^\ ^ 
 
 
 ^' M. 
 
 
Ex Hitrrtjs 
 
 SEYMOUR DURST 
 
 -i, * 'Tort nte4w ^fTt/ierdam. oj^ ^^ M<TrJj<vtatus 
 
 (NEW YORK ) , 1651. 
 
 When you leave, please leave this book 
 
 Because it has been said 
 "Ever'thing comes t' him who waits 
 
 Except a loaned book." 
 
Avery Architectural and Fine Arts Library 
 Gift of Seymour B. Durst Old York Library 
 

AMERICA 
 
 AND 
 
 THE ^^MERICAjNTS, 
 
 THE THEATRES. 
 
 THE STREETS. 
 
 THE CARS. 
 
 THE NEWSPAPERS. 
 
 NEW YORK. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA. 
 
 THE LADIES. 
 
 THE RESTAURANTS. 
 
 THE RACES. 
 
 THE WAITERS. 
 
 ALBANY. 
 
 NIAGARA. 
 
 JACQUES OFFENBACH, 
 
 'Com£Xjscr of •* The (irancl Buchess^'^ ''La Belle HeVenCy " Ovphte omot 
 
 WILLIAM REEVES, 185, FLEET STREET, RC. 
 PUBLISHER OF MUSICAL WORKS. 
 
 Entered at Stationers' Hall, and all rights 'protected. 
 

PEEFACE TO THE ENGLISH EDITION. 
 
 An adage of respectable antiquity tells us that it is desirable we 
 should see ourselves as others see us. Custom is apt to habituate 
 us to absurdities which at once strike the eye of the unprejudiced and 
 unfamiliar observer. Things which appear ordinary to us, move 
 the occasional visitor to laughter, while the unbiassed critic can find 
 the more or less fatal flaw even in that which in our superlative self- 
 esteem we deem to be perfect. On the other hand, the "intelligent 
 foreigner ^' will discover amongst us things and customs which, ad- 
 mirable in. themselves, are peculiar to ourselves, and worthy of 
 imitation. Every nation and people can in the details of its daily 
 life exhibit something which its fellow nations can follow with 
 more or less advantage. But of course we must not go too far in 
 this direction and accept only the peculiarities of the nation we 
 criticise. It would be i<lle to emulate the complacency of the ob- 
 servant American, who on his return to New York insisted upon 
 perpetually wearing in the button hole of his coat the ribbon of the 
 Legion of Honour. The American defended his conduct on the plea 
 that the ribbon was the latest fashion in Paris, and that as he had 
 only just quitted France he ought, to know. 
 
 In the following pages M. Offenbach does not pretend to give any 
 very exhaustive account of America and the Americans, nor does he 
 affect to believe that all he states is quite according to Cocker. 
 The fact that he remained only a few weeks on the great American 
 continent would in itself forbid the possibility of his doing anything 
 of the sort. But he skims the cream from the top of the milk and 
 gives us that which at first sight appeared to his view. Much below 
 the surface he does not venture. Certain peculiarities stiuck him, 
 
IV. PREFACE TO THE ENGLISH EDITION. 
 
 and he duly recorded them in his note-book. Sometimes the concln- 
 sions he draws are just, sometimes they are false. But they are in- 
 variably characteristic and generally amusing. 
 
 At the outset it may apx)ear that the great French mnsica) 
 caricaturist has attempted to carry his admitted taste for exaggeration 
 into the account he gives of men and things in the United States. 
 That a confirmed satirist should more quickly than others notice the 
 ludicrous side of human nature is only natural. But there is also not 
 the smallest doubt that M. Offenbach has been sinned against 
 quite as much as he has actually sinned. M. Offenbach in the United 
 States was fair game to the witlings. He understood not a word of 
 the language, his manners were graced by the [courtesy of a French 
 gentleman^ and he was naturally inquisitive. He asked frequent 
 questions, and the point of the joke was to give him the most absurd 
 replies, the truth of which his courtes}' forbad him questioning in public. 
 Some assertions he believed, others he did not. Once he fairly lost hi& 
 good temper, and the practical joking which ensued at his exjDense he 
 graphically describes in the chapter upon the Bestaurants and the 
 Waiters of New York. But in all cases there is underlying a vast 
 amount of caJm good sense ; an infectious spirit of fun, and a fund of 
 caustic though good-humoured wit, which make his little book emi- 
 nently readable. 
 
 In the chapter on Art in America, and in other parts of the book, M. 
 Offenbach speaks more seriously, and his remarks on these topics are 
 worthy the respect due to a man of weight and experience, and of one 
 who, trained in the school of adversity, has created for himself the 
 popular position he now enjoys. His early days in his native city of 
 Cologne, and before he became a legally naturalised French subject,, 
 were passed almost in i^enury. His father, a poor teacher of singing 
 and of violin playing, had a hard matter to keep body and soul toge- 
 ther, though, with the strong affection for his offspring which is- 
 happily by no means peculiar to the Hebrew race, he found the means 
 to give little Jacques a fair education. In Germany children arc 
 taught the rudiments of useful knowledge by the State, but the ac- 
 complishment of music was, fifty-eight years ago, when Oftenbach was- 
 born, a luxury which people were compelled to provide for themselves. 
 So little Jacques was instructed by one Herr Alexander in the art 
 and mystery of violoncello playing, at a cost of a shilling a lesson : 
 
PREFACE TO THE ENGLISH EDITION. V. 
 
 indeed, so slight was the pecuniary credit of the Offenbach family that 
 Hen Alexander declined to '' sjive trust/' The shilling must be laid 
 on the table before the commencement of the lesson. No money, no 
 instruction. 
 
 But that M. Oflfenbach has ever}^ right which ability and experience 
 can give, to speak upon questions of art, is a generally admitted fact. 
 For though known to fame chiefly as a popular composer of opera- 
 bouffe, M. Offenbach gained his knowledge of music and of the world 
 in a far different sphere of life. "When the composer was yet but 
 a child, the Offenbach family removed from Cologne, and settled in 
 Paris, where Jacques had the benefit of instruction at the Conserva- 
 toire. Here, in 1833-4, he studied music in general, and the violoncello 
 in particular, and within the next ten years he had gained for himself 
 a high reputation as a violoncellist. He became a member of the 
 orchestra of the ThCatre-Francais, and in 1847, on the retirement of 
 M. Barbereau, he was appointed conductor in chief at the leading 
 French Theatre. The reputation of the orchestra of the Comedie- 
 Franeaise he raised to a height which it never subsequently attained, 
 and indeed, very shortly after M. Offenbach quitted his post to under- 
 take the more lucrative employment of a composer of opera-bouffe 
 and director of the Bouffes-Parisiens, the orchestra of the Theatre- 
 Fran oais was wholly abolished. But while still at the great French 
 temple of the drama, M. Offenbach wrote overtures and orchestral pieces 
 more numerous than can readily be remembered, and his celebrity as 
 a violoncellist was sustained at its height. Indeed many English 
 amateurs can still call to mind the duets at Holland House, at a time 
 when the violoncello was held by M. Offenbach, and the piano was 
 played by Mr. James Davison, a justly honoured and highly respected 
 musical critic, who is happih^ still living and working in our midst. 
 
 M. Offenbach's work on " America and the Americans, '' must there- 
 fore be accepted in the spirit in which it is offered. We can laugh at 
 the quaintly told stor}^ of the debut of the composer as a mariner, even 
 as we can observe with admiration his expressions of love for his family, 
 and with mingled interest and amusement his account of New York, 
 with its streets, its cars, its houses, its theatres, and its hotels. The 
 articles on American liberty, on advertisements, and on Friendly so- 
 cieties, contain a great many home truths, always intermingled with 
 humour, while in other places we have fun and fact ; in a mixture which, 
 
Yl. PEEFACE TO THE ENGLISH EDITION. 
 
 in spite of occasional trifling exaggeration, does not appear at all incon - 
 gruons. M. Oflfenbacli's hatred of the nnisic of Herr AVagner is most 
 appiirentj nor considering that Herr Wagner has most unmercifully 
 satirised the French opera-boufFe writer, is the fact at all surprising. 
 But M. Offenbach never descends to invective, preferring rather to 
 shatter his adversary by light and good-humoured wit. In short. INT. 
 (JHenbach has the best possible right to say with Beaumarchais'i^'<V/a/'o, 
 ''Praised by some, and blamed by others, I hasten to laugh at every- 
 thing, lest I be compelled to weeiD.'' 
 
CO>;rTE:N^TS. 
 
 VHAPTE17. PAGE. 
 
 Prefale 3 
 
 T. — Before Siartinc. ... ... ... ... ... ... n 
 
 II. — The Voyage 15 
 
 NEW YORX. 
 
 III. — GrL-MORE\s Gardens oq 
 
 lY. — The Houses, the Streets, the Cars. 23 
 
 Y. — The Theatres of New York. 28 
 
 YI. — Art ix Aaierica. 33 
 
 YII. — The Restaurants. Three Tyres of Waiters 37 
 
 YIII. — The Ladies. The Introduction. The Park. 43 
 
 IX. — American Liberty. 4G 
 
 X. — Corporations and Societies ... ... 49 
 
 XI. -Puffery 51 
 
 XII.— The Races. 53 
 
 XIII. — The American Press ... 5G 
 
 XIY. — Sketches of Celebrities. GO 
 
 a. — Mr. Bennett , (U 
 
 h. — Mr. Manager Maurice Grau. 02 
 
 c. — Conductor Theodore Thomas. ... 03 
 
 d. — Maretzek. (34 
 
 c. — Weber 64 
 
 /. — Mora ()5 
 
 //. — Mara Q-j 
 
 /^. — A Senator. 65 
 
 PHILADELPHIA. 
 
 XY.— The City. ... 66 
 
 XYL—OrrENBACK Garden 68 
 
Vlll. 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 ]>sIAGARA. 
 
 XVII.— Pullman Cars. 
 
 XVIII. — The Falls of Niagara. 
 
 XIX. — The Lost Dauphix of France. 
 XX. — Return from Niagara. The Sleeping Cars 
 
 XXI. — Autographs. 
 
 XXIT. — The Punishment of a Musician. 
 
 XXIII. — The Farewell Appearance 
 
 XXIV. — Home Again 
 
 
 
 71 
 
 
 
 74 
 
 ... 
 
 • 
 
 75 
 
 76 
 
 78 
 80 
 
 82 
 83 
 
AMEEICA AND THE AMERICANS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 BEFORE STARTING, 
 
 At the end of the spring of 1875, I had retired with my family 
 for a brief holiday to that favourite spot, the Terrace of St. Germain. 
 I love this charming retreat, and I had taken refuge there, very 
 pardonably hoping to obtain that repose which was the more neces- 
 sary as I had undergone the fatigue of a most laborious winter. 
 
 My door had been forbidden to all strangers, and especially to 
 those of whom there was the slightest suspicion that they belonged 
 to the theatre. Twenty years of work, of strife, and of continual 
 warfare were sufficient for me, and I laid down a law, which was 
 cei-tainly hard and fast, but which all will agTee was just enough — 
 I would simply see no one on business. 
 
 I lived then in peace, in the bosom of my very numerous family 
 and surrounded by my intimate friends. It was not exactly soli- 
 tude, but it was tranquillity. 
 
 One morning, while I was playing in my garden with one of my 
 children, Madlle. Schneider was announced. I had not the courage 
 to insist on the pass word in her case, as I have for the Grand 
 Duchess of Gerolstein a very warm feeling of friendship. 
 
 We talked of everything and of nothing, of the battles we had 
 fought together under fire of the footlights, and — why should I not 
 say it ? — of our past victories, and possibly also of our battles to 
 come. As we were conversing, a servant brought in a card, on 
 which I read a name which was completely unknown to me. 
 
 A 
 
12 AMERICA AND THE AMERICANS. 
 
 I went out to chide the servant, when I found myself face to 
 face with the owner of the card. He was a very courteous and 
 a very polite gentleman, but I guessed at once the truth, and 
 resigned myself to my fate. 
 
 " Sir," said he, " pardon my forcible entry, but I come upon im- 
 portant business, which will not detain you long, and to which 
 you will merely have to reply yes or no !" 
 
 '^ I am listening, sir." 
 
 " I am instructed, sir, to ask you if you are willing to go to 
 America T 
 
 I so little expected this formidable question, that I could not 
 restrain a laugh. 
 
 '^ Sir," said I to my visitor, " I assure you, I would not go even 
 as far as St. Cloud to-day, not for a great deal of money." 
 
 ** I did not ask you to go to St. Cloud, nor to-day, sir. The 
 question merely is, whether you will go to the Philadelphia Exhi- 
 bition next spring f 
 
 ^^ To Philadelphia, and what to do there I pray T 
 
 " Sir, the Americans are very fond of great artists, they receive 
 them magnificently, and they pay them in the same manner." 
 
 '^ By Jove, sir, I declare your proposition is serious and honour- 
 able, and that at any rate it deserves consideration." 
 
 " Well, sir, I never hoped that you would decide on the spot, 
 pray take your own time. I am merely charged with a very 
 simple mission, to know if you are willing to go to Philadelphia. 
 If you give me a favourable reply, those who are more interested 
 in the matter than I, will discuss terms with you ; if not, I can but 
 express my regret at having troubled you, and my thanks for the 
 honour you have done me in listening to me." 
 
 I was silent for a moment. A thousand thoughts flew through 
 my brain. Those who are family men and who have a conscious- 
 ness of duty, will understand without any explanation from me 
 what I felt. Others would not understand even if I spent a life- 
 time in explaining the situation. 
 
BEFOBB STARTING. 13 
 
 At last I replied. 
 
 *^ Yeiy well, sir, I would not go willingly to America, because, 
 setting aside my fifty years, many things keep me at liome. But 
 on the other hand, if the case were urgent, and I could see my 
 way clearly, I would go at any rate without repugnance." 
 
 My visitor bowed and intimated that was all he wished to 
 know. 
 
 At dejeuner I mentioned the visit I had received, but although 
 I spoke of the affair in the gayest tone in the world, it failed. 
 
 " It is madness," was the general cry. 
 
 I attempted to prove that the affair never had any serious aspect, 
 und I even offered to bet I should hear no more about it. But 
 a shadow had passed over the calm spirit of our holiday life, and 
 the cloud could not be dispelled. The smallest thing will dis- 
 sipate a beautiful day-dream, and I began to think it was the 
 greatest folly in the world to leave one's front door open. 
 
 The following day I received a visit from M. Bacquero, who 
 had hastened to write to me as soon as he had knowledge of my 
 reply. 
 
 M. Bacquero was a man of business in the best acceptation of 
 the term. He made me offers about which I did not think it even 
 iright to hesitate, and I signed there and then the contract he 
 proposed. 
 
 That day I had no need to tell the tale of what had passed. 
 My family had guessed it, and on seeing my people make so many 
 useless efforts to restrain their tears, I appreciated more than ever 
 the sweet and holy affection with which I was surrounded. 
 
 So much sadness and so many sweet reproaches were not best 
 -adapted to inspire in me that courage of which I had more need 
 than they thought. 
 
 I passed long nights without rest. In the morning I did not 
 dare to sleep, for fear of not being able on opening my eyes, to con- 
 jure up a sigh to re-assure the dear beings who came so sadly to 
 salute my awakening. 
 
14 AMERICA AND THE AMERICANS. 
 
 Then I imagined a thousand consolatory theories. We had the 
 winter before ns, a long winter, and who knew what might happen 
 before the end of nine months'? The Exhibition might be abandoned 
 or indefinitely postponed ; that might certainly occur any day. 
 America had had a long war; the war might re-commence; that was^ 
 very nearly certain. I was in the position of the poor devil in 
 the fable. The King gave him the choice between teaching his ass 
 to read and being hanged. The brave man had accejDted the first 
 condition, demanding however ten years to accomplish the miracle, 
 saying, " It would be an exceedingly curious thing if within ten 
 years the King, the ass, or I do not die." 
 
 But the philosopher had ten years before him in which to ac- 
 complish his miracle, while I had only six months, arid the time 
 seemed to pass with unusual rapidity. 
 
 One single hope sustained us, a hope which was at once very 
 hviman and very prosaic. According to the contract a large sum 
 was to be deposited in the banking house of my friend Bischofsheim, 
 and I had tried to persuade myself, and to convince my family, 
 that this formality would not be fulfilled. 
 
 One day I met one of those men who know everything, and 
 everybody's business, and on seeing me he volunteered — 
 
 " I have news from over the water and your money will not 
 arrive." 
 
 It seemed to me that this amiable man relieved me of a fright- 
 ful nightmare. Instead of going on to my club, I told the coach- 
 man to drive home, and the fine fellow dashed along the road as 
 though he knew I was anxious to impart good news. 
 
 But the period of suspense did not last long. On the day fixed 
 the money was deposited, and the evanescent gaiety I had assumed 
 was succeeded by the dolorous sadness which preceded separation. 
 
THE VOYAGE. 15 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE VOYAGE, 
 
 The moment had arrived. 
 
 I left Paris on the 21st April. My two sons-in-law, Charles 
 Comte and Achille Tournal, my two brothers-in-law, Kobert 
 and Gaston Mitchel, and some friends, amongst whom were Albert 
 Wolff and Mendel, and my son, accompanied me as far as Havre. 
 I was extremely grieved in having to embark on the morrow. I 
 had thought to render the separation less hard by forbidding my 
 wife and daughters to leave Paris, but now how I regretted it ! 
 
 The boat started at last, and as it grazed the pier, it seemed 
 that I stood near my son for the last time, and I could not 
 restrain visible signs of my poignant grief. 
 
 As soon as the vessel put off, my eyes remained directed towards 
 that little group on the quay, in the midst of which was my dear 
 child. I could descry him a very long time. The sun shone on 
 the buttons of his collegian's coat, and clearly allowed my eyes to 
 rest on the place which my heart had divined. 
 
 Behold me in the Canada^ a fine ship, which had been newly 
 built ! We had left the quay at 8 o'clock in the morning and were 
 already far from the coast. The vessel went well. Like myself, 
 she made her first voyage to America. Accustomed to first repre- 
 sentations I was not afraid of assisting at her debut. 
 
 Allow me now to present you to some of my companions. To 
 the highest the highest honour. The commander was M. Frangeul, 
 a true sailor, an excellent man, and a charming conversationalist, 
 who undertook the task, by his wit and drollery, of relieving the 
 monotony and the length of the voyage. 
 
 M. Betsellere, the steward, had already had the honour of being 
 shipwrecked. He was on the Gironde when that vessel ran into 
 
16 AMERICA AND THE AMERICANS. 
 
 the Louisiane and sank. He was saved miraculously, and M, 
 Betsellere was now afraid of nothing. 
 
 A very young doctor, M. Flamant, also made his first journey 
 across the Atlantic. Poor doctor 1 medicine does not prevail 
 against le mal de mer. From the second day he appeared no more 
 at table, and I took a malicious pleasure in asking how he felt 
 each morning. 
 
 Amongst the passengers we had Madlle. Aimee, who had just 
 concluded a triumphant season in Russia; Boulard, who accom- 
 panied me in the capacity of assistant conductor, and who took 
 with him his young wife ; M. Bacquero, a charming American, who 
 haA-ing decided to present me to his compatriots was, as we have 
 seen, assisted by the force of the almighty dollar in his efforts to 
 induce me to undertake this little artistic tour ; and Arigotti, a 
 robust tenor and pupil of the Conservatoire of Paris, and who 
 having lost his voice had happily found a situation as secretary to 
 M. Bacquero. He was a capital i:)layer on the piano, and he read 
 music with the greatest skill. Two pretty young ladies of Phila- 
 delj^hia, some business men going to the Exhibition, some exhibi- 
 tors who hoped to effect sales, and finally some travellers of no 
 special importance, made uj:) our party. 
 
 I cannot better tell the tale of the journey than by reproducing 
 a few lines which I wrote to my wife on disembarking. 
 
 ^^The first two days passed very well. The weather was sujierb,. 
 and I slept capitally on the Saturday during the stojDpagc at Ply- 
 mouth. I became very well accustomed to my berth, so well 
 indeed, that when the boat suddenly stopped, I awoke with a 
 start. Not ha\dng any very great experience of the sea, I believed 
 this sudden stoj^page to be the result of an accident. Jumping out 
 of my berth, I was dressed and out on the bridge in two minutes. 
 It was a false alai-m. The ship had already re-started, but sleep had 
 left me ; and my confidence had gone with it. I lay down again in 
 my clothes expecting an accident at any moment. Every quarter of 
 an hour the ship stopped, its helm not yet acting quite pro^^erly. 
 
THE VOYAGE. 17 
 
 " As if this were not enough, a storm arose to complicate the 
 situation. During three days and four nights we were horribly 
 knocked about. The rolling and the pitching were terrible. In the 
 cabin everything which was not fixed, was broken ; and no one 
 could hold himself either upright or sitting. 
 
 " On the Monday, I would not remain any longer in my cabin, 
 and they made me up a bed in the saloon. The captain and all 
 the crew were most kind to me, and kept me company during paii: 
 of the night, seeking by every means in their power to reassure 
 me. 
 
 ^' ^ It is superb," the captain said to me, ' the boat breaks into 
 the waves and scattters them on all sides every minute, you ought 
 to come on deck to see it.* 
 
 " ' My dear captain,' I replied, ' as a spectator, and seeing a 
 tempest afar ofi*, I admit that the spectacle would be exceedingly 
 interesting. But I avow that as an actor, playing a part in the 
 piece, I find that the fun is of the slightest possible description.' 
 
 ^^ A characteristic trait of a young American girl who was on 
 board with her sister. At the height of the storm, at a moment 
 when more than one person below was muttering a prayer and 
 recommending his soul to God, (I was not doing so I assure you) 
 the little Americaine said to her sister, ^ My dear, will you try to 
 go down stairs and find me my pretty little hat, I should not like to 
 die as I am.' ^ We must also find your gloves,' replied the younger 
 girl. 
 
 ^^ Before entering the port, the Canada spoke with two little 
 isles, called the Quarantine Islands, where the sanatory police and 
 custom house officers make their search. 
 
 " When a ship has invalids on board, it is compelled to dis- 
 embark them on the first of these islands. When the invalids 
 become convalescent, they are passed on to the second. 
 
 * ^Formerly these islands did not exist, and it was at Long Island 
 that the steamers awaited the customs officials and the doctors. To 
 the custom-house people the inhabitants of Long Island were quite 
 
18 AMERICA AND THE AMERICANS. 
 
 indifferent, bnt the doctors and the invalids annoyed them. This 
 incessant importation of pestilential subjects from the four quarters 
 of the globe, was found disagreeable, and the inhabitants at last 
 declared they would not allow the place to be used as a hospital 
 any longer. They had had enough of it, and it was now the turn 
 of Staten Island, which lay opposite. 
 
 '' But the inhabitants of Staten Island objected as strongly as 
 did their brethren of Long Island. Indeed they were not content 
 with threats. They revolted, and simply fired at all the ships which 
 touched there, whether the vessels contained invalids or not. The 
 authorities were perplexed. But they do not long remain em- 
 barrassed in America. The council met, and decided that as the 
 two Islands would not receive the sick on any pretext, two other 
 Islands should be constructed, to remain uninhabited, save by in- 
 valids and their attendants. At the end of a very short time these 
 two new islands rose from the sea, as if by enchantment. 
 
 '' In this tour de force you see America. 
 
 ^'They expected us on the evening of the day before we actually 
 arrived, and a procession on the sea had been organised to meet us. 
 Boats decked out with flags, and hung with Venetian lanterns, 
 carrying journalists, besides curious people, and a military band 
 of 60 to 80 players, awaited us at Sandy Hook. But as we did 
 not arrive, the boat put further out to sea expecting to meet us. 
 They were all happy on board, singing and laughing, the music 
 played the prettiest tunes, but as the measure advanced the mal 
 de mer advanced also. The musicians were not the last to feel its 
 effect, and they soon became like the players in the comic sym- 
 phony of Haydn, where the musicians disappear one after the 
 other, blowing out the lights as they go. Ovirs had no lights to 
 blow out, but in place of murmuring sweet melody, one after the 
 other murmured sweet nothings to the waves.* 
 
 " We were soon accosted by another boat, on board of which 
 
 * The pun in the French original is " mais au lieu de rendre des sons, les 
 uns apres les autres rendaient . . . I'ame dans la mer." 
 
THE VOYAGE. 19 
 
 were the principal reporters of the New York newspapers. You 
 will understand I was as courteous as possible. Two hours after 
 we had arrived at New York we were already very good 
 friends. 
 
 " In the evening, on returning from the theatre — the first day I 
 visited two theatres — I saw a crowd assembled before my hotel. 
 From the electric light which shone everywhere you would have 
 thought it was broad day. Above the balcony of the hotel was 
 written in large letters, ^Welcome Offenbach.' An orchestra of 
 60 musicians obliged me with a serenade. They played ' Orph^e ' 
 and ' La Grande Duchesse.' I cannot describe to you the applause 
 and the cries of ' Long live Offenbach.' I was obliged to appear 
 on the balcony, just like Gambetta, and I shouted the formidable 
 ' Thank you, sir,' prescribed by the formula of politeness. 
 
 " On Saturday I was invited to a dinner given in my honour by 
 the Lotos Club — one of the best clubs here — by men of letters, 
 artists, merchants, bankers, and a good many journalists of all 
 sorts. I enclose you the menu of the dinner. 
 
 " ' I am aware,' I said in reply to the toast of my health, ' that 
 for a long time the Americans have known me as a composer, and 
 I hope that when I have the honour of knowing them better they 
 will be able to respect me as a man. ^ I beg,' I said, ^ to propose 
 a toast to the United States, but not to the United States tout sec. 
 Art and the peoples are brothers, and I propose a toast to the 
 United States of Europe.' 
 
 ^^ This speech, which emotion alone can pardon, was applauded 
 <\ outrance. 
 
 '^ On Monday I was invited to the Press Club, of wliich only 
 journalists can be members ; charming men, very witty, most of 
 them speaking French very well, and many of them having resided 
 more or less in France. 
 
 " Many speeches in my honour. I replied as well as I could." 
 
20 AMERICA AND THE AMERICANS. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 GILMORWS GARDENS, 
 
 Here I am at New York. 
 
 The Fifth Avenue Hotel, where I have put up, well merits a 
 few words of descrij^tion. You can form no idea in Europe of 
 this sort of establishment. Everything is ready to the hand. In 
 each bedroom there are, a toilette cabinet, a bath, and a mys- 
 terious place, the use of which the initials on the door sufficiently 
 indicate. 
 
 The ground floor of the hotel is an immense bazaar, a merchant 
 town, where trades of all sorts are represented. The hotel 
 hair dresser, the hotel hatter, the hotel tailor, the hotel chemist, 
 the hotel bookseller, and the hotel shoeblack, are all found here. 
 One can enter an hotel as naked as Adam before the incident of 
 the apple, and as hairy as Absalom before the tree, and can go 
 out again as fine a gentleman as the famous Count D'Orsay of 
 fashionable memory. 
 
 Everything can be had in this Fifth Avenue Hotel, everything 
 except, however, a polyglot. The polyglot was nowhere to be 
 found. Amongst the 200 waiters who serve in this gigantic estab- 
 lishment you may seek in vain for one who can speak French. 
 This is not particularly pleasant for those who do not understand 
 English. 
 
 For 20 dollars (<£4), you have a bedroom, with the accessories 
 I have enumerated, and the right to eat all day. From 8 to 1 1 
 a.m. you have breakfast, from noon to 3 p.m. lunch, from 5 to 7 
 dinner, and from 8 to 1 1 you take tea. For eating purposes there 
 is a saloon on the first floor. As soon as you appear in this 
 immense gallery, where fifty tables are methodically aiTanged, a 
 
GILMORE*S GARDENS. 21 
 
 big gaillard of a mattre dliotel approaches you, and assigns you 
 the place where you are to sit at table. You cannot resist, nor 
 are you allowed to have fancies or preferences for one particular 
 corner more than for another, you must take your chance. The 
 maitre dliotel, is mattre dliotel. He seats you beside whomsoever 
 he chooses, and you have nothing to say in the matter. 
 
 You take your place then. The waiter does not ask what you 
 would like. He begins by bringing you a large glass of iced water, 
 and it is a remarkable thing, that at the fifty tables which you 
 find in the room, there is not a single being who drinks anything 
 but iced water. If by chance you see wine or beer before some 
 jovial soul, you may be sure he is a native of Europe. 
 
 After the glass of water, the waiter presents you with a list of 
 the 80 dishes of the day. I do not exaggerate. You choose your 
 dinner by selecting three or four, and this is the most comical 
 side of the affair — everything you have ordered is brought to 
 you at once. If by unhappy chance you have forgotten to point 
 out the particular vegetable you want to eat, they bring you the 
 fifteen vegetables prescribed on the carte all together. In this way 
 you find yourself suddenly flanked by thirty dishes, soup, fish, 
 flesh, innumerable vegetables, and sweets ; without counting the 
 rearguard of dessert, which in itself is always composed of a dozen 
 varieties of fmit. Everything is drawn up in battle array before 
 you, bidding defiance to the stomach. The first time you dine, it 
 so frightens you that your appetite disappears. 
 
 I shall not, however, speak just now of American hotels, 
 reserving a detailed description till I can afford myself greater 
 space. As I have only just arrived I have not leisure to observe 
 much. I eat quickly, for I have only one idea, one desire, to see 
 the famous covered gardens, at which Bilboquet tells me I am 
 to display my talent. 
 
 I hasten then to Gilmore's Gardens. 
 
 Picture to yourself a vast covered garden. In a massive frame- 
 work formed by tropical plants is a platform reserved for an orchestra 
 
22 AMERICA AND THE AMERICANS. 
 
 of 100 or 120 musicians. Around are flowers, grass, turf borders, 
 and flower beds, about and around which the public walk freely. 
 In front of the entrance gate is a large waterfall intended to fill up 
 the break in the programme. During the entr'actes it imitates 
 Niagara. The corners of the garden are occupied by little cha- 
 lets, each of which will hold seven or eight persons, and which 
 very advantageously replace the usual theatrical private boxes. 
 A large gallery, with ordinary stalls and seats, rising in tiers, 
 permits those who really like to see and hear, to gratify their 
 tastes. 
 
 The whole somewhat recalls to mind the old Jardin d'Hiver 
 which once was so popular in the Champs Elys6es. 
 
 The place would hold about 8 or 9000 persons, and I must 
 add it was most brilliantly lighted, the coloured glasses forming 
 little rainbows with a very picturesque efiect. 
 
 Enchanted with my concert hall, I asked Mr. Graun, the direc- 
 tor, some details of the orchestra I had to conduct. 
 
 He replied, 
 
 '' We have engaged the hundred and ten musicians you have 
 asked for, and I can assure you they are the best in New York.' 
 
 I soon found he had not deceived me, and I had the rare good 
 fortune to become very popular with my orchestra. 
 
 The musicians of New York are of themselves a vast and 
 powerful organisation. They have constituted themselves into a 
 society for their mutual protection. Every individual who wishes 
 to become a member of an orchestra, must first join the society. 
 To this rule there are no exceptions. From the conductor, down 
 to the gentleman who '' presides at " the triangle, all must be 
 members of the society. 
 
 I had been warned of this state of things by Boulard, who had 
 already directed one or two rehearsals, and who was obliged to 
 join the association before he was allowed to conduct at all. 
 
 On my entry into the concert room, the musicians gave me an 
 ovation, and in a few words I returned them my thanks. We 
 
THE HOUSES, THE STREETS, AND THE CARS. 23 
 
 commenced the rehearsal by the overture to " Yert-Yert." They 
 had not played sixteen bars before I tapped my desk and stopped 
 them. 
 
 '' Pardon, gentlemen/' I said, " we have only just commenced, 
 and you have already failed in your duty." 
 
 General surprise ! 
 
 " You see," I continued, " I am not a member of your associa- 
 tion, and yet you allow me to conduct." 
 
 At this there was great laughter. Bat I preserved the most 
 serious countenance, and added — 
 
 " Since, gentlemen, you have not thought proper to speak to me 
 about the matter, I have spoken to you, and I ask to be made a 
 member of your society." 
 
 The band protested, but I insisted. I said I approved in every 
 way of the objects of their institution, and that I should consider 
 it an honour if they would permit me to join it. 
 
 There was loud and long applause at the expression of this 
 desire. 
 
 I had conquered my orchestra. From that time, we were like 
 members of a family, and the most perfect harmony reigned 
 amongst us. For the rest I am delighted to state, that the in- 
 strumentalists were of a very superior order. For each of my 
 works, two rehearsals only were necessary to assure a most 
 brilliant interpretation. 
 
 CHAPTER lY. 
 THE HOUSES, THE STREETS, AND THE CARS, 
 
 I DID not long remain at this Fifth Avenue Hotel, where they eat 
 so much, and speak so little French. At the end of three or four 
 days I went to live at a house in Madison Square. There I could 
 
■24 AMERICA AND THE AMERICANS. 
 
 appreciate to what a height the Americans had brought comfort and 
 luxury. Not only w^re there hot air stoves in every apartment, 
 gas in every room, and hot and cold water always at hand, but 
 also in a room on the ground floor were ranged three little buttons 
 of very great importance. 
 
 The three buttons represent for the inhabitant three considerable 
 forces ; the protection of the law, help in case of accident, and the 
 assistance of a servant. Everything in three buttons ! Certainly, 
 and there is no magic in the affair after all. 
 
 The three buttons are electric. You press the first and a com- 
 missionnaire comes to take your orders. You touch the second 
 and a policeman presents himself at your door and places himself 
 at your disposal. The third button enables you to give the alarm 
 in case of fire arid within a few seconds to bring a brigade of fire- 
 men round your house. 
 
 This is not all. 
 
 Besides the three buttons you can also if you please have in 
 your study that which you will find in every hotel, in all the cafes 
 in the restaurants, and even in the drinking saloons and tobacco 
 shops — the telegraph. When you want it, they will fix in your 
 room a little machine, which will work from morning till evening 
 and from evening till morning, and which will give you all the news 
 of the two worlds. A ribbon of paper gradually unrolling itself 
 into a wicker basket allows you to read the latest news from Paris 
 on the one hand, and the last telegrams about the war in the East 
 on the other ; to say nothing of the progress and result of the 
 elections at Cincinnati and St. Louis. At all hours you have the 
 stock and share lists of all countries, and you can tell in a moment 
 wliether you have made a fortune or lost it. 
 
 But if the houses of New York are arranged in a very practical 
 way, the city itself is organised in a still more admirable manner. 
 
 The Americans, unlike the French, do not call their streets by 
 the names of the })eople who govern them, nor do they change 
 those names every time a government disappears. The custom of 
 
THE HOUSES, THE STREETS, AND THE CARS. 25 
 
 Paris in this respect would hardly work well in a country which 
 changes its rulers once every four years. If it were so, a street 
 would in the course of 20 years or so, have borne more names than 
 the hidalgo of the most elongated title in Castile. To obviate 
 the inconveniences that attach to our own system, the Americans 
 have wisely preferred to designate their streets and Avenues by 
 numbers. Fii^st Avenue, Second Avenue, and so on. They are 
 therefore independent of j)olitics and impervious to change. 
 
 In the squares, which are magnificent, very few statues are to 
 be seen. "Washington has one, but it is modest enough. 
 
 This is in strong contrast with France, where everybody is more 
 or less sculptured in marble or moulded in bronze, a habit which 
 begins to make our country resemble an immense museum of 
 bronzed or marble men in frock coats. 
 
 We may pass over the case of the gods and goddesses of anti- 
 quity, as they have at least a certain character, and do not need 
 any great exercise of the fancy. But since all ages have liked 
 female statues, is it not now time to neglect the gentlemen and to 
 think a little more of the ladies, whose toilettes adapt themselves 
 to the plastic art far better than do our own ? 
 
 From my window in Madison Square I discovered a fact as 
 curious as it was charming. In the trees, under the leaves of the 
 larger branches, are placed little houses and nests. They are for 
 the sparrows which have been imported from Europe. The little 
 foreign birds are the object of every sort of attention. The law 
 protects them and no one is allowed to touch them. The Ameri- 
 cans respect them as scrupulously as the Venetians do the pigeons 
 in the Piazza San Marco. 
 
 Most of the streets are intersected by rails which traverse them 
 in every direction. The iron rails mark the itinerary of the tram- 
 ways, to which, by the way, the Americans have given the name of 
 Cars. 
 
 The American Car in no way resembles our Parisian vehicle, nor 
 even the omnibus which the Parisians call American. Nor is tlie 
 
26 AMERICA AND THE AMERICANS. 
 
 number of passengers in any way limited. Though every seat 
 in the vehicle is occupied there is still room. The last comers 
 remain standing, holding themselves firmly by the strap which 
 hangs from the interior of the car. They crowd on the platform, 
 and in case of need even hitch themselves on the back of the con- 
 ductor. While there is still a corner free, a foot-board unoccupied, 
 or a knee vacant, the conductor does not annoinice that the vehicle 
 is full. A car which is constructed to hold 80 people, actually 
 carries three times that number from one end of the city to another 
 at the comparatively moderate charge of five cents (two-pence 
 half-penny.) 
 
 I have spoken of the numerous rails which intersect the streets. 
 The Americans,' who are a practical race, have found means 
 to utilise them for their own benefit. The ordinary street vehicles 
 are so made that their wheels exactly fit the rails, and by these 
 means the carts and cabs are dra^^^[l quicker, and with less labour. 
 They only quit the tramway when driven ofi* by the heavy vehicles 
 of the car companies. 
 
 Sometimes the cars arrive at great speed before the vehicles in 
 front have time to get out of the way. But a collision of this sort 
 is very soon rectified. The fallen horse is assisted to rise, the 
 driver regains his seat without complaint, and as soon as the car 
 has passed he takes again to the rails. 
 
 Those omnibuses which do not use the tramways have no con- 
 ductor to receive the money. The passenger himself pays for his 
 place to the company direct and without intermediary. On taking 
 his seat he places the price of his fare in a little box fixed to the 
 vehicle for that purpose. 
 
 I asked an American if the company did not lose a good deal of 
 money by this system. 
 
 " It would cost far more," was the reply, ^' to pay a conductor 
 and someone else to check him, and the company loses less by re- 
 lying on the honesty of its customers." 
 
 The practical side of the American character betrays itself in 
 
THE HOUSES, THE STREETS, AND THE CARS. 27 
 
 the smallest details, and the little box of which I have spoken 
 serves two uses. In the day it acts as a receptacle for the half- 
 pence ; in the evening it is lit up and becomes a lantern. 
 
 I have not yet finished with these vehicles. Most of them are 
 
 ' furnished with gigantic parasols, which serve two ends : to preserve 
 
 the driver from the terrible heat, and also for the purpose of 
 
 advertisement. I am assured that every week the umbrella is 
 
 changed at the cost of the advertiser. 
 
 The success of the cars, which by the way pass every minute, is 
 consitlerable. This species of locomotion has, indeed, entered deeply 
 into American habits. Every one, even the most distinguished 
 men and women, uses the cars. And the Americans are right, for the 
 cabs, either of one horse or of two, are a ruinous price. They are 
 comfortable it is evident, and they are well kept up it is true, but 
 it is nevertheless not particularly economical to pay for a journey 
 of any length by a one horse cab, a dollar and a half (6s.). A two 
 horse cab costs $2 (8s.), and if you have been foolish enough to 
 neglect to arrange the price in advance, for a single drive round 
 Central Park, you bid fair to be charged $7, — twenty-eight shil- 
 lings for a drive of two hours. 
 
 If the large number of cars and omnibuses which trayerse the 
 streets of New York offer the most incontestable advantages, they 
 also present serious dangers to pedestrians. Shields for foot pas- 
 sengers have therefore been placed in the middle of the most 
 crowded roadways ; and a policeman is placed at each of these 
 points, charged with the special duty of protecting those who wish 
 to cross. It is very charming to see this functionary take a lady 
 and a ( \ild by the hand, in a very paternal manner, and conduct 
 them ac oss the road, stopping all vehicles on the way. This pre- 
 caution ii!. greatly prized by American ladies, who go a considerable 
 distance out of their way in order to avail themselves of the pro- 
 tection of the public pilots. 
 
 It was also explained to me, that if anyone have the happiness 
 to be knocked down while at a shield, he has the right to a heavy 
 
 B 
 
26 AMERICA AND THE AMERICANS. 
 
 indemnity, but that if by unhappy chance the misadventure 
 happen at a time when he is on the roadway, or even at the side 
 of the shield, not only does he lose his right to indemnity, but the 
 proprietor of the vehicle has a right to damages against him for 
 having obstructed the highway. 
 
 CHAPTER Y. 
 THE THEATRES OF NEW YORK. 
 
 One of my first occupations on arriving at New York was to 
 go the round of the theatres then open. 
 
 The chief theatres of the city are admirably designed. All are 
 built on a similar model, and they have the form of a vast amphi- 
 theatre offering a long series of tiers of seats one above the other. 
 There are only eight private boxes in each of them, that is to say, 
 four grand tier boxes on each side of the house. Nor are these 
 boxes very extensively patronised. It is not at all unusual to 
 find them all empty, while the rest of the house is full. The 
 best society prefers the orchestra and grand tier stalls. 
 
 As very few of the managers have a fixed locale, the theatres 
 are let by the season, by the month, and even by the week. 
 
 A manager may be bankrupt three or four times, before the 
 people lose confidence in him. The more he plunges into the 
 water the more he rises to the surface. 
 
 A director was pointed out to me who had had the honour to 
 be bankrupt six or seven times. It was said — 
 
 " He appears splendidly dressed. Next winter he will have a 
 superb troupe." 
 
 " But how will he find the money T I said. 
 
 " There are a good many people," was the reply, " to whom he 
 
THE THEATRES OF NEW YORK. 29 
 
 owes money, and who will come back to him in the hope that he 
 will do well, and will repay them the sums they have lost." 
 
 The Academy of Music is a theatre where grand opera ig 
 played. I was not able to see it because during eight months 
 the theatre has only been open 60 nights. They had a four weeks 
 season, during which Titiens appeared in the part Norma, and 
 afterwards Strakosch arrived with Belocca, who did not make any 
 success at all, in spite of the tremendous puffing which preceded 
 her. 
 
 The most brilliant period of this theatre was during the visit of 
 Nilsson, Lucca, Maurel, Capoul, and Campanini. 
 
 At Booth's Theatre is played tragedy, comedy, or drama, 
 according to the fancy of the particular manager who hires the 
 place. I went to see " Henry V." played by an artist who did 
 not lack merit — Mr. Bignold. The mise-eii-scene was very fine. 
 
 A week afterwards, they gave at the same theatre, " L'Etoile 
 du Nord," with Miss Kellogg, an English vocalist, of about 32 
 or 34, and who has a very pretty voice. Meyerbeer's opera, not 
 having been sufficiently rehearsed, lacked " ensemble," particularly 
 in the finale to the second act. The chorus and orchestra came 
 in one after the other. It was a fruitless race. There was no 
 chance of the one overtaking the other. I thought I was listening 
 to a mediocre work by Wagner. 
 
 For example, it was amusing to see in the orchestra stalls, and 
 mingled with the spectators, some trombone and some bassoon 
 players, who blew one note after the other with a most extraor- 
 dinary efiect. I confess it perplexed me. Who were these 
 musicians ? Could it be possible that these trombone amateurs 
 had come of their own free will, and without invitation, to rein- 
 force the orchestra ? My uncertainty was, however, not of long 
 duration. A glance of the eye was sufficient to discover the 
 cause of the anomaly. The space reserved for the band not being 
 large enough, the brass and reeds had been relegated to the other 
 side of the balustrade. 
 
I 
 
 30 AMERICA AND THE AMERICANS. 
 
 At the Union Square Theatre, I saw " Ferreol " represented in 
 English, by a very good troupe d'ensemble. I also assisted at a 
 performance of ^' Conscience," a piece very cleverly written by two 
 young American authors, Messrs. Lancaster and Magnus. It 
 was at this theatre, they tell me, that '' Rose Michel " was played 
 with immense success. 
 
 * The evening that I went to Wallack's Theatre, the bills 
 announced the 400th performance of a piece called, " The Mighty 
 Dollar." The principal roles were played by two celebrated 
 artists, Mr. and Mrs. Florence. The one recalled to me our 
 excellent Geofirey, and the other our sprightly Alphonsine. The 
 two artists have played together more than 20 years, and they 
 are much liked in America. As to the other actors they struck 
 me by the perfect ensemble of their play. I remarked especially 
 a charming ingenue who could not have been more than 1 7 years 
 of age. She was named Miss Baker, and she played the role of 
 i\\Q jeune premiere with, very remarkable ease. Nor have I for- 
 gotten an excellent young person, Miss Cummings. 
 
 Wallack's theatre is directed by Mr. ^Deutsch, one of the 
 youngest and the most courteous of the impreso^rii of New York. 
 To give an idea of the enterprise of an American director, I may 
 mention that Mr. Deutsch re-engaged Mr. and Mrs. Florence for 
 400 nights ! He intends to take a tour with these artists, through 
 the chief towns of the Union, from New York to San Francisco, 
 always playing the same piece, " The Mighty Dollar." 
 
 It was impossible to see the Lyceum Theatre, which was closed 
 for the summer season. It was in this theatre that Fechter had 
 so much success in " La Dame aux Camelias," and in several 
 other pieces. Dramas with chorus and orchestra are also played 
 at this theatre. It was at the Lyceum Theatre, that, for the first 
 time, they concealed the orchestra from public view, according to 
 the example set by Wagner at Bayreuth. But they soon discovered 
 the inconvenience attaching to this innovation. It considerably 
 injured the acoustic properties of the theatre, and the musicians, 
 
THE THEATRES OF NEW YORK. 31 
 
 placed in a sort of pit and nearly suffocated by the heat, took steps 
 to improve the situation. The first evening the violin players 
 loosened their cravats, and discarded their collars. On the morrow 
 the altos rejected their coats and played in their shirt sleeves. A 
 week later all the executants were completely at their ease. 
 
 One evening the public saw arising from the footlights a thin 
 wreath of smoke. There was a veritable panic. 
 
 But it was only the musicians indulging in a cigar. 
 
 The alarm not only relieved the musicians, but put a stop to 
 this ridiculous invention. The executants cheerfully resumed 
 their coats and theii' proper places in the orchestra of the theatre. 
 
 Another theatre I was unable to see was the Grand Opera 
 House, which was also closed. 
 
 The Grand Opera House was built by the famous Fisk, who 
 was assassinated by his friend Stokes. 
 
 This risk had a career original and extraordinary even for New 
 York. Of very low origin, in his youth he began life as a pedlar 
 in pomatum. In a brief time he became, not only director of the 
 largest theatre of New York, but also vice-president ot a railway 
 company, commodore of a line of steamers, and colonel of a regiment. 
 
 He had both energy anti audacity, besides a good deal of origin- 
 ality. Everyone who wished to be employed on his railway was 
 first obliged to enrol himself in the regiment which he commanded, 
 and by these means he collected one of the finest regiments in 
 New York. Sometimes he took into his head to assemble all his 
 soldiers, and parade them before the eyes of some pretty woman. 
 On that day the railway had a holiday, and the stations were 
 closed all along the line. 
 
 The sumptuous colonel had magnificent equipages and horses. 
 When he went out, he was driven in a large and handsome open 
 carnage, drawn by eight steeds. 
 
 A history of love explains his tragic end. The great impres- 
 sario was the victim of a drama, and a double vengeance decided 
 his fate. Here are the facts. 
 
82 AMERICA AND THE AMERICANS. 
 
 risk became enamoured of a beautiful American girl, to whom 
 lie made court. Magnificent performances were given in lier 
 honour, besides reviews of the famous regiment, and successive 
 holidays on the railway. He lavished ever}i:hing to attain success, 
 and very naturally he succeeded. Naturally also Fisk's first step 
 was to present his darling to his friend Stokes. Since le roi Can- 
 daule, lovers have always been the same. Stokes had a very large 
 fortune, he found the girl to his taste, and Fisk became . . . the 
 happiest of the three, until the day when, by chance, he discovered 
 the treason of his friend. 
 
 I do not know whether or not his first movement was to place 
 his hand on his revolver, but at any rate the idea was abandoned 
 as insufficient. He meditated a more terrible revenge. 
 
 Without showing in any way to his friend Stokes the hatred he 
 now bore him, he a^^peared to attach himself still closer to him. 
 He caused him to enter into a certain scheme which he initiated : 
 and he induced him to risk his whole fortune in the afiair. Then 
 suddenly throwing all his own shares on to the market, he induced 
 formidable fall ; by which his good friend Stokes was completely 
 ruined. 
 
 I think that Fisk, satisfied with his ^iccess, had an interview 
 with Stokes, in the course of which he explained why and how he 
 had ruined him. At any rate, it '^is certain that Stokes, who pro- 
 bably did not appreciate the joke, in his turn swore revenge. As 
 he had less espiit than his enemy, he had recourse to a proceeding 
 which if vulgar was at any rate sure. He waited one day till 
 Fisk came out of the Central Hotel, where the pretty Americaine 
 resided, and he coolly blew his brains out. 
 
 If Fisk could have survived he would certainly have used this 
 plot for a five act drama for his theatre. 
 
 The last theatre to wliich I went was the Fifth Avenue Theatre, 
 a very fine building, where they were })laying a great drama called 
 " Pique," the situations in which had been borrowed from various 
 quarters. The drama, I may add, was by Mr. Dion Boucicault. 
 
ART IN AMERICA. 33 
 
 There are also in New York two German Theatres, and like- 
 wise a French Theatre, which is open from time to time, when a 
 director can be found for it. This occasion however, seldom happens. 
 
 I ought not to conclude these notes on American theatres 
 without speaking of a little concert hall, where I heard the 
 Christy Minstrels. 
 
 They are all negroes. The artists are negroes, the chorus are 
 negroes, the machinists are negroes, the director, office keeper, 
 controller, manager, neither man nor woman : all niggers. 
 
 On arriving at the theatre, I perceived an orchestra — black of 
 course, — who played more or less bizarre tunes. Fancy then my 
 surprise, when I noticed that I had attracted the attention of the 
 musicians. All the black gentlemen pointed at me one after the 
 other. I never could have believed I was so well known to so 
 many niggers. 
 
 The performance was funny enough, and I remained. Judge 
 then my astonishment when I returned to the place, after the 
 entr'acte, to see the same comedy renewed on my account, that is 
 to say, the musicians one after the other again pointing at me. 
 This time though they were white, as white as the bakers in ^^ La 
 Boulangere." I was more and more delighted. But I learned 
 afterwards, that the musicians were the same men as before, that 
 from the director down to the last machinist they were false negroes, 
 and that they washed their faces, and blackened them again, three 
 or four times in an evening, according to the necessities of the piece. 
 
 CHAPTER YL 
 
 ART IN AMERICA. 
 
 The foreigner who travels through the United States has a thousand 
 occasions to admire the intelligence and the enterprise which have 
 
34 AMERICA AND THE AMERICANS. 
 
 produced so many marvels. It would be superfluous to eulogise that 
 industry which is so powerfully organised and so well developed by 
 machinery, the perfection of which almost surpasses the imagina- 
 tion. It would be fruitless to recall the prodigies accomplished in 
 this land, which, only just a hundred years old, has a network of 
 railways and telegraphs which developes itself every day : a land 
 which is foremost in the race of that progress which makes material 
 life so easy. 
 
 But further reflection deprives the traveller of a j^ortion of his 
 admiration. The actual situation of America denotes a lack of 
 equilibrium in the employment of human forces. The great energy 
 which has made the United States so powerful a nation has been 
 directed entirely to one object. America has triumphed in matter, 
 but it has neglected to occupy itself in all that which charms 
 and elevates the mind. 
 
 America is to-day like a giant of a hundred cubits, who has 
 attained physical perfection, but who entirely lacks soul. 
 
 The soul of a people is art, the expression of the thought by 
 which it is raised to its mental height. 
 
 In reading the chapter devoted to the theatres, you will have 
 seen how the dramatic art has been neglected in the United 
 States, and in what a deplorable condition it is now found. To 
 have good artists, troupes dJ ensemble, and actors ; it is necessary to 
 have stable institutions, sound and long training, and real tradi- 
 tions. New York has no permanent opera, no permanent comic 
 opera, nor even a theatre for the performance of operettas, and 
 which can be sure of a life of two years. There is an entire lack of a 
 staore for classic or modem authors and which can offer sufficient 
 guarantees of stability to become a school. The theatre in 
 America lives but from day to day. The directors and troupes 
 are mere knights errant. Most of the artists are birds of passage, 
 enfjaofed from the old world, and who come for a brief season and 
 then depart. 
 
 What I say about the art dramatic also applies to the other 
 
ART IN AMERICA. 35 
 
 arts. Music, painting, and sculpture exist in America on no 
 conditions under which they can develop themselves. We are 
 told there are painters and sculptors. I do not deny it. Of what 
 account is the land where a flower is never found 1 I have seen 
 some flowers, but have not seen a garden. In other words, I have 
 found a few painters, but no school of painting in America. 
 
 It is essential to the glory of the United States that this state 
 of things should be remedied. A people so great should possess 
 every greatness, and to industrial force should be added that glory 
 which the arts are alone capable of affording to a nation. 
 
 What are the wider measures to be taken with a view to de- 
 velop the fine arts in America ? 
 
 If I had to reply to this question, I should say to the 
 Americans — 
 
 ^^ You have in your own land all the necessary elements. Intel- 
 ligent and gifted men, and beings of artistic temperament, you do 
 not lack. The proof is, that some Americans have, without cul- 
 ture and under the most unfavourable conditions, produced works 
 which are a credit to them. You have money ; you have distin- 
 guished amateurs and collectors, whose galleries are justly cele- 
 brated. Utilise these elements and you will succeed. 
 
 '^ The State^according to the principle advanced by you — ought 
 not to intervene in this reform by subventions. It is therefore neces- 
 sary you should organise yourselves. In Europe the State merely 
 subventionises a few of the greatest institutions of the capitals. 
 The municipalities actually subventionise theatrical and musical 
 enterprises and museums in the smaller towns. The municipal 
 councils do a great deal for art in France. They occupy them- 
 selves not only with theatres and museums, but they often gra- 
 tuitously educate at Conservatories and Academies young people 
 who show artistic instincts. Imitate this example, and if your 
 municipal councils will not assist you, create for yourselves great 
 societies for the protection of the arts. Have corresj^onding societies 
 in all the large centres. Reunite the capitals. That would be easy, 
 
36 AMERICA AND THE AMERICANS. 
 
 and thus private initiative would perfoiTQ with you the pro- 
 tecting role played by the Governments in Europe. 
 
 '^ To raise the tone of dramatic art, and to have stable directors- 
 assured against bankruptcy, you must have two scenes for musical 
 and one for dramatic works. Especially, you must have a conser- 
 vatory, where you will form excellent pupils if you compose the 
 tutorial staff of the right materials; that is to say, by attracting from 
 Europe, and retaining here, artists of merit in the old world. The day 
 when you have permanent theatres and a conservatory organised on 
 the lines I have sketched out, you will have done much for dramatic 
 art, for composers, and for American authors. But you must not 
 be in haste to gather the fruits of your labours. It may be ten, it 
 may be twenty years before you can hope to produce the excel- 
 lent results you will have a right to expect. But what are twenty 
 years ? twenty years to convert your pupils into masters ; twenty 
 years when you will no longer be mere tributaries of European 
 art ; ten years before the theatres of the old world will come ta 
 you to demand your artists, even as to-day you demand theirs. 
 
 '^ What I have said on the subject of theatres applies equally ta 
 other branches of art. Form public museums, for it is by visiting 
 museums that men, naturally endowed by art, often discover in 
 themselves the creative faculties which God has given them, or 
 even those faculties of assimilation which often so nearly bordei^ 
 on genius. It is by the contemplation of chefs d'ceiivre that taste 
 is formed and purified. 
 
 '^ Form academies of j)ainting and sculpture, and choose your 
 professors from among the best men in our own academies. 
 Modern masters will not consent to emigrate, but it is necessary to 
 have neither the greatest painters nor the greatest sculptors. There 
 are many others who possess the peculiar qualifications necessary 
 for the work, and it is to them you must address yourselves. Do* 
 not spare money. It is on this sole condition that you will form 
 an American school which will figure in the annals of art by the 
 side of the scliools of Italy, Holland, Spain, and France." 
 
THE RESTAURANTS. 37 
 
 In the brief space of a hundred years America has arrived at 
 the apogee of her industrial grandeur. The day will come when 
 this people, who have given so many and admirable proofs of wil- 
 Q lingness, activity, and perseverance, shall conquer for themselves a 
 rank amongst artistic nations. It should not be long before we see 
 the realisation of this new dream. 
 
 CHAPTER YII. 
 
 THU RESTAURANTS. THREE TYPES OF WAITERS. 
 
 There are a great many restaurants in New York and in Phila- 
 delphia. 
 
 At New York, you can dine very comfortably at Brims wick's, 
 who is French ; less well at Delmonico's, who is Swiss; and equally 
 well at Hoffman's, who is German. There are also Morelli, who is 
 Italian, and Frascati, Avho is a Spaniard, and at whose place you 
 may dine at the fixed charge of four shillings a head. I saw a good 
 many other restaurants, where it appeared to me they dined enor- 
 mously, but I shall not like to have to decide if they dined there well. 
 
 The advantage which the Hotel Brunswick has over Delmonico's, 
 is that the first has an immense saloon, such as we cannot find 
 in Paris. 
 
 At Philadelphia, the restaurants which are most in vogue are 
 the French restaurant of Petry, and the Italian house of Finelli. 
 I do not speak of Yerdier, because he is only installed provision- 
 ally, and because his salle-a-manger is two hours distant from the 
 city, that is to say in the Exhibition itself. 
 
 By this it will be seen that there are no American restaurants 
 properly so called. It is a very curious thing, that the Americans 
 hold the hotels, but that the cuisine appears to be the exclusive 
 
38 AMERICA AND THE AMERICANS. 
 
 privilege of foreigners. Nothing is more easy than to make a 
 meal according to the French, Italian, Spanish, or German style. 
 Nothing is more difficult for a foreigner than to obtain an Ameri- 
 can meal in America. 
 
 I have forgotten to speak of the most interesting of all the 
 restaurants, the restaurant where you eat gratis I 
 
 It is certain that none of our French hosts have yet conceived 
 the idea of throwing open a gratuitous table. In spite of the 
 axiom of Calino, who pretends that by losing money on each 
 article he made a profit on quantities and thereby became rich, 
 neither Bignon, nor Brebant, has yet given us our dinner for 
 nothing. For this we must come to the land of progress. 
 
 At New York, however, several well-known restaurant keepers 
 give the eatables gratis, on the sole condition that the visitor 
 takes some drinkable, which, however, does not cost him more than 
 fivepence. On Sundays, the police forbid the sale of drink at 
 restaurants, and this is all the better for the customer. The lunch 
 is served just the same. I affirm this fact of my personal know- 
 ledge, having seen it in practice at the Hotel Brunswick. 
 
 And yet they say that living is dear in America. 
 
 Nor must it be thought that the repast is composed of frivolous 
 nothings. Here is the menu which I copied on my visit to one 
 of these places. 
 
 A ham. 
 
 An enormous piece of roast beef. 
 
 Bacon and beans. 
 
 Potato salad. 
 
 Olives, gherkins, <fec. 
 
 Cheese. 
 
 Biscuits. 
 
 Healthy and abundant nourishment, as you see. In this menu 
 the plat de resistance is of course the roast beef. Visitors have the 
 right to cut for themselves such slices as they like. 
 
 By the side of the bouffet where this gratuitous lunch is placed, 
 
THE RESTAURANTS, 39 
 
 there are a formidable pile of plates, and a mountain of knives and 
 forks, but generally the gentlemen prefer to help themselves to 
 the most succulent morsels with their fingers. There are even 
 some who do not scruple to plunge their hands into the salad. I 
 still shudder when I think of it. 
 
 When I expressed my astonishment, and my horror, the master 
 of the house sought to explain matters. 
 
 '- That sort of thing shocks us far less then it does you. Time 
 is money. And these gentlemen are so pressed for time.'^ 
 
 At both hotels and restaurants the waiters are often a type by 
 themselves. As I have already remarked above, when you arrive at 
 the common room, and sit down at the table which the maitre 
 d'hotel assigns you, a waiter will bring you a large glass filled with 
 iced water. You may remain for hours tete-a-tete with your glass, 
 without any one taking the smallest notice of you. You call 
 another waiter, and he hands you the menu. But you are dying 
 of thirst, and wish to drink anything but water. The waiter 
 places the menu on the table, and goes leisurely ofi* to find a third 
 waiter, who at length brings you the wine you have ordered. You 
 believe yourself served. But you are in eiTor. The waiter who 
 brings the bottle has no right to open it, and it is a fourth waiter 
 — at least it was so at the Hotel Brunswick — who has the 
 monopoly of cork drawing. This little mise-en-scene was renewed 
 more than once, until one ^e day I declared I would not again 
 set foot in the house until they altered this ridiculous state of 
 things. 
 
 On the morrow, when I arrived for luncheon, I found the twenty 
 or thirty waiters of the restaurant formed in a row along the pas- 
 sage through which I walked, each man carrying a cork screw in 
 his hand. 
 
 Since that time, I abandoned the Hotel Brunswick. 
 
 On the first evening of my arrival, I dined at the Fifth Avenue 
 Hotel, in my apartment, in company with some friends. As the 
 soup was being served, I heard some whistling. Astonished, I 
 
40 AMERICA AND THE AMERICANS. 
 
 looked around. I asked, who could whistle while he was eating. 
 But it was not one of my guests, it was the waiter. 
 
 My first thought was to silence him by putting him out at the 
 door. I had already risen from my seat, when my friends, who 
 had remarked the same peculiarity, made me a sign to say nothing. 
 We continued the dinner. As to the musician, timid at first, he 
 gained more and more coui^age. He soon whistled some little 
 roulades, and then he indulged in more important melodies. By 
 and bye, his soul was seized with sudden sadness, and he whistled 
 motifs which were low and mournful. Presently, without any 
 apparent reason, his spirits rose again, and he whistled the gayest 
 melodies. 
 
 When dinner was over I mildly remarked to the waiter, con- 
 cerning the inconvenience to which he had put us by giving us at 
 table music for which we had not asked. 
 
 " Ah, sir," replied he, '^ I love music, and like to express my 
 impressions. When a dish displeases me, I always whistle mourn- 
 ful tunes. Wlien I like a dish, I whistle the gayest melodies. 
 But when I adore a dish," . 
 
 " Like the hombe glacee just now," I interiTipted. 
 
 ^' Monsieur was good enough to remark it. Well, then, I 
 whistle an air from ^La Grande Duchesse.' " 
 
 As I did not particularly care to hear any music whistled, I 
 asked the proprietor of the hotel, when he next allowed me to 
 have dinner in my room, not to send a whistling waiter. 
 
 The second type of the genus waiter was an equally curious 
 one. 
 
 It was at Philadelphia that I had the pleasure to make the 
 acquaintance of this original. I arrived at this city at about half- 
 past nine in the evening, and my friends and I were literally 
 famishing of hunger. As soon as we arrived we threw ourselves 
 into a conveyance. 
 
 " A good restaurant, if you please T 
 
 " Petry." 
 
THE RESTAURANTS. 41 
 
 ^^ Drive away then, to Petiy." 
 
 No sooner said than done, and down we sat at the table. We 
 lost not an instant in choosing our dinner. 
 
 "Waiter." 
 
 " Yes, sir.'^ 
 
 " Give us at once some good Julienne." 
 
 The waiter made a grimace. 
 
 " I do not advise you to try it, sii\ The vegetables are rather 
 stale here." 
 
 a Very well, we will pass over the soup, you have some salmon." 
 
 " Oh, salmon. Certainly we have salmon. We have had it a 
 very long time. It is not by any means the first day of that 
 salmon, nor will it be the last." 
 
 "Well, bring us a rumpsteak well beaten." 
 
 "The cook does not do it very well." 
 
 " Some strawberries." 
 
 "They are spoilt." 
 
 " Some cheese." 
 
 " I will go and ask it to walk up. I know it. It will not 
 need any assistance." 
 
 " Waiter, you ought not to decry your master's goods." 
 
 "I do not like to deceive my customers." 
 
 " If I were M. Petry, I would kick you out of doors." 
 
 " M. Petry would not listen to your advice. This is my last 
 niocht here. I am dismissed." 
 
 At these words he bowed very low, and .... we supped admi- 
 rably. 
 
 The third variety of the genus waiter, and a very exceptional 
 type, is to be found in the waiter, or rather the waiters, who serve 
 at Delmonico's. 
 
 An entrepreneur gave us one evening a supper, to which he had 
 invited the principal artists of his theatre. The repast was charming. 
 But like all good things it had an end. The hour for cigars and 
 conversation had arrived, and we remained in our room smoking 
 
42 AMERICA AND THE AMERICANS. 
 
 and drinking iced drinks. We did not require the waiters any- 
 longer, but I remarked with surprise that one of them still re- 
 mained in the room very close to us, and evidently listened to 
 what we were talking about. Not myself being Amphytrion, 
 I did not pretend to notice it. As to the other guests, they did 
 not appear to observe this strange behaviour. 
 
 At the end of the supper, and before we separated, I in my turn 
 invited the manager and artists who formed the company to come 
 to sup with me at the same restaurant on another evening. 
 
 On this occasion, the same conduct was repeated. The waiter 
 came to us after the supper. I observed him with more attention, 
 and I noticed that he cast his eye around the table, fixedly 
 regarding each person present. When this was over he went out, 
 but only to return a few moments afterwards to resume his ex- 
 amination, and promenade. He was about to retire again, when 
 I stopj)ed him. 
 
 " Waiter, several times you have entered without being called. 
 We do not require you again." 
 
 " Pardon, sir," he replied, '' but it is by express order of Mr. 
 Delmonico, that we enter each saloon and private room every 
 fixQ minutes." 
 
 " Is Mr. Delmonico connected then with the police, that he 
 wishes to hear what his customers are talking about ?" 
 
 " I have no idea, sir. All I know is that Mr. Delmonico has 
 placed me at the door, and that I have only obeyed the letter of 
 my instructions." 
 
 " Does Mr. Delmonico fancy we want to appropriate his forks 
 and spoons, or that we are capable of forgetting our good 
 manners in his famous restaurant. I will tell you one thing, my 
 good man. It is now half-past one o'clock in the morning. We 
 intend to remain here until seven o'clock. If you wish to obey 
 the orders of your master, you will have to pay us sixty-six visits." 
 
 " Very well, sir, T will do so." 
 
 I need not add that having thus given vent to our indignation, we 
 
THE LADIES. THE INTRODIJOTIOX. THE PARK. 43 
 
 •did not execute our project. We departed a little Ijefore two 
 o'clock- sweai-ing in no measured terms that we woidd not sup 
 ^gain at Delmonico's. 
 
 CHAPTER VIIL 
 TEE LADIES. TEE INTRODUCTION. TEE PARK, 
 
 Women, and even young girls, enjoy in America tlie greatest 
 liberty. I liave a notion that when Lafayette fought for American 
 liberty he had in view the ladies of the United States, as they 
 ^ilone are truly free in free America. 
 
 My collaborators, Meilhac and Halevy, say in '' La "Vie 
 Parisienne" that only Parisiennes know how to go out on foot. But 
 they had not seen the ladies of America going, coming, trotting, 
 getting out of the way of the vehicles, lifting their dresses with the 
 gesture of nature's coquette, and discovei'ing their exquisite 
 ankles with an art all their own. 
 
 I most willingly confess there are no w-omen )nore sedidsantes 
 than the ladies of America. Amongst them there is beauty in a 
 proportion wholly unknown in Paris. Out of a hundred women 
 ninety are perfectly ravishing. 
 
 None know better than themselves the secret of the costumier's 
 art. Their toilets are Avorn in perfect taste, and the costumes 
 themselves are truly elegant : some of the best models turned 
 out by the house of Worth. 
 
 I only criticise one thing in their costumes : it is a pocket placed 
 a little above the knee, and at the right of Avhicli the chatelaine 
 hangs. This pocket is used for only one thing, to carry the 
 handkerchief, and from a little distance the white niouchoir 
 peeping from the pocket, appears to the foreigner as though the 
 <lress were torn. 
 
44 AMERICA AND THE AMEPJCANS. 
 
 All the American ladies Avliom I met caiTV their purses in their 
 liancls, so that the pickpockets — of whom there are as many in 
 ^e\v York as there are in Paris — may have no temptation to feel* 
 in their pockets. 
 
 It is no nnusual thing to see a young girl, at midday, enter one- 
 of the elegant restaurants, and take her lunch with the tranquility 
 i)f an old European bachelor. Others wait at the corner of Fifth 
 Avenue, or elsewhere, for the carriages in which they intend ta 
 take a drive in Central Park. 
 
 It will appear a strange thing to the depraved Parisian who loves 
 to follow women, to know that no one in New York, nor in any 
 other town of the CJnited States, would dream of looking back at 
 a young American girl, still less of addressing a word to her, or 
 of offering her the shelter of an umbrelhi. 
 
 In order to offer an umbrella, with or without its owner's hearty 
 a previous presentation or '" introduction," as it is called here, is 
 jxbsolutely necessary. 
 
 But I do not believe that the formalities of introduction are 
 so very terrible, or so very difficult to fulfil. In defaidt of a 
 mutual friend, or a relation, an advertisement in the New York 
 Herald will suffice. 
 
 I have spoken just now of Central Park. This i^romenade is 
 the rendezvous of the elegant world, but it resembles the Bois de 
 Boulogne in no respect. 
 
 A large rocky plain, happil}^ concealed under a carpet of green 
 turf carefully kept, some clumjis of fine trees, one or two sheets of 
 w^ater, and some magnificent roadways : this is the Rotten Row 
 of New York. Each day may be seen a defile of carriages, more 
 numerous than at any Italian Corso. And such carriagess ! The 
 coach-builders of New York aj)pear to have applied their energiesv 
 to the invention of the most eccentric vehicles. All of them, more 
 or less, approach two princii)al tyi)es. The one, extremely hen vy^ 
 is a species of middle-sized landau, a massiAe coach, or a monster 
 bc^rlin, which will comfortably accommodate a great inauy people^ 
 
THE LADIES. THE INTKODUCTIOX. THE PARK. 45 
 
 uiulcr the most satisfactory conditions. But what a miserabh' 
 appearance, and how vigly to the sight are these rolling houses ! 
 A large window is placed at the side of the coach, and is closed b} 
 a curtain which is always torn. 
 
 The other type is, on the contrary, of a surprising lightness. It 
 is composed of a miniature box, with or without a hood and capable 
 of holding one or two persons at the most, and rolling on four 
 large wheels, so thin and slender that they give to the carriage 
 the appearance of a great spider. The " bviggy," as it is called, 
 often has the hood down, but as it is pierced on all sides, it always 
 *seems to be in tatters, and has the most miserable appearance. 
 It is no rare sight to see young girls, who mix in the best society, 
 driving a pair of horses in these light equipages, without any sort 
 of escort. 
 
 The first time I saw the Park, I was accompanied by an American 
 who was well-known in New York, and at each step he came across 
 some of his friends. I remarked that he bowed veiy low to some 
 people, while to others he merely made the motion of touching 
 his hat. I asked an explanation of this, and he replied with the 
 greatest seriousness — 
 
 '' That gentleman whom I have just saluted so respectfully, is a 
 man very well known in New York society, and he is worth a 
 million of dollars. The other avIio is passing now, is not worth 
 a hundred thousand, and he is much less sought after than the 
 first. I therefore salute him with less ceremony. This is the 
 difference we obsei^^e in America, where we recognise only the 
 aiistocracy of labour, and that of the almighty dollar." 
 
46 /.MERICA AND THE AMERICANS. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 AMEPdCAN^ LIBERTY. 
 
 .\31ERICA is above all things the land of liberty. You cannot, it 
 is true, dig a liole in the ground"^ without derangijig all the govern- 
 mental hierarchy, but on the other hand you can walk about freely, 
 marry freely, and eat freely. But I have one imfortmiate ex- 
 ception to make in the midst of this land of universal liberty. 
 There are days when you are not allowed to drink freely. 
 
 One Sunday, after I had conducted my orchestra, the weather 
 was very hot, and I rushed to a bar to get a glass of beer. 
 
 The master of the establishment looked at me with an air of 
 curiosity. 
 
 " Impossible, sir, I have no more waitei^." 
 
 " How, sir. What have you done with all your people V 
 
 " All my waiters are in prison for having served my customers 
 in defiance of the law.'' 
 
 ^* Is it forbidden then to drink on Sunday T 
 
 " Expressly forbidden." 
 
 I went on to the Hotel Brunswick, and bravely ordered '-a 
 sherry-cobler." 
 
 *^ I regret, sir, to be obliged to refuse you, but the law is strict, 
 and for a veiy good reason. All my waiters have been arrested." 
 
 " But I am dying of thirst.'' 
 
 *• The only thing I am allowed to serve you with is a soda." 
 
 Thus it was all OAcr the city of New York. On that Sunday 
 were aiTestcd no less than *]00 waiters, who had dared to serve 
 
 * The man who dug the hole in which were to be erected the foundationB 
 of the statue of *' Liborty illuminating the world," presented by the French to 
 the Americans, is said to have been by error taken into custody by a stupid 
 policeman, who insisted that the man of art was committing a trespass. 
 
AMERICAN LIBERTY. 47 
 
 their customers with beer. It was foi-tunate the authorities did 
 not also carry off the customers who had ordered tlie refreshments. 
 
 But what a singular idea of liberty ! 
 
 ^NTor in America has a man the right to kill himself. 
 
 A drunkard attempted to hang himself, "but he bungled the 
 business, and when after some hours (sic) he was cut down he was 
 still alive. As soon as he had recovered his senses^ he was candied 
 before a judge, who sentenced him to six montlis' imprisonment. 
 Ordinarily the punishment is only three months. But the man 
 had a double dose because it was his second offence of the same 
 nature. For a thiixl offence the punishment is death. 
 
 To be allowed to sliorten one's life the previous permission of 
 the government is necessary. 
 
 The negroes have been emancipated. A line and pompous reform. 
 The good blacks are free and more than free. You will see why. 
 
 The ears and other public vehicles are absolutely interdicted to 
 them. To the theatres they are not admitted under any pretext. 
 And they are only received at the restaurants as waiters. Thus 
 you see 
 
 Liberty, Equality, Fraternity, 
 reign supreme in the United States. 
 
 It may be thought that only the negroes are not allowed a.l 
 desirable freedom, but the idea would be eiToneous. 
 
 The proprietor of the Cataract Hotel at Niagara, inserted in the 
 papers an advertisement which ran — 
 
 '' Being in a perfectly free country, and having the right to do 
 what I please in my OA\'n house, I decree. 
 
 ^' One and all. From and after to-day, Jews will not be permitted 
 in my hotel." 
 
 It is not perhaps out of place to add that tliis liberal innkeeper 
 was compelled at the end of two years to close his establishment 
 for lack of customers. 
 
 "When I arrived at Phi]adel2:>liia, I devoted the iirst Sunday I 
 had free to a visit to the Exhibition. I found the palace shut. 
 
48 AMERICA AND THE AMERICANS. 
 
 Shopkeepers were forbidden to expose tlieir goods for sale on 
 Hiindajs. In the evening I took a fancy into my head to go to 
 the theatre. Closed, like all the concerts, just as in New York. 
 
 I he only day of the week which belongs to the workmiui is 
 Sunday. He could then make use of his ten hours' holiday, in 
 instruction and pleasure, to perfect himself in his trade by examin- 
 ing the fine products exliibited by the greatest firms in both 
 worlds. But the Exhibition is closed. Again he could on Sun- 
 days amuse himself and raise his spirits by assisting at thi* 
 representation of some good piece. But it is precisely on that 
 day, that the Exhibition, the theatres and concerts are closed. If 
 anybody shoidd be cared for, it is certainly the working man. 
 After his rough labour of the week, he has need of repose for body 
 :ind mind. If he take a walk with his family, he is not allowed 
 to quench his thii'st with a glass of beer. What then does he do 't 
 While his wife and children have gone to church or for a walk, he 
 remains at home tcte-uAete with a bottle of whiskey. 
 
 The liberty of Avork, of invention, and of sale are enormous in 
 America. The inconveniences which result from them are al^o 
 4Miormous. 
 
 When an idea enters the head of an American, he at once hastens 
 ro put it in practice. I will note, for example, the rapid develo])- 
 15 lent of the car system, which dethroned the omnibuses in less 
 than no time. Now the cars are all the fashion. Tramways are 
 4 everywhere. The size of the street will not allow of any more 
 viiils on the ground, so an inventor has imagined an aerian railway. 
 A fine idea, but one which it is difiicult to realise. 
 
 There is one day in the year when America enjoys unlimited 
 libei-ty. It is the 4th July, the anniversary of the declaration of 
 independence. 
 
 Every tiling is permitted on that day, and heaven only knows 
 how the Americans profit by the latitude which is allowed them. 
 In one case nan-ated in the newspapers, fireworks caught the dress 
 ' »f a young girl who whs j^assing along the street and she was terribly 
 
CORPORATIONS AND SOCIETIES. ^9 
 
 hwmt. During a pyrotechnic exhibition in City Hall Pai-k, a 
 bomb exploded in the midst of the spectators, and ^ye people were 
 seriously injured. A list was given of forty-nine persons — mostly 
 cliildren — wlio were injured during the day, or in the course of the 
 -evening of the 4th July. Some had lost an eye, and others a hand. 
 Some had accidentally wounded themselves by firearms, and there 
 were several cases of falling out of window. Lastly, nineteen, 
 persons were wounded by pistol shots, but by whom the shots were 
 fired remains unknown. Charity bids us believe that the unknown. 
 Avere only bunglers. 
 
 At Washington there was a grand fete. The rowdy element 
 was in the ascendant, and durino* the nio-ht four murders were 
 committed ; all the result of drunkenness. Many persons too 
 visited the tomb of Wasliington at Mount Yernon, but unhappily 
 even tliis sacred spot was not exempt from disorder and bloodshed. 
 Several drunkards were stabbed at the tomb of the founder of the 
 American Nation, and the papers add characteristically, " Xo one 
 has been arrested." 
 
 By these examples an idea can be formed of the large number- 
 ^f accidents, fires, and deaths which the fetes of the 4tli July pro- 
 <luce all over the States. 
 
 For myself, I must confess that these excesses lead me all the 
 more to appreciate our detestable European Governments. Our 
 own i^ilers prohibit those "liberties" which endanger life, and they 
 *cause us to be protected by our gendarmes. I have seen the effects 
 of this unlimited liberty. I prefer our police. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 CORPORATIOXS AND SOCIETIES. 
 
 One of the most favourite crochets of the Americans, is to con- 
 federate and found societies apropos of everything, and dirropos of 
 
50 A3IEKICA AND THE AMERICANS. 
 
 nothing, and under no matter "wliat name. Any pretext is gooit 
 enoiigli for tlie pui-pose. Thus corporations abound in the United 
 States. To enumerate tliem all, would fill a volume. Amongst 
 the most important can be instanced, the Temperance Societies, 
 the Freemasons, the Society of Old (query Odd) Fellows, that of 
 the Great Republic, that of Fat Men, that of Lean Men, &c. 
 
 A simple authorisation from the Mayor is sufficient to permit a 
 Society to make a manifestation of its strength by a triumphal 
 march through the streets. The association on its march has a 
 right to every respect. Omnibuses, cars, cabs, and all vehicles,, 
 are compelled to stop and allow it to pass. 
 
 I have assisted at some of the parades of these societies, and I 
 have seen as they marched past that insignia of honour, decora- 
 tions, ribbons of all colours, scarves of all shades, and even feathers 
 played a very great part in the business. The Americans love 
 this sort of thing. As the Government have not instituted any 
 orders, the Americans decorate themselves. Kegiments can be- 
 cited which, in the great Civil war, created decorations which they 
 bestowed on one another. 
 
 American Societies, Avhen they turn out on the march, think 
 it necessary to their dignity to make some noise in the world. 
 For the most part they affect music by military bands. But what 
 music ! 
 
 I saw at Philadelphia one of these societies on the march. 
 Flags, banners, costumes, chariots, everything was m regie as in a 
 procession in an extravaganza. Indeed, there was an amount of 
 luxurious decoration Avhicli was astounding, and the good taste 
 displayed Ijy each military band was remarkable. There were 
 altogether about a dozen musicians playing cornets-a-jnstons and 
 tromljones, and who nuirched in a mass in two ranks. Tlic chef 
 iVorchestre placed himself in the middle of the band and played 
 the clarinet. Lastly there came the triangle, the cymbals, and tlie 
 big drum. Judge for yourself what strange harmony these sixteen 
 nuisicians and tljeir conductor produced. Rr.t I was the most 
 
PUFFERY. 01 
 
 astonislied by the big drum, wliicli was played by a gentleman 
 who beat liis instrument in the most uncompromising mannei',- 
 but who appeared to be cliiefly careful to hold it in a horizontal 
 position. The explanation was easy. In black letters, on a white 
 ground, there was on that big drum the advertisement of the patent 
 pills of an enterprising chemist. 
 
 CHAPTER XI, 
 PUFFERY, 
 
 The advertisement on the big diTim impels me to say a woixl about 
 puffeiy, as it exists and is practised in the United States. 
 
 Everybody knows that the Americans are adepts in the art of 
 advertisement, but it is necessary to visit tlie country, and to pass 
 through the great cities, the small boroughs, and even the most 
 uncivilised places, to know the extent to which the Americans 
 carry their passion. 
 
 I met one day in New York two young men who ^^alked up 
 and down the street with placards on their backs. 
 Great Sale of Seiving Machines. 
 Ko. Broadivay, 
 
 Was this a joke ? Kothing of the sort. These gentlemen walked 
 seriously enough. Everybody who saw them laughed and looked 
 again. The advertisers had gained tlieii' point. 
 
 Advertisements of all kinds are to be found everywhere. There 
 is not a flag hung out of a window that is not disfigured by a pufl'„- 
 The streets are here and there surmounted by great triumphal 
 arches, which have no other use than to give notice of some ap- 
 proaching sale. The walls are placarded all o-ver with bills.. 
 Mustard merchants print their names and addresses on the ver\ 
 
•52 AMERICA AND THE AMEPJCANS. 
 
 paving stones. It rains prospectuses in the omnibuses, without 
 taking into consideration the placards affixed to the interior. 
 
 Sozodont — This is a word I saw everyvvhere, and of the mean- 
 ing of Avhicli I was entirely ignorant. It was certainly an adver- 
 tisement. An American Avould have asked Avhat it signified. But 
 like a true Frenchman I did not trouble myself any more about it. 
 
 However, while traA^elling by railway, I mechanicall}' read on a 
 telegi^aph post, " Only cure for rheumatism^ Neither more nor 
 less. It may have been because I knew some rheumatic patients, 
 or because of the strangeness of the announcement, but at any rate, 
 ill spite of myself, I watched the telegraph posts. A mile further 
 on, I came across the announcement again, but always innocent 
 of the name of the miiter, and so on for ten miles. At the end of 
 the eleventh mile, to my great joy, I read the name and address of 
 the salesman, and I almost wanted to stop the train to buy some 
 of the medicine. Verily, the American advertisement i)lays upon 
 the brain of a man, like a musician does upon a piano. 
 
 When night approaches, they advertise on the gas lamps by 
 -♦ilectnc lights and by petroleum. The magic lantern ]ias even 
 been adopted as an instrument of publicity. 
 
 Men walk about adorned with paper caps, bearing inscriptions 
 on all sides. 
 
 A car horse falls with fatigue, after having carried fifty people 
 all the way. A boy immediately comes forward and ties to its 
 tail a placard bearing tlie Avords, 
 
 Gargling OIL 
 Good for Man and Beast. 
 
 1 found this same advertisement even at the Falls of Niagara.* 
 
 * M. Offenbach omits to mention that in connection with this advertisemont 
 a practical joke was played upon him. He was told the name was that of a 
 very fine hotel at Niagara. When therefore he left the train, Offenbach in- 
 sisted on being driven to tlie Gargling Oil Hotel, which was so accommodating 
 '• for both man and beast," and when the coachman laughingly protested liis 
 ignorance of the whereabouts of the inn, Offenbach insisted the driver was a 
 tout for some other hotel, and that the man wanted to cheat him. 
 
THE RACES. 55 
 
 This sort of puffery is carried even to improbal)ility. Here is 
 what I read in the American papers apropos of a concert on the 
 9th July, at Gilmore's Gardens. 
 
 GREAT SACRED CONCERT IN HONOUR OF 
 
 THE EMPEROE OF BRAZIL. 
 
 Afid last appearance in pvhlic of his Majesty Don Fcdyo precious 
 his departure for Europe. 
 
 The words, Emperor of Brazil, were printed in large type, as if 
 His Majesty were a great vocalist or a ^' lion comique." The 
 manager would probably like to tell the public — 
 
 " The Emperor of Brazil, seized with a sudden indisposition, re- 
 quests your indulgence and asks for your patience." 
 
 Or— 
 
 '^ The Emperor of Brazil having been attacked with a sore throat, 
 requests the audience to excuse his appearance to-night." 
 
 The public it is j)resumed would, in that case, have a right to a. 
 return of the money they paid at the door. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 THE RACES, 
 
 I WENT to the races at Jerome Park. The course on wliicli the 
 steeple chases are run is a continuation of Central Park, which I 
 have described in a previous chapter. It belongs to a rich banker : 
 — Mr. de Belmont. 
 
 It camiot be expected that I can speak of the races in the tech- 
 nicalities used by a sporting journalist. I am not acquainted 
 with the special language of the turf, and indeed, I hardly know 
 the correct interpretation of the term *' stai^ter." 
 
 All I can say is, that I saw Jerome Park, with its exceedingly 
 
54 AMERICA AND THE AMERICANS. 
 
 inuddy course, and that I was present at the races. There were 
 many horses, many jockeys, many ladies, and many gentlemen. 
 If the horses seemed to me to be a little too fat, the jockeys 
 seemed to be a trifle too lean. I affirm nothing. All I can say is that 
 a horse and a jockey always came in first, and that the gentlemen 
 who had won were joyful, while those who had lost were des- 
 pondent. 
 
 It appeared to me also that the i^eoj^le lacked enthusiasm, 
 Tlie finish of a race, the approach of a block of seven or eight 
 horses, always excite in France and England cries, acclamations, 
 and hurrahs. During some seconds everybody appears to be 
 seized with a vertigo of speed, caused by the attraction of the afiair 
 or by the excitement of betting. Our most experienced spoii;s- 
 men cannot see the decisive moment arrive without manifesting 
 some concern, and without showing the interest they have in the 
 .struggle for the first place. 
 
 In America we see nothing of this. The start and the finish 
 cause a little warmth, but this is soon suppressed and is succeeded 
 by an icy silence. 
 
 The noise, the bravos, and the cheers which invest Longchamps 
 and Chantilly with gaiety and life are wholly wanting at Jerome 
 Park. 
 
 As I had not the smallest interest in the race itself, I had time 
 to look about me and to observe, and I assisted at a little scene 
 whicli was at once curious and characteristic. 
 
 Between two races a gentleman walked quietly up and down 
 the course. Suddenly I saw at his waistcoat a slight wreath of 
 l)lue smoke, and Ins coat was soon in flames. This gentleman had 
 a cigar light in his pocket. 
 
 " You are on fire," was cried on all sides. 
 
 The flames now reached his waist, but witli the sang froid of a 
 true Yankee the gentleman sought before everytliing to save his 
 ])ocket book. Happily at the moment when the flames had 
 reached his coat, several policemen threw themselves uj^on him 
 
THE RACES. OO 
 
 and tore off liis burning clothes. The gentleman went away in. 
 his shii-t sleeves, thanking the police and the public for the kind 
 attention they had shown him. 
 
 I have already said with what taste the charming ladies of 
 America dress, and I have only to repeat my assertion. They 
 brought out for the races their freshest and most elegant toilets, 
 and I need hardly say that the course adorned by the presence of 
 the beauties of America, was ravishing. 
 
 In admitting with pleasure the good taste of the pretty girls of 
 America, I regret I cannot pass a similar compliment upon the 
 men. The latter affect on all occasions a costume which, if not the 
 most simple, is at any rate the most negligee. At the theatre, at 
 concerts, everywdiere is to be seen the same dress, those frightful 
 ^'tourist suits," such as Ave affect in the country, or at the sea- side. 
 The round hat is a tradition. It is also true that the most distin- 
 guished men are not ashamed to go out for the evening or to a 
 dinner party, Avith the most elegant women on tlieii- arm, and 
 always Avith the soft and grotesquely effective head covering. 
 
 For example, many of them wear at all hours of the day and 
 night a Avhite tie. From six o'clock in the morning the Yankee 
 hangs round his neck a piece of the finest cambric, and he never 
 relinquishes the ceremonious Avhite craA^at, Avhich accompanied by 
 the negligee costume creates so strange a contrast. 
 
 One thing A'-ery astonishing to foreigners is to see that all the 
 Americans haA^e under the flap of the coat and near the middle a 
 very marked protuberance. It is here that an American gentle- 
 man carries his revolver. 
 
5b AMERICA AND THE AMERICANS. 
 
 CHAPTEE XIII. 
 
 THE AMERICAN PRESS. 
 
 The newspapers wield in America a far greater influence than 
 they jiossess in Europe. But we must not conclude that the press is 
 more free in the new world than in the old. In France it is the 
 government which manages and controls the journals. In 
 America the religious sects and political coteries exercise their 
 tyranny over editors. The latter, ifc must be said, submit themselves 
 readily enough to this servitude, and have even learned how to 
 make conditions. 
 
 Knowing the members of the staJff of the chief French papers, I 
 paid a visit to the offices of the principal newspapers of New 
 York. They all have immense offices of grand construction, and 
 in these palaces of the American press, there is a continual coming 
 and going, like the agitation of a la,borious beehive. 
 
 At New York, as at Paris, the papers have chosen for their 
 offices, houses in the most lively part of the city. To be well and 
 quickly informed they must necessarily be in close proximity with 
 the centre of business, and to the populous quarter. It is therefore 
 in Broadway that the great American press has chosen its home. 
 
 The offices are easy enough to find. If it be during the day 
 that you seek a newspaper office, lift your head, see which is the 
 tallest house, and enter rashly. It is there. To cite an example^ 
 the Npv! York Tribune has a house of nine storeys. 
 
 If it be night, o])en your eyes. The editiee which is the most 
 brilliantly lit up, and which illuminates all the surrounding 
 neighbourliood, is precisely the one you seek. In the well-lighted 
 rooms, the journalists are at work. We sometimes in France figur- 
 atively call a journal a ^' lighthouse." In America lighthouse is 
 the proper term for it. 
 
 Wlien you penetrate into the interior of t lie newspai)er office you 
 
THE AMERICAN PRESS. 57" 
 
 ^ill find little left to be desired. The telegraph, by means of one 
 of those apparatuses of which I ha^ e already spoken, is of course 
 carried into the house, animating everything by its perpetual 
 tremolo. The composing rooms, the stereotyping and the printing 
 departments, are marvellously stocked with tools. 
 
 It will, however, be as well to give more details about the chief 
 papers of 'Ne^y York. 
 
 We will commence by the JVeio York Herald, 
 
 This paper was founded thirty years ago by Mr. James Gordon 
 Bennett. ' 
 
 The circulation is now about 70,000 a day. Each of its issues is 
 composed according to circumstances of 8, 16, or 24 pages. Its size 
 of sheet is about a quarter larger than that of the London Times.- 
 As in America very small type is used, a great deal of news, articles^ 
 and advertisements, can ,be crowded into a heavy number of the 
 iVew York Ilercdd, To speak only of the advertisements, — the 
 average in this paper is twenty-eight columns a day, and that 
 during the off season. When business increases, the number of 
 the advertisement columns often reaches sixty. The price for an 
 insertion varies between two shillings and four shillings a line. 
 
 The publicity, information, and circulation of the Kew York 
 Herald make it the leading paper of the United States. No one 
 can have an idea of the large staff which is engaged in the admin- 
 istration of a paper of this imjiortance. Seventy comj^ositors, 
 twenty men for the presses, twenty in the offices, and a legion of 
 boys. These are for the purely manual work, and without 
 reckoning the porters and salesmen. 
 
 The Neio York Herald has naturally a numerous editorial staff 
 distributed throughout all quarters of the globe. Amongst its 
 oldest writers, I shall cite Mr. Cooney, a musical critic of great 
 talent. 
 
 The most interesting personage of the 2:>aper is, there is no doubt^ 
 Mr. Bennett, Junior, who is at the same time director and pro- 
 prietor. I have devoted some space to him in my ^^ Portraits.'' 
 
o8 A3IERICA AND THE AMERICANS. 
 
 After the New York Ilercdd comes the Seio York Times. It 
 lias 40,000 subscribers. Its opinions and its literary excellence, 
 have given it the gi^eatest influence A\T.th the public. It was 
 founded by Messrs. Raymond, Jones, and Wesley. 
 
 Mr. Raymond, a very distinguished statesman, held the editor- 
 ship-in-chief until his death. Mr. Jennings, of the London Tunes, 
 succeeded him. The actual principal proprietor is now Mr. Jones, 
 who wields an enormous influence. He firmly maintains the 
 exalted traditions of the house, and the paper is celebrated amongst 
 all the American journals for the jmrity nnd elegance of its 
 style. 
 
 To remain faithful to its past, it would be impossible to choose 
 for chief editor a writer more distinguished than Mr. Foord, nor 
 4i musical and dramatical critic more competent than Mr. Schwab. 
 
 The New York Times is printed by Walter jDresses, by which, 
 two men can throw oft' 15,000 to 17,000 copies an hour. 
 
 The New York Tribune. Founded by Horace Greeley, the 
 philanthropist and eminent joimialist, and one of the most deter- 
 mined enemies of slavery. A candidate for the Presidency in 1872, 
 Mr. Greeley was unhappily defeated. He died of giief on account 
 of this check. 
 
 The Tribune is really a tribune open to the apostles of new 
 theories. At the })resent time it is engaged in a very vigorous 
 campaign in favour of the rights of w^oman. Always well edited, 
 this paper has lost a little of its influence since it became the 
 property of Mr. Jay Gould, the old associate of Colonel Fisk. Its 
 musical critic is Mr. Hassard, a violent Wagnerite. Its dramatic 
 critic, Mr. Winter, is an excellent and Jiiost synijiathetic jour- 
 nalist. 
 
 Tlic World, the democratic organ, has a. circulation of 12,000 to 
 15,000, and its editor-in-chief is Mr. Hurlbut. Mr. Ilurlbut has 
 travelled a great deal, and lias seen iuid i-emembers much. A 
 most accomplished niiui and a wi-iter of merit, Mr. Hurlbut has 
 only one fault in the eye of his cor^fro'es ; that is to say he is a 
 
THE AMERICAN PRESS. 69 
 
 little changeable in liis political opinions. Is it well to resist the 
 lashion of the times? The musical critic of the Wo7-Id is Mr- 
 Wheeler, n feuilletoniste of spirit. 
 
 The Sun, of the editor and proprietor of which I forget tlie 
 name. He is a journalist of the first order, speaking all languages^ 
 and is excellent in condensing small news and little scandals. 
 This paper is sold at a penny instead of twopence, and its circula- 
 tion is 120,000, 
 
 Continuing the account of the press, we arrive at the evening 
 papers. 
 
 The Evening Post is edited by ]Mr. William Cullen Bryant, the 
 great American poet. In opinions it is Eepublican, and its cir- 
 citlation is considerable. 
 
 The Advertiser Evening Telegram, is distingttished from all 
 the other papers, in that it is contintially publishing new editions. 
 It is always in composition, always on the press, always on sale. 
 As soon as fresh news arrives, another edition is brought ottt. 
 And new s is constantly arriving every hour of the day. 
 
 The Neio York Herald publishes this flying sheet. 
 
 Amongst the foreign papers published in New York, I mttst 
 mention the Courrier des Etats-Unis. It has been in existence 
 forty years. It owes its first prosperity to M. Frederic Gaillardet^ 
 who sold it to M. Charles Lassalle. M. Lassalle is still its pro- 
 prietor, its editor being M. Leon Meunier. Le Goitrrier des Etats- 
 Unis is edited with care, and it is a very popttlar paper. Its critic 
 is M. Charles Yilla. 
 
 Lc Messager Franco- Americain is a daily paper, and it has been 
 in existence ten years. Its principles are ultra-repttblican ; its pro- 
 prietor is M. de Mavil, and its editor-in-chief, M. Lottis Cor- 
 tambert. 
 
 The Staats Zeitung is printed in German. Its director is Herr 
 Oswald Ollendorf, an Austrian by birth and a political writer 
 Avho has lived twenty -five years in America. This pa2:>er, which is 
 very complete and very well written, has a great influence in poli- 
 
 D 
 
00 AMERICA AND THE AMERICANS. 
 
 tics. It occupies, op])ositc tlie Times, a large house wliicli Herr 
 Ollenclorf has Ijuilt. The circuhitiou is 25,000 to 30,000. 
 
 The Staats Zeltimg was founded some thirty yenrs ago by Frau 
 Uhl, a woman of rare energy. Its commencement was rather 
 modest. As in the case of the Herald, when tlie paper was first 
 started the proprietor often served in the shop. 
 
 Besides tliese papers should also be mentioned the Associated 
 Press, which is a society of reporters, like the European Heuter or 
 the Havas agency. 
 
 The reporters deserve special mention. These gentlei)ien, who 
 number about forty for each paper, have to contribute accounts of 
 accidents, crimes, Arc. They wait at the Central Police office, and 
 are in communication by telegi-aph with all the stations, so that 
 events may be reported without delay. Two or three of them ai-e 
 told ofl* to report the proceedings in the law courts. Fifteen or so 
 are kept day and night at the newspaper office, and are sent to 
 different quarters of the city by the manager of the paper. They 
 know all familiar faces, and are expert in telegraphy. By the aid 
 of telegraphic apparatus they can give an account of an event which 
 happens a thousand miles away, and it arrives with such celerity that 
 the paper can have five or six columns in small typr next morning 
 on the speech, the crime, or the accident which is tlius reported. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 SKETCHES OF CELEBRITIES, 
 
 Up to the present I have confined myself to American matters and 
 manners. When I wished to speak of persons I was compelled to 
 adopt an impersonal designation, and to talk of "an original " or 
 ** a pretty woman." But to afford my j-eaders a more complete and 
 
SKETCHES OF CELEBRITIES. 61 
 
 jmore exact idea of the Americans, I must give them some ^:)en and 
 ink sketches of celebrities. 
 
 I hoi)e that this contemporary gallery will procure for those who 
 xead this book as much pleasure as I have found in seeing and 
 knowinof the oriijinals. 
 
 MR. BENNETT. 
 
 Mr. Bennett is the son of the celebrated James Gordon Bennett, 
 ^vho thirty years ago founded the y^ew York Ilercdd. 
 
 The Seio York Herald now produces for its proprietor an income 
 'Of £80,000 a year, a result which it need hardly be said speaks well 
 for the high ability of James Gordon Bennett. 
 
 Mr. Bennett, the son, is thirty years of age, and by the good- 
 fortune which should only exist in hereditary monarchies, he suc- 
 ceeded his father in all his possessions. 
 
 In physique he is a perfect gentleman, tall, dark, and pale, and 
 perfectly well bred. Like all those who work and possess much, 
 his glance is cold, but it is gentle enough if some im])ression occurs 
 to enlighten it. 
 
 The j)roprietor of the Herald has certainly full knowledge of the 
 .position of a man who takes a high })lace in the world. He com- 
 mands an army of faithful correspondents, brave and devoted men, 
 .always ready at the smallest sign to start for the other end of the 
 world. He possesses all over the globe as many correspondents 
 .as a great power has consuls, and the telegrams he sends and 
 receives number over a thousand a day. By these means no 
 important event can lia})pen in any part of the world without its 
 being a few hours afterwards duly chronicled in his paper. 
 
 It was Mr. Bennett who threw a million (of francs) to the 
 w^inds to discover news of the unfortunate Livingstone, and we 
 ,rill remember the sympathetic curiosity which accompanied his 
 repoi'ter, Mr. Stanley, who, sent out with a hundred others, had 
 .the orood fortune to arrive first. 
 
 This remarkable aptitude to place his business in the proper 
 
62 AMEPJCA A^'D THE AMEPJCANS. 
 
 train, helps every day to solidify and augment tlie i-eputation of 
 liis paper. 
 
 In tlie midst of las large and absorbing business, Mr. Bennett 
 hoAvever finds time for some hours of pleasure. He loves Paris- 
 dearly, and speaks French as well as any native of the Boulevard 
 de la Madeleine. 
 
 One day he took it into his head to cross the Atlantic tc? 
 England in a yacht. This peculiar fancy made a great sensation 
 and produced many imitators. Two other yachts, indeed, left 
 America at the same time, Ijut the hero of the Herald arrived 
 iirst. 
 
 Mr. Bennett loves gaiety, and the profusion at his fetes and- 
 receptions recalls the best days of the old lords of the last 
 century. 
 
 On one of his estates he has a model stud, and he often gives 
 races, to which are iuA'ited the best gentlemen riders of tht- 
 States, the master of the house finding the horses. 
 
 Add to this a man of perfect good taste, and you will ha^e- 
 some idea of one of the most interesting individuals of the 
 Kew World. 
 
 MR. MANAGER MAURICE fJRAU 
 
 Is a Aery young man. He is at most twenty-eight years okh- 
 although he looks fort}-. Incessant work, worries of all sorts, as- 
 tounding activity, and pre-occupation every moment of his life ha\-e 
 made him prematurely old. He has led a life of feverish excite- 
 ment, remarkable e^en in America. He has already won and lost 
 five or six fortunes. A millionaire one day, he is without money 
 the next. In this there is nothing extraordinary. Maurice Grau 
 has often managed fi\ e theatres at one time, an Italian opera in 
 New York, a French theatre at Chicago, an operetta house at San 
 Francisco, an English dramatic theatre in the Havannah, and a 
 S])anish comic opera house in Mexico. 
 
 It is lie who brought to America Eubinstein, the famous pianist. 
 
SKETCHES OF CELEBRITIES. 63^ 
 
 What a tour lie liad ! Two hundred c(3ncerts in less than six 
 months. Sometimes two a day. 
 
 At this moment Maurice Grau is managing the troupe of 
 3Iadlle. Aimee. He is also in treaty with Rossi. The great 
 Italian tragedian was expected to arrive in the course of two 
 Jiionths, and to travel a year with the able impresario. 
 
 CONDUCTOR THEODORE THOMAS. 
 
 From that of a simple violin player, and not by any means one 
 of the best in the orchestra of the New York opera house, Theo- 
 •dore Thomas has raised himself to the position he now occupies. 
 He has t]iroA\Ti aside the fiddlestick and has taken the baton of 
 theckefd'orchestre. To distinguish liim self from other conductors, 
 he had the good idea to create a speciality by propagating the 
 works of Wagner. 
 
 He is still a young man. To render him justice, he lia.s 
 managed to form an excellent orchestra. To this end he went the 
 .best way to work. Little by little, he attached to himself the 
 best musicians in America, and he continues to pay them at a very 
 ^igh rate. He can always count on the assistance of executants 
 of the first order, and of men wdio never leave him. By these 
 'means his orchestra has become remarkable above all others for a 
 ttruly marvellous ensemble. 
 
 As a conductor, Thomas hardly appeared to me to merit his 
 high reputation. He conducts carelessly. I have seen him at 
 the head of his musicians, leading the so-called light music of 
 Hossini, Auber, Verdi, and Herold without any sort of fire or 
 spirit. 
 
 When by chance he wishes to show a little energy, he conducts 
 with both arms at once, just like a large bird in the act of flying. 
 One thing is to be particularly noticed : his sincere afiection for 
 the music of the director of the Conservatoire of Paris — our 
 excellent friend Ambroise Thomas. It is rare that a piece by the 
 --author of " Mignon " is not to be found in his programmes* 
 
64 AMEBICA AND THE AMERICANS. 
 
 Three-fourths of the time the piiblic belieAe that it is the cltef 
 d'orchestre Thomas, who should be accorded the honour of the 
 work. 
 
 However, if Theodore Thomas be not a conductor of the first 
 order, he has at least considerable and ^-ery genuine merit. He 
 deserves the credit of having so admirably formed his orchestra., 
 and of having aided in the propagation of classical music in 
 America. 
 
 MARETZEK. 
 
 Born in Italy of Hungarian parents, and resident for a long 
 time in ]S"e\v York. About fiftv years old. He has intellisfence^ 
 candour, and good breeding, and is very popular Avitli the- 
 Americans. 
 
 Sometimes in the capacity of director, sometimes in that oF 
 conductor, he has been connected with nearly all the troupes- 
 which have played Italian opera in the United States. "When 
 times were bad as director, he became conductor. But as he is 
 very much liked, he was soon placed again in the i^ossession of 
 funds, and set out to form a fresh troupe, and to become once 
 more a manager. 
 
 I cannot speak of his merit as manager because I have never 
 seen him at his work, but I can affirm that he is an excellent 
 conductor, and that he also composes some charming music. 
 
 ^laretzek now conducts the concerts at Offenbach gardens at 
 Philadelphia, but you may be sure that in about three months' 
 time he will lay down the btlton and take some sort of manage- 
 ment. 
 
 WEBER. 
 
 Weber is l)y birth a German, but a naturalised American, and 
 lie has lived in the States for twenty years. 
 
 I paid a a isit to his piano factory, and found it a magnificent 
 Imikling. The master of the house did the honours \vith a perfect 
 
SKETCHES OF CELEBRITIES. 65 
 
 good grace. He is a cliarmiiig man, with a sympatlietic figure^ 
 and a frank and open countenance. Wlietlier he is a descendant 
 of Iiis famous namesake, Carl Maria von Weber, I cannot say. I 
 forgot to ask him. But in any case, even as the composer was 
 master of his art, so the American Weber is master of his. His- 
 pianos are very much sought after all over the States. 
 
 MORA. 
 
 Mora is at the head of the photographers of New York, and he 
 has a superb establishment. This clientele is the most agreeable 
 imaginable. Before his camera all the prettiest American girls^ 
 come to 230se themselves. They are right, as (if it were possible) 
 Mora is clever enough to make them appear still more beautiful 
 than they actually are. 
 
 MARA 
 
 Is a miniaturist. His speciality is the colouring of photographs 
 and in making of them veritable miniatures. 
 
 A SENATOR. 
 
 I met in New York a personage who had raised himself from 
 a very low position to the rank of a senator, solely by the strength 
 of his arm. This is no figure of speech. He was a simple labourer, 
 but being gifted with Herculean strength, he renounced the plough 
 to become a pugilist, and from within the ropes he jiassed to the 
 higher chamber. 
 
 John Morrissey is a young man, very big and admirably pro- 
 portioned. His nose is still slightly smashed, and he considers it 
 a glorious souvenir of a memorable tight. 
 
 After having gained some money by fighting the '' Bampart of 
 Cincinnati," and the ^^ Terrible porter of Chicago," the pugilist 
 retired and started two gambling houses, one in ]N'ew York and 
 one in Chicago. Fortune comes quickly in an enterprise of this 
 sort, and the ex-prizefighter is now worth a formidable sum in 
 
*3b AMEFJCA AND THE AMERICANS. 
 
 ^.lollars. His large fortune soon made him j^opular, and he found 
 no difficulty in being elected to the Senate. 
 
 In reading this story, it may perhaps be thought that the Senator 
 has some roughness, if not absolute brutality in his manner. But 
 this is quite an error. He is a very mild and courteous gentleman, 
 speaking to everybody with much taste and tact. 
 
 In France, Harpin, called the '^ Rempart de Lyon," would have 
 some difficulty, in spite of the curious times in which we live, in 
 gaining admittance to Parliament. But it comes to the same 
 thing in the end, as more than once our Assemblies liave been 
 transformed into arenas where the combat is not always courteous. 
 
 CHAPTER XY. 
 
 THE CITY. FAIRMOUNT PARK. 
 
 Arrived in Pliiliidelphia! It is eleven o'clock in the evening. I 
 have put up at tlie Continental Hotel, a reproduction of the NeA\- 
 York Fifth Avenue Hotel. Moreover, it is a fashionable place, 
 for, as I arrive, the Americans are giving a dinner to the Em- 
 j)eror of Brazil, who also lives here. 
 
 In my apartment I Jiear distant strains of nuisic, not ])articu- 
 larly harmonious. They are playing 'HJrphce aux Eiifers." Is 
 it in honour of the departure of Don Pedro or of my arrivaU It 
 must be one or the otlier. Or else they are ])laying duriiig 
 dinner. 
 
 The next day at 10 o'clock I went downstairs to the dining room 
 to breakfast. An exact repetition of the New York repast. How- 
 t^ver, there is one thing which gives a peculiar and curious as])ect 
 
THE CITY. FAIRMOUNT PARK. 
 
 G7 
 
 to tlie room. All the waiters are negroes or mulattos. To be 
 admitted as a servant in this hotel you must have a pot of black- 
 ing on your face. 
 
 Tlie dining room is immense, and it is truly wonderful to see 
 thirty tables, great and small, occu])ied for the most part by very 
 pretty w^omen in grande toilette, and around whom hover forty or 
 lifty negroes. The negroes are line men, but the mulattos have 
 superb heads. I have an idea that Alexandre Dumas did not spend 
 -a bad time in this country, as the portrait of our great novelist is 
 very prettily reproduced here. 
 
 Soon after breakfast I went out to look at the Exhibition. But 
 I forgot it w^as Sunday. On the Sabbath the Exhibition is closed, 
 the houses and restaurants are closed, in fact everything is closed 
 in this joyous city. I met some people coming out of Church with 
 their Bibles and funereal vestments. If you unhappily sigh on 
 Sunday they regard you with flaming eyes, but if you have the 
 misfortune to laugh they arrest you. 
 
 The streets are suj^erb, of a size which the Boulevard Hauss- 
 mann might envy. To the right and left are the houses of red 
 Ijrick, vv'ith window frames of white marble. From time to time 
 we come across a prettier little building, while churches swarm. 
 The charming Philadelpltlennes probably have much need of pardon, 
 though I did not observe any very great wickedness. 
 
 A new^ City Hall has recently been built of white marble, and 
 it cost, they say, over eight million pounds sterling. 
 
 My two friends and I hardly knew how to spend our Sunday. 
 We were advised to go to Indian Bock in Eairmount Park. It 
 takes two hours to reach the place, but it is all through the Park. 
 The Philadelphians are fond of this immense garden, and they are 
 riglit, for it is well-nigh impossible to imagine anything prettier 
 or more picturesque. Here and there are little chalets, peeping 
 from amongst the branches, rivers serpentining under the trees, 
 pretty valleys, shady ravines, and superb woods. 
 
 From time to time are seen alon^c the road restaurants and 
 
63 AMERICA A^'D THE AMEIilCANS. 
 
 . cabarets full of people. The men, accordiuu' to tlie American 
 custom, were lounging in rocking or other chairs, and with their 
 feet on some object above their heads. All had before them 
 large glasses of red, green, or yellow lemonade. Strong drinks 
 arc forbidden, and on Sundays we are kept to non-intoxicants. The 
 law cannot, however, be equal for all, as a carriage driven by two 
 natives who were absolutely drunk — I do not suppose they became 
 in that state throuo^h drinking' lemonade— made live or six in- 
 etiectual attempts to upset us. These dubious observers of the 
 »Sabbatli passed and repassed us, as though they wanted to stick 
 to us. 
 
 On aiiiving at Indian Rock, our driver descended gravely from 
 his seat and with no less gravity took the reins of the horse driven 
 by the two drunkards. 
 
 He requested these gentlemen to get out of their carriage. 
 They refused. Then a policeman gravely enough mounted the 
 vehicle, and lifting one of them he threw him into the arms of 
 another 2)oliceman, who received him with the greatest politeness. 
 \Vhe]i once the man was on the ground, the policeman gravely 
 took the reins and drove the other off. They did not exchange'- 
 tweh e words. It was all done silentlv, o-ravelv, and methodicalh'- 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 OFFENBACH GAltDEX. 
 
 'i'liE Establishment where I had to gi^c my concerts, was a 
 covered garden newly constructed on the model of Gilmore's 
 Garden, but on a smaller scale. A similar platform, similar 
 cascade, similar Niagara, similar coloured glasses, and similar 
 rustic private boxes. So much for resemblances, but what ga\e 
 \\\r the greatest pleasure was that T 1i:h1 at Philadelphia nearly 
 
OFFENBACH GARDFX. 69* 
 
 the same musicians as I conducted at New York. Tliey were, it is 
 true, fewer — seventy-five instead of a liundred and ten — as tlie place 
 Avas smaller. Tliey asked my permission to call it " Offenbach 
 Garden," and I could not refuse. 
 
 Offenbach Garden was as fortunate for me as Gilmore's Garden 
 had been. The same enthusiasm, the same encores, and the sane 
 brilliant concerts. On the morrow of each performance, each 
 newspaper acclaimed my praise. Only one paper offered me a 
 reproach; to which I was very sensitive. In speaking of m}' 
 person, my bearing, my black coat, black trowsers, and Avhite tif, 
 the critic thought fit to observe that I wore pearl grey gloves. 
 The remark w^as true. I ought to admit in all humility that I 
 onlv wore white uioves four times in mv life ; once as a " best 
 man," once on the day of my marriage, and twice more on the 
 marriages of two of my children. 
 
 I have already said that on Sundays concerts are no more pei- 
 mitted than are other entertainments. One fine day, the proprietor 
 of the garden came to announce he had obtained authority to give 
 a sacred concert. 
 
 '^ I rely on you," he said. '' I have already had the bills 
 done. Look." 
 
 And he showed me a placard which I transcribe faithfully fer 
 the amusement of the reader who cares to turn over the page. 
 
70 AMERICA AND THE AMERICANS. 
 
 OFFENBACH GARDEN 
 
 COR BROAD AND CHERRY STS 
 
 AT S O'CLOCK P. M., 
 
 SACKED 
 
 CONCERT 
 
 BY 
 
 M. OFFENBACH 
 
 AND THE 
 
 GRAND ORCHESTRA 
 
 ]N A CHOICE SELECTION OF 
 
 SACKED AND CLASSICAL MUSIC 
 
 ADMISSION, 50 GENTS 
 
 LKDGER lOIJ Pr.INT. I'lIILAli 
 
PULLMAN CAr.S. 71 
 
 For eight clays the ^^ grand sacred concert" was placarded in all 
 parts of tlie city. During tliis time I had drawn up my [)ro- 
 gramme ; a very pretty programme. 
 
 Deo gratias, from the " Domino noir" ; 
 
 Ave Maria, by Gounod : 
 
 Marclte rellgieuse, from '^ La Haine ;" 
 
 A re Maria, by Schubert ; 
 
 Litanie^ from la Belle Helene ; ^* Dis-moi, Venus f 
 
 Hijiim, from ^^ Orphee aux Enfers;" 
 
 Prilre, from '^ la Grande-Duchesse " (Dites-lui) : 
 
 Danse sera^iyhique : polka burlesque. 
 
 A7igehts, from the '^ Mariage aux Lant ernes." 
 
 Unhappily^ permission was withdrawn at the last minute. 1 
 am sorry I could not carry out my idea, as I am persuaded that 
 my ^- Sacred Concert " would have had very great success that 
 evenino'. 
 
 CHAPTEE XYIL 
 PULLMAX CAPS, 
 
 What a beautiful country we pass through from Xew York tc-- 
 Niagara I A.s far as Albany the views are especially marvellous, 
 "We pass along the admirable Hudson Elver. I search my memor\' 
 in vain for a European stream which can compare witli this 
 American river. There are some parts which recall the finest 
 places on the Ehine. There are others Avhich surpass in grandeur 
 and in charm anything I had ever seen before. 
 
 For the rest, the journey is made under the most excellent 
 conditions. The Pullman Cars are a vahiable institution. To be 
 
72 AMERICA AND THE AMERICANS. 
 
 in a railway, and yet to have none of the inconveniences of the 
 railway, is the great problem wliicli these marvellous carriages have 
 worked ont. The passenger is not cooped up as in France in 
 railway compartments, nor are the limbs stiffened by hours of 
 immobility. 
 
 In the American train, you can walk about, and can pass along 
 from one carriage to the other, from the luggage van to the 
 engine. When you are fatigued by walking, you can lie down in 
 iin elegant saloon, and on excellent fauteuils. You have at com- 
 mand everything which can i-ender life agreeable. I cannot 
 better express my admiration for these admirable cars than by 
 saying that they are in truth Palaces on wheels. 
 
 But you must not have very delicate ears when on a journey 
 in America. You are continually persecuted by disagreeable 
 noises. 
 
 Thus at Utica, wdiere we stopped some minutes for lunch, I 
 saw, or rather I heard, a big negro, who beat a tam-tam. Some- 
 times he beat loudly, sometimes at astonishing speed, sometimes 
 with a measured slackness. He threw into his play, I will not say 
 the nuances, but the best intentions. I almost forgot my lunch in 
 watching this very anuising nnisician. During the last piece, I 
 was all eyes and ears. He began by afortlssuno loud enough to 
 make you deaf, as he was a vigorous man, this negro, and did not 
 spare his hands. After this brilliant debitt his music continued in 
 a descendo, it arrived at a jnano, then at a i^uuiisslnio, until at 
 last — silence. 
 
 At the same time the train started, and I had hardly time to get 
 in, still less to ask questions. 
 
 We arrived at Albany, where we stopped for dinner. Before 
 the Albany restaurant, I found another great negro, very like the 
 other, and who like him played the tiim-tam. 
 
 Ph^nty of this sort of thing, 1 thought. This is evidently a 
 country where they love the tam-tam furiously. 
 
 A stai'ved belly has no ears, snys tJie proverb. I am sorry to 
 
PULLMAN CARS. 73 
 
 -express my disapproval of a saying endorsed by tlie wisdom of 
 nations, but in spite of my formidable appetite the music of my 
 negro followed me during the meal. He played exactly like his 
 <}olleague of Utica. His piece was composed of the same transi- 
 tion oijorte to piano and inanisslnio. Struck by the coincidence, 
 I was about to ask if the negroes really accepted soli on the tam- 
 tam for music, and if they thus played their national airs, when 
 one of my friends said — 
 
 ''This negro puzzles you. But if you wait, you will see the 
 same at every station along the line." 
 
 ' • Is it a delicate attention on the part of the company T 
 
 '^ No ; the restaurant keepers are responsible for i^. These 
 negroes have to play all the time that the train remains at the 
 station. Their music serves to Avarn passengers who have come to 
 the restaurant. As long as the tam-tam is well beaten, you can 
 remain quiet. AAHien the noise diminishes, it is a sign you must 
 make haste. When it has nearly ceased, you must hurry to the 
 train, which like the tide waits for no man ; and like time does 
 not return. So much the worse for those who miss the train." 
 
 I do not know if I prefer the American plan, or that employed 
 by the restaurant keeper of Morcenz between Bordeaux and Biar- 
 ritz. Having no negro, the proprietor of the place cries himself 
 with stentorian voice — 
 
 '* You have still live minutes, you ha\'e still four minutes, you 
 have still three minutes." 
 
 At bottom these two systems very much resemble each other 
 The only difference is that while one stuns you with cries in the 
 room itself, the other overpowers you by music in the open air. 
 
7-i AMERICA AND THE AMERICANS. 
 
 CHAPTEE XYIII. 
 TEE FALLS OF XI AG A FA. 
 
 Muc;h has been ^vritten on these marvellous falls, but no one ha?^ 
 vet found the words to adequately descril)e the effect produced bv 
 the hui>:e stream as it falls from an enormous heif>'ht in a fathomless 
 Avhirl, to the depth below. The sight of this vast amphitheatre, of 
 this prodigious mass of water, fjdling with a report of thunder, like 
 the sound of a great earthquake, produced in me a vertigo, and 
 caused me to forget all I had read, all I had heard, and all my 
 fancy had imagined. This mighty torrent, in a framework of 
 savage nature, bordered by large trees of an intense verdure, on 
 Avhich the spray from the water incessantly falls, defies alike pho- 
 tography, painting, and description. To describe we must compare 
 it. And with what can we compare Niagara, this unrivalled 
 phenomenon, this permanent marvel, to whose grandeur no one 
 can accustom himself ! 
 
 As we were absorbed in anticipation of the fidl — 
 
 " It is here," said the person who accom2)anied us, " that an 
 Indian was found dead a fortnight ago. Drawn on by the current, 
 in spite of his paddle, the frail craft Avhich carried him approached 
 the fall. The Indian, feeling the forces against him, knew he was 
 lost. He ceased the struggle. He enveloj^ed himself in his red 
 cloak as in a shroud, and lay down at the bottom of his canoe. 
 Some seconds after, he was dashed to pieces." 
 
 After having looked a long time at the fall, I crossed the bridge 
 :iud s(it foot on Canadian territory. 
 
 " You would like to see the Indians," they said. 
 
 I expected to find savages, but they showed me pedlars ; men 
 who produced articles de Far is. I was frightened at their ferocious 
 attitude. I still reeoUect them. But were they really Indians ? 
 I rather doid>t it. 
 
THE LOST DAUPHIN OF FEAXCE. 75 
 
 Indians or not, tliey surrounded me, pertinaciously offering me 
 bamboos, fans, cigar cases, and fusee cases of doubtful taste. They 
 recalled to my mind the Indians of the forest of Fontainebleau 
 who sold penholders and paj^er knives. 
 
 Nevertheless, I made a few purchases, but I verily believe I 
 carried back to France some trifles which had been picked up at 
 a Parisian bazaar which had been ^'selling off." 
 
 CHAPTEE XIX. 
 TEE LOST LAUPIIIX OF FRANCE. 
 
 On the steamboat which took us to see the prettiest places on the 
 lake, there was a bill distribution. In Paris, when one of these 
 handl:)ill people offers you a prospectus, you take it, because you 
 wish to encourage trade, and ten steps off you throw it away. 
 I fortunately did not act thus Avith my prospectus, and I had 
 my reward. As a matter of f\ict, the paper which had been 
 placed in my hands — almost in spite of me — is a precious document, 
 which may have the highest influence on the destinies of France. 
 
 Tliis document commences, it is true, by explaining in the 
 language of a vulgar guide-book the places of interest on either 
 shore of the lake ; but it also contains an extremely curious 
 passage, of which I am happy to be able to give the full text. 
 
 '^* Howe-Point, near the outlet of the lake, is named in order to 
 honour the idol of the army, Lord Howe, who was killed at this 
 place in the first engagement with the French. Here it was that 
 Louis XVI. of France, through the instiaimentality of two French 
 priests, in 1795, banished his son the royal dauphin, when but 
 seven years old, and arranged with one Indian chief Thomas 
 Williams to adopt him as his own son. He received the name of 
 
 E 
 
76 AMERICA AND THE AMERICANS. 
 
 Eleazer, and afterAvarcls as tlie Eev. Eleazer Williams was educa- 
 ted and ordained to tlie'niinistiy, officiating for many years among 
 the Oneidas of western New York, and afterwards in Wisconsin., 
 where he w^as visited a few years since by the Prince de Joinville^ 
 and offered larore estates in France if he Avould renounce his ris^ht 
 to the throne of France. These tempting offers he declined,, 
 l^ref erring to retain his right as King of France, although he 
 might spend his life in j^reaching the gospel to the poor savages,, 
 which he did until the time of his death some years since.'* 
 
 After having read this tale, as interesting as it is tnie, I asked 
 some questions, and learned that the Eeverend Dauphin Eleazer* 
 had left a son. 
 
 Still another pretender ! 
 
 Suppose this gentleman were to arrive in France. Another 
 complication I 
 
 CHAPTEE XX. 
 RETURN FROM XIAGARA, SLEEPIXG CARS. 
 
 To return from Niagara I took the night train. I was not sorry 
 to try for myself the sleeping cai'S of which I had heard so much. 
 
 I entered the saloon carriages, which were laid out as before^. 
 that is to say with great fauteuils on each side of the gallery,, 
 special compartments for smokers, and all the conveniences I had 
 so much admired in coming. There was no indication in the 
 arrangement of these cars to show it A\-as i)Ossible to sleep in bed. 
 I was mystified for a moment, as it appeared to me impossible 
 to give a bed to each of the ladies and gentlemen whom I found 
 with myself in this saloon. 
 
 Suddenlv, about nine o'clock In the evening, as darkness wa^ 
 
RETURN FROM NIAGARA. SLEEPING CARS. 77 
 
 .-iipproacliing, two employes of the Piillniciii company appeared and 
 set themselves to Avork. In the twinkling of an eye our fauteuils 
 were transformed into beds. On the fauteuils, joined together by 
 planks, were placed mattresses, blankets, and counterpanes. The 
 saloon thus metamorphosed might have been sufficient for the number 
 of passengers, even if they had not recourse to another expedient. 
 Above each of the beds is to be found a little apparatus which 
 <lraws out, and which proves to be another bed. There are 
 thus two stages of beds superposed in each compartment, beds of 
 the first and beds of the ground floor. As beds they are good, for 
 sleeping they are perfect. But there is a little necessary operation 
 which no one likes to perform in public. The men, 'if they were alone, 
 might well undress before each other, l)ut the women cannot very 
 Avell unrobe before so large a number of passengers. It therefore 
 behoved the inventor of the sleeping cars to find a means to provide 
 against the bashfulness of the American ladies. This is arrived 
 <xt by making each couple of beds — the bed above and the bed 
 below — a veritable chamber. Two large curtains, hung parallel 
 through the length of the car, form, up and down in the centre of 
 the compartment, a long corridor of escape, along which the traveller 
 may walk, if it seem good to him to do so. Between each of the 
 curtains and the sides of the carriage smaller curtains are hung 
 perpendicularly. A lady who wishes to sleep, finds herself thus in 
 the centre of a little chamber, w^hicli has one side of wood and 
 three of curtain. I have known hotels where the cardboard walls 
 were less discreet than the curtain w^alls of the sleeping cars. 
 
 All preparations being finished, there commences a very amus- 
 ing scene. Each chooses his bed and glides into the little com- 
 partment which seems the most advantageous to him. Then, 
 during several minutes you hear around you as well the noise of 
 falling boots as the frous-frous which tell of the lifting of skirts. 
 
 When a husband travels with his wife, he has of course the 
 right to be under the same cuii:ain with his companion. This fact 
 'iN'as revealed to me by an extremely interesting conversation in a. 
 
78 AMERICA AND THE AMEEICANS. 
 
 very low tone of Aoice, and which was hehl in the next cabin on 
 the right hand side of mine. 
 
 At length Aurora cast her rosy gleams over the sky, and the 
 two employes of Pullman again appeared. Men and women arose 
 from their couches, and made their toilettes more or less together 
 or under the linen compartments. Soon the place was given up to 
 the agents of the company, who, in the twinkling of an eye, put 
 everything in its proj^er order. After having slept each on his 
 own side, we all found ourselves in the saloon as fresh and as 
 lively as if we had passed the night at an hotel. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 AUTOGRAPHS. 
 
 At Albany an American presented me to his wife and to his 
 mother-in-law. While we were chatting we passed a shop. I 
 entered, and buying tw^o fans offered them to the ladies. 
 
 "We accept, sir," they said, " but only on one condition." 
 
 " What is that T 
 
 " That you write your name on the corner of the fan." 
 
 " Ah, an autograph," said I. 
 
 And I hastened to comply with their wish. 
 
 I cannot describe the mania of Americans for autogi-aphs. 
 They carry their passion to the very limits of indiscretion. 
 
 I received, during my stay in the United States, at least ten 
 requests a day from all parts of the American territory. I was 
 accosted, followed, and pursued in the restaurants, in the public- 
 gardens, in tlie theatres, and even in the streets, by inveteratii 
 collectors who wished at all hazards to obtain some lines of my 
 writing. My caligi'aphy was certainly at a premium. 
 
AUTOGRAPHS. 70 
 
 And tliese letters were of all kinds, some ingenious and others 
 curious. 
 
 '' Sir, 
 
 ^' I have made a bet with one of my friends that you were 
 ^Dorn in Paris. The stake is considerable. Will you, I pray you, 
 .-.lUow me to know by a few words if T have gained my wager." 
 
 Another had bet that I was a native of Cologne. A third had 
 rtliirmed that my birth-place was the little German town of 
 Offenbach, well known for its cutlery works. And every letter 
 wound up Avitli the request '' a few words." 
 
 A certain number of my unknown correspondents acted in 
 .another way. 
 
 ^' My name is Michel, and I am a distant relation of your 
 brother-in-law Robert. Send me a few words to tell me how 
 he is." 
 
 Between Michel and Mitchell there was of course only a differ- 
 ^^nce of orthography. 
 
 There was also the following model. 
 
 " Sir : I have something of very great importance to communi- 
 cate to you. Will you receive me ? A few words in reply, if you 
 }*lease." 
 
 I could give forty instances of this model. 
 
 One day an Englishman approached me as I dined at the 
 nestaurant Bininswick. 
 
 " I live in San Francisco," he said, " and I should like to have 
 w)ur name." My dinner drew near its end, and I gravely handed 
 him my engraved card. I thought I had got rid of this original, 
 l)ut on the morrow he Avaited for me, and as I entered the room 
 he rushed towards me, and holding out a sheet of paper, a pen and 
 ink, he cried in a suppliant tone — 
 
 '- Your signature only. I leave this evening. You will do me 
 this favour as I come from so far away." 
 
 I could not in my heart refuse a man w^ho had "come from so far 
 r-iway." 
 
€0 AMERICA AND THE AMERICANS. 
 
 Tiie requests I received were each accompanied by a stamped 
 and directed envelope. I tlius collected five or six hundred 
 postage stamps. I beg to inform my honoured friends who thus 
 begged autographs of me, that I presei'ved their stamps with care, 
 and have sent the proceeds to a charity. They will receive there- 
 fore, with my deep regret, the thanks of the poor. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 THE PUNISHMENT OF A MUSICIAN. 
 
 Besides the concerts I was engaged to direct, I had promised 
 Madlle. Aimee to conduct some of the performances she was about 
 to give in America. Faithful to my word, I held the baton of 
 chef d' or chest re at New York at the theatre where Madlle. Aimee 
 sang. I thus believed myself quit of my promise. But when I 
 bad finished my series of concerts at Philadelphia, she came to 
 announce that she was about to leave for Chicago, and to ask me 
 
 to conduct one last performance at . I do not name the 
 
 town for a very good reason. I was going on to Chicago, 
 
 was on the way, and I consented. 
 
 I arrived at in the morning, and in the evening we 
 
 were to perform " La Jolie Parfumeuse." I went round to the 
 tlieatre to rehearse with my orchestra at least once. 
 
 I bravely mounted the conductor's desk and raised my fiddle- 
 stick. The musicians commenced. 
 
 I knew my score by heart. What then was my surprise to hear 
 instead of the motifs I expected, a curious somethhig whicli liad at 
 least a faint resemblance to my operetta. I could still distin- 
 guish the melodies, but the orchestration was wholly different to 
 jnine. A native American had evidently recomposed the work. 
 
 My first movement was to immediately leave tlie rehearsal and to 
 
THE PUNISHMENT OF A MUSICIAN. 81 
 
 renounce the direction of tlie orchestra for that evening-. But 
 Madlle. Aimee besought me so much, and represented that the- 
 public woukl be angry if I did not appear and that the perfor- 
 mance would be impossible, that at last I consented to resume my 
 post. 
 
 I took up the fiddlestick and again gave the signal of attack. 
 Wliat an orchestra ! It was small but execrable. Out of twenty- 
 five musicians, there were about eight who were tolerably good, six 
 mediocre, and the rest positively bad. To provide against eventu- 
 alities I asked one of the second violins to take a drum, and I 
 gave him some instructions in a low voice. It was as well I did 
 so, for there was not a big drum either in the orchestra or in the 
 orchestration. 
 
 The rehearsal Avas so deplorable that after it was over I made 
 fresh attempts to get off. It was lost trouble. Impossible to 
 escape the execution of my work. 
 
 " Happen what may," I said to myself, '' I have promised to 
 conduct two acts, and by the grace of God I will conduct 
 them." 
 
 What a ^performance ! My two clarionets made couacs every 
 instant, except of course when they ought to have done so. In 
 the comic march of blind men in the first act, I noted some false 
 notes which always 2)roduce an amusing effect. Arrived at this 
 passage my clarionets stopped and counted their bars of rest. The 
 clown who reorchestrated my music, had written this piece for the 
 quartet only. 
 
 Already at rehearsal I had asked the clarionetists to play any 
 thing, no matter what, at this particular situation, knowing very 
 well that the couacs came naturally. But I had reckoned without 
 my host. Strong in their score, the brigands absolutely refused to 
 march. 
 
 " "We have bars of rest to count, and we shnll count theni^ 
 There is nothinj^ written for us." 
 
82 AMERICA AND THE AME]RICANS. 
 
 " But, gentlemen, the couaes wliicli you made when there ai'e nch 
 pauses, are not written, and yet you gave ns plenty of them." 
 
 Impossil)le to convince them. So much for the clarionets. As 
 to the hautboys, they were fantastic beings who played from time 
 to time when the fancy seized them. The flute whistled when it 
 coidd. The bassoon slept half the time. The violoncello and 
 contrabass were placed behind me, but they passed the beat and 
 made a contraband bass. At each moment, in conducting with 
 my right hand, I alighted on the bow of either the cello or the 
 double bass. I was deluged with fiilse notes. The first violin- — 
 a] I excellent violin — was always too warm. There was a heat of 
 ninety degrees in the theatre, and the unhappy fiddler stopped to 
 wipe his forehead. 
 
 '' If you desert me, my friend," said I, " we are lost." 
 
 He put down las handkerchief with a look of sadness, and took up 
 his instrument. But the sea of cacophony still rose. What false 
 notes ! Hapj^ily the first act at last came to an end. 
 
 An enthusiastic success ! 
 
 I thought I Avas dreaming. 
 
 But all this was nothing to the second act. 
 
 After all this eccentricity I naturally expected a deluge of 
 adverse ciitiques in the papers. But nothing of the sort. 
 
 Nothing but eulogium, warm praise for the masterl}' manner 
 in which I had conducted. 
 
 CHAPTER XXTII. 
 
 THE FAREWELL APPEAlLiXCE. 
 
 On my return from Niagara, I gave the promised concert. Im- 
 mense placards covered the walls announcing that I should appear 
 
HOME AGAIN. 83 
 
 for the last time. ISTever liad I seen my name in this style. The 
 letters were as high and four times as large as I was. 
 
 The American public showed its appreciation of this truly na- 
 tional advertisement. The New York of elegance and riches came 
 to Gilmore's Gardens. On my entry on the platform I was received 
 v/ith cheers, hurrahs, and enthusiastic applause. And they say 
 that the Americans are a cold people ! I ought to describe the 
 details of this evening, but as I have sworn to speak as little as 
 possible about myself, I will not. Besides I was bewildered by 
 the scene which passed around me, and deeply moved by so un- 
 expected a demonstration. 
 
 After the concert I found with difficulty a few words in w^hich 
 to thank, for the last time, the musicians who had so ably 
 aided me during my sojourn in America, and to wish them, with 
 a sincerity which they could not doubt, a continuance, after my 
 departure, of the success they had so well merited. They thanked 
 me in their turn for the performance I had given for the benefit 
 of their association, and they made me promise to return to 
 America in two or three years. I promised — as we are apt to 
 promise at such moments. But circumstances at present forbid it, 
 although, I assure them, it would be very agreeable to me to re- 
 turn to Yankee Land, and to gain a greater knowledge of this 
 marvellous country, and of a people who have accorded me a sym- 
 pathy the remembrance of which I shall always hold most dear. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIY. 
 HOME AGAIN. 
 
 On the 8th July, I embarked on board the Canada steam ship, 
 and eight and a half days afterwards we entered the port of 
 Havre. I was Home ! 
 
 The End. 
 
ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 UNIFORM SERIES OF MUSICAL WORKS. 
 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF ROBERT SCHUMANN, with List 
 
 of his published works, by Yon Wasielwski, translated by A. L. Alger, 
 revised edition, with Introduction, &c., by W. A. Barrett, thick cr. 8vo. 
 In September, 
 
 MXJCIC AND MUSICIANS, Essays and Criticisms by Robert 
 
 Schumann, edited, translated, and annotated by Fanny Raymond Ritter, 
 portrait of Schumann, photographed from a crayon oy Bendemann, thick 
 cr. 8vo. 8s. 6d. 
 
 EHLERT'S LETTERS ON MUSIC to a Lady, by Louis Ehlert, 
 
 translated by Fanny Raymond Ritter, cr. 8vo, handsomely printed on good 
 paper, 4s. 
 
 LIFE OF CHOPIN, by Franz Liszt, translated by M. W. COOK, 
 
 cr. 8vo, 6s. " Franz Liszt has written a charming sketch of Chopin's Life 
 and Art." — Ency. Brit., 7iew edition. 
 
 LIFE OF MENDELSSOHN, by W. A. Lampadius, edited and 
 
 translated by W. L. Gage, with S'lpplementary Skecches by Sir Julius 
 Benedict, Henry F. Chorley, Ludwig Rellstab, Bayard Taylor, R. S. 
 Willis, and J. S. Dwight, Additional Notes by C. L. Gruneisen, second 
 edition, revised by W. A. Barrett, Mus. B. Oxon, portrait, cr. 8vo, ds. 
 
 HISTORY OF MUSIC, from the Christian Era to the Present 
 
 Time, in the Form of Lectures, by F. L. Ritter, (Professor of Music at 
 Yassar College,) with List of over 600 Works on Music and Copious 
 Index, portrait of Mozart at the age of 7 years, thick cr. 8vo, 7s. 6d. 
 
 LIFE OF CHERUBINI, Memorials illustrative of his Life, by 
 
 E. Bellasis, portrait, thick cr. 8vo, 6s. (originally lOs. 6d.) 
 
 BIBLE MUSIC, being" Variations in many Keys on Musical 
 Themes from Scripture, by F. Jacox, cr. 8vo, 3s. 6d. (originally 6s). 
 
 WOMAN AS A MUSICIAN, an Art Historical Study, by F. 
 
 Raymond Ritter, 8vo, sewed Is. 
 
 ENGLISH GLEE AND MADRIGAL WRITERS, Two Lectures, 
 
 delivered at the London Institution by W. A. Barrett, 8vo, sewed, 2s. 6d. 
 
 VIOLIN MANUFACTURE IN ITALY and its German Origin, 
 an Historical Sketch, by Dr. E. Schebec, translated by W. E. Lawson, 
 8vo, sewed, 2s. 
 
 THE NEW SINGING METHOD, an Instruction to sing from 
 
 Notes in Proper Time and Tune, for Private Use or in Classes, by Theodore 
 Goebbels, Book I., containing a Course of Ten Lessons, roy. 8vo, sewed 2s. 
 
 BEETHOVEN'S PIANOFORTE SONATAS explained by Ernst 
 
 von Elterlein, translated from the German by Emily Hill, with a Preface 
 bv Herr Pauer, post 8vo, cloth .*3s. 6d. ; paper, 2s. 6d. 
 
/ "). 
 

 
 
 
 •"V ', , 
 
 /'^T: