Memoirs (Vieux Souvenirs) of the Prince de Joinville eBook

Everybody knows New York, that huge cosmopolitan city, the commercial capital of the New World, where colossal fortunes are made and lost with the giddiest rapidity.  Its position as being the chief artery of human activity, is incomparable, but the town—­qua town—­has this point in common with all huge agglomerations of commercial buildings.  It is utterly commonplace.  I merely passed through it on my way to rejoin my ship at Newport, but with me there came on one of those splendid steamers, veritable floating palaces indeed, which the Americans excel in building, a huge picnic, at which 150 New York ladies were present.  The night passage across Long Island Sound in lovely weather, with all this gay party dancing and supping, was most delightful.

I left the United States with a feeling of the deepest gratitude for the sympathetic, almost affectionate, welcome I had everywhere received, and the most sincere admiration for that great democracy, ambitious without being envious, where shabby class rivalry is unknown, where each man endeavours to rise by his own intelligence, worth, and energy, but where no one desires to drag others down to the level of his own idleness or mediocrity.

A great community, in which nobody would for a moment suffer the State to take to itself the right to interfere between father and child by denying the free disposal of his property, and thence his paternal authority to the parent

A great community, where no man need be a soldier unless he chooses, and where all are free to bring up their children as they think fit, to practise the religion that pleases them best, and to combine in perfect freedom for the endowment of church or school.  What an example, in many matters, the young nation sets the old!  We left Newport on our return to France, and after a quick passage of nineteen days, the Hercule anchored in Brest Roads, on July 10th, 1838.

CHAPTER V

1838

Before six weeks were out, I was at sea again, on my way to Mexico.  My orders to sail reached me at Luneville, where my brother Nemours had taken refuge, with a cavalry command, from the desperate endeavours of the grand-parents to get him married, and whither I had followed him with the same object.  Thanks to my brothers, my memory is crowded with recollections of Luneville and the camp there, beginning with that of an unlucky captain who ruined his career by stopping his squadron at galloping drill, before the prostrate form of General Comte de M—­ commanding the division, stretched on the broad of his back by a lively charger with the ringing word of command—­“Obstacle!”