The citizens of New York very soon calmed down, and by the middle of January the name of Kossuth was rarely mentioned. When Congress came to audit his hotel bill, it fairly gasped! The retainers of the poor refugee had not been poor livers. They had occupied luxurious apartments, and proved beyond a shadow of doubt the Hungarian appreciation of old Madeira and champagne. No one, however, could accuse the hero himself of excess. Still, all at once, he seemed less of a hero.
One unprejudiced looker-on in Vienna, Ampère, wrote of Kossuth at the editorial dinner, "He has the bad taste to love fanciful dress, wore a lévite of black velvet, and seemed to me much less imposing than when he harangued, leaning upon his sword, in the hall at Castle Garden." Ampère also philosophizes upon our American enthusiasm,—"the only lively amusement of the multitude in a country where one has little to amuse one. It is without consequence and without danger, simply to let out the steam (à lâcher la vapeur), not to cause explosions but to prevent them."
"The American likes excitement," says Bryce in 'The American Commonwealth,' "but he is shrewd and keen; his passion seldom obscures his reason; he keeps his head when a Frenchman, or an Italian, or even a German, would lose it. Yet he is also of an excitable temper, with emotions capable of being quickly and strongly stirred. He likes excitement for its own sake, and goes wherever he can find it."
The Kossuth episode vividly illustrated this! Sic transit gloria—be it prince or patriot!
My young editor had soon to leave the South Side Democrat under the care of a foster-father. He was summoned to Washington—lured less by a fine salary than the larger field—to edit with John W. Forney the Washington Union, then the national Democratic organ. It was desired that one of the two editors should be from the South. Mr. Forney represented the North.
CHAPTER XII
We had the good fortune to secure pleasant rooms in the large boarding-house of Mrs. Tully Wise, sister of Henry A. Wise of Virginia. Mrs. Wise had a number of agreeable people in her house: Professor and Mrs. Spenser Baird of the Smithsonian Institution; Professor Baird's assistants,—Mr. Turner, an Englishman, and a Swiss naturalist whom Professor Baird addressed as "George,"—Mr. James Heth, Commissioner of Pensions, and his family; Commodore Pennock and his wife, sister of Mrs. (Admiral) Farragut, and others. I must not forget Miss Dick, whose rooms were above mine, and who hovered around like the plump, busy little bird that she was. A long table in the dining-room was filled with "new" people—desirable possibly, but not known by us. There were the nouveau riche party from New York, the tall, angular, large-limbed, passée young woman and her fat mamma; there were the well-groomed government clerk and his stylish young wife; a French count, a German baron; a physician (Dr. McNalty), and a beautiful dark-eyed young lady who always wore a camellia in her dusky hair, Miss —well, let her be "Miss Vernon," with her father. Lesser lights plenty—a large number in all.
Then Mrs. Wise herself gathered pleasant men and women around her. In her little parlor we met Dr. Yelverton Garnett, our devoted friend in all his after life—Mrs. Garnett, daughter of Henry A. Wise, and a charming young sister, Annie Wise. Our hostess was a widow, well born and good, who was educating, alone and unaided, five splendid boys, who lived to reward her by their own worth and success.
We were made thoroughly comfortable, and I soon learned that the "man behind the gun," to whom it behooved me to be civil, was the head waiter, Patrick, tall, black, stern, and unyielding. No use in trying blandishments on Patrick! If one were starved, having overstayed appointed hours, she must fast until the next meal or find refreshment elsewhere. I once complained to Mrs. Wise,—that I lost the sweetest hour in the late afternoon for my stroll on Pennsylvania Avenue; and represented the perfect ease with which Patrick could keep my tea for me. She listened with sympathy to the oft-told tale.
"Well, you know, my dear," she said kindly, "Patrick—now you know Patrick is so good! There's nobody like Patrick! He has some trouble, with all those strangers to serve. I know you would like to help Patrick! Yes, to be sure, it would seem to be a simple thing to set aside a biscuit and bit of cold tongue for you, and keep the kettle hot on the hearth,—but you see Patrick,—well, he is so good, you'll not have the heart to trouble him! And dear! I think you will yourself choose to be indoors early here in Washington."