Having disposed of this, you ask yourself why, in a free country, you may not have your various courses served one after the other; why you must bolt your food, and bring on indigestion; and, above all, why the manager of the hotel, in his own interest as a man of business, does not, before all else, study the comfort of his customers. The answer is not difficult to find. It is the well-being of the "duchesses," and not that of the traveller, that he devotes his attention to studying. The traveller is obliged to come to his house, and he can treat him anyhow. His "helps" will only consent to stay with him on condition he gives them heavy wages and light duties. He has no choice but to submit to his servants, or to close his hotel. The Americans, free though they may be politically, are at the mercy of their servants, whether in public or private life. This kind of tyranny is hateful. To throw off the yoke of the superior classes is very well; but I am not aware that the yoke of the common people is at all preferable. John Bull commands all his paid servants; Jonathan obeys his.
Thus in the hotels of America, outside of the large towns, with the rarest exceptions, the dinner is served from one o'clock to three, the tea-supper from six to eight. You happen to arrive at half-past three, tired out and famishing. You hope to be able to have a good meal without delay. Illusion! You must wait until the dining-room door is opened, and pass two hours and a half in wretchedness. How often have I entreated, implored, "Could you not get a chop cooked for me, or an omelette, or something? If that is impossible, for mercy's sake give me a slice of cold meat." Prayers and supplications were unavailing. Occasionally a landlord would express his regrets, and make excuses for his inability to oblige me; but far oftener, I got no kind of response at all. Once or twice I tried making a tempest, without any more success. Another time I tried politeness. "Excuse me," I said, "if I am intruding. I hope that by putting up at your house I shall not be too much in your way. I have not the honour to be a citizen of the greatest Republic in the world, but am only a poor European who does not know your ways. In future I will take careful precautions. But this time, and just for once, I would be so much obliged for something to eat. I should be distressed to occasion any derangement in your household; but just for once—only once." Sheer waste of breath. The hotel is as it is; you may use it or stay away.
The Americans are quite right to study the comfort of their servants; but the well-being of one class should not exist at the cost of the well-being of another, and the people who travel are as interesting as those who serve at table.
Tyranny from above is a sore; tyranny from below is a pestilence.
CHAPTER XXXIX.
How the Americans take their Holidays.—The Hotel is their Mecca.—Mammoth Hotels.—Jacksonville and St. Augustine.—The Ponce de Leon Hotel.—Rocking-chairs.—Having a "Good Time!"—The American is never Bored.—The Food is not very Salt, but the Bill is very Stiff.—The Negroes of the South.—Prodigious Memories.—More "Duchesses."—The Negresses.—I Insult a Woman.
otels are one of the strongest attractions in America to the Americans, especially the ladies.
When we Europeans travel, we alight at a hotel because it is impossible that we should have a pitching place of our own in each town we visit, or friends able to receive us; in other words, we go to the hotel because we cannot help it. When we leave our good bed and table, and set out to see the world a little, we say to ourselves: "The worst part of it is, that we shall have to live in hotels perhaps for a month or two; but, after all, it cannot be helped; we must put up with hotels, since we have made up our minds to see Switzerland, or Scotland, or Italy."