were the proper mural decorations for a ball-room and the halls opening into it. The supper system was perfect. In one salon, large tables for coffee, tea, chocolate, and cakes. In another, tables covered simply with ices and other light refreshments, foie gras, sandwiches, etc. In the grand supper room, the whole of the wall of one side of the room, from floor almost to ceiling, was covered with shelves, on which every imaginable dish was placed, hot and cold. The table in front of these shelves was lined with servants in livery, and simply loaded with empty plates and napkins to serve the supper on. The favorite and most prized dishes at all these suppers was cold sturgeon (a fish we never eat), and the most prized fruit the hot-house pineapple, with all its leaves, and to the eye seemingly growing. Opposite the supper table, in another part of the room, the wines were served, all by themselves, and there was, it appears to me, every wine grown in any quarter of the globe. Everything was abundant and lavish, and the whole affair was most imposing.
That winter the Archduke of Tuscany married one of the princesses of Bavaria, and the Austrian Minister gave them a ball, which I attended. The effect produced in approaching his palace, all the streets illuminated by immense flaring torches attached to the house, was grand. The ball-room was superb. From the ceiling hung, not one or two, but literally fifty or more chandeliers of glass, with long prisms dangling from them. The women were not handsome, but what most struck me was the freshness of their toilets. They all looked new, as if made for the occasion; not so elaborate, but so fresh and light and delicate. I noticed that the royal party supped in a room by themselves, always attended by their host.
As I was strolling through the rooms, my host, the Austrian Minister, approached me and said, “I see I have another American as a guest to-night, and he is decorated. Will you kindly tell me what his decoration is?” “I really do not know,” I replied; “I will present myself to him and ask.”
We approached my countryman together, and, after a few words, the minister most courteously put the question to him. He drew himself up and said, “Sir, my country is a Republic; if it had been a Monarchy, I would have been the Duke of Pennsylvania. The Order I wear is that of The Cincinnati.” The minister, deeply impressed, withdrew, and I intensely enjoyed the little scene.
After the great works of art, what most impressed me in Florence were the immense, orderly crowds seen on all public occasions, a living mass of humanity, as far as the eye could see. No jostling or shoving, but human beings filling up every inch of space between the carriage wheels, as our horses, on a walk, dragged our carriage through them.
The most charming spot on earth for the last of winter and the spring months is the city of Rome. We went there under most favorable circumstances. A kind friend had leased an apartment for us in the Via Gregoriana, and we found Rome full of the crême de la crême of New York society. In Nazzari we had another Delmonico, and we kept dining and wining each other daily. Here I made intimacies that have lasted me through life. I followed the hounds on the Campagna, and was amused at the nonchalance of the young Italian swells as they would attempt a high Campagna fence, tumble off invariably, remount, and go at it again. They were a handsome set of men, as plucky as they were handsome. I myself found “discretion the better part of valor,” and would quietly take to the road when I met a formidable jump, but I lived on horseback and enjoyed every hour. Though carrying letters to our American Minister, then resident at Rome, I gave his legation a wide berth, as I had heard that our distinguished Representative was in the habit of inviting Italians to meet Italians and Americans to meet only Americans at his house; when asked his reason for this, he replied: “I have the greatest admiration for my countrymen: they are enterprising, money getting, in fact, a wonderful nation, but there is not a gentleman among them.” Hearing this, I resolved he should get no chance to meet me and pass on my merits.
Several of our handsomest New York women were then having their busts sculptured in marble; as you saw them first in the clay you found them more attractive. Gibson for the first time colored his Venus; it added warmth to it, and I thought improved it.
The blessing of the multitude by the Pope from the balcony of St. Peter’s, under a canopy, with the emblematic peacock feathers held on either side of him, the illumination of St. Peter’s, and the fireworks at Easter were most impressive. But I shall attempt no description of Rome. Nowhere in the world can you see such a display.
GERMANY AND THE ALPS.
CHAPTER V.
Summer in Baden-Baden—The Late Emperor William no Judge of Wine—My Irish Doctor—His Horror of Water—How an American Girl Tried to Captivate Him—The Louisiana Judge—I Win the Toss and Get the Mule—The Judge “fixes” his Pony—The “Pike Ballet.”
We passed our summer at Baden-Baden and literally lived there in the open air. Opposite to my apartment, Prince Furstenburg of Vienna had his hotel: from him and his suite I learned how to spend the summer months. At early dawn they were out in the saddle for a canter; at ten they went for a drive down the Allée Lichtenthal and through shady woods, nowhere seen as at Baden-Baden. They would stop and breakfast in the open air at twelve noon, again drive in the afternoon, and dine at the Kursaal at six. They kept at least twenty-five horses. We dined daily within a table or two of the then Prince of Prussia, afterwards the Emperor William, whom I soon discovered was no judge of wine, as I drank the best and he was evidently indifferent to it. When you see a man sip his wine and linger over it, that evidences his appreciation of it; but when you see him gulp it down, as the Prince did his, you see that he is no connoisseur. But I must say here, I had an intense admiration for him. His habit of walking two hours under the trees of the Allée Lichtenthal was also mine, and it was with pleasure I bowed most respectfully to him day by day.
Being anxious to cross every Alpine pass, I found a distinguished physician who lived at Pau, France, on account of his health, and had there the practice of the place during the winter months, and who was, necessarily, idle in summer, as Pau was then deserted. Still believing in doctors, I engaged him to travel with me for two months as my physician. I agreed to give him a bottle of 1848 Latour for his dinner daily, pay his expenses, and to give him a medical fee such as I saw fit at the end of our trip. He was indeed a man among men. All I can say is that when we parted and I handed him his fee, the tears came into his eyes; he grasped my hands, swearing eternal friendship. This doctor made a new man of me. “Throw physic to the dogs,” was his motto; “you will never die: you will in the end have to be shot to get you out of the world; air and exercise is all you want: eat slowly and do not deluge yourself with water at dinner.” Of water he had a holy horror. “Drink what good wine you wish and let water alone.” As I had the luxury of a private physician, a friend from Louisiana suggested joining my party with his two young daughters. My Irish doctor was the most sensitive of men. One day I found he could eat no breakfast. I sympathized with him and asked him the cause. He replied, “My dear boy, the habits of your American women. I came down to the breakfast room this morning and there I found the oldest of the Judge’s daughters with her back hair down and the younger one combing it. This settled me.” I assured him this was not the national custom with American women. The young woman was simply trying to captivate him by her lovely, long, flowing tresses. The doctor was a character. On another occasion a Frenchman lighted a cigar in our railway compartment. The Doctor detested cigar smoke, and as there was a large sign in the car, in French, forbidding smoking, he touched the Frenchman and pointed to the sign. The Frenchman simply smiled blandly. The train stopping, the conductor opened our door, when the Frenchman quietly slipped two francs into his hands, saying in French, “Of course I can smoke here, that sign is obsolete, is it not?” The conductor replied, “Oh, yes,” and on we went. My Irishman
