CINCINNATI--THE TOWN--THE SUBURBS--A GERMAN CITY--"OVER THE
RHINE"--WHAT IS A GOOD PATRIOT?--AN IMPRESSIVE FUNERAL--A GREAT
FIRE--HOW IT APPEARED TO ME, AND HOW IT APPEARED TO THE NEWSPAPER
REPORTERS.
_Cincinnati, March 7._
My arrival in Cincinnati this morning was anything but triumphal.
On leaving the car, I gave my check to a cab-driver, who soon came to
inform me that my valise was broken. It was a leather one, and on being
thrown from the baggage-van on the platform, it burst open, and all my
things were scattered about. In England or in France, half a dozen
porters would have immediately come to the rescue, but here the porter
is practically unknown. Three or four men belonging to the company
gathered round, but, neither out of complaisance nor in the hope of
gain, did any of them offer his services. They looked on, laughed, and
enjoyed the scene. I daresay the betting was brisk as to whether I
should succeed in putting my things together or not. Thanks to a leather
strap I had in my bag, I managed to bind the portmanteau and have it
placed on the cab that drove to the Burnet House.
Immediately after registering my name, I went to buy an American trunk,
that is to say, an iron-bound trunk, to place my things in safety. I
have been told that trunk makers give a commission to the railway and
transfer baggagemen who, having broken trunks, recommend their owners to
go to such and such a place to buy new ones. This goes a long way toward
explaining the way in which baggage is treated in America.
[Illustration: MY BROKEN VALISE.]
On arriving in the dining-room, I was surprised to see the glasses of
all the guests filled with lemonade. "Why," thought I, "here is actually
an hotel which is not like all the other hotels." The lemonade turned
out to be water from the Ohio River. I could not help feeling grateful
for a change; any change, even that of the color of water. Anybody who
has traveled a great deal in America will appreciate the remark.
Cincinnati is built at the bottom of a funnel from which rise hundreds
of chimneys vomiting fire and smoke. From the neighboring heights, the
city looks like a huge furnace, and so it is, a furnace of industry and
activity. It reminded me of Glasgow.
If the city itself is anything but attractive, the residential parts are
perfectly lovely. I have seen nothing in America that surpasses Burnet
Wood, situated on the bordering heights of the town, scattered with
beautiful villas, and itself a mixture of a wilderness and a lovely
park. A kind friend drove me for three hours through the entire
neighborhood, giving me, in American fashion, the history of the owner
of each residence we passed. Here was the house of Mr. A., or rather Mr.
A. B. C, every American having three names. He came to the city twenty
years ago without a dollar. Five years later he had five millions. He
speculated and lost all, went to Chicago and made millions, which he
afterward lost. Now again he has several millions, and so on. This is
common enough in America. By and by, we passed the most beautiful of all
the villas of Burnet Wood--the house of the Oil King, Mr. Alexander
Macdonald, one of those wonderfully successful men, such as Scotland
alone can boast all the world over. America has been a great field for
the display of Scotch intelligence and industry.
After visiting the pretty museum at Eden Park, a museum organized in
1880 in consequence of Mr. Charles W. West's offer to give $150,000 for
that purpose, and already in possession of very good works of art and
many valuable treasures, we returned to the city and stopped at the
Public Library. Over 200,000 volumes, representing all the branches of
science and literature, are there, as well as a collection of all the
newspapers of the world, placed in chronological order on the shelves
and neatly bound. I believe that this collection of newspapers and that
of Washington are the two best known. In the public reading-room,
hundreds of people are running over the newspapers from Europe and all
the principal cities of the United States. My best thanks are due to Mr.
Whelpley, the librarian, for his kindness in conducting me all over this
interesting place. Upstairs I was shown the room where the members of
the Council of Education hold their sittings. The room was all
topsy-turvey. Twenty-six desks and twenty-six chairs was about all the
furniture of the room. In a corner, piled up together, were the
cuspidores. I counted. Twenty-six. Right.
After thanking my kind pilot, I returned to the Burnet House to read the
evening papers. I read that the next day I was to breakfast with Mr. A.,
lunch with Mr. B., and dine with Mr. C. The _menu_ was not published. I
take it for granted that this piece of intelligence is quite interesting
to the readers of Cincinnati.
My evening being free, I looked at the column of amusements. The first
did not tempt me, it was this:
THE KING OF THE SWAMPS.
_The Only and the Original._
ENGLISH JACK.
THE INCOMPREHENSIBLE FROG MAN.
He makes a frog pond of his stomach by eating living frogs. An
appetite created by life in the swamps. He is so fond of this sort of
food that he takes the pretty creatures by the hind legs, and before
they can say their prayers they are inside out of the cold.
[Illustration: "THE KING OF THE SWAMPS."]
The next advertisement was that of a variety show, that most stupid form
of entertainment so popular in America; the next was the announcement of
pugilists, and another one that of a "most sensational drama, in which
'one of the most emotional actresses' in America" was to appear,
supported by "one of the most powerful casts ever gathered together in
the world."
The superlatives, in American advertisements, have long ceased to have
the slightest effect upon me.
The advertisement of another "show" ran thus: I beg to reproduce it in
its entirety; indeed it would be a sacrilege to meddle with it.
TO THE PUBLIC.
_My Friends and Former Patrons_: I have now been before the public for
the past seventeen years, and am perhaps too well known to require
further evidence of my character and integrity than my past life and
record will show. Fifteen years ago I inaugurated the system of
dispensing presents to the public, believing that a fair share of my
profits could thus honestly be returned to my patrons. At the outset,
and ever since, it has been my aim to deal honestly toward the
multitude who have given me patronage. Since that time many imitators
have undertaken to beguile the public, with but varying success. Many
unprincipled rascals have also appeared upon the scene, men without
talent, but far-reaching talons, who by specious promises have sought
to swindle all whom they could inveigle. This class of scoundrels do
not hesitate to make promises that they cannot and never intend to
fulfill, and should be frowned down by all honest men. They deceive
the public, leave a bad impression, and thus injure legitimate
exhibitions. Every promise I make will be faithfully fulfilled, as
experience has clearly proven that dealing uprightly with the public
brings its sure reward. All who visit my beautiful entertainment may
rely upon the same fair dealing which has been my life-long policy,
and which has always honored me with crowded houses.
NEW UNIQUE PASTIMES. NEW HARMLESS MIRTH.
NEW COSTLY WONDERS. NEW FAMOUS ARTISTS.
NEW PLEASANT STUDIES. NEW INNOCENT FUN.
NEW POPULAR MUSIC. NEW KNOWLEDGE.
_Special Notice._
Ladies and Children are especially Invited to Attend this
Entertainment. We Guarantee it to be Chaste, Pure, and as Wholesome
and Innocent as it is Amusing and Laughable.
Finally I decided on going to see a German tragedy. I did not understand
it, but the acting seemed to me good.
* * * * *
[Illustration: A GERMAN TRAGEDY.]
Like Milwaukee, Cincinnati possesses a very strong German element.
Indeed a whole part of the city is entirely inhabited by a German
population, and situated on one side of the water. When you cross the
bridge in its direction, you are going "over the Rhine," to use the
local expression. "To go over the Rhine" of an evening means to go to
one of the many German _Brauerei_, and have sausages and Bavarian beer
for supper.
The town is a very prosperous one. The Germans in America are liked for
their steadiness and industry. An American friend even told me that the
Germans were perhaps the best patriots the United States could boast of.
Patriots! The word sounded strangely to my ears. I may be prejudiced,
but I call a good patriot a man who loves his own mother country. You
may like the land of your adoption, but you love the land of your birth.
Good patriots! I call a good brother a man who loves his sister, not
other people's sisters.
The Germans apply for their naturalization papers the day after they
have landed. I should admire their patriotism much more if they waited a
little longer before they changed their own mother for a step-mother.
* * * * *
_March 8._
I witnessed a most impressive ceremony this morning, the funeral of the
American Minister Plenipotentiary to the Court of Berlin, whose body was
brought from Germany to his native place a few days ago. No soldiers
ordered to accompany the _cortege,_ no uniforms, but thousands of people
voluntarily doing honor to the remains of a talented and respected
fellow-citizen and townsman: a truly republican ceremony in its
simplicity and earnestness.
The coffin was taken to the Music Hall, a new and beautiful building
capable of accommodating thousands of people, and placed on the platform
amid evergreens and the Stars and Stripes. In a few minutes, the hall,
decorated with taste but with appropriate simplicity, was packed from
floor to ceiling. Some notables and friends of the late Minister sat on
the platform around the coffin, and the mayor, in the name of the
inhabitants of the city, delivered a speech, a eulogistic funeral
oration, on the deceased diplomatist. All parties were represented in
the hall, Republicans and Democrats alike had come. America admits no
party feeling, no recollection of political differences, to intrude upon
the homage she gratefully renders to the memory of her illustrious dead.
The mayor's speech, listened to by the crowd in respectful silence, was
much like all the speeches delivered on such occasions, including the
indispensable sentence that "he knew he could safely affirm that the
deceased had never made any enemies." When I hear a man spoken of, after
his death, as never having made any enemies, as a Christian I admire
him, but I also come to the conclusion that he must have been a very
insignificant member of the community. But the phrase, I should
remember, is a mere piece of flattery to the dead, in a country where
death puts a stop to all enmity, political enmity especially. The same
would be done in England, and almost everywhere. Not in France, however,
where the dead continue to have implacable enemies for many years after
they have left the lists.
* * * * *
The afternoon was pleasantly spent visiting the town hall and the
remarkable china manufactories, which turn out very pretty, quaint, and
artistic pottery. The evening brought to the Odeon a fashionable and
most cultivated audience. I am invited to pay a return visit to this
city. I shall look forward to the pleasure of lecturing here again in
April.
* * * * *
_March 9._
Spent a most agreeable Sunday in the hospitable house of M. Fredin, the
French consular agent, and his amiable and talented wife. M. Fredin was
kind enough to call yesterday at the Burnet House.
As a rule, I never call on the representatives of France in my travels
abroad. If I traveled as a tourist, I would; but traveling as a
lecturer, I should be afraid lest the object of my visits might be
misconstrued, and taken as a gentle hint to patronize me.
One day I had a good laugh with a French consul, in an English town
where I came to lecture. On arriving at the hall I found a letter from
this diplomatic compatriot, in which he expressed his surprise that I
had not apprised him of my arrival. The next morning, before leaving the
town, I called on him. He welcomed me most gracefully.
"Why did you not let me, your consul, know that you were coming?" he
said to me.
"Well, Monsieur le Consul," I replied, "suppose I wrote to you:
'Monsieur le Consul, I shall arrive at N. on Friday,' and suppose, now,
just suppose, that you answered me, 'Sir, I am glad to hear you will
arrive here on Friday, but what on earth is that to me?'"
He saw the point at once. A Frenchman always does.
* * * * *
_March 10._
I like this land of conjuring. This morning I took the street car to go
on the Burnet Hills. At the foot of the hill the car--horses, and
all--enters a little house. The house climbs the hill vertically by
means of cables. Arrived at the top of the mountain, the car comes out
of the little house and goes on its way, just as if absolutely nothing
had happened. To return to town, I went down the hill in the same
fashion. But if the cable should break, you will exclaim, where would
you be? Ah, there you are! It does not break. It did once, so now they
see that it does not again.
[Illustration: A VARIETY ACTOR.]
In the evening there was nothing to see except variety shows and
wrestlers. There was a variety show which tempted me, the Hermann's
Vaudevilles. I saw on the list of attractions the name of my friend and
compatriot, F. Trewey, the famous shadowgraphist, and I concluded that
if the other artistes were as good in their lines as he is in his, it
would be well worth seeing. The show was very good of its kind, and
Trewey was admirable; but the audience were not refined, and it was not
his most subtle and artistic tricks that they applauded most, but the
broader and more striking ones. After the show he and I went "over the
Rhine." You know what it means.
* * * * *
_March 11, 9 a. m._
For a long time I had wished to see the wonderful American fire brigades
at work. The wish has now been satisfied.
At half-past one this morning I was roused in my bed by the galloping of
horses and the shouts of people in the street. Huge tongues of fire were
licking my window, and the heat in the room was intense. Indeed, all
around me seemed to be in a blaze, and I took it for granted that the
Burnet House was on fire. I rose and dressed quickly, put together the
few valuables that were in my possession, and prepared to make for the
street. I soon saw, however, that it was a block of houses opposite that
was on fire, or rather the corner house of that block.
The guests of the hotel were in the corridors ready for any emergency.
Had there been any wind in our direction, the hotel was doomed. The
night was calm and wet. As soon as we became aware that no lives were
lost or in danger in the burning building, and that it would only be a
question of insurance money to be paid by some companies, we betook
ourselves to admire the magnificent sight. For it was a magnificent
sight, this whole large building, the prey of flames coming in torrents
out of every window, the dogged perseverance of the firemen streaming
floods of water over the roof and through the windows, the salvage
corps men penetrating through the flames into the building in the hope
of receiving the next day a commission on all the goods and valuables
saved. A fierce battle it was between a brute element and man. By three
o'clock the element was conquered, but only the four walls of the
building remained, which proved to me that, with all their wonderful
promptitude and gallantry, all firemen can do when flames have got firm
hold on a building is to save the adjoining property.
[Illustration: A FIRE YARN.]
I listened to the different groups of people in the hotel. Some gave
advice as to how the firemen should set about their work, or criticised.
Others related the big fires they had witnessed, a few indulging in the
recital of the exploits they performed thereat. There are a good many
Gascons among the Americans. At four o'clock all danger was over, and we
all retired.
[Illustration: AS WE SAW IT.]
* * * * *
[Illustration: AS THE REPORTERS SAW IT.]
I was longing to read the descriptions of the fire in this morning's
papers. I have now read them and am not at all disappointed. On the
contrary, they are beyond my most sanguine expectations. Wonderful;
simply perfectly wonderful! I am now trying to persuade myself that I
really saw all that the reporters saw, and that I really ran great
danger last night. For, "at every turn," it appears, "the noble hotel
seemed as if it must become the prey of the fierce element, and could
only be saved by a miracle." Columns and columns of details most
graphically given, sensational, blood-curdling. But all that is nothing.
You should read about the panic, and the scenes of wild confusion in the
Burnet House, when all the good folks, who had all dressed and were
looking quietly at the fire from the windows, are described as a crowd
of people in despair: women disheveled, in their night-dresses, running
wild, and throwing themselves in the arms of men to seek protection, and
all shrieking and panic-stricken. Such a scene of confusion and terror
you can hardly imagine. Wonderful!
[Illustration: THE FIREMAN.]
[Illustration]