My Impressions of America

On my arrival I found many letters from England on the political crisis; and if I can judge at such a distance, the Coalition seems doomed.

Believing as I always have in party government as the best solution for democracy, I think Sir George Younger deserves a Victoria Cross, and it will be interesting to see how many of the timid Conservatives will regain sufficient courage to follow him. The mischief that is being made between my husband and Lord Grey leaves me cold.

Their friendship is not of a kind to be easily severed, and the House of Lords and the House of Commons are separate institutions.

Trammelled as I have always been by an unfortunate combination of truthfulness and impatience, and exhausted by the journey of eighteen hours, I was afraid I had been neither genial nor informing to the reporters upon my arrival in New York, but on looking at the papers next morning I found they had treated me with friendliness and courtesy.

Journalism over here is not only an obsession but a drawback that cannot be over-rated. Politicians are frightened of the press, and in the same way as bull-fighting has a brutalising effect upon Spain (of which she is unconscious), headlines of murder, rape, and rubbish, excite and demoralise the American public.

I would like to make it clear that it is not the reporters but the owners of the papers that should be censured. With the exception of a few garrulous and gushing geese, who think it smart to ask pert and meaningless questions, the male reporters that I have met have not only been serious and intelligent, but men with whom I have discussed literature, politics and religion; but it would not pay their editors, I presume, to publish conversations of this character. On the front page of even the best newspapers, paragraph after paragraph is taken up by descriptions in poor English of devastating trivialities. Violent and ignorant young men, or "flappers" – in whom the public here seem to take an unnatural interest – might easily suppose that their best chance of success in life lay in creating a sensation. Of what use can it be to create a sensation? Who profits by it? What influence can this sort of thing have upon the morals of a great and vital nation? If Christ with His warnings against worldliness were to come down to-day, after giving Him one hearing the crowd would not crucify Him, they would shoot Him at sight.

You have only to examine the newspaper comments upon Abraham Lincoln to see that even in those days abuse and misrepresentation were popular. He was persecuted and vilified every day of his life; but, like my husband, he was press-proof.

If editors would only realise it, following public opinion instead of guiding it is ultimately dull, and makes monotonous reading.

In England we are trying to raise our journalistic standards to the level of the United States, but, without claiming undue superiority, I do not think we shall succeed. There is enough common sense among our people to mitigate against any such misfortune, and we have only to recall the general election of 1905-6, when every morning paper in London, except the Daily News, was against us, to realise the impotence of the press.

Fear is as unproductive as it is contemptible, and until some big man has the courage to break the power of the press in America, progress will always go beyond civilisation.

* * * * * * *

I motored in evening dress for three hours to a suburb of New York. I am so tired of the abominable trains that an aeroplane or a perambulator would be a relief, and the road to Montclair was full of interest. The sky was throbbing with carmine and gold, and the varying lights of green and white, reflected in a river sentinelled on either side by high black buildings and pointed towers, left an impression on me of Whistler-like beauty.

We dined with excited and hospitable people and I lectured to an enthusiastic audience. I do not know how it is with professional speakers, but with the amateur the chairman and the audience make the speech. The Rev. Swan Wiers introduced me in an address of eloquence for which I thanked him warmly.

I arrived in Providence next day to be interviewed by three young ladies. After the usual questions upon Princess Mary's underwear and the "flappers," one of them said she had come to ask me about England's greatest man. I told her we had so many that I would be grateful if she could indicate the one she meant.

"Will you tell me who your great men are?" she answered.

"Well," I said, "we have Hardy, Kipling, Lord Morley, Lord Grey, Lord Buckmaster, and Mr. Balfour."

"Oh, no!" she replied, "I want to hear all about Lloyd George."

"I fear you will have to read about him yourself," I said, "and if you can wade through the daily columns of films, flappers, murders and headlines, over here, to our anonymous gossip about Downing Street in my country, you may discover what you want to know."

The other ladies intervened when she retorted:

"Then you refuse to tell me?" and as – the electric light having gone out all over the hotel – we were squinting at a single candle, I thought it as well to put an end to their intelligent questions.

The Providence audience consisted mostly of empty chairs, but it was an enormous hall and when the lecture was over a few of the five hundred listeners came up to ask me to sign my name in various albums and on slips of paper. They said:

"You have given us such a wonderful lecture to-night that you must come back here." To which I replied smilingly:

"Never in this world! To speak for an hour and fifteen minutes to people who never clap is like hitting one's head against a wall." At which one of the ladies said:

"You are quite right, Mrs. Asquith, there is great apathy and lack of manners in Providence."

"Why should you clap," I said, "if you are not interested?" At this they all protested.

"We were afraid of missing a word of what we were enjoying," said one charming woman, to which I replied:

"I would have stood as still as a statue if one of you had thought of cheering me!"

We took the midnight train to New York where we arrived at six the next morning, and I felt that I was returning home.

On March 8, the New York Times published on its front page:

"LORD LEE DEFENDS AMERICAN YOUNGWOMEN"Mrs. Asquith's Charges Cruel, Ludicrous,and Untrue!"

"Speaking at the English-speaking Union luncheon, Lord Lee said the statement attributed to the famous country-woman of his now in the United States was as cruel as it was ludicrous and untrue. He added that he could testify from thirty years of personal observation in America, and from reliable information from various quarters; and that he was speaking seriously."

Lord Lee has only got to travel over here for ten days to change his opinion. I, also, am speaking seriously, and am strongly in favour of temperance. Liquor control has been, among many other reforms, the political ambition of my husband ever since he became a Cabinet Minister, but as what is called "the Trade" has the votes and blessing of the Conservative Party in England, all our bills to control it were frustrated by the House of Lords.

We drink less than our forbears, not because we are more moral, but for reasons of health. Our people are fond of sport; and you neither shoot or ride as straight if you indulge in champagne, port, liqueurs, brandies, and other drinks over night.

The first question I was asked when I landed upon American soil was whether I approved of Prohibition. I said I thought it was a fine idea and an example that would ultimately be followed by the whole world; I presumed that light wines and beer would in time modify this somewhat exaggerated measure; but as most of the men convicted of crimes of violence had been proved to be under the influence of liquor, the prisons and asylums would gradually be emptied. I added that many of the famous, as well as young men of promise, and some of the best servants I had known in my life had been ruined by drink, and that it was a subject upon which I felt deeply.

I could see at once that what I said was unpopular, but I repeated the same opinion in all my early lectures, adding that gout, rheumatism, arthritis, and other nervous diseases have been, if not contracted, certainly assisted by alcoholic poisoning inherited from generations of men who drank too much.

A very short visit over here has convinced me that Prohibition, as at present administered, is both "ludicrous and cruel." The well-to-do can get the drinks they want. Young men and women, as well as adults, share with their friends and admirers all the pleasures that go with defying the law. I have no doubt from what I have been told that the power of the Saloon League lobby had to be smashed, and that the men who accomplished it deserve the highest praise, but can anyone truly say the Prohibition law is kept? Are Mr. Volstead or Mr. Pussyfoot Johnson satisfied with the present condition of things in their country?

There is a text in St. John,

"The Truth shall make you free."

There is no lack of truth over here, but there is a lack of freedom, and I think the press which is kept informed of what is going on might do much more than it does with its powers upon this subject.

It cannot be right for young people to see their parents and friends cheating the law every day of their lives. And which of them think of cheering up the poor, who presumably get as tired from their work as the idle get from their pleasures! What I have said upon every platform and which Lord Lee, in a generous desire to defend the youth of this country, denies, is not "cruel, ludicrous, and untrue," but a platitude.

I have received signed letters from every quarter of the country thanking me for expressing my opinion, and will quote from one of them:

"New York City, March 9, 1922

Madam,

"If you wish for very substantial proof of the exactitude of your remark that maidens get drunk at dances, all you have to do is to send someone, unobtrusively, to [I am not going to give the name of the place] to obtain from the waiters and waitresses an account of the lamentable condition in which scores of the girls were taken home after two recent balls held in the Hotel – , one of the most fashionable hotels in the suburbs of New York.

"It was not the fault of the management, and I am told no more dances of the sort will be permitted there.

"I am a very disgusted sister of one of the young girls, and am trying hard to dissuade her from accepting intoxicants at these parties. Yours, etc."

[I will not publish the signature.]

This is only one of many letters I have received on the same subject.

After the New York Times had published Lord Lee's statement and I had made my position perfectly clear, I was sent a press cutting, from what paper I do not know.

"Margot Lines Up with Foes of Prohibition: she has swung round to the anti-prohibitionists."

This is characteristic of the inaccuracy of the American press. Editors do not distinguish between half notes and full shouts, but no one need take this seriously as crime and headlines will soon make their readers forget either what Lord Lee has said, or I have controverted.

On the 10th my daughter Elizabeth took me to a fashionable charity fête in a large New York ballroom, where I heard my son-in-law speak for the first time. I envied him his self-possession; for, though I am told that my demeanor does not betray me, I am so nervous before the so-called "lectures" that I eat nothing, and so exhausted after, that the mildest meal gives me indigestion.

Having suffered from audiences that, while more than appreciative, seldom clap, Mrs. Frank Polk and I were determined that Antoine Bibesco should not experience the same embarrassment. Our friendly intentions were frustrated, however, as everything he said was received with enthusiasm. His handsome face and fine manners, and the popularity of his wife (though it is not usual to praise one's daughter) have made them much loved in this hospitable country.

On leaving the entertainment I was way-laid by a female reporter:

"Is it not true that but for his Highness Prince Bibesco you would never have published your diaries, Mrs. Asquith?" she asked. To which I replied:

"I have not published my diaries. I have written the first volume of my autobiography, encouraged by some of my friends – but no one has criticised my literary efforts with more perspicacity and insight than my son-in-law."

"Can you not give me a story for my paper?" she said.

The gallantry of Mr. Nelson Cromwell, and presence of mind of Mrs. Frank Polk rescued me from further conversation.

Mr. Clarence Mackay invited me to a concert in his beautiful house after dinner, where I met some of the American men that I am most devoted to – Mr. Polk, our ex-Ambassador Mr. Davis, and Colonel House. I sat next to the latter with whom I had a good talk and, what with hearing Kreisler – the greatest living violinist – and being in a position to observe the glowing enthusiasm of Elizabeth and the melancholy expression of her husband, I was consoled for the midnight journey which we took to Washington when the party was over.

My love for my grand-baby, the titter of talk, the tissue paper of unpacking outside my door, and the miawling of "Minnie" the cat, prevented me from resting upon my arrival in the morning, and when I went to the Senate after lunch I could hardly keep awake. The Four Power Treaty was being discussed, but the debate was languid, and more seats were unoccupied than Senators speaking.

Except for a tribune, the Senate reminds me of the Chambre in Paris. Everyone walks about, and you cannot be sure that any of the Senators will speak from the seat that they occupied the day before, which makes it rather confusing to a stranger.

At 4.30 I went to see Mr. Hughes in the Department of State. He is remarkably handsome and has not only a striking intelligence, but charming manners. We said nothing worth recording. I told him what, alas! he must have heard a thousand times: the profound impression that his opening speech on Disarmament at the Washington Conference had created in my country, if not all over the world; and what perhaps he did not know so well, that there never was a closer feeling than that which exists between England and America to-day.

When I say this with all the eloquence I can command at every lecture, though it is always cheered, it is seldom reported, and I read in one of the papers:

"What Mrs. Margot Asquith said about the hand-clasp of Great Britain and the United States is doubtful if not conventional," I am glad to be called conventional, but what I say is not doubtful; it is true.

I see that in one of Byron's recently published letters, he writes to Lady Melbourne:

"I wish that … would not speak his speech at the Durham meeting above once a week after its first delivery.

"Ever yours most nepotically,"B."

But in spite of Byron's wise warning I repeat the same thing in every lecture, because I feel passionately that it is not only important that the English-speaking nations should stand side by side, but vital to the Peace of Europe, and I am far from original in thinking it.

XI: SYRACUSE AND BUFFALO

XI.

SYRACUSE AND BUFFALO

CITY OF CULTURE AND BEAUTY – NIAGARA'S NATURAL BEAUTY MARRED BY BILLBOARDS – MARGOT READS ABOUT HERSELF

ON March 13 my daughter and her husband motored me to Baltimore where, after speaking to a responsive audience, we took the midnight train to Utica, and went from there to the Onondaga Hotel at Syracuse. This is a university city of culture and beauty, and I wished I had had time to see more of it.

I was introduced to my audience by Dean Richards, a lady of ability and high standing in the college, and several people came up and spoke to me behind the scenes when the lecture was over.

I have received many remarkable letters and invitations in every city I have visited, not only to lunch and dine, but even to stay in private houses. Had I but realised the great distances over here when I left England, I would have started earlier, and made a longer tour, but I am going home for my son's Easter holidays and have therefore been obliged to refuse much hospitality. In case anyone reads these impressions, I would like them to know how deeply their spontaneous generosity has touched me. I will quote a letter which was put into my hands at Syracuse:

March 13, 1922.

"Mrs. Asquith,

"Dear Madam,

"When a person has bestowed upon another a gift – such as 'The Diary of Margot Asquith' – ought not the favoured one to give an expression of appreciation to the donor? I think so. And this conviction must be the excuse for my making so bold as to address you, Mrs. Asquith, to thank you for giving us – who live in so different a world to that of yours – a glimpse of your spirit, so colorful, so vivid, so noble. And the charm of it is that this color, vividness, verve, and charm is not carried consciously and heavily – but is borne lightly, charmingly, like an ornament, – a jewel.

"I am not young, nor given to raptures; I am older than you, and I am only thanking you for the radiance your writings have thrown upon my life; and when to-morrow night I see and hear you at the Opera House in Syracuse, you may perhaps care to know that one among many happy people is enjoying a completeness she had not dreamed would come to her.

"With all good wishes to Mrs. Asquith here on our shores, and beyond the sea, I am,

"Sincerely yours,"E. A. S – ."

There have been other letters I would like to quote, but for fear of boring my readers I will end with the following, written from Chicago,

"To Margot Asquith,

"I read your volume a year ago and at once decided if it was a girl I would call her 'Margot.'

"Tuesday night at Orchestra Hall I heard and saw you. Your enthusiasm, your zest for life, the airy grace of your movements, and the charm of your smile will live in my memory always.

"Here's hoping that some of the wealth of your qualities will go with the name 'Margot' to my little one.

"May you live long, Margot Asquith, is the wish of,

"M. M. F. – ."

On the 16th we arrived at Buffalo, where, after seeing the usual army of photographers and reporters, we motored twenty-five miles out to Niagara.

I had always imagined the drive to the Falls would have been long, slow, dangerous, and steep; that this amazing spectacle must be situated in a wild and lonely place, with possibly one romantic hotel encircled by balconies for the convenience of tourists who had travelled from great distances to see it; whereas it is approached by a straight, flat, and crowded road, with tram-cars pursuing their steady course the whole way from Buffalo City. The Niagara Falls, so far from being in a lonely spot, are surrounded by gasometers, steel factories, and chimney pots. Of their beauty and magnificence it would be as ridiculous as it would be presumptuous for me to write, but when my maid said she had expected them to be more "outlandish," I did not contradict her.

Mr. Horton's brother told me of an Irishman who, on being asked to express his opinion, answered, "I don't see what is to prevent the water from going over," but I felt almost too depressed to laugh.

You might have supposed that the whole neighbouring population would have risen like an army to protest against a hideous city of smoke and steel being erected round the glorious Falls of Niagara, and it was characteristic of the population of Buffalo that our chauffeur did not pull up at the Falls, but, upon our stopping him, said he had presumed we wanted to go to the power station.

If I ever return to America, I should not be surprised if a line of safe-sailing steamships had been engineered to go down the Niagara Falls.

I do not think that in Scotland either the country of Scott or the Ettrick shepherd, nor the passes of Killiecrankie or Glencoe, will ever be deformed for commercial purposes.

As a complete outsider with a short and hurried experience of the United States, this has struck me more than anything else. Beauty, which is so obvious in the architecture and other things, seems to be underestimated, and where nature should dominate, I have been shocked on every road that I have travelled by the huge billboards and advertisements of the most flamboyant kind, which irritate the eye and distort the vision of what otherwise would be unforgettable and inspiring. It is much the same everywhere. In Chicago the Michigan Boulevard, with the lovely lake on one side and grand buildings on the other, running at enormous width for a long distance, is one of the finest broadways in the world; but it is spoilt by a vulgar erection at the end, advertising something or other against the sky, in electric bulbs of rapid and changing colours.

I found the people I met were chiefly interested in the following report of indignation meetings:

"Blame Girls for 'Snugglepupping' and 'Petting Parties' in Chicago."

"Male 'Flappers' Parents hold Indignation Meeting."

"Boys who don't follow Fair Companions' Pace called 'Sissies, Poor Boobs and Flat Tires'."

I have only seen two headings that have really interested me. One was:

"A Good Name."

The other: "Wanted, a Rare Man: aggressive yet industrious, fighting, yet tactful and dignified. He must have a good education, and an appearance which will give him an entrée into the best homes."

I would much like to be presented to any of the men who will answer these advertisements, though I have no doubt they are tumbling over one another.

From Buffalo we went on to Cincinnati where I read in one of the newspapers:

"MARGOT

"Margot Asquith, wife of the former Prime Minister of England, is in Cincinnati.

"Men who like to believe that they know more than their wives would not be happy with a woman like Margot for wife. She knows more than most men, and there is scarcely anything she cannot or will not talk about.

"She wrote a book that is an encyclopedia of the inside history of British politics and history of her time.

"There aren't many like Margot. Husbands who long after the honeymoon like to be entertained will envy Asquith his Margot. It must be pleasant to have a Margot in the house."

I expect the writer was pulling my leg – to use a slang expression – or possibly pitying my husband, but it amused me.

XII: INTERESTING ST. LOUIS

XII.

INTERESTING ST. LOUIS

MET BY THE MAYOR – ANOTHER INTELLIGENT REPORTER – NEWS FROM HOME AND VIEWS THEREON – LUNCHEON AT WOMEN'S CLUB

WE were met at St. Louis station by a vast crowd of photographers, reporters – male and female – headed by the Mayor, a grand fellow called Henry W. Kiel. He motored me to the Hotel Statler where my rooms were full of roses and, in spite of an iron bed, we were more than comfortable. I am like stuff that is guaranteed not to wash, so I sat down at once to talk to the reporters, among whom I observed one man of supreme intelligence. Caustic and bitter, he interrupted the females and asked to be allowed to return to us after dinner. Mr. Paul Anderson and I had a first rate discussion, while my secretary typed and telephoned till, with his usual consideration, he came back to send me to bed, where I remained like a trout on a bank with piles of old Times's which Mr. Anderson had brought me.

I read details, for the first time, of Mr. Montague's resignation, and smiled over the belated theory of the joint responsibility of our British Cabinet. When one recalls the many conflicting opinions expressed by every minister without rebuke, culminating in the Admiralty note upon the Geddes Report, the Prime Minister's indignation is more than droll. I presume the Conservative wing of the Coalition wanted to get rid of Indian Reform as interpreted by the Viceroy and Mr. Montague, and I shall watch with interest the action that Lord Reading will take upon the matter.

Arresting Ghandi was as unwise as stealing a cow from a temple; but from such a distance political comment may be as belated as the theory of cabinet responsibility; and the inspired agitator – beloved of his people – may, for all I know, be governing India at the present moment.

St. Louis is among the most interesting cities I have visited. The Mississippi is commanded upon both its banks by huge buildings, and spanned by grand bridges. There is a private park as large as the Bois de Boulogne, and an open air theatre with oak trees on either side of the stage. The school buildings and Washington College are of perfect architecture, and I was grateful to Mrs. Moore – a woman of sympathy and authority – for driving me out to a lovely club house for tea, which gave me an opportunity of seeing the environment.