From the age of eighteen the American girl is allowed almost every liberty. She takes the others.
She can travel alone, and go to concerts and even to theatres, unattended by a chaperone.
She is supplied with pocket-money, which she spends at her own sweet will in bonbons, knick-knacks, and jewels. If there is none left for the milliner and dressmaker, Papa is coaxed to pay them. She visits and receives whom she pleases, or rather those who please her. She has her own circle of acquaintances. If, at a ball, she meet with a young man who takes her fancy—I do not say touches her heart—she says to him: "I am at home on such a day: come and see me." Next day he may send her a ticket for the theatre, and be her escort for the evening. He may bring her flowers, offer her refreshments after the play, and take her home in a carriage. In America all this is the most natural thing in the world. This leads to no intimacy: for a few days later, it may happen that he meets the young lady at a ball, and she comes up to him and says: "I want to present you to a friend; do tell me your name, I quite forget it."
The American girl, who appears to us French so giddy, and even fast, seems to me to act according to the dictates of common sense. Tired of the old formula, "A lady cannot do that—it would be improper," she says; "I will do it; and if I choose to do it, it becomes proper." It is for women herself to make the law on these matters. "Why should I not go to the theatre alone?" she says. "If your streets are impure, it is for you to cleanse them. Why should not I receive my ball-partners who please me? If one of them were to profit by my seeing him alone in the drawing-room to take a liberty with me, he would be an ill-bred fellow, and I should promptly have him shown out of the house; and certainly it is not for such as he that I should change my habits."
It is the respect that women inspire in American men which allows the young girl to go about with such freedom, and to queen it all through the States. Jonathan might give more than one lesson on this subject to the men of the Old World, even to the Frenchman, who, in the matter of politeness, lives a good deal on the reputation of his ancestors. Jonathan's respect for woman is disinterested, purely platonic. In France, this respect takes the form of a politeness which verges on gallantry, and is often not disinterested. A Frenchman will always stand back to let a lady pass; but he will profit by the occasion to take a good look at her. The American, in similar circumstance, will respectfully lower his eyes.
In trains, where the seats are constructed to hold two persons, you will see the American seek a place from one end of the train to the other before he will go and seat himself by the side of a young girl. He will only do so when there is no help for it. I have many times even noticed men standing up in the local trains, rather than run the risk of incommoding a young girl by sharing a seat with her. And I am not speaking now of gentlemen only, but of men belonging to the middle, if not lower, class—if the word "class" may be used in speaking of the Americans.
With what pleasure I remember the young American girls whom I occasionally met at Parisian parties in my youthful days. Their pretty bright faces, their elegance, their unconventional charm of manner, and animated, natural conversation—all these enchanted me. One never felt awkward with them. Whereas, with a young French girl, I could generally find nothing but absurd commonplaces to say, in the presence of Jonathan's merry maidens I lost my timidity, and could chat away with as little embarrassment as I would with a young brother-officer of my regiment.
The American girl is still without rivals in Parisian drawing-rooms, where she is more and more sought after. Men seek her for her gaiety, wit, or beauty; mothers look favourably upon her for her dollars. The younger women tear her to shreds; nothing is wanting to her success.