The Phantom of Manhattan

‘But the principal would have none of it and he made it a flat order. As obedience is one of the vows, the die was cast. And as you know I have been with you ever since, trying to shove some knowledge into that head of yours and keep you from becoming a complete barbarian.’

‘Do you regret it, Father Joe?’

‘No, I do not. For your father is a fine man, better than you know, and your mama is a great lady with an extraordinary God-given talent. I live and eat too well, of course, and must say constant penance for this life of luxury, but I have seen amazing things: cities to take the breath away, paintings and art galleries that are the stuff of legend, operas to make you cry, and me a boy from the potato patch!’

‘I’m glad Mama chose you, Father Joe.’

‘Well, thank you for that, but you won’t be when we start into Caesar’s Gallic Wars again. Which ought to be now, but here comes your mother. Stand up, lad!’

‘What are you two doing in here? We have turned into the Roads, the sun has come out and burned off the mist and from the bow you can see all of New York moving towards us. Wrap up warm and come to look. For this is one of the greatest sights of the world and if we depart in darkness you will never see it again.’

‘Very good, my lady, we are on our way. Looks as if you are lucky once again, Pierre. No more Caesar today.’

‘Father Joe?’

‘Mmm?’

‘Will there be great adventures in New York?’

‘More than enough, for the captain has told me there is a huge civic reception awaiting at the docking pier. We’ll be staying at the Waldorf-Astoria, one of the biggest and most famous hotels in the world. In five days your mama will open a brand-new opera house and star nightly for a week. In that time I think we’ll be able to explore a little, see the sights, ride the new elevated train - I have read all about it in a book I bought in Le Havre …

‘Well now, will you look at that, Pierre. Is it not a fantastic sight? Liners and tugs, freighters and tramps, schooners and paddlers; how on earth do they not bang into each other? And there she is, look, over to the left. The Lady with the Lamp herself, the Statue of Liberty. Ah, Pierre, if you only knew how many wretched people, fleeing from the Old World, have seen her coming out of the mist and known they were starting a new life. Millions of them, including my own fellow-countrymen and women. For since the Great Famine fifty years ago half of Ireland has moved to New York, crammed like cattle into the steerage holds, coming on deck in the freezing cold of morning to watch the city move across the water and pray they would be allowed in.

‘Since then many of them have moved inland, even as far as the coast of California to help create a new nation. But many are still here in New York, the Irish-Americans, more in this city alone than in all of Dublin, Cork and Belfast combined. So I’ll be feeling quite at home here, my lad. I’ll even be able to get a pint of good Irish stout, which I have not found for many years.

‘Yes, New York will indeed be for all of us a great adventure and who knows what will happen to us here? God alone knows but He will not tell us. So we must find out for ourselves. Now, time to go and change for the civic reception. Young Meg will stay with your mama; you stick close by me all the way to the hotel.’

‘OK, Father Joe. That’s what the Americans say. OK. I read it in a book. And will you look after me in New York?’

‘Of course, lad. Do I not always, when your papa is not here? Now run along. Best suit and best manners.’

8

THE DESPATCH OF BERNARD SMITH

SHIPPING CORRESPONDENT, NEW YORK AMERICAN, 29 NOVEMBER 1906

FURTHER PROOF WAS OFFERED, IF FURTHER PROOF was even needed, that the great harbor of New York has become the greatest magnet in the world for the reception of the finest and most luxurious liners our earth has ever seen.

Just ten years ago barely more than three luxury liners plied the North Atlantic route from Europe to the New World. The voyage was hard and most travelers favored the summer months. Today our tugs and lightermen are spoiled for choice.

The British Inman Line now has a regular schedule with her City of Paris. Cunard match their rivals with the new Campania and Lucania, while the White Star Line fight back with Majestic and Teutonic. All these Britishers are fighting for the privilege of carrying the rich and famous from Europe to experience the hospitality of our great city.

Yesterday it was the turn of the Compagnie Generale Transatlantique out of Le Havre, France, to send the jewel of their crown, La Lorraine, sister ship of the equally sumptuous La Savoie, to take up her reserved berth on the Hudson river. Nor were her passengers confined to the cream of the high society of France; the Lorraine brought us all an extra and very special prize.

Small wonder that from the breakfast hour, before even the French ship was clear of the Roads and rounding the tip of Battery Point, a host of private broughams and hansoms was beginning to choke Canal Street and Morton Street as sightseers from the mansions uptown sought a place from which to applaud our guest, New York style.

And who was she? Why, none other than Christine, Vicomtesse de Chagny, deemed by many to be the greatest opera soprano in the world - but don’t tell Nellie Melba, who is due in ten days!

The French Line’s Pier 42 was decked overall with bun

ting and Tricolore flags as the sun came out and the mist lifted to reveal the Lorraine, with her tugs fussing about her, easing herself stern first into her berth on the Hudson.

Space was at a premium for the craning crowds as the Lorraine greeted us with three great whoops from her foghorn and smaller vessels up and down the river responded in kind. At the head of the pier was the podium, hung with French flags and Old Glory, where Mayor George B. McClellan would offer Mme de Chagny a formal welcome to New York, just five days before she will star in the inaugural opera at the new Manhattan Opera House.

Grouped around the base of the podium was a sea of shining top hats and waving bonnets as half of New York society waited for a glimpse of the incoming star. From neighboring piers dockers and stevedores who must surely never have heard of the opera house or the soprano clambered up cranes and derricks to satisfy their curiosity. Before the Lorraine had cast her first hawser down to the pier, every structure along the quay was black with humanity. French Line staff rolled out a long red carpet from the dais to the base of the gangway as soon as the latter was in place.

Customs men scurried up the gangway to complete the necessary formalities for the diva and her entourage in the privacy of her stateroom even as, with due pomp and circumstance, the Mayor arrived at the pierhead accompanied by a blue-coated squad of New York’s Finest. He and the bosses of City Hall and Tammany Hall who had come with him were escorted through the throng to mount the podium while a police band struck up ‘The Star-Spangled Banner’. All hats were doffed as the Mayor and city dignitaries took their places on the dais, facing down the pier to the lower end of the gangway.