MEN I MET IN PARIS
1856-1857
My life in Paris seems now like a romance to my memory. I was
twenty-seven, and thought I had seen all the world, but discovered how
little I knew, compared with others whom I met. I found, as in all these
foreign cities, that notables in society and in public life often did
not know one another. At Count Arthur De La More's, of the Orleanist
staff, I found the greatest hostility toward the Emperor. One day we
were sitting in the entresol, at his rooms on the Rue de Rivoli,
opposite the Tuileries, and he asked me whether I could see that man
walking on the veranda of the Tuileries. I said I could, to which he
replied: "Could one of your sharpshooters pick him off from here?" I
looked up with surprise, and thought I saw the future assassin of the
Emperor, but said nothing. I told him some of our men like Daniel Boone
and David Crockett could have picked off a squirrel as far as they could
see it. It was a little while after this that the Orsini bomb was fired
at the Emperor. This was because Napoleon, though a member of the
Carbonari, had "gone back on" the order; but his life was spared.
Prince Galitzen of Russia gave me a dinner at the Cafe Philippe, where I
met some of the Russian nobility. These men were the cleverest I have
ever seen. All were good linguists, artists, statesmen, soldiers, men of
the world. At Prince Czartoryski's I met leading Poles, who were still
revolutionists, plotting against Russia. One of these, a man of about
eighty, said to me: "In my teens I went to St. Petersburg, saw Alexander
and told him the condition of Poland. I asked him what he was going to
do. He asked me what I should recommend. 'There are two ways of
governing Poland,' I said; 'through interest or through fear.' Fear was
the policy adopted. When I was forty, I again went to St. Petersburg.
Nicholas was Czar, and he repeated the same question. I again answered,
'through interest or through fear.' When I was sixty I met another
Emperor, and the same question was put to me, and I made the same reply.
Poland is partitioned," he added; "and we are now only a memory."
At Leon Lillo's I met many Spaniards of the nobility and the ruling
family. I still think that Lillo was the son of Queen Cristina, by her
husband the Duke of Rianzares, a common soldier, of physical beauty,
whom she had taken from the ranks and made a Duke. I used to meet him at
Lillo's. Cristina, who was then probably the richest woman in the world,
had bought Malmaison, the palace of Josephine. It was through this
connection that I met Salamanca, the Spanish Rothschild, her banker. I
shall speak later of how I got the funds to build the Atlantic and Great
Western Railway, connecting the Erie Railway with the Ohio and
Mississippi Railway.
At the Marquis del Grillo's I met his wife, the great Italian
tragedienne, Ristori, whom I had seen on the stage in "Elizabeth." I met
leading men of the Second Empire at the house of the Count de Rouville,
including Persigny, the Foreign Minister, Count de Morny, the Minister
of War, Walewski, Prince "Plon-Plon," and Mocquard, private secretary to
the Emperor. At Triat's Gymnase I met the men who afterward organized
the Commune. At the house of Mrs. Winfield Scott, who was then living
in Paris, I met many Americans, and at Castle's I saw "Bohemia."
Meeting all these different persons, distinguished in the great world of
Paris, I was gaining the knowledge that would make me a walking library
of political affairs in Europe. This made up for the loss of a college
career. Practical experience and observation were my university.
That year, '56-'57, was a very important time in my life in many ways. I
received an invitation to a ball at the Tuileries, engraved in the
usual style, on a card a foot square, and bearing the enormous seal of
the Second Empire. For the first time in my life I appeared in borrowed
plumes. I hired what I call a "flunkey" suit, and paid forty-five francs
for it. In this I was presented. It was not a civil nor a military suit,
but a sort of mongrel affair, that served me as a court costume. Of
course, my wife appeared in proper evening dress. There were four
thousand persons present, the highest in the society of Paris, military
and civil--ambassadors in their regalia, regimental officers in their
different uniforms, and the aristocracy in their robes. There were also
Algerian officers. Although the Tuileries was very large, the four
thousand guests found themselves in much crowded rooms.
During this reception and ball I suddenly felt some cold substance going
down my back. Putting my hand to my neck, I found there a cupful of
ice-cream that an Algerian officer had dropped, with the usual "Pardon,
monsieur." I assured him it was all right, but the ice-cream gave me a
decidedly boreal feeling.
The ball was in the usual court style, and I shall not undertake to
describe it. After some time had passed, all at once there was silence,
instead of the terrible hum. It was the presage of something important,
I felt sure. The wax candles in the chandeliers burned brilliantly, and
we were all on the _qui vive_ to know what was coming. Looking toward
the great folding doors at the end of the hall, a lady appeared. It was
the age of crinoline, and she must have had a circumference of eight
feet. She was the Emperor's favorite, the Countess Castiglione. The
sensation she made was tremendous.
I should mention that before this happened I had been presented to the
Empress. We were all ranged in diplomatic order for presentation, and
when it came my turn she seemed particularly courteous, saying in
English to me: "You speak French very fluently." To this I replied:
"When I am able to speak French, your Majesty, as well as you speak
English, I shall be willing to trust myself in that language. In the
meanwhile let me ask you to talk as you prefer." All those presented
seemed surprised to see me talking with the Empress, as it was, I
believe, unusual for a foreigner and a newcomer to be thus honored. She
was very gracious, and made me feel as much at home as if I had been in
my own family. The introduction of the crinoline had been made by the
Empress before the birth of the Prince Imperial. Anti-Imperialists had
been busy gossiping about the coming event, and intimated that it was
impossible the Emperor could become the father of a child.
After the Countess Castiglione appeared in such dare-devil fashion, in
the presence of the whole court, the Empress appeared in much different
mood. The next day she went to England, and became the guest of the
Queen for three weeks.
The Italian war was then going on, and I was desirous of mastering the
Italian language, in order to carry out certain contracts I had made
with the Emperor. McHenry was my partner, and I had written to him that
the Emperor wanted a half dozen steamers immediately. The French needed
the boats for the transport of provisions. McHenry was in London, and in
my letter I told him there was no doubt that the war would eventually be
won by France and Italy. This was just after the great battles of
Magenta and Solferino. He sent me back this despatch: "La paix est
signe." You can imagine my surprise. It shows that the most careful of
men sometimes make mistakes.
Mr. Seward, afterward Secretary of State, was in Paris in '56-'57, and I
showed him as much of Paris as I dared. There were certain places to
which I did not feel authorized to take him, but I managed to make him
see a great deal of Paris that would have been sealed to him had he
undertaken to go about this microcosmic city without a guide.
Mr. Seward astonished me very much one day by a remark showing his
detachment from the great world of European thought and power. I said
to him: "Mr. Seward, how would you like to see M. Lamartine?" "Which
Lamartine?" he coolly asked, as if there could be more than one. "Why,
Alphonse de Lamartine," said I. "There is only one Lamartine in France
or in the world." He asked if I knew him. I replied that Lamartine gave
receptions twice a week, and that I had attended them during the winter.
As there was a reception that day, I asked Mr. Seward if he cared to go.
He very gladly accepted the invitation, and we went together.
Lamartine, it will be remembered, married an English lady, a most
charming, lovely woman; but he had never learned to speak English. He
was like Hugo in this respect, and thought it was not worth while to
struggle through the intricacies and difficulties of the spelling and
pronunciation. But Madame Lamartine spoke French very fluently and
accurately.
I have observed as an invariable rule, from one end of the world to the
other, that if one person addresses another in a language the second
person does not understand, the talker thinks he can make himself
understood by simply bawling out his sentences like a town-crier. Mr.
Seward was no exception to this common frailty among mankind. When he
saw that Lamartine did not understand his English, he placed his hand
over his mouth, and shouted into M. Lamartine's ear. The great Frenchman
smiled at each discharge, but could not reply. At last I said, "Mr.
Seward, M. Lamartine is not deaf, but he does not understand English. If
you will permit either Madame Lamartine or myself to interpret for you,
there will be no difficulty." Mr. Seward continued to shout for some
time, but finally broke down. Madame Lamartine and I then translated his
remarks to Lamartine. After this we got along finely, and a most
delightful conversation followed between the two men.
It had been my intention, when I came to Paris, to go on to Australia;
but as I passed through the various countries of Europe I saw that the
shadow of panic and failure rested upon all. I had, indeed, completed
many arrangements for going back to Melbourne, and I had got a letter of
credit from the representative in London of the Bank of New South Wales
for L20,000; but the project fell through, because of the panics and
disasters of the year '57.
In '58--I may mention at this place--I had a few months' leisure on my
hands, and decided to give my wife and her stepmother, Mrs. George T. M.
Davis, a trip about Europe. We traveled through France, Italy, Austria,
and Germany. At Leghorn we went to witness a spectacular exhibition of
the storming of Sebastopol. It was a magnificent spectacle, realistic in
the extreme. No one was astonished, when, at the very point where the
city was taken and the fort blown up, a terrific burst of light
appeared. Instantly thereafter we discovered that the explosion had been
too real. The theater was ablaze. Of course there was a wild rush for
the doors. Panic followed, and while we were crushed and trampled in the
press, we got off finally with only severe bruises. The official report
next morning gave the casualties as forty killed and one hundred
injured; but the Government suppressed the facts. The dead and injured
far outnumbered these figures.
We had an experience in Naples which illustrated the every-day use of
words by the English that to us are offensive. We were aboard one of the
dirty little steamboats that were found in that part of the
Mediterranean, and, as the weather was somewhat rough, the bilge water
had been shaken about in the night, and a terrible odor pervaded every
nook of the vessel. An English nobleman was aboard, and in the morning,
wishing to say something agreeable to my wife's stepmother, he said:
"Madam, didn't you observe a dreadful stink in your state-room last
night?" The blood of all the Pomeroys was fired by this supposed
indelicacy. "Sir!" Mrs. Davis retorted, stepping back with great
hauteur. I immediately advanced and said, "My dear madam, the gentleman
meant no harm. The English prefer that 'nasty' word to something more
refined and less shocking. He meant no insult." The Englishman
explained; but the lady was not appeased.
At Rome I was astonished to find a delegation awaiting me. I could not
make out what it meant, when I was hailed as a "liberator." There were
many "liberators" in the Italy of those days; and I supposed they
mistook me for Mazzini, or Garibaldi, or Orsini, or some other leader of
the people. "Whom do you think I am?" I asked. "Citizen George Francis
Train," they said. This was too much for my credulity. What was worse
still, they asked me to go with them. I did not know just where they
expected me to go, or what they would expect me to do when I got there.
Things were pretty black in Italy just then, and I did not desire to be
mixed up in "revolutions," or liberty movements, or conspiracies.
However, they assured me that it would be all right, and I consented to
go. I went through a dark alley, to their meeting place, and was told
more things about the revolution than I cared to know or to remember. It
was not a healthful kind of knowledge to carry about Italy with one.
But the curious thing about the affair was that here, as everywhere,
these people regarded me as a leader of revolts--Carbonari, La Commune,
Chartists, Fenians, Internationals--as if I were ready for every species
of deviltry. For fifteen years five or six governments kept their spies
shadowing me in Europe and America.
From Italy we passed into Austria. At Vienna we had the opportunity,
through the courtesy of some friends near the court, of witnessing a
splendid celebration by the Order of Maria Teresa, which was the most
gorgeous and most beautiful spectacle I think I have ever seen. We soon
returned to London, and then came to America, where I was to resume work
on projects and enterprises here.