being stamped on in advance. The general good nature, the social
equality, deprive them of triumphs on the one hand, and of
grievances on the other. There is extremely little impertinence;
there is almost none. You will say I am describing a terrible
society,--a society without great figures or great social prizes.
You have hit it, my dear; there are no great figures. (The great
prize, of course, in Europe, is the opportunity to be a great
figure.) You would miss these things a good deal,--you who delight
to contemplate greatness; and my advice to you, of course, is never
to come back. You would miss the small people even more than the
great; every one is middle-sized, and you can never have that
momentary sense of tallness which is so agreeable in Europe. There
are no brilliant types; the most important people seem to lack
dignity. They are very bourgeois; they make little jokes; on
occasion they make puns; they have no form; they are too good-
natured. The men have no style; the women, who are fidgety and talk
too much, have it only in their coiffure, where they have it
superabundantly. But I console myself with the greater bonhomie.
Have you ever arrived at an English country-house in the dusk of a
winter's day? Have you ever made a call in London, when you knew
nobody but the hostess? People here are more expressive, more
demonstrative and it is a pleasure, when one comes back (if one
happens, like me, to be no one in particular), to feel one's social
value rise. They attend to you more; they have you on their mind;
they talk to you; they listen to you. That is, the men do; the
women listen very little--not enough. They interrupt; they talk too
much; one feels their presence too much as a sound. I imagine it is
partly because their wits are quick, and they think of a good many
things to say; not that they always say such wonders. Perfect
repose, after all, is not ALL self-control; it is also partly