and they may properly be told in this connection. A few years ago
I was interested in the study of crystallizations, and made some
experiments in the laboratory of a chemical friend. We tried a long
time to get up rubies and sapphires, and followed the processes of
Ebelman and Gaudin as closely as possible. Artificial crystals of
alumina have been produced, but they have always been so small as to
require a microscope for their discovery, and any attempt to color
them has failed. In the course of our experiment we came in contact
with a scientific gentleman of considerable repute. He assisted us
in some of our efforts, but we never succeeded in them, not even
producing the smallest crystal. Finally, we gave up the enterprise,
and turned our attention to something else.
Three or four months later I met this scientist, Professor Blank, in
the corridor of the Astor House. He was delighted to see me, and said
he had called two or three times on business of importance, which he
could only explain at his rooms.
We made an appointment for that evening, and he went away.
I was on hand at the appointed hour, and, after carefully locking the
door, the professor became confidential.
[Sidenote: COUNTERFEIT SAPPHIRES.]
“You remember your experiments to produce sapphires,” he said, “and
you also remember that I took great interest in them. When you were
disheartened and gave up, I did not abandon hope, and at last I have
been rewarded. I have produced a perfect sapphire by following another
process from yours. You used alumina and boracic acid; I have been
using the same things, but have added another acid, and an oxide that
gives the color to the stone at the same time that it facilitates the
crystallization. Here is the result.”
As he spoke he opened a table drawer, and from a small box produced
three beautiful stones. Apparently they were sapphires of correct
shape, color, and density, and worth a great deal of money. They
reflected the gas light, and for a short time I saw a fortune before
me. When I had examined them thoroughly and placed them on the
table, the professor continued: “Now, these are sapphires made in my
laboratory—just as Nature has made them in hers. They are of the same
material as the natural sapphire, and a man can sell them for genuine
stones and not be guilty of any fraud.”
I assented to his proposition.
“Here is a fortune in my secret; but to make the secret available, it
is necessary to proceed with great caution. The instant it is known
or suspected that the stones are made by an artificial process, the
market will be ruined. I have thought the whole thing over, and
determined upon a plan. We will form a small company, the fewer men
in it the better, and fit up a laboratory in connection with a tin
shop, or something of the sort. The shop will be a blind to prevent
suspicion, and the laboratory can be in the rear, where we will
pretend to have a new process for soldering tin. When the stones are
made, we can put them on the market slowly, and sell them just fast
enough to prevent getting up a panic.”
[Sidenote: A MAGNIFICENT SCHEME.]
He went on with the details of his scheme, which was plausible enough,
only it was a trifle too large. Had he been an adventurer, I should
have suspected him at once; but here was a scientific gentleman, whose
name was on the title page of a book that had been received as an
authority, and, so far as I knew, his reputation was without blemish.
I was captivated by the brilliancy of the enterprise, and readily
consented to join him and bring the matter to the attention of some
of my friends. He wanted about twenty thousand dollars for a share in
the secret, and as capital wherewith to set up and stock his proposed
laboratory. To wind up the evening and leave me fully convinced, he
opened a crucible, which, he averred, he had that afternoon taken from
the furnace and laid away to cool. From the black mass of slag at the
bottom he extracted a couple of sapphires, smaller than the ones he
had previously shown me, but as perfect in every way as the others. My
mind was nearly but not quite made up. I asked the privilege of taking
one of these latest sapphires, and also one of the others, to show to
a friend whom I wished to join me in the speculation.
The professor consented, with the injunction that I must not reveal
the secret of their manufacture, and that I should be very cautious
about exciting the suspicion of any outsider as to their artificial
character. “We must be very careful,” said he, “not to let the dealers
know that the stones are not dug from the ground, like all others
in the market. They are in every respect the same, but the question
of demand and supply tells more readily on precious stones than on
anything else that men deal in.”
[Sidenote: FINDING A CLUE.]
Next morning I jumped into an omnibus and rode down town. I went to a
lapidary on John Street, with whom I had a slight acquaintance, and at
once showed him my sapphires. He looked at them just an instant, and
asked what I wanted to know about them. I asked what he called those
stones.
“Well,” he replied, with a smile, “they are very good imitations of
sapphires.”
“Imitations!”
“Yes, imitations; I ought to know, for I made them myself.”
A gigantic flea at that instant—a flea as large as an elephant—entered
my right ear, and jumped about like a schoolboy exercising across a
gutter. The lapidary continued, that he made the stones to order, and
three others at the same time, about a month before, but declined to
tell me for whom they were made. They were made of strass, a fine
article of glass, consisting mainly of potash, oxide of lead, borax,
and silex. Nearly all artificial gems are made of strass, and the
colors are obtained by adding certain oxides while the substance is in
a state of fusion. Diamonds, sapphires, rubies, and amethysts, made
of strass, may deceive a novice, and even be made so skilfully as to
require a careful test before deciding on their character; but you can
no more sell them for genuine to a regular dealer than you can make a
butcher buy a poodle under the belief that it is a bull-dog.
I returned the gems to the professor that evening, with the brief
explanation that my friend was averse to a speculation on account of
a lack of funds, and that an unexpected development had rendered it
impossible for me to invest. He did not press for an explanation, and
we separated with mutual regrets.
Another time a man who had been for several years on the Pacific coast
came to New York, and lived a month or two at my hotel, without any
appearance of business. I formed an acquaintance with him one day at
the table, and found that he was a good talker, and well informed on
mining matters. Our acquaintance ran on a week or so, and one day he
invited me to his room, and showed me some specimens of copper ore.
They were of wonderful richness, and while I was looking at them he
explained that he knew where there was a vein six feet wide and a half
a mile long of just such ore. He said it in the most careless way
imaginable, and remarked that he thought he had about as good a thing
as there was going.
[Sidenote: A BOGUS COPPER MINE.]
I thought so, too; and after a few minutes’ conversation we separated.
Nothing more was said for several days, when finally he asked if
I knew anybody who would like to join him in working the mine and
sharing the profits. There was more than he wanted for himself, and
he would like to be relieved of the trouble of looking after it. The
mine was on the Colorado River, in Lower California, and was a very
easy one to work. I took some of his samples of ore, and showed them
to a speculating friend, who said, “This is a wonderfully rich ore,
and there is no end of money in it, if he is talking the truth. It is
worth looking into, but we must be cautious.”
Ten of us formed a company, and agreed to pay him a hundred thousand
dollars for a half interest in the mine, if it turned out as he
represented. He described it minutely, over and over again, and his
story appeared perfectly plausible. He was ready to go there with
any of us, show us the property, and satisfy us that he had told the
truth. We sent one of our number to California with him, and at San
Francisco a couple of gentlemen, to whom we had written, joined the
twain, and made a party of four to go to the copper mine. All the way
he talked about the mine—from New York to San Francisco, and from
the latter city to the Colorado River. Several copper mines had been
opened in that region, and he spent a day escorting the party among
the reduction works of these companies. Up the banks of the river he
led them about twenty miles from the last of these mines, and then
acknowledged that the whole thing was a deception, and that he had no
mine to sell.
The two Californians proposed shooting him on the spot; but the New
Yorker had a prejudice against shedding blood, and persuaded his
friends to let the scoundrel escape. He did not return with them, and
he never reappeared in New York; but he did turn up in San Francisco,
where he sold for ten thousand dollars (and obtained the money for
it), a quarter interest in a mine to which he had no more title than I
have to a township in the moon. He was a plausible wretch, and could
look you straight in the eye while telling a lie as big and as plump
as the swelled head of an Irishman the morning after a wake.
[Sidenote: SHOT BY MISTAKE.]
I believe he was subsequently mistaken for a coyote, and shot by a
miner whose claim he had been endeavoring to steal and sell. The miner
regretted the mistake, or, at all events, said that he was sorry that
somebody else had not made the mistake, and made it earlier.
LXV.
PERQUISITES.
CURIOSITIES OF COMMERCIAL TRANSACTIONS.—PAYING COMMISSIONS IN
EUROPE.—FUNNY EXPERIENCES.—SPREAD OF THE CUSTOM IN AMERICA.—HOW
CONTRACTS ARE OBTAINED AND PAID FOR.—COMMISSIONS TO TRADESMEN AND
OTHERS.—CURIOUS FEATURES OF THE PIANO TRADE.
American travellers in Europe frequently express astonishment at the
commission system which prevails there among all classes of people.
From the moment you land on European soil till the moment you leave
it, you are the subject, or rather the object, of commissioners of
every possible variety. I do not refer to the parties who expect and
require you to pay money for direct services, but to those who make
money out of you in an indirect way. You step on the dock at Liverpool
or Havre, and an officious porter takes you in charge, and hands you
over to a cabman. You pay the porter for his services, and think
that the money you give him is all he receives. Not a bit of it. The
cabman gives the porter a commission on the money which you pay for
your ride, and very often this commission is a heavy one. Instances
have come to my knowledge wherein the porter or servant engaging a
carriage was paid twenty-five per cent. of the fare; and I once looked
from a doorway in Rome, and saw the cabman give my _valet de place_
exactly half the money which the former had received from me; and I
had paid him only a few cents above the regular tariff. The couriers,
or travelling servants, receive a commission on the hotel bills of
the tourists whom they accompany, and also a commission on nearly
all their bills of whatever sort. If you make purchases in shops,
it will very likely make a difference of five or ten per cent. in
your bills whether you are accompanied by a courier or valet. Some of
these fellows are constantly urging you to go to shops where you are
likely to buy something, and very ingenious are the devices by which
they wheedle you, or endeavor to wheedle you, into buying something.
The shrewdest of them pretend to be your friends, and take your part
with a great deal of vigor. I have in mind a valet that a party of us
hired, one day, to show us the sights in the vicinity of Naples. We
thought he was a capital fellow, as he was exceedingly earnest in his
efforts to save us from the grasp of the swindlers. There were many
sights to be seen, and consequently many fees to be paid; and he took
especial care that we did not pay too much. A custodian would demand
four francs for admitting the party to the special curiosity in his
charge. “Two francs is the proper charge,” our conductor would say;
and if the custodian persisted in his outrageous demand, our guardian
would threaten to erect a dormer window on him. We, of course, would
pay the two francs, and rejoice that we had not been defrauded. We
learned, next day, that one franc would have been sufficient, and that
the extra franc was divided between the custodian and our valet. He
made a nice day’s work of it, as he received, in addition to his hire
and commissions, a present of five francs from us for his fidelity.
When we returned to the city, he took us to a coral store, but
declined to enter, as he feared the proprietor would take advantage of
us on account of his presence, and charge an extra sum, on pretence of
expecting to pay commission. We learned afterwards that this was one
of the tricks of the trade. It made us more willing to purchase, as it
threw us off our guard; and no doubt the storekeeper and the valet had
a laugh over the circumstance when the latter received his commission.
For ways that are dark, and for tricks that are not in vain, commend
me to a courier or a _valet de place_ in Europe.
[Sidenote: TRICKS UPON EUROPEAN TRAVELLERS.]
[Sidenote: REGULATING SWINDLES.]
Sometimes this universal practice of giving commissions leads to
funny experiences on the part of travellers. In 1867, the year of
the Exposition, it was my fortune to be in Paris, and to see the
capital in its gayest and most prosperous times. Every Parisian, in
whatever business engaged, was counting upon making a fortune, or, at
all events, upon laying a broad and solid foundation for it. Prices
were exorbitant; trade was brisk, and money was plenty. For had not
the foreigners come from all parts of the globe, with abundance of
cash, which they were scattering as the farmer scatters the grain he
sows? The police came to the relief of the much-defrauded public; but
though they regulated the cabmen and other public personages, they
could not regulate the shop-keepers. Merchants would coolly demand
a hundred francs for an article worth no more than twenty, and when
you taxed them with an attempt to swindle, they explained that they
must live, and that rents were very high. One day I found a small
spot of grease on my hat, and stepped into a hat store close by the
Grand Hotel. The shopman examined the hat for at least a minute, and
then sent for the foreman of the work-room. The latter came, and the
twain held a solemn consultation, that resulted in a proposition to
eradicate the obnoxious grease if they could have three days’ time,
and at an expense of twelve francs. I declined, and walked out. The
same afternoon, at a small hat store in the Latin Quarter, the stain
was removed inside of ten minutes, by the use of a hot iron; and the
whole work cost but half a franc.
[Sidenote: AN AMUSING EXPERIENCE.]
There were lots of Americans in Paris at that time, and the most of
them did not know enough French to swear in, much less to make a
purchase, or order a breakfast. They used to fall upon such of us
as knew the language, and compel us to act the part of valets in
accompanying them on shopping tours. Very soon we were utterly sick of
this amusement, and used to invent all sorts of excuses to be rid of
it. One day I had some fun that lasted me a week at least, and was a
standing joke, which several of my friends enjoyed hugely. A gentleman
and lady of my acquaintance induced me to accompany them to a shop
on the _Rue de la Paix_, where I was to act as their interpreter in
some projected purchases. I was the go-between in the transaction, and
faithfully rendered the English of the patrons into the French of
the shop-keeper, and _vice versâ_. The purchases amounted to nearly
three hundred francs; the goods were wrapped, and the money was paid
over. My friends were taking a final glance into the show-cases on one
side of the shop, while I was looking at something on the other side,
and holding, by accident, my open hand on the counter. The shopman
slipped a twenty-franc piece into my hand. His action surprised me for
an instant; but I speedily comprehended the situation, closed upon
the coin, and then took a sly glance at it. “_Dix francs encore_,”
I demanded, in a whisper, and shook my head. There was a look of
expostulation on the face of the merchant; but I repeated my demand,
and received the extra ten francs. We left the shop, and I kept the
occurrence to myself until evening, when I narrated it, in the _café_
of the Grand Hotel, to a little group which included the gentleman
whom I had accompanied. He was boasting of the cheapness with which
he bought his articles that day, and recommended the shop as the most
honest one in Paris. Then I came out with my story, and produced
the identical money received from the dealer in _bijouterie_. The
champagne which was bought with those thirty francs proved to be a
very good article, but somewhat high priced, though no more so than
the like material which my patron was obliged to purchase as soon as
my commission was expended. He did not hear the last of that affair
for some time, nor did I.
The foregoing is a prologue to a few remarks—rather a long prologue,
I admit—upon the fraud of this custom of giving commissions in
America. How long it has existed here, I do not know. Quite likely the
fellow who negotiated the sale of Manhattan Island for twenty-four
dollars, in the days of Hendrick Hudson, received a commission
for his services; and it may be that the ministers who surrounded
Ferdinand and Isabella, and persuaded them to listen to the daring
Genoese navigator, and favor his project for a new route to the
Indies, received a commission from Columbus as soon as the money for
equipping his fleet was secured from the king and queen. History
records that the Mayflower was very poorly equipped when she sailed
with the Pilgrims for Plymouth Rock, and that the contractors who
furnished her did not comply either with the letter or spirit of their
agreement. If the matter could be investigated, I have little doubt
we should find that the contractors were obliged to pay a commission
to somebody, and that they found it so heavy as to take away all
their profits, and compel them to the dreadful alternatives of being
dishonest or losing money by the operation. At any rate, this is
frequently the case nowadays, and I have known a man to be pressed so
sorely by the commission-seekers that he found a contract, originally
supposed to be very fat, to turn out so lean as to be no better than a
skeleton. Particularly is this so with matters connected with the city
government in New York.
[Sidenote: STORY OF THE TAMMANY RING.]
In the days of the Ring, a man would seek, we will say, a contract for
paving a certain number of streets. He would pay a member of the Board
of Aldermen to introduce a resolution authorizing the said pavement.
Then a committee would be appointed to investigate the matter, and
the committee would need something to help support their families,
and also to secure a favorable report. Next it would be necessary
to interview a sufficient number of the members to make a majority,
and then the resolution would go through. The same course would be
followed with the Board of Assistant Aldermen before the resolution
would become a law of the city, and enable the pavement to proceed.
And when the work is finished, there is trouble about getting the
money for it. First comes the inspector, who is to pronounce upon
the work, and say whether the terms of the contract have been met.
His salary is small, and his expenses are large. He is the head of
a numerous family, and is required to contribute to the success of
his political party; and such success requires money. A judicious
salve of greenbacks spread over the contract enables him to see as he
should see, and he reports favorably. Then come the Board of Audit,
Supervisors, and the like. They may not all need money; but there
are certain members and _attachés_ who are poor, but dishonest,
and are struggling manfully against the floods and storms of this
wicked and weary world. Delays are dangerous and vexatious, and to
secure expedition and favorable action, there is nothing so good as
money. And then there is the work of getting the money after the
payment has been ordered, and very often somebody in the financial
department of the city and county of New York will demand and receive
his commission. Then there are outside bills to persons of influence,
and when one has been settled, another and another will make its
appearance.
[Sidenote: UNDERCURRENTS OF CONTRACTS.]
I have made no fancy sketch. This is the history of many a
contract—probably of most of the contracts—with the city government
of New York in the past twenty-five years. And it is for this reason
that such exorbitant prices are paid for paving, street cleaning, and
all other city work; and it is for this reason that many contracts
which appear exceedingly profitable on their face, really furnish
little or no profit. I have known several men who had large contracts
on which they actually lost money, and I have in mind one who was
driven into bankruptcy by a contract out of which he expected to make
a large amount of money. He had calculated upon a shave of fifty
per cent., and made his terms accordingly. But his actual proceeds
were only twenty-two per cent. of the face of the contract, and even
for that amount he was compelled to wait so long that he could not
meet his outstanding bills, and became a financial wreck. Other city
governments may be bad, but I think none of them are equal to that
which has its scene of operations on Manhattan Island. I leave out
of the case altogether the forgeries and raised bills of the Ring
operators, and consider only those contracts which may be classed as
strictly legitimate.
[Sidenote: THE HOTEL-KEEPER AND ALDERMEN.]
There is a good little story which is told of a noted hotel-keeper,
whose name I will not mention, though there are dozens of New Yorkers
who can give it, and can vouch for the correctness of the narrative.
Some years ago there was a foreign embassy here, and the city
government showed many attentions to it. Our Boniface obtained from
the Board of Aldermen an order for a grand dinner to the embassy,
and a splendid affair it was. The bill was about three times what
it should have been; but Boniface was a good fellow, and agreed to
divide with the aldermen if they would put it through. They did so,
and, what was more, they ordered the immediate payment of the money.
It was paid; and Boniface sent word to the members who had befriended
him to come to the hotel at a certain hour, next day, and he would
do the handsome thing. They came promptly, every man of them, and
were assembled in one of the parlors. Boniface was among them, with a
greeting for everybody, and he poured out his wine in the most liberal
manner. He was a good talker, and kept them amused with his wine and
his stories for a full hour or more. But time was pressing, and some
of them hinted that they had better end the business, and separate.
“Don’t go yet,” said Boniface; “take some more wine.”
They took it, and hinted that they came for the divide.
“Take some more wine, boys; I’m going to do the handsome thing.”
“But that divvy, Bonny,” urged one of the party. “We can’t stay
longer, as we have a meeting this afternoon, and it is almost time for
it.”
“Boys,” said the hotel-keeper, “I’ve just ordered a basket of this
wine for each of you, and you will find it at your houses when you go
home.”
“Hang the wine! We want that money, and that’s what we came for.”
“Now, boys,” said Bonny, seating himself in an arm-chair, and smiling
till his mouth resembled the entrance to a railway tunnel, “I suppose
you’d call me a d—d skunk, if I went back on you, and didn’t hand over
a cent.”
“Of course we should,” said half a dozen, almost in unison; “but we
don’t think you’d do that.”
“Well, that’s just about the size of it,” he replied. “I’ve got the
money, and mean to keep it. You may have all the wine you want, but
I’m not going to corrupt you with money, and you may call me what you
d—n please. Have some more wine, boys; have some more wine.”
The boys were in no mood for drinking just then. They went away
sorrowing, and they all cursed him in all the epithets known to the
language. It is even said that they offered liberal premiums to
anybody who would invent fresh forms of swearing, so that they could
speak their minds fairly. Common profanity wouldn’t do.
[Sidenote: AN UNDERTAKING COMMISSION.]