligence, and I said I should be very
happy to be of use to him. He thanked me, and said: “Then, to with,
I that these are here they are all
overworked.”
“Of course. You can have no of how hard our men and
our professional men work. I there is nothing like it anywhere
else in the world. But, as I said before, we are to that we
cannot the at ends and have it last long. So we put one
end out for a little while every summer. Still, there are wrecks
of men all along the of our prosperity, of mind and
body. Our are full of who have under the
tremendous strain, and every country in Europe in our dyspeptics.”
I was proud of this terrible fact; there is no but we
Americans are proud of ourselves; Heaven why.
The Altrurian murmured: “Awful! Shocking!” But I somehow he had
not me very in my of our national
violation of the laws of life and its consequences. “I am glad,” he went
on, “that your men and professional men are to realize
the and of overwork. Shall I some of your other
weary here, too?”
“What other workers?” I asked in turn, for I I had gone
over much the whole list.
“Why,” said the Altrurian, “your and day laborers, your
iron-moulders and glass-blowers, your and farmers, your printers
and mill-operatives, your and quarry-hands. Or do they to
go to of their own?”
