The presidential mansion is the natural resort of all who visit Washington. The doors are always open to visitors at stated hours, and the President is easy of access to all who call at such hours. Formerly presidential receptions were open to all comers, and the result was a motley crowd, who formed in line and shook hands with the President, bowed to the attending ladies, passed into the great east room and gradually dispersed. In late years these receptions have become less frequent, and in their place we have had diplomatic, military and navy, and congressional receptions, for which invitations are issued. During the usual period before Lent card receptions are given by the cabinet, by many Senators and Members, and by citizens, for which invitations are issued. I know of no place where the entrance into society is so open and free as in Washington.
From London I went, by way of Dieppe and Rouen, to Paris, where my first call was on General Dix and his family. Next I visited the exposition, and wandered through and about and around it. I have attended many exhibitions, but never one before or since that combined such magnitude and completeness in size, form and location, and such simplicity in arrangement and details, as the Paris Exposition of 1867. I spent ten days in this inspection, and in walking and driving around Paris and its environs. Through the kindness of General Dix, then envoy extraordinary and minister plenipotentiary, I received invitations to many meetings and receptions given by Mayor Haussman and other officers of the French government to visitors from abroad connected with the exposition. I accepted some of them, but purposely postponed this social part of my visit until I returned from Berlin.
From Paris I went to Antwerp via Brussels. At this latter place I met Doctor John Wilson, then United States consul at Antwerp. He was an old friend at Washington, where he served during the greater part of the war as an army surgeon. He was a man of remarkable intelligence, familiar with nearly every part of Europe, and especially with France, Belgium and Prussia. He readily acquiesced in my invitation to accompany me to Berlin. On the invitation of Henry S. Sanford, our minister to Brussels, I returned to that city, and met at dinner the principal officers of Belgium, such as we designate cabinet ministers. I drove with Mr. Sanford to Waterloo and other famous historic places in and about that beautiful city.
From Brussels we went to the Hague, where General Hugh Ewing, a brother-in-law of General Sherman, was United States minister. After a brief stay in Holland, General Ewing, Doctor Wilson and myself went to Berlin. Prussia was then a kingdom of rising power, and Berlin was a growing city, but not at all the Berlin of to-day. Bismarck was recognized as a great statesman and, although far less prominent than he afterwards became, he was the one man in Germany whom I desired to see or know. Mr. Joseph A. Wright, late United States minister at Berlin, had recently died, and his son, John C. Wright, who was in charge of the legation, had no difficulty in securing me an audience with Bismarck, accompanying me to the official residence, where I was introduced to him. Bismarck spoke English with a German accent, but was easily understood. When I spoke of recent events in Europe he would turn the conversation to the United States, asking me many questions about the war and the principal generals in the opposing armies. He was in thorough sympathy with the Union cause, and emphatically said that every man in Prussia, from the king to his humblest subject, was on the side of the Union, and opposed to the Rebellion. What a pity, he said, it would have been if so great a country as the United States had been disrupted on account of slavery. I mentioned my visit to the international fair at Paris and my intention to return, and he said he would be there.
This interview, which lasted, perhaps, forty minutes, was as informal and frank as the usual conversation of friends. Bismarck was then in full health and strength, about fifty years old, more than six feet high, and a fine specimen of vigorous manhood in its prime.
I found the same feeling for the United States expressed by a popular meeting in the great exposition hall in Berlin. Our little party was escorted to this place on Sunday afternoon by Mr. Kreismann, our consul at Berlin. As we entered the hall, Mr. Kreismann advanced to the orchestra, composed of several military bands, and said something to the leader. When we took our seats at one of the numerous tables he told me to pay attention after the first item of the second part of the programme before me, and I would hear something that would please me. At the time stated, a young man advanced to the front of the stage, with a violin in his hand, and played exquisitely the air "Yankee Doodle Is the Tune," and soon after the entire band joined in, filling the great hall with American music. The intelligent German audience, many of whom knew the national airs of all countries, realized at once that this addition to the programme was a compliment to the Americans. They soon located our little party and then rose, and fully two thousand persons, men, women and children, waved their handkerchiefs and shouted for America.
The feeling in favor of the United States was then strong in all parts of Europe, except in France and England. In these countries it was somewhat divided—in France by the failure of Maximilian, and in England by the rivalry of trade, and sympathy with the south. Generally, in referring in Europe to the people of the United States, the people speak of us as Americans, while those of other parts of America are Canadians, Mexicans, etc.
After a pleasant week in Berlin I went by way of Frankfort, Wiesbaden and Cologne to Paris. The exposition was then in full operation. It may be that greater numbers attended the recent exposition at Chicago, but, great as was its success, I think, for symmetry, for plans of buildings, and arrangement of exhibits, the fair at Paris was better than that at Chicago. The French people are well adapted for such exhibits. The city of Paris is itself a good show. Its people almost live out of doors six months of the year. They are quick, mercurial, tasteful and economical. A Frenchman will live well on one-half of what is consumed or wasted by an American. I do not propose to describe the wonderful collection of the productions of nature or the works of men, but I wish to convey some idea of life in Paris during the thirty days I spent in it.
Louis Napoleon Bonaparte was then Emperor of the French, and Haussman was mayor of the city of Paris. General Dix, as before stated, was United States minister plenipotentiary and envoy extraordinary at the court of France. Upon my arrival, I hired what in Paris is called an apartment, but which includes several rooms, comprising together a comfortable residence. Many similar apartments may be in the same building, but with them you need have no communication, and you are detached from them as fully as if each apartment was a separate house. The concierge, generally a woman, takes charge of your room, orders your breakfast if you require one, and keeps the key of your apartment when you are absent. It is a charming mode of living. You can dine or lunch when you will, and are master of your time and your apartment. I employed a neat, light carriage and one horse, with a driver who knew a smattering of several languages, and found him trusty and faithful—all this at a cost that would disgust the ordinary hotel proprietor in the United States, and especially the hack driver of any of our cities. This, in Paris, was the usual outfit of a gentleman.
General Dix advised me on whom and when and how I should make my calls. My card in the usual form announced that I was "Sénateur des États Unis d'Amérique." A Parisian could not pronounce my name. The best he could do was to call me "Monsieur le Sénateur." With a few words of French I acquired, and the imperfect knowledge of English possessed by most French people, I had no difficulty in making my way in any company. I received many invitations I could not accept. I attended a reception at the Palais Royal, the residence of the mayor, dressed in the ordinary garb for evening parties, a dress coat and trousers extending to the knees, and below black silk stockings and pumps. I felt very uncomfortable in this dress when I entered the reception room, but, as I found every gentleman in the same dress, we become reconciled to it. Subsequently I attended a reception at the Tuileries, at which I was presented by General Dix to the emperor and empress.