Asquith Margot
My Impressions of America
[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.
I was entertained the next day at a private luncheon given by a ladies' club and was glad to be sitting next to dear Mrs. Moore. Observing a single gentleman seated among the company I asked in a whisper who he was; upon being told he was a reporter I said, in an aside to my other neighbour, that for the rest of the meal I would confine my remarks to: "Yes," "No," or "I wonder!" and "How true!" Upon this the unfortunate young man was conducted from the room. He had a peculiarly charming face and when I saw what had happened I said I was afraid I also would have to leave the table, as I could not allow any guest to be insulted for my sake; at which he was allowed to return. I apologised to him, saying that though I had imagined this to be an informal gathering at which no newspapers would be represented, I did not wish him to be treated with any lack of courtesy, and hoped he would not make copy out of any foolish thing I might have said. He was particularly nice and, although I shall probably never see what he has written about me, I am willing to "take a chance" – as they express it over here.
After signing my name twenty-three times – as flattering as it was fatiguing – the Mayor came to fetch me away. Mrs. Moore and two other ladies accompanied us on a motor drive to see the city. The Mayor – who is a big man – sat rather uncomfortably between me and Mrs. Moore, and said that, with the permission of the other two ladies he proposed to put his arm round my waist as, being engaged to speak at a meeting of the Boy Scouts, he would be unable to attend my lecture in the evening. I told him that, after this, nothing but bribery and corruption could re-elect him as the Mayor of St. Louis.
"Then I shall return to my original occupation, Mrs. Asquith; I started life as a bricklayer, and I have not forgotten my trade, at which I am unrivalled."
The ladies said he was much more likely to be returned as their political representative, and after asking "Joe," his chauffeur, to stop and enable him to buy me cigarettes, he took me back to the hotel.
I found a beautiful bouquet of orchids on my table to which was pinned a card from one of the ladies whom I had met at lunch:
"From Mrs. Hocker, with best wishes for a successful evening at St. Louis, to absolutely the most brilliant and interesting woman it has been my privilege to meet either in America or Europe."
I need hardly say that I clung to my bouquet that evening when I was escorted upon the stage by Judge Henry Caulfield, the City Counsellor.
Mr. Anderson of the St. Louis Post-Dispatch returned to talk to us after the meeting, and I can truly say that after "Bruce" – whose real name I never discovered – I found him the most interesting press-man that I have met. I wrote to his editor congratulating him on having such a man upon his staff, and received a grateful reply.
Never having been interviewed till I arrived in this country, I do not know in what way reporters of intellect here would compare with ours, but it passes my comprehension to understand why those that I have met are content to write for papers that seldom print what is either informing or interesting.
One of them said to me:
"We do not publish news, Mrs. Asquith, we concoct it."