onour to the men of the United States for having
produced that modern national ideal the American woman.

I have been six times all over the United States. I have spent about
three years of my life in America, travelling from New York to San
Francisco, from British Columbia to Louisiana. If there is an
impression that becomes a deeper and deeper conviction every time that
I return to that country, it is that the most interesting woman in the
world is the American woman.

Now, let us compare her with the women of Europe. The English woman,
when beautiful, is an ideal symphony, an incomparable statue, but too
often a statue. The French woman is the embodiment of suppleness and
gracefulness, more fascinating by her manner than by either her face or
figure.

The Roman woman, with her gorgeous development, suggests the descendant
of the proud mother of the Gracchi. The American woman is a combination,
an _ensemble_.

I have never seen in America an absolutely, helplessly plain woman. She
is always in the possession of a redeeming something which saves her.
She may be ever so homely (as the Americans say), she looks
intelligent, a creature that has been allowed to think for herself,
that has never been sat upon. And I know no sight more pleasing than an
elderly American woman, with her white hair, that makes her look like a
Louis XV. marquise, and an expression which reflects the respect she
has inspired during a well and usefully spent life.

When women were born, a fairy attended the birth of every one of them.
Each woman received a special gift. The American woman arriving late,
the fairies gathered together and decided to make her a present of part
of all the attributes conferred on all the other women. The result is
that she has the smartness and the bright look of a French woman, and
the shapely, sculptural lines of an English woman. Ah! but, added to
that, she has a characteristic trait peculiarly her own, an utter
absence of affectation, a naturalness of bearing which makes her
unique, a national type. There is not in the world a woman to match
her in a drawing-room. There she stands, among the women of all
nationalities, a silhouette _bien decoupee_, herself, a queen.

Allowed from the tenderest age almost every liberty, accustomed to take
the others, she is free, easy, perfectly natural, with the
consciousness of her influence, her power; able by her intelligence and
education to enjoy all the intellectual pl