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Page 43
Most of the people at Chautauqua come either from the south or from the
middle west. They pronounce the English language either without any _r_ at
all, or with such excessive emphasis upon the _r_ as to make up for the
deficiency of their fellow-seekers. In other words, these people are
really American, as opposed to cosmopolitan; and to live among them
is--for a world-wandering adventurer--to learn a lesson in Americanism.
Mr. Roosevelt once stated that Chautauqua is the most American institution
in America; and this statement--like many others of his inspired
platitudes--begins to seem meaningful upon reflection.
At one time or another I have drifted to many different corners of the
world; but my residence at Chautauqua was my only experience of a
democracy. In this community there are no special privileges. If the
President of the Institution had wished to hear me lecture (he never did,
in fact--though we used to play tennis together, at which game he proved
himself easily the better man) he would have been required to come early
and take his chance at getting a front seat; and once, when I ventured to
attend a lecture by one of my colleagues, I found myself seated beside
that very waitress in the Athen�um who had disapproved of my method of
ordering a meal. All the exercises are open equally to anybody--first
come, first served--and the boy who blacks your boots may turn out to be a
Sophomore at Oberlin. Teachers in Texas high-schools sweep the floors or
shave you, and the raucous newsboy is earning his way toward the
University of Illinois. All this is a little bewildering at first; but in
a day or two you grow to like it.
This free-for-all spirit that permeates Chautauqua reminds me to speak of
the economic conduct of the Institution. The only charge--except in the
case of certain special courses--is for admission to the grounds. The
visitor pays fifty cents for a franchise of one day, and more for periods
of greater length, until the ultimate charge of seven dollars and fifty
cents for a season ticket is attained. On leaving the grounds, he has to
show his ticket; and if it has expired he is taxed according to the term
of his delinquent lingering. Once free of the grounds, he may avail
himself of any of the privileges of the Assembly. Lectures, on an infinite
variety of subjects, are delivered hour after hour; and a bulletin of
these successive lectures is posted publicly and printed in the daily
paper. Every evening an entertainment of some sort is given in the
Amphitheatre, and this is eagerly attended by swarming thousands. The
Institution owns all the land within the bounding palisades. Private
cottages may be erected by individual builders on lots leased for
ninety-nine years; but the Institution owns and operates the only hotel,
and exercises an absolute empery over the issuance of franchises to
necessary tradesmen. The revenue of the corporation is therefore rich; but
all of it is expended in importing the best lecturers that may be
obtained, and in furthering the general good of the general assembly. The
entire system suggests the theoretic observation that an absolute
democracy can be instituted and maintained only by an absolute monarchy.
If all the people are to be free and equal, the government must have
absolute control of all the revenue. Here is, perhaps, a principle for our
presidential candidates to think about.
But I do not wish to terminate this summer conversation on a serious note;
and I must revert, in closing, to some of the recreations at Chautauqua.
The first of these is tea. Every afternoon, from four to five o'clock, the
visitor lightly flits from tea to tea,--making his excuses to one hostess
in order to dash onward to another. This is rather hard upon the health,
because it requires the deglutition of innumerable potions. I have always
maintained that tea is an admirable entity if it be considered merely as a
time of day, but that it is insidious if it be considered as a beverage.
At Chautauqua, tea is not only an hour but a drink; and (though I am a
sympathetic soul) I can only say that those who like it like it. For my
part, I preferred the concoction sold at rustic soda-fountains, which is
known locally as a "Chautauqua highball,"--a ribald term devised by
college men who make up the by-no-means-despicable ball-team. This
beverage is compounded out of unfermented grape-juice and foaming
fizz-water; and, if it be taken absent-mindedly, seems to taste like
something.
But the standard recreation at Chautauqua is the habit of impromptu eating
in the open air. Every one invites you to go upon a picnic. You take a
steamer to some point upon the lake, or take a trolley to a wild and deep
ravine known by the somewhat unpoetic name of the Hog's Back; and then
everybody sits around and eats sandwiches and hard-boiled eggs, and
considers the occasion a debauch. This formality resembles great good
fun,--especially as there are girls who laugh, and play, and threaten to
disconcert you on the morrow when you solemnly arise to lecture on the
Religion of Emerson. But picnic-baskets out of doors are rather hard on
the digestion.
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