The second aristocracy is the aristocracy of money—plutocracy. To belong to this it is not sufficient to be a millionaire; you must, I am told, belong to a third generation of millionaires. Of such are the Astors, Vanderbilts, and company. Three quarters of "nobility" are the necessary key to this little world. The first generation makes the millions, the second generation is parvenue, the third is arrivée. In the eyes of these people to have from five to ten thousand a year is to be in decent poverty; to have forty or fifty thousand a year is to be in easy circumstances.
The third aristocracy is the aristocracy of talent, literary and artistic society. This third aristocracy is incontestably the first, if you will excuse the Hibernianism.
I do not think that one could find anywhere, or even imagine, a society more cultivated, more affable, more hospitable, more witty, or more brilliant. I should like just here to indulge in a string of adjectives à la Mme. de Sévigné.
One of the consequences of the position which woman takes in the United States is that, in good American drawing-rooms, conversation is never dull.
"If I were queen," exclaimed Mme. Récamier one day, "I would command Mme. de Staël to talk to me all day long." One would like to be able to give the same order to plenty of American women. In their company conversation never flags, and always remains within the domains of causerie; they glide lightly from one subject to another, extracting something fresh from each; pass from the serious to the gay, even to the frivolous, without becoming common-place; soar again to lofty heights, but do not disdain to come down to gossip for a minute or two: all this without a grain of affectation, but with a charm of naturalness that is delightfully winning.
Frenchwomen are the only ones I know who can compare with the American lady in charm of conversation; and, even then, I am obliged to admit two things: that the American women of intellectual society are often more natural than their French rivals, and that they make less effort to charm. In a word, with them you are amiable without having to be gallant; and none of those stereotyped compliments, which so often spoil the charm of a conversation between a man and a woman, are expected of you.
In this society the reunions are not only veritable feasts for the mind; the heart also plays its part. You are welcomed with such cordiality that you feel at once among friends—friends whom you will have profound regret at being obliged to quit so soon, and with whom you hope to keep up relations all your days.
When the steamer left New York harbour, and I was bound for Europe, I hardly knew whether the desire to see my own country again was stronger than my regret at leaving America.
After all, thought I, I am not saying adieu to the Americans, but au revoir; a seven days' journey, and I can be among them again.