 The National Broadcasting Company, in conjunction with the Fund for Adult Education, presents Democracy in America, by Alexis de Tocqueville. Guard your glasses, gentlemen, for the thirteenth and final toast whose sentiments are time-honored and traditional. I give you the Fair Sex, always entitled to our protection. The Fair Sex! Albany, New York, July the 4th, 1831. How true, that if you want to understand American manners and American society, you must first understand the situation of the American woman. Any woman is a lady. A study in American manners, item five in the series Democracy in America, prepared by the Division of General Education of New York University, under the direction of George Probst, American historian. A series designed to bring to life the America of 1831, as recorded by Alexis de Tocqueville, and so to illuminate the image of democracy itself. A study in American manners, any woman is a lady. The moment I have not been in America long before we noticed that the first and most intense passion that is produced by equality is the love of that same equality. Indeed, everybody has remarked that now, in 1831, and especially in our native France, this passion for equality is every day gaining ground in the human heart. But the principle may be established in civil society without prevailing in the political world. In America, there is a good deal of both, and the signs of both are to be found everywhere in society. One class, one price. But the best cars are, of course, reserved for ladies and folks with them. The roughest character understands that a lady, and I need hardly tell Frenchman that any woman is a lady, has an absolute right to the front seat of the show, the head of the table, the best cabin, and so forth. Rich or poor, mistress or maid, those are her rights as an American female. And mark this, one lone female, old or young, pretty or ugly, may travel from one end of the United States to the other and find nothing but respect from every man she meets. Well it's true, equality of conditions and greater mildness and customs are related to each other. So I certainly can't admit that there is nothing commendable in the manners of a democratic people. In a democratic age, men rarely sacrifice themselves for one another. But they do display general compassion for the human race. Only because of equality, Tocqueville. The same man who's full of humanity towards his fellow creatures, when they're his equals, becomes insensible to afflictions as soon as that equality ceases. Ah, but wait, Beaumont. There are servants in American society and they are well treated. How do you explain that? They aren't even called servants. What do they call them? The help. They don't call them servants because they don't think of them as servants. Not as we think of servants in France. In a democracy, at any moment, a servant may become a master. The servant is therefore not a different man from the master. They talk familiarly to each other. They eat with each other. To give a man a tip would insult and humiliate him. One evening, gentlemen, I was at the house of the president of Harvard University. We were waited on a tea by the Butler. One of the president's help, who's also a major of the militia. Now on cavalry days, when guests are invited to dine with the regiment, the major dresses in his regimentals takes the head of the table and has the president of the Harvard at his right hand. And there is no embarrassment. Not a bit on either side. And when the toasts are over, he goes home, takes off his regimentals, and waits on everybody a tea and still no embarrassment. For all honest callings are honorable. That gentleman is democracy. That indeed is democracy, which does not attach men deeply to one another, but places that have habitual relations on a much easier footing. Men, but what about women? We are in America, Beaumont, ladies. Oh, beg your pardon, ladies. What about them? Really, Beaumont, to judge from your intent observation, I should have thought you were the authority on American ladies. And I won't have a word said against them. They are paragons of virtue. It really is remarkable. Every American lady is a guardian of morality. True enough, and Americans respected admire them, without, however, having much time for them. Americans are so busy, restless, even in the midst of their prosperity. And yet, you know, Beaumont, the Americans are the freest and the most enlightened men in the world today. In spite of their being so serious, even in their pleasures. I must say, Mr. Livingstone, that I am finding this a charming party. I usually find this kind of affair pretty dull, myself. It is a social affair, and it has social interest. Your friend, Mr. Beaumont, seems to be enjoying himself. He's already an admirer of American ladies, so indeed am I. We find them very fresh and natural. You will also find them, sir, very moral. Well, that I am sure you had better be very sure. Our ladies have free and open manners, but their standard of morality is high, very high, extremely high, exceedingly high, excessively high. I assure you, sir, neither I nor my friend will ever have occasion to test the truth of your assertion. Good. This saves misunderstandings, and one of the drawbacks of American society is that it has a short way with misunderstanding. One of the drawbacks? Are there others? Well, I shouldn't tell you, but I will. There are drawbacks, yes. In my opinion, the chief drawback is the want of intellectual toll. We're in society everywhere, surely. Brainlessness is set at the premium. Oh, I can still remember, Mr. Tocqueville, when I was young, having seen this country people with rich proprietors who lived on their lands in the states, they cultivated the mind and followed certain traditions of thought and manners. Now, then, this inheritance law, giving all the heirs equal shares in the estate, has constantly worked to destroy and redistribute the fortunes. Their ideals became lost and will soon become extinct. Land changes hands with unbelievable speed. No one has time to become attached to a place. The people have no roots in the country. Everyone has to resort to practical work, to trade, to maintain himself, and the position his father occupies. Is there anything in America resembling the prestige of landed proprietors? No, sir. A man only counts from what he himself is worth. How do the wealthy classes like this? Well, you might as well put up with it, since there's no way of preventing it. In that case, is there not hard feeling between the wealthy classes and the rest of the people? None whatsoever. All classes, without exception, took part in the War of Independence. Since then, the power of democracy has been so great and so invincible that no one has spoken against it. And in general, the people as a whole elect to office the wealthiest and the best educated. I see. Of course, what strikes me most in America is the extreme equality in social relationships. The rich men and the laborer shake hands publicly in the street. Equality, yes. Yes, we have equality, a great deal of it. But perhaps just a little less than you might suppose at first glance. The rich don't have to sacrifice their money. They only need to sacrifice their pride. You see, in a democracy, you attach the poor to you not so much by the benefits you give them, as by your manners. But these manners are sometimes no more than formal expressions of feeling. In what way? Well, in this way. The handshake that you see in the street may mean no more than subscribing yourself at the end of a letter. Your very humble servant. Ah, I understand. You see, in America, it is vital to be polite to everybody. Or everybody has political rights. Of course, here in New York, there's a good deal of financial pride. Among the newly rich, that is. We Americans recognize something that has recognized the whole world over. The aristocracy of money. Oh, so there is an aristocracy after all. Well, if you can use the word aristocracy for a class that changes all the time and has pretensions, but no power. Now, sir, let me press you to some punch. Shall we move into the other room? The horses ran away. I will not argue about this anymore. Ah, hello, Beaumont. What have you found out now? Opinions in a democracy have by no means unanimous. And you? That the ladies are charming. And virtuous. Oh, that is the greatest part of their charm. I must say that if one were to enter American society with the purpose of accomplishing seductions, one would find one's time largely wasted. American society then has several aspects. Equality, of course. Then the love of wealth, which makes for monotony in the midst of animation. There are no masters and servants as we know them. And in no country has such constant care been taken as in America to trace two clearly distinct lines of conduct for the two sexes and to make them keep pace with one another, but in two pathways that are always distinct. This, very sensibly, is the way the Americans understand the equality of the sexes, that each should fulfill its respective task in the best possible way. But the public attitude towards American ladies must sometimes be very irksome. Yes, sir, you can certainly say that. I put in 10 or 12 hours a day in the counting house. And then I find when I go into society that I have to handle the ladies as if they were poor, helpless, pitiable creatures. The ladies must be waited upon. The ladies must be helped. The ladies must be put into the carriage. The ladies must be taken out of the carriage. The ladies must be- Do you regret these little attentions, sir? Regret them? No, I can't say that. But I'd like to have a little more choice about who I bestow them on. You hardly ever get a chance of making yourself agreeable to a particular individual, you know? You just have to worship a lot, wholesale. But as you describe it, the adoration consists of a sort of phallitism in which no particular goddess has a temple dedicated to herself alone. I don't know about that, sir, but I'll tell you this. When an American gentleman meets a lady, he looks upon her as the representative of her sex. And it is to her sex not to her own peculiar, amiable qualities that she has indebted for his attention. Equality again, Beaumont. All American ladies must be treated equally. Hence the high morality? No. Equality of conditions cannot ever make men chaste. But it may make their immorality less dangerous. No American has the time or opportunity to assail a virtue armed in self-defense. So you will expect to find, at the same time, a great number of courtesans and of virtuous women. Remember, Dr. Ville, our conversation with the gentleman in Boston? When we asked him if it was true that morals are as pure here as they pretend. Well, let me see. Morals are less good in the lower classes than among the enlightened. However, I think them superior to the same classes in Europe. As for the educated, their morals are as perfect as it is possible to imagine them. I don't believe that there is a single intrigue in Boston society. Not one. A woman suspected would be lost. Mind you, the women here are very coquettish. They even display their cockatry with greater boldness than with you, because they know they cannot go beyond a certain point. And no one believes they overstepped the bomb. To tell you the truth, gentlemen, I prefer European women with all their weaknesses to the glacial and egotistical virtue of American ladies. How do these young women learn to be so virtuous? What is their education like? To begin with, of course, paternal authority is strangely lacking. Whenever we hear of elopements, public sympathy is almost always with the daughter and against the father. An American girl has scarcely ceased to be a child when she already thinks for herself, speaks with freedom, and acts on her own impulse. But the education of young girls is not without its peculiarities, as you would know if you were to hear a group of ladies talking. Listen to that piano. Surely that girl knows nothing about music. She's been practicing that same piece ever so long. That's a fact. My daughter went to the same school with her. And except for astronomy and trigonometry, Susan beat her in everything. Susan can play the storm. And her music master tells me when a young lady can once do that, she can do anything. Oh, ma. And she's doing just as well in history. How far have you got with it, Susan? About two-thirds through with the book. But how queer you talk, ma. Prima-dame, what boarding school is it your daughter went to? It's kept by the Mrs. Jones, three miles from Albany. And what branches are taught in that school? Susan, you tell the gentleman. We had reading, writing, spelling, arithmetic, grammar, geography, history, maps, the globe, algebra, geometry, trigonometry, astronomy, natural philosophy, chemistry, boundary, mineralogy, geology, and zoology in the morning. And dancing, drawing, painting, French, Italian, Spanish, and German in the afternoon. Greek and the higher branches of mathematics were only studied by the tall girls. And how many masters were there for teaching all that? Oh, the two Mrs. Jones teach everything. They wouldn't allow a gentleman to enter the house. I know this to be a fact. And that's the reason their school is so popular. It is principally on the score of morality I sent Susan there. And what is the usual age of the young ladies? They take them from the age of five to the age of 18. Well, madam, I trust that your daughter will marry a gentleman capable of appreciating her education. And yet it is so difficult to judge of men in these times. There was not one girl of 10 of my acquaintance knew a word of Latin and mathematics. And yet we all married respectable men. But they say this is the progress of education. And I don't wish Susan to be inferior to other girls. Boys don't cost half as much. They learn everything they want at the counting house. And what they learn there sticks to them as long as they live. American education, even at its best, tends to make cold and virtuous women instead of affectionate wives and agreeable companions to man. Society may be more tranquil and better regulated, but domestic life often has fewer charms. These, however, are secondary evils, which may be braved for the sake of higher interests. A democratic education is indispensable to protect women from the dangers with which democratic institutions and manners surround them. But then in America, the independence of women is irrecoverably lost in the bonds of matrimony. But surely there are compensations, increased attentions from their husbands, or we businessmen have no time for cooing. An American man of business so rarely shows his family a sign of tenderness and affection that there's a nickname for those households where, after an absence, the husband kisses his wife and children. We call them kissing families. Generally, of course, the first objective is trade. Everything else is subordinate. However, we don't have too many disappointments. You mean unhappy marriages? That's right. You see, suppose one of our young men marries a woman whose tastes and character are essentially different from his own. Well, in our way of life, he may never know it. The points of contact are so few. The sphere of action of each party is so well-defined by custom and law. And the occupation of the man outside the house so constant that he may become the father of a large family and die without finding out his mistake. Within this pragmatic society where everyone is engaged in business, American girls have theirs, too, that of finding a husband. To every girl over 16, marriage is the great interest in life. In France, she desires it. In America, she hunts it. They are quite right. It is an important question. As you know, I feel strongly that whatever affects the condition of women, their habits and their opinions has great political importance. Women in America are the guardians of status. Equality, you see, is not quite everything. There is an aristocracy, usually of money. And woe betide the unhappy girl whose family is trying to enter the American aristocracy. Who's that strange creature over there in that horrible dress? I'm sure I'd never seen her before. Do you know her? Oh, indeed I don't. Wonder how she got here. Don't stare at her too hard. She'll blush. Why not? I'm sure that material is not worth 75 cents a yard. And who's that unlicked cub that's with her? Heaven alone knows. I daresay just come from the woods. With his mouth full of tobacco. I hope she isn't going to dance. If she does, I should leave the room. I shan't stay either. Let us look no longer on this tender victim of a more fashionable society. She is now only serving her apprenticeship, but she will soon rise to the rank of an ancient in the Clic and then treat every newcomer in precisely the same manner she is treated now. But status in society has another aspect, which we saw at its height in a theater in Baltimore. When we first entered, I was surprised at the care with which the spectators of white skin were distinguished from the black faces. I see. In the first gallery are the whites. In the second are the milattos. In the third are the negroes. You must realize, sir, that the dignity of the whites requires this sort of classification. Talk of you look. Well, in the milattos gallery, over to the left, an extraordinarily beautiful young woman. And surely she's white. I see her. That woman is colored. Colored? She is whiter than a lily. She is colored. The tradition of the country establishes her origin and everyone knows that she numbers a milatto among her ancestors. But a little near the center in the whites gallery, surely I see a face that is at least half black. Now what is she doing there? The lady who now attracts your attention is white. White? Well, her complexion is white. The tradition of the country says that the blood flowing in her veins is Spanish. Social status is important even in the land of equality. And the equality itself varies from one sphere to another. In Massachusetts, for instance, negroes have the rights of citizenship. They may vote in elections. But prejudice is so strong that it is impossible to receive their children in schools. However, I see no more of this aspect of American society but return to the situation of American women who so jealously garb their division into classes. All men are equal. But you do not hear that assertion from the lips of a lady. It is almost in vain to talk of female republicanism. There exists and can exist no such being on either side of the Atlantic for human nature is the same on both. American women are, however, also the guardians of culture and remarkably mediocre it is. In the United States, men rarely even read. They haven't the time. Women are charged with this duty. And they report on all political and literary publications to either their fathers or their husbands so that the men can discuss them as if they had read them. As for music? As for music. Well, when the music starts, it is a signal for conversation. And this is very understandable when you have heard a certain amount of American music. Oh, listen to that. Well, you know, she does her best. How is it possible to applaud such singing like this? There is not a simplicity or a taste. Now, they are feeling or execution in the performance. And this storm of applause is not the reason. For the Lord's sake, don't say that loud enough for other people to hear you. It would deprive you, Mr. Beaumont, of many an innocent pleasure you would perhaps otherwise enjoy during your stay in the city. Our elite never forget the difference of opinion to one of their own clique. How much more, then, must a foreigner be on his guard? You'll forgive me. In society, this is a free country, sir. Every man may do or think what he pleases only. He must not let other people know it. You might just as well attack one of our fashionable preachers. Doc Ville got into more such difficulties. The singer, a lady, about 45 springs is passionately fond of music and unhappy passion, if ever there was one. She howled for two hours as if possessed by devils. And what was Doc Ville doing hearing all this? Seated near the piano with a smiling face, he was approving, applauding each tirade. I was merely being polite. And then you sat down and rolled back to our friends that America was an El Dorado for husbands. So it is. American wives live their whole lives bounded by domesticity. Besides, I had advice. Mr. Doc Ville, if you heard an oratorio performed by our Handel and Haydn Society, you would perhaps change your mind. That society is almost entirely composed of working men who cultivate music from taste. What a singular society in which the laboring classes cultivate the arts from taste and in which the rich people listen to it from obligation. Oh, excuse me, sir. I've smiled long enough at this. I should be obliged to lead the home. Will you accompany me? Oh, no, I'd like to, but people would notice. And I live here, you know, among the Romans, do as the Romans do. By the way, if anybody asks you about the concert and especially about that lady, say you were delighted. That's the word now. There's no use in making yourself enemies. Delighted, sir. Don't forget. Delighted. Good. Delighted. That was my advice and very sensible, too. And what did you really think, Tocqueville? I was delighted. That's the word, Beaumont, delighted. After all, they are a serious nation not given to frivolity. How can they cultivate taste, not for a while at any rate? Tocqueville, you are cynical. I assure you I am not. American society is a very remarkable thing. And its cornerstone is those very remarkable American women, the guardians of class, of culture, and above all, the guardians of morality. Men and women are both considered beings of equal value. And as for myself, though I do not hesitate to avow that the women of the United States are confined within the narrow circle of domestic life, and their situation is in some respects one of extreme dependence, I have nowhere seen women occupying a loftier position. And if I were asked finally to what the singular prosperity and growing strength of the Americans ought mainly to be attributed, I should reply to the superiority of their women. You have just heard any woman is a lady, a study in American manners, item five, in a series based on Alexis de Tocqueville's Democracy in America. This series, presented by the National Broadcasting Company, was prepared by the Division of General Education of New York University under the direction of George Probst, American historian, produced in the studios of the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation by Andrew Allen, scripted by Lister Sinclair, music by Lucio Agostini. This series, Democracy in America, is made possible by a grant from the Fund for Adult Education as part of a general course of study of the nature of American society. Teachers of American history and American civilization and adult education leaders may be interested in using these dramatizations and other materials which are available for study and discussion at a reasonable charge. For information, write to American Foundation for Continuing Education, post office box 749, Chicago 90, Illinois. Now this has been Grower inviting you to listen next week to The Cement of Democracy, item six on Democracy in America. This has been an NBC radio network presentation.