Laus Deo, this day
is over, and the services at Trinity Church were marked by no gross indecency.
It was a cold, gray, bleak morning. The afternoon and
tonight wet and stormy. Called for Cisco at nine-thirty and went with him to
the Fifth Avenue Hotel as committee to show our august friends the way to
church. Shown to their parlor. Lord Lyons and others of the suite came in, and
then the Prince of Wales, looking boyish, feminine, and modest, but remarkably
courteous and self-possessed. He stopped the Earl of St. Germans, who was
introducing me, and said, "O, I met Mr. Strong at the ball Friday night.”
He is, no doubt, under orders to be studiously polite and make a good
impression, and has had the printed list of the Reception Committee before him,
on which my distinguished name appears. We talked a little for ten minutes or
so about the weather, and the voyage to West Point tomorrow, and the scenery of
the Hudson, and our fall foliage. The Duke of Newcastle came in. He looks like
a duke of the tenth century, a vigorous hirsute Dux rather than a starred and
gartered duke of these days. The Prince said, “It’s ten o’clock, and it won’t
do to be late at church.” So we marched downstairs and entered our barouches,
the police keeping back the crowd that filled Twenty-third Street. Cisco wanted
me to take a seat in the Prince’s carriage, as senior in the vestry, but as he
evidently coveted that distinction, I declined it, and drove down in Carriage
No. 2, with St. Germans, General Bruce, and Major Teesdale. My anticipations
were dreary, but I found myself at once on terms of pleasant acquaintance, I
could not tell how, with these well-bred, easy-mannered aristocrats. Major
Teesdale looks like one of Leech’s “heavy swells” in Punch, and is taciturn.
The other two were very agreeable persons. They asked many questions about
matters and things—the American church, the endowment of Trinity Church,
education, public and private, and answered queries of mine about the
universities and the relations of the colleges to them. They were, of course, polite
enough to commend everything they had seen here, or at least to make no
criticism on their reception; and they spoke so warmly and earnestly that I
think they felt what they said. Unless they are uncommonly good actors, I am sure
they are gratified by our ovation. Noticed particularly General Bruce’s manner
and expression when I said something about the unanimity and the depth of the
popular feeling. Nothing could have been more cordial and genuine and kind.
We reached Trinity Church and found a great crowd at the
gates, kept back by Superintendent Kennedy’s myrmidons. Dunscomb and Hyslop
received the visitors. I think Dunscomb had prepared a speech. He bowed and
hummed and choked, more solito, and Lord Lyons observed sotto voce, “I suppose
we may as well move on.” So we went up the middle aisle and were spared the
infliction. The church (all but the middle aisle) was packed. I saw no
indecorum. H.R.H. and suite took the front pews on the south side of the middle
aisle; the vestry sat on the north side. I had secured a good place for Ellie
and for Mr. Ruggles and Mrs. Governor Hunt and others on the north side of the
south aisle just behind the Royal pew. . . .
As soon as [the services] were over, H.R.H. got up, looked
warily down the aisle to see whether the coast was clear, and then pegged out
of church as fast as his legs would carry him, instead of staying, as I thought
he would, a few minutes after service. He showed much practical sense thereby.
We followed and reentered the carriages as before. The crowd was very dense and
occupied the whole street as far as the park. With a score of mounted police to
help, it was not easy to get through. It was a vociferous crowd and cheered
vehemently. . . . There were lines of people waiting all along Broadway to
Fourteenth Street, two or three deep, and all cheering, the better class of men
raising their hats as the Prince passed by.
We left the party at Archibald’s (the Consul’s in Fourteenth
Street) where they were to lunch or dine, and I took leave of my three and of
Dr. Acland and Mr. Englehart very pleasantly, and walked home with Cisco.
So that matter is over. My judgment of the future King of
England, from the little I’ve seen of him, is that he is not remarkably bright
or forward for his years, and that he has been carefully trained to remember
the duty of courtesy to all classes. Everyone has some little instance to tell
of his good-breeding, under difficulties at the ball, when he must have been
sorely tried by the well-meant gaucheries of a few and the unpardonable
flunkeyism of others. Today, when he got out of his carriage and bade Cisco
goodbye, he added a request to bid Mr. Strong goodbye and thank him for his
attention in accompanying me, or some such thing. Many young Americans of
eighteen would have forgotten this little civil formality. . . .
His visit has occasioned a week of excitement beyond that of
any event in my time, and pervading all classes. Its permanent effect, if any,
will be good here and in England. The unanimity of the feeling is wonderful,
when one thinks of twenty years ago. The protest of certain militia companies
of Irishmen against parading to do honor to a Saxon and an oppressor of Ireland
is the single exception. I’ve not heard a single growl or sneer about the fuss
we have been making over this young man, who is no better than anybody else,
after all, or anything tending that way even remotely.
SOURCE: Allan Nevins and Milton Halset Thomas,
Editors, Diary of George Templeton Strong, Vol. 3, pp. 49-51
