Chapter I: Front Matter (1)

RUSSIAN LIFE AND SOCIETY.

RUSSIAN LIFE AND SOCIETY
AS SEEN IN 1866-’67 BY APPLETON AND LONGFELLOW, TWO YOUNG TRAVELLERS
FROM THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA, WHO HAD BEEN OFFICERS IN THE UNION
ARMY, AND A JOURNEY TO RUSSIA WITH GENERAL BANKS IN 1869.

WITH SKETCHES OF ALEXANDER II. AND ABRAHAM LINCOLN, AND EMANCIPATION IN THE EMPIRE OF RUSSIA AND THE REPUBLIC OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.

PREPARED BY

BREVET CAPTAIN NATHAN APPLETON

AUTHOR OF

“HARVARD COLLEGE DURING THE WAR.”

BOSTON, 1904.

Copyright, 1904
BY NATHAN APPLETON.
(_All Rights Reserved._)

Press of Murray and Emery Company Boston, Massachusetts

TO

PRINCESS J—— G——

IN PLEASANT RECOLLECTION OF SKATING AT MOSCOW. JANUARY, 1867, THIS BOOK
IS DEDICATED BY

THE AUTHOR

BOSTON, 1904.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER FIRST
PAGE
Arrival in Paris and Adieu. The Yacht Alice 9

CHAPTER SECOND
Lincoln and Emancipation 43

CHAPTER THIRD
Brussels, Berlin, Königsburg, Wilna 68

CHAPTER FOURTH
St. Petersburg. Tsar Alexander II., Gortschakoff, Cronstadt 81

CHAPTER FIFTH
Moscow. The City and Environs. Trotting in Russia 100

CHAPTER SIXTH
St. Petersburg. The Neva. Novgorod. Poland 133

CHAPTER SEVENTH
Charles Appleton Longfellow 156

CHAPTER EIGHTH
France. Last Days of the Empire. To Russia with Gen. Banks 160

CHAPTER NINTH
Alexander II. and Emancipation 184

CHAPTER TENTH
Europe and America in 1870. Demetrius Goubareff. Russia and the
United States 207

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Longfellow and Appleton _Frontispiece._ OP. PAGE Yacht Alice, Cowes, I. W., 1866 18 Captain, Passengers and Crew of the Alice 19 Rue de la Paix, à Paris 24 Gentlemen Riders of the Newport Race 31 Troika 38 Abraham Lincoln 43 Wilna 68 Statue of Kant, Königsburg, 1866 73 Single Sleigh 74 Nevski Prospect, St. Petersburg 81 Hon. Cassius M. Clay, Minister to Russia 82 Bolshaja Morskaja (Great Sea Street) 86 Christmas Shopping in St. Petersburg 87 The Kremlin, Moscow 100 Drinking Tea 105 A Coursier 110 The Staigg Portrait 117 Rosalie 125 The Blessing of the Neva 133 The Midnight Drive 140 Skating in the Yousoupoff Garden 141 Circassian Uniform 142 Sledge Drawn by Reindeer 151 Drosky 153 Charles Appleton Longfellow 156 Hon. Nathaniel P. Banks, Representative from Massachusetts 160 Ferdinand de Lesseps 179 Alexander II., 1866 184 Odessa, 1899 207 Port Said. Opening of the Suez Canal 225

RUSSIAN LIFE AND SOCIETY

CHAPTER FIRST.
ARRIVAL IN PARIS AND ADIEU. THE YACHT ALICE.

“Our trusty friend, our true ally
Through varied change and chance:
So fill your flashing goblets high,
I give you, vive la France.”
—_Oliver Wendell Holmes._

I sailed from New York early in October, 1866, in the French line steamer _Ville de Paris_, Captain Surmont. Time about eleven days to Brest. Cloudy weather, and the last four or five days no observation, so one morning we found ourselves near the Scilly Islands, and from there steamed over to Brest, arriving in the afternoon. I had a room with Frank Burgess of Boston, whom I then knew but slightly, and, as we found that we liked each other and had the same objects in view at Paris, we went there and took rooms together at the Hotel de la Paix, since torn down for the Place du Nouvel Opera, corner Rue de la Paix and the Boulevard. The month I passed there until going to Russia was one of my liveliest and pleasantest in Paris.

The voyage across the ocean was the same old story so often and often described. There was the same queer medley of passengers as always, and they told the same stories they always do, and passed their time in the same old way. There was the knowing Yankee buyer, going on his hurried autumn business tour through Europe, who gave every one to understand that this was his forty-seventh voyage across the Atlantic, and that he knew pretty well how to take care of himself. He had been in nearly every steamship of every line between Europe and America, and gave advice freely as to their relative merits. He always could tell the exact position of the ship, in fog or shine, better than the Captain himself, and was most active in getting up, every day after lunch, pools on the ship’s run, after which he would rush about making his “book,” buying and selling tickets to increase his chances of winning.

Then there was the jolly _paterfamilias_, who had been passing the last four months at the Fifth Avenue Hotel, looking after his investments, and was now returning, to join his family who were living in Paris, and who would gladly welcome him and his full purse. He was always around, and very attentive to and a great favorite with the ladies, young and old.

There was the same group of Cubans smoking cigarettes and talking Spanish together with wild gesticulations, but keeping aloof from the other passengers. And, oh! the pretty French actress, returning for the winter season in Paris at the Folies Dramatiques or the Palais Royal, fresh from the applause and bouquets in New York, Chicago and San Francisco. She was dark, she was petite, she had arched eyebrows and the slightest touch of paint under her sparkling orbs. She never appeared on deck until near dinner time and then in a lovely toilette, as if she were just going to take a drive at the Bois. And how at the concert, organized a few nights before sighting the coast of _la belle_ France, she charmed all as she sang some of her opera bouffe songs.

Of course the precocious youth was aboard, going out for the fourth time to see the Coliseum, and what wonderful information he imparted to such listeners as he could get. When the wind was aft he assured you that the boat was making at least fifteen knots, and that we should arrive at Brest in time to take the eight o’clock train for Paris; then, again, when the wind was dead ahead he consoled you with the thought that it made the fires draw well, which was a good thing; but if it struck the boat on either beam he could conclusively prove that the sails being well filled the steamer was steady in her movements, which, after all, was better than rolling about too fast. If it chanced to rain he cheered the disconsolate passengers by stating that it would help beat down the waves and make the sea less rough! Every day, too, he seemed to think,—nor did he keep this sagacious thought to himself,—lightened the ship of so much coal, and then as for the advantages of fogs or icebergs, no possible question on the subject could puzzle him.

Pretty girls flitted here and there, or were spread out in their chairs and looked uncomfortable. “Swells” gloomily lounged around: enthusiastic young travellers were always on hand at everything which turned up in the ship’s management, especially the throwing the log and taking the observations, as if determined at the outset to lose none of their money’s worth of sight-seeing.

A clever lady from Washington was always posed in a corner of the saloon, a half read novel in hand, her _flacon_ and fan on either side, and she herself happy at any time, morning, afternoon or evening, to enter with you into a long conversation on any subject.

A French priest and a Western parson kept theology well argued as an appetizer for your meals, while in the smoking room the poker party was going on all through the voyage with scarcely an intermission.

The bluff old Captain was ever about with a pleasant smile and word for all, inspiring those of whom he was the ten-day autocrat, with a feeling of security by his own solid and comfortable appearance.

A system for passing the time on shipboard I found worked very well, and I am only too glad to recommend it to any who choose to try it for themselves.

Take your coffee about nine in bed in your state room propped up with numerous pillows, then go through the operation of being shaved if the offices of a Figaro are required, who may be one of the ship’s stewards. After this a couple of hours or so may be passed in reading, and for this a selection of a dozen books or so you may have had placed on the shelf over your couch, so that you can choose any one which happens to suit your mood, or, scratch off your thoughts on a block of paper, always to be carried on your travels, thus taking down rambling notes where-ever you go. Rising about half an hour before lunch time, you get up an appetite by sniffing the sea air and chatting with those who are about. Next comes lunch itself, an important item in the day, which with its subsequent cigar or pipe can be made to dispose of nearly two hours. Then approaches the toughest part of the twenty-four portions into which day and night are subdivided, the time between lunch and dinner. A hand at poker or _vingt-et-un_ helps it along, a conversation with some fair one in that favorite spot behind the wheelhouse is a powerful auxiliary, and, if nothing else turns up, a lazy novel or a siesta would annihilate the moments until the first bell ringing gives the welcome intimation that the time for toilette is at hand.

Dinner, with or without appetite it makes no difference for go through the form of remaining at table you must, would next take its regular place in the programme, and that and a cigar well over and digested, you are ready to sit down to your evening party of whist. Than this there is no better recreation for passing the hours after dark, and the selection of a good set of players at an early stage of the voyage is an important and not to be neglected duty. Is it not probable that the great Talleyrand, when he advised the young man to learn thoroughly this king of games at cards out of regard for his declining years, remembered with pleasure the hours he had thus passed in his journeys by water? So the evening goes along, the ladies retire, the lights are put out in the saloon, and the male portion of the community is free to take possession of the smoking room, there to sit well into the night and to recount story after story.

It was thus we existed the ten days of our passage, making pleasant acquaintances in that free offhand way which gives no binding claim for future continuance. You meet, you take each other for what you are worth, you separate, it may be to see each other again some time, it may be never, and intimacies under such circumstances are quickly formed, and as quickly forgotten.

Before we were well aware of it, so speedily the last days on the ocean flew by, all the passengers being well and overflowing with good spirits, the bright coast of France loomed up before our eyes in the distance, the green fields could almost be scented afar off, and there was bustle and activity in the _Ville de Paris_. Trunks were being brought up, and people who did not in the least care for each other were saying good by a dozen times.

Down goes the anchor with a plunge, the quai at Brest is swarming with officials and idlers, all chattering like mad, the tug boat sweeps up before the _douane_, we step ashore, and find ourselves in France.

GAY, GAY PARIS.

How the heart of the American beats with joy whenever he enters Paris, that queen city of cities, which he regards as almost a second home, feeling a genuine pride of possession in its beautiful monuments, its long avenues, its brilliant fêtes, and all its institutions of instruction and amusement. And cannot a probable reason why the American takes to it so much more than to any other foreign city,—why the asphalt of the boulevard is to him almost as dear as the flag-stones of Broadway,—be found in the fact of the _real democracy_ of the _social life_ in Paris and France? The government may be a despotism or a revolution: the annoyances of bureaucracy and red tape are nowhere greater than there; the petty details of business life amuse and vex you, but in spite of all, the social life of the people, whether natives or strangers, is as free as free can be, provided none of the laws of the land are broken. You come, you go, you do this or you do that, you can dine at one o’clock on beef and cabbage, or at seven on woodcock with truffles; you can live in a palace or a _cinquième_; you can go to the opera in evening dress or blouse; you can study medicine or you can study pleasure; you can drive in a four-in-hand or in a fiacre; you can do everything or nothing: whoever you are, or whatever your fortune may be, no one will interfere; your eccentricities will cause little remark, you will be unmolested, for all are too much occupied with themselves to pay much attention to others, and you may be certain that, do your best to astonish those about you, it will not be easy to offer them a new sensation.

I had been there before,—this was my third voyage across the Atlantic,—and had seen the guide-book sights of the city, and congratulated myself heartily upon the accomplishment, for it was off my mind and I would be spared from doing it now.

One is not likely to forget the sensations experienced during the long drive from the railroad station to the hotel when first arriving at Paris, especially if it be after dark, through the brilliantly lighted streets, across the great squares, full as they always are of the gayest hearted people in the world, with apparently nothing to do except treat life as a continual holiday, and I went through it again with the freshness of a first visit, as we were taken the distance which separates the _Gare de l’Ouest_ from the Grand Hotel, at which place we had decided to camp for the night, and leave hunting up some snug apartment until the morrow. The clock was just striking nine as the little omnibus came with a clatter and cracking of whip into the spacious court-yard, and after supper and a short stroll on the boulevard, I “turned in,” my imagination picturing in rose-colored dreams all we would do and see.

A LETTER TO MY MOTHER.

Paris, October 22, 1866.

Dear Mamma:

My last note must, I think, have been rather unsatisfactory, and I
hasten to do amends with a longer one. The fact was that I arrived in
Paris at the Hotel just about half an hour before the French mail for
the Cunard steamer closed, and I had either to drop just one line to
announce my safe arrival or nothing at all. The voyage over was, like
all, very tedious, and we had pretty bad weather on the whole. Not
knowing where we were at length we ran into a light on the English
coast, and from there made our way down south to Brest, where I landed
and ran right up to Paris. I like the steamer better than the Cunard,
she is very fast, and is much more adapted to the comfort of a
gentleman, especially as there is a cozy little smoking room where you
could play whist in the evenings; also a barber’s shop, and the state
rooms are better arranged. I came up to Paris with Frank Burgess and
Maurice Le Ray (one of the Newport jockeys of the past summer, attaché
to the French legation at Washington, who was a passenger on the
steamer), and Burgess and I have taken some very nice rooms.

Yesterday morning Charlie Longfellow (Charles Appleton Longfellow,
late lieutenant in the 1st Mass. Cavalry, wounded at Mt. Hope Church,
Va., Nov. 27, 1863. He was the son of the poet Henry W. Longfellow,
who married my half-sister Frances, so was my half-nephew, a year and
some months younger than I), and Harry Stanfield tumbled in upon us,
as they had that very night come over from London, and they gave us
jolly accounts of the doings of the _Alice_ during the past summer.
Brother Tom (Thomas Gold Appleton) and Arthur Clark (Captain of the
_Alice_) sail for home the last of the month. Charlie likes the idea
of going off to Saint Petersburg by and by, so as to get there in the
height of the winter, which time they say is really the best to see
the place, but he wants to stay here a while to brush up his French.
So I think I shall be quartered in Paris for some little time, perhaps
a month, and pitch right into the study of French, and then start off
with him for the cold regions of Europe.

Tuesday: After writing thus much yesterday I went round to the bank
(Bowles, Drevet & Cie at that time 24 Rue de la Paix) where I found
your letter awaiting me, and I must say that considering you had only
two or three days you have managed to pick up a vast amount of
interesting items. The first Bostonian I met was Hollis Hunnewell. I
have seen my classmates (at Harvard) (Charles C.) Jackson and (Frank
L.) Higginson, and yesterday I called on the Harry Sargents. The
weather is charming now, just right for driving about, and I hope it
will continue so for a month, when we ought to expect the drizzly
rains which will drive me off. There are so many from the “Hub” here
now that Brother Tom’s last _bon mot_ is said to be “All Parisians are
Bostonians.”

Au revoir.

Nate.

THE YACHT ALICE.

The sloop yacht _Alice_ was owned by Thomas Gold Appleton. She was about fifty feet in length and was built by Townsend at Portsmouth, R. I., in 1866. When last heard from she was a trader off the coast of Maine.

The _Alice_ left Nahant July 12, 1866, arrived at the Needles July 30th, and Cowes Roads July 31st. It was a remarkable trip and faster than that of any kind of vessel made across the Atlantic ocean with the then time allowance.

Captain Arthur H. Clark was in command, and she carried Charles A. Longfellow, the owner’s nephew, Harry Stanfield, a crew of three men and a Chinese steward. The owner, then fifty-four years old, crossed in the Cunarder _China_, and, joining the _Alice_ at Cowes, cruised off the French coast and the Channel islands, see _A Cruise of the Alice_ in _A Sheaf of Papers_, by T. G. Appleton, 1875.

One of the first business despatches sent by the cable across the Atlantic, the _Great Eastern_ having successfully landed the cable at Newfoundland on July 27, 1866, was the safe arrival of the _Alice_, by C. A. Longfellow.

The owner thus addresses the beautiful yacht in his collection of poems called _Faded Leaves_:

YACHT ALICE.
]

“Away! the cloven waves unite
Behind in murmuring braids of snow,
And seething whispers of delight,
As through the glassy fields we go;
And curtseying with a grace her own
Her bows of beauty in reply,
The white-winged creature moves alone,
Swan-like between the wave and sky.

· · · · ·

Farewell, dear friend, my floating home;
A menacing finger in the sky
Bids us through summer seas to roam
No more, and from harsh winters fly.
Sleep! dreaming of the violet deep,
And think of us and happy hours,
While we through icy nights shall keep
Thoughts of the sails that once were ours.”

CAPTAIN, PASSENGERS AND CREW OF THE ALICE.
]

The yacht wintered at Cowes and was brought back the next spring.

FROM BROTHER TOM IN LONDON.

Many thanks, my dear Naty, for your letter and the one enclosed. I
would have been sorry to have missed it, as it is from an old friend,
and in peculiar circumstances, and it would not have been well to have
the letter go astray. And thanks for yours, too, though only
announcing your arrival, and a sketch of your plans. You will do well
to take Charlie and Harry if they will go, and in the winter Saint
Petersburg must be fine, though after all not much beyond in cold
splendor dear old Boston. I am reading a new book on Russia, by Henry
Morley, and find much in it interesting. Today is so dark no one is
up, and I am writing alone.... Who should be here but Townsend, my
boat builder. He could not be quiet, hearing so much of the _Alice_.
Tell Charlie he has gone to Cowes. Don’t you wish you loved yachting,
and could have had the nice time we have had? It beats fancy wagons
and top boots, I assure you.

Remember me to Charlie and Harry and bid them take care and be prudent
and get into no scrapes.

Farewell and prosper, and do not leave your whiskers in the snows of
Russia.

Yr. aff. brother, T. G. Appleton.

Charing X Hotel, 25th October.

To my mother I wrote again from Paris, October 26, 1866, Friday:—

I give you a short letter now which will make two for this week,
enough certainly to satisfy the most rapacious of mothers! I have got
pretty well settled into my life here now, of which one very important
object is the study of French. I take a lesson every morning from a
very good teacher, and go to a theatre most every evening, and I think
I shall make rapid progress, in fact, as we ought to know a good deal
before starting for Russia, it is advantageous to stay here a month
and pitch into it. I have got quite a nice little French phaeton, with
which I can rattle about the town, and drive up to the Bois in the
afternoon, and the great difficulty is to find a decent horse to hire;
my own at home being so very superior my taste has been quite ruined.
I saw all the Imperial cortège out yesterday driving, but I think they
all go to Compiègne soon, so that the season won’t begin here for some
time.

General de Trobriand is here, and I handed him his commission, whereat
he was in great doubt whether to go home or no. He wants to accept the
commission of colonel of the 31st Infantry U. S. A. Let me know
anything you would like to have me get you in Paris. I can easily find
time to get it. Exchange is so different from when I was here before
(On leave of absence on account of wound during the war.) that one can
well be extravagant.

Nathan.

GENERAL DE TROBRIAND.

General de Trobriand, author of _Quatre ans de campagnes à l’armée du
Potomac_ (_Four Years in the Army of the Potomac_) 1867, Paris,
Bruxelles, (translated) whose full name is Philippe Regis Denis de
Kerodem, Baron de Trobriand, was born near Tours, France, June 4,
1816. In the United States he was known as Philippe Regis de
Trobriand. From 1849 to 1861, in New York, he was editorially
connected with first the _Revue de Nouveau Monde_, of which he was
publisher, and then the _Courrier des Etats Unis_, as associate
editor. In August, 1861, he was placed in command of the 55th New York
Regiment, U. S. V. of the Third Corps, promoted to Brigadier General
in January, 1864, and from May to June of that year had charge of the
defenses of New York City. He was brevetted Major General U. S. V.
April 9, 1865, and was in command of a Division at Lee’s surrender. In
1867, he was made colonel in the Regular army and placed in command of
the 31st Regt. U. S. Infantry, brevetted Brigadier General in the same
year, commanding the district of Dakota, and in 1869, was transferred
to the district of Montana and the colonelcy of the 13th U. S.
Infantry. Later he was ordered to Green River.

I visited him at Camp Douglas, near Salt Lake City, in October, 1870,
and had a good opportunity of observing western army life and the
institution of Mormonism. The camp was prettily placed on the slope of
a hill, with quarters comfortably arranged. Several of the officers
had their wives with them which made quite a little society. I stayed
in the General’s house and had a horse at my disposal whenever I
wanted to take a ride, and so I explored some of the picturesque and
grand scenery of the neighborhood with the snow capped mountains quite
near. To go into the city we generally took the headquarters wagon and
did the thing in style.

General de Trobriand was the father-in-law of my friend and classmate
Albert Kintzing Post, so naturally our relations were most friendly,
and I have often met him on both sides of the ocean. He was in New
Orleans in 1875, during the reconstruction period, after he retired
from service on account of age, having been stationed there for some
years.

In 1885, during the Cotton Exposition I lunched with him at his house
in New Orleans, and met him and some friends one day at the grounds,
where we strolled about, and had a picnic repast under the trees. In
1887, at Paris I saw him again. It was in the summer, and at my
suggestion he joined the “Franco-American,” known first as the
“Washington,” Club, and he enjoyed dining there at the _table d’hôte_
with agreeable companions.

The General came on to Class Day at Harvard, to hear the poem
delivered by his grandson Waldron Kintzing Post, the son of my old
classmate, when he graduated in June, 1890, to attend the “spread” and
other festivities, and then one evening we had a little family dinner
at the Somerset Club. After passing a few days at the “Masconomo,”
Manchester-by-the-Sea, with his daughter and her family, he went to
the Reunion of the Society of the Army of the Potomac, at Portland,
Maine, July 3d and 4th, where he was enthusiastically received by the
comrades of his old Corps the Third, and elected vice president of the
Society to represent the Third Corps, Army of the Potomac. At that
meeting I was elected a vice president in behalf of the Fifth Corps,
it being the custom to elect every year, in addition to the president,
vice presidents and other officers of the society, a vice president
from each army corps that was in the Army of the Potomac.

My last meeting with General de Trobriand was at the wedding of his
grand daughter Lina Beatrice Post to Hamilton Fish Webster, at the
Long Island summer home of the Posts. This was the autumn of 1891, and
a pretty wedding it was in the little church, and a breakfast later
under a large marquee. Of the grandparents of the young couple present
at the wedding, besides General de Trobriand, there were Mrs. Armand
de Macarty, grandmother of the bride, and the Hon. Hamilton Fish,
grandfather of the groom.

General de Trobriand died at the home of his daughter in Bayport, Long
Island, July 15, 1897.

TO MY MOTHER.

Hotel de la Paix, Paris,
October 31, 1866.

My dear Mamma:

I have been calling on several of our good old Boston citizens, but have not found many of them at home. I went to the Louvre the other day, and found that lots of new galleries had been added, with all my friends of the French school put together, and I reveled in Watteau, Boucher, and Fragonard. I do not do much sight-seeing, and don’t care to, but tomorrow I am going out to Versailles with a party of ladies to finish up the chateau. This afternoon Charlie Longfellow goes with me driving in the Bois. Yesterday evening Charlie, Stanfield and Burgess and I went to the “Lyrique” and saw Faust very well put upon the stage. It was the first time I had ever seen or heard the opera, and I thought it very fine. Charlie and I shall start off for Russia probably in the course of a month, as we are not in any hurry and we are to find out about what will be the best season to be there and then hit it. Charlie is studying his French very industriously, and oddly enough he has tumbled into the very same rooms that Erny (His brother Ernest Longfellow.) had a year ago. I got a letter from brother Tom at London, a few days before he sailed. He seemed in good spirits over the triumphs of the _Alice_.

Friday Morn: Yesterday I had a very good though somewhat fatiguing day at Versailles, and I should have enjoyed the pictures very much if I could see them by degrees; but there are so many millions that one glance at them was all you could get. Some of those illustrating the wars of the present emperor in the Crimea, Italy and Algeria, are very fine. We had a young French “swell” to chaperon us, and of course saw all the best things, such as the private apartments of the Louis’ and Marie Antoinette. I visited with Charlie, on Wednesday, Jerome Napoleon’s Pompeiian villa, which is now a concert room and well repays a visit. I don’t think the Pompeiian magnates themselves had anything quite up to it. Charlie and H. Stanfield still keep up their yachting fever and go to Asniéres on the Seine quite near Paris, and sail in a small yacht which some French count whom they met at Dieppe, has placed at their disposition. The de Trobriands leave for Brest in a few days, to pass the winter there as the General wishes quiet to finish his book before rejoining the army.

LATER: RESOLVE IN FAVOR OF ST. PETERSBURG.

Here I am at my desk, having finished my French lessons, and having written a long business letter, to find something to put upon paper in reply to “No. 3.”

The Boulevard and the Rue de la Paix with the Grand Opera and the Grand Hotel are just opposite, and below in the streets there is a continual excitement of passing objects; vehicles and pedestrians, soldiers and beggars, but principally Americans. There is always so much going on all around, that our apartment is not, perhaps, the best adapted for the quiet pursuit of literature. You see I am still in Paris, and perhaps you wonder whether I mean to leave at all. Know then that Charlie and I have made a vigorous resolution to pack up and be off the 25th of this month, stopping at Brussels, Berlin, Königsberg on the Baltic, and Wilna, to Saint Petersburg, and then Moscow, thus seeing the real winter life of the Russians. I think it will be a plendid trip. From Moscow we may go to Odessa, etc., but this is very doubtful, and we shall probably return viâ Warsaw to Dresden, where we separate—I for Vienna, and he back to Paris.

RUE DE LA PAIX À PARIS
]

A REVIEW BY NAPOLEON III.

Thursday Eve: A few days ago, Charlie Jackson drove out with me to
Longchamps, where the Emperor had quite a large review of the troops
around Paris. There were, perhaps, fifteen thousand troops there, and
as it was the first thing of the kind I had seen in Europe, it was
very interesting and imposing, and brought back something of the old
military ardor. The Emperor and Prince were there, but Napoleon looked
rather shakey. He is no longer young.

I saw Mr. T. B. Curtis for a few minutes yesterday and thought he was
seeming quite well after his sickness. He told me particularly to “go
it, while” I was “young,” adding that he “had had his time.” His
advice is certainty good. At the American chapel last Sunday were
crowds and crowds of people, but very, very few whom I recognized. The
same day Robert H. Stevenson and I went to the last races of the
season, and saw a very fair steeple chase, but as it was some ways out
of Paris there were not many there.

A LETTER FROM MY MOTHER.

My mother in Boston wrote me in Paris, Nov. 11, 1866,—... “And Charlie Longfellow is in Paris! All that is left in Boston will soon find its way there. I had a very pleasant visit from your brother Tom last evening, telling me of the _Alice_, and of all his doings. Ristori (tragedienne) has reigned supreme here for two weeks, and everybody has cried to their satisfaction. I did not dare to see her for I felt that I should not sleep for a month after it.”

ADELAIDE RISTORI.

I first saw Adelaide Ristori, mentioned in my mother’s letter, at the
theatre at Havana, in Medea, when I was there in February, 1868, and I
met her and her daughter Bianca at a reception given at the hotel.
Later, in the summer of 1884, at Paris, I was taken to her apartment
by Mr. Henry F. Gillig, president of the American Exchange in Europe,
and saw her and her husband the Marquis Giuliano Capranica del Grillo,
just as they were preparing to leave the city for their trip to
America. I remember that the rooms were encumbered with their baggage,
which was in every stage of packing for their departure. The following
winter 1884–5, when I was living at the Vendome Hotel, Boston, I
called upon them at the Tremont House, and introduced to them Mr. C.
C. Perkins, one of our citizens most prominent in music, art,
literature, etc., who was very desirous of meeting the great
tragedienne. He chatted with her in her native language, as he had
long resided in Italy, and had written several books when there.

LA DIVA, CAFÉ NAPOLITAINE.
TO MY MOTHER FROM PARIS, NOV. 15, 1866.

Charlie dropped in yesterday just before dinner, and we decided to start on the 24th, 25th, or 26th, for Brussels, and then have a look at Waterloo; thence to Berlin to buy fur coats, and so to Russia. Went to the Italian opera last night and heard “Crispino e la Camare” (“The Cobbler and the Fairy.”) sung by dear little Patti. She has improved much since I saw her two or three years ago in America, and quite captivated me. I should make her acquaintance if I was to remain long, as she prides herself on being American, and goes to Mrs. John Bigelow’s soirées. At the Café Napolitaine later a crowd of Boston men tumbled in. It is our favorite resort for smoking our nocturnal cigar,—George Weld, Ned Johnson, Bob Stevenson, and others. The great talk is the winter ocean race between three of the New York Club yachts, the _Henrietta_ (owned by James Gordon Bennett, Jr.), _Fleetwing_, and _Vesta_. (The _Henrietta_ with her owner on board won the race.) In that case the _Alice_ will have to be put afloat again. Well, adieu for a week, and then my last from Paris.

Nathan.

Adelina Patti, now (1904) Baroness Cederstrom, was in Boston in 1885, and I happened to be introduced to her early in that year when I was living at the Vendome. She was with her second husband, Nicolini.

THE NEW YORK YACHT CLUB.

May 17, 1866, I was notified that at a meeting held that day I was
admitted a member of the New York Yacht Club. The yacht _Henrietta_,
owned by James Gordon Bennett Jr., belonged to the squadron. Bennett’s
colors were a blue diamond and a red crescent on white ribbons.

I once had the pleasure of calling upon Mr. James Gordon Bennett
Senior. It was one Sunday morning, in the spring of 1872, when I was
on a visit to America. I was strolling up Fifth Avenue with Mr.
Leonard W. Jerome. As we came to Mr. Bennett’s house on the corner of
38th street, he proposed that we should go in and pay a visit to the
old gentleman, who was then very infirm and evidently destined not
long to live. I was delighted at the opportunity of seeing him, for
although I had stayed with his son at their fine place at Washington
Heights, and often dined at the city mansion, I had never been able to
be introduced to the father, as he was quite unwell, and generally
confined to his room.

We were shown up stairs to a small study, where Mr. Bennett was seated
in a comfortable easy chair, in a loose dressing gown, with a quantity
of the daily newspapers lying around him. We sat there conversing with
him some time, and I remember his speaking of the proposed plan of
rapid transit for New York, and how he had, years before, advocated
the idea in his paper, the New York _Herald_. He spoke very strongly
of the future growth of the city. It was only a few months after I saw
him that he died.

THE FOUR-IN-HAND CLUB.

Near Mr. Bennett’s place at Washington Heights and the Hudson River
the Four-in Hand Club had a house for several years. I remember
driving there for a ball the autumn of 1870, with Colonel William Jay
and a party of ladies, and then returning through some of the
unfinished roads, nearly upsetting on the way. The Club was started,
as far as I can remember in 1866. I was elected a member January 20th
of that year; the idea of membership being any one who had a
“four-in-hand,” “spike,” or “unicorn,”—three horses, two in the pole
and one on the lead,—“tandem,” i. e. something different from the
ordinary single horse or pair hitch. I had a tandem at the time. The
president was George Griswold Gray, whom I had known at Newport. The
Club came to an end, but I cannot say what year. The Coaching or
Four-in-Hand Club of New York has taken its place.

JAMES GORDON BENNETT, JR.

My first recollection of meeting Mr. James Gordon Bennett Jr., was on
the deck of his yacht _Henrietta_, at the spring meeting of the New
York Yacht Club, June 19, 1866.

I had been the guest, on his yacht, of Commodore McVickar (W. H.
McVickar, one of the incorporators of the New York Yacht Club and its
commodore in 1866. He died in New York, Nov. 25, 1896, aged 78.) when
Mr. William C. Otis was fleet captain, and some time during the
afternoon we paid a call upon the young captain of the _Henrietta_.
This was in the harbor of New York, and a very pretty scene it was.
Later on, i. e. during the summer of 1870, on my return from Europe,
where I had often seen Mr. Bennett in Paris at the Washington Club, he
invited me to join a party on his new yacht the _Dauntless_ at New
London, and make the cruise from there to Newport, which I did.

We were a jolly party,—Lawrence Jerome, Harry Stanfield, A. W.
Knapp and others. With reference to James Gordon Bennett Jr., in a
letter from Newport to the Boston _Globe_ in August 1876, I
remarked:—“Newport certainly owes a great deal this year to the
enterprise of Mr. James Gordon Bennett, in introducing the games
of polo and la crosse, for the afternoon reunions at the polo
grounds have become one of the most delightful features of the
life here this summer, and Mr. Bennett has proved himself to be as
much at home astride of his pony, as he was not many years ago on
the deck of his yacht, when he gallantly offered his services to
the government during the civil war, (He was with the blockading
fleet in his yacht from 1861 to 1865.) or when he pluckily scudded
across the Atlantic in mid-winter for the great ocean race.”

In 1881 and 1882, I remember dining at his house, the old Brooks
greystone mansion on Bellevue Avenue, Newport, where he entertained
with generous hospitality, as also, at his New York home, Fifth Avenue
corner of 38th street. He had a fine, old fashioned family butler, who
seemed to take delight in looking after the comfort of his friends and
guests. The last time I was in the New York house was at lunch with
the Austin Corbins, who had then rented and afterwards purchased it.
This was in 1886. Austin Corbin, financier and philanthropist was
killed by being thrown from his carriage at his country place at
Newport, N. H., in June, 1896, aged 69.

In Paris too, I would occasionally meet Mr. Bennett, and he generally
made some enquiry about the Panama Canal.

POLO AND HORSE-RACING.

What I have seen both of polo and horse-racing has made me consider them both, if not actually cruel sports for horses, at least those in which a great deal of unnecessary hard treatment is inflicted upon the poor animals who try to do their best. In polo they seem to be jerked about indiscriminately, and whacked over the head and body by the polo mallets. In running races the use of the whip and spur is often an abomination. I have seen a horse straining his utmost and at the same time receiving the cruel blows of the whip in a way which might naturally discourage him from making his best efforts, but which in addition to this, by cramping his nerves and muscles, must actually keep him back instead of leading him on. Often, too, this is done to some horse so far behind that he can have no chance of winning the race. I believe horses are frequently demoralized and even made vicious from the senseless and inhuman treatment they receive. To get the best out of a horse you have only to encourage, not discourage him. He understands more than we give him credit for.

My only experience as the owner of a race horse was during the spring of 1866, when I had bought a very pretty and graceful little animal, which had the name of “Carolina Filly.” She had been secured after the war by General Joseph J. Bartlett, who sold her to Mr. George W. Weld, from whom I bought her. She ran under my colors, blue and silver, once at Clyde Park, now the Country Club, but was not victorious.

RACES ON THE NEWPORT BEACH.

At 4.30 p. m. on the 30th of August, 1866, there was a flat race and steeple chase at Newport, at which 13 horses were entered, and an account of which appeared in the local press, as follows:—

GENTLEMEN RIDERS OF THE NEWPORT RACE
]

Newport has really had another sensation, in fact has been convulsed
to its “head” centre. (Allusion to Fenianism then very rampant.) Yes,
the old town has been startled by the spectacle of no less a modern
invention than a hurdle race!

“Is Saratoga to do all the racing?” muttered the Newport Jockey Club,
“Are there not greener laurels to be gathered in other fields? We have
no track it is true, yet we can make tracks. Our horses have not
received a university education, but what of that? _We_ have. We will
show them how to surmount difficulties. We will be our own jockeys,
and risk our own gentlemanly lives. It shall be neck or nothing.”

So it was settled there should be a race, and for the past week
Fashion has talked itself eloquent over the matter of hurdles. On
Thursday the excitement culminated when Easton’s Beach, where Channing
once drew inspiration, and where since, the lesser mortals have “drawn
their slow length along” in the moist costume of the sea, found itself
transformed into a race course, and its classic sands desecrated by
the presence of hurdles!

One great charm of the affair was to be its selectness. Only you and I
and our dear five hundred friends were to know anything about it. It
was to be a _bonne bouche_ for our private eating. Yet, strange to
say, five hundred people never can keep a secret, and the little
family party turned out to be the largest concourse of bipeds and
quadrupeds that Newport has seen for many a day. Fashion glittered and
shone, respectable elderly parties fairly thrilled with excitement.
Newport rich and Newport poor, stood side by side in every species of
vehicle, from barouche to butcher’s wagon. (There were about 7000
spectators and 500 carriages.) The way in which most of the horses
shied around the hurdles, bolted and did everything but go over them,
was delectable. Yet, let not the Jockey Club be disparaged.
Considering the circumstances its gallant members covered themselves
with glory,—a few of them were additionally covered with something of
a more clinging nature. One daring rider (Nathan Appleton) landed on
his head, another (Prince Ourousoff) mingled himself with the sands of
the sea, but all lived to tell the short but moving tale, and the
winner (Baron de Mesnil of Belgium) lived to receive a silver cup from
the hands of the lady (Mrs. Paran Stevens) who had been most actively
interested in the day’s sport. Thus does beauty reward the brave. In
honor of the _fait accompli_ the Jockey Club will give a fête the
beginning of next week. (Captain Harry Russell of Narragansett Avenue
was declared winner of the second race, which was a steeple chase, the
first one having been over a flat course of beach.) Pursuant to this
announcement cards were issued by the Gentlemen Riders of the Newport
Race, inviting their friends to the Jockeys’ Ball on Monday, September
3d, 1866, at the Academy of Music.

TEN YEARS LATER. A RETROSPECT.

Speaking of horse races in a letter from Newport to the Boston _Globe_, under date of August 26, 1876, I called to mind the events of ten years previous:—

“We have only to look up the records of ten years ago, and we will
find that then at least, perhaps even long before, they had taken
place. Ah! It was a brilliant season, that of 1866. We were a jolly
crowd, representing the _jeunesse dorée_ of many nations. There was a
young Russian Prince, several Frenchmen,—one representative of the old
_noblesse_ and another of the Napoleonic regime,—a sturdy Belgian, and
plenty of Americans, some fresh from the excitement of the war a year
before. And we had races on the beach when many were the mishaps that
befell the riders. One of them, needless to say who, had a
hard-mouthed horse which he could not control, and so, near the
finish, rushing up among the assembled crowd of carriages he
distinguished himself by leaping clear over a pony-phaeton, in which
were two young ladies, and then depositing himself half-stunned in the
sand. The account of this may be found in the old files of the Newport
_News_ but a better souvenir of it still remains for those who took
part, in the shape of a colored print now in the Country Club in
Brookline, which was published by one of the riders, an Irish
nobleman, Viscount Southwell, from his own sketch, in which he gives a
fanciful representation of the great race for a cup presented by Mrs.
Paran Stevens, the lady who then, as now (1876) presided so graciously
over many of Newport’s hospitalities and festivities, and whose
charming villa could tell many a tale of ‘vanished summer glory.’”

THE RACE AT NEWPORT.

The colored print of the race in the Country Club, by Viscount Southwell, represents the race as if it was on the turf instead of the sands of the beach, as was actually the case, but this was to make it more natural, as it was the only kind of race to which he was accustomed. In fact racing on the beach was a new departure, and I have heard it stated that this was the first one with “gentlemen riders” which had ever occurred, in the Northern States at least. He brought in on the slope of the hill leading down to the beach, the coach and four-in-hand of Hon. August Belmont, who had at that time the most correct equipages to be found in our country. Mr. Belmont in those days drove occasionally “en daumont,” i.e. four horses attached to an open barouche with _postillons_ dressed for summer in jackets, top boots and tall white hats, as you see them in Europe.

Mr. G. G. Gray would at times bring out his open break with five horses, three at the wheel, then two, and one on the lead, a very fanciful and effective rig. I must not forget that at the Country Club there is also a satin programme of the race, with the names of the horses, their owners and riders, contributed by some other person. It makes the affair complete, and it is a valuable relic of those old days of gayety.

In the summer of 1882, Mr. Ely Goddard had some marvellous turnouts. He had a fancy for horses of bay and white, like those you see in the circus, and often call “wishing horses,” and managed to drive them four-in-hand, unicorn, three abreast, tandem, a pair, or even one alone. It was really remarkable how he could find so many of these variegated animals to serve his purpose.

THE WASHINGTON CLUB.

As far as I can remember, the Washington Club in Paris, to which I refer in my recollections of James Gordon Bennett Jr., was started in the winter of 1868 and ’69, the idea being to have it a purely American club, on the same principles as those in the United States. I was not one of the incorporators, but joined it shortly after it was organized, and May 8, 1869, was elected one of the board of direction.

I hardly know what to say of the Washington Club, so many souvenirs does it now recall. Mr. Willett, always known as “Bronnie” Willett, was the first secretary, and I succeeded him in the first year, 1869, and continued until 1872. Mr. W. Pembroke Fetridge and I were the two most active persons in bringing Americans there, and having them join as temporary or permanent members.

While I held the position of secretary I kept the records very carefully, and one of the notes regarding membership I have now in my scrapbook from the pen of Mr. A. J. Drexel, of the banking house of Drexel, Harjes & Co.:—

3 Rue Scribe, Paris.
January 4, 1869

My dear Sir.

I am in receipt of the notification of my election to the “Washington
Club.”

After authorizing Mr. Bowles to propose my name, upon reflecting that
my stay here would be so short that it would be of no use to me to
join, I concluded to ask him when I saw him again, not to do so, and
therefore prefer declining to become a member, altho’ the Club has my
hearty sympathy.

Wishing, however, that one of our firm should become a member, I beg
of you to propose the name of our Mr. Eugene Winthrop in my place.
Hoping this substitution will be satisfactory to you

I remain very truly yours,
A. J. Drexel.

N. Appleton, Esq.

The first apartment the Washington Club occupied was a good suite of rooms, well adapted to its uses at that time, belonging to Dr. Thomas W. Evans in the Rue Auber, which he offered to the Club free of rent. They were, however, too high up, on the third floor, and not quite large enough, and during the summer of 1869, it was decided to take an apartment at the corner of the old Rue de la Paix, by the opening, or rather the beginning of the Avenue de l’Opera, diagonally across from the Grand Hotel, the first floor over the _entresol_.

When I returned from Egypt and the opening of the Suez Canal, I wrote my sister in Boston, December 19th, 1869, “We Americans have just got into our new club rooms on the corner of the Boulevard, what was formerly the Rue de la Paix (Now Place de l’Opera), and a new street cut through to the Bourse. It is the finest situation in Paris, and we are in a most prosperous state, and begin to wonder how we ever got on without a club before.”

It soon became popular in the American colony, and a rendezvous for the transient travellers.

Mr. Lorillard Spencer was the president, and Mr. J. F. Loubat the treasurer. I have preserved the receipt of my payment of 500 francs for membership. It is number 7, dated May 28, 1869, and signed by J. F. Loubat, who at the present time (1904) is le Duc de Loubat, a title he received from the Pope.

In New York, on September 28, 1873, he presented to me his book entitled “Narrative of the Mission to Russia in 1866, of the Hon. Gustavus Vasa Fox, Assistant Secretary of the Navy. From the Journal and Notes of J. F. Loubat.”

Mr. Wm. Pembroke Fetridge, Mr. Alfred Lockwood, Mr. de la Chaise, Dr. “Tom” Pratt, Mr. Sheppard, Armand Voisin, the Lorillards, George and Louis, Elisha Riggs, John Garcia and Augustus Samanos, both Cubans, Lloyd Phœnix, James Gordon Bennett, and others, were active members of the Club. Indeed the membership included many noted and rich Americans, with the Minister, Consul General, and other officials of the U. S. Government, as honorary members.

At that time there was no restaurant, but reading and card rooms, a billiard table and bar, and plenty of American newspapers.