The
Bigelow Page,John and Poultney Bigelow; A brief history of the
Bigelows . A brief biography and an example of the writings of John Bigelow
and a brief biography and an inventory of the papers of Poultney Bigelow
(his son).
Poultney Bigelow was educated in France, Germany,
and the United States. In Berlin in the early 1870's, he was invited to
become a playmate of Prince William of Hohenzollern, later the Emperor
William II of Germany. The friendship persisted and a correspondence ensued.
Poultney Bigelow entered Yale in 1873 and graduated in 1879, with a two-year
hiatus during which,
for health reasons, he took passage aboard a sailing ship bound for
the Orient; he was shipwrecked off the coast of Japan, Just short of the
vessel's destination.
After college Poultney Bigelow studied Law
and practiced briefly; from the early 1880's until his semiretirement in
1906,
however, he was active largely as a Journalist and author based in
New York and London. He traveled extensively and his
writings cover a wide subject range with travel observations politics,
and colonial Studies being most prominent. From this
Period of Poultney Bigelow's life there are sizable collections of
letters from such associates as Henry Mills Alden (the Harper's editor),
James Bryce, Roger Casement, Henry George, Mark Twain, and Israel
Zangwill (the English writer), along with smaller groups of letters from
many others.
After 1906 Poultney Bigelow wrote little for
the periodical press but never the less published five books, including
a
two-volume autobiography. ( In all, he published eleven books.) His
correspondence from this Later period includes sizable
collections of letters from such figures as Geraldine Farrar, Percy
Grainger and Ells (Mrs. Percy) Grainger, Edgar bee Masters, Frederic
Remington, and George S. Viereck (and smaller collections of letters
from many others)
Family Correspondants of Poultney Bigelow
Annie Bigelow (sister)
Grace Bigelow (sister)
Jane Bigelow Tracy (sister)
Flora Bigelow Guest (sister) and husband
John Bigelow, Jr. (brother) and wife
Anne Tracy Eristoff (niece)
John Bigelow (1836)
The Following is from Ric Dragon Curator of the Bigelow Homestead.
A Visit to the Bigelow Homestead
(from Valentine's Manual of the City of New York 1917-1918)
On the west bank of the Hudson some ninety
miles from New York lies Malden --- a forgotten metropolis of the early
nineteenth century, with scarce a reminder of its former greatness
save the frequent appearance on its streets of blue stone. A
century ago Malden dreamed dreams, and saw herself the London of the
new world.
Were not the great capitols of Europe situated
on the banks of the great rivers miles from the mouth? Would not history
repeat itself? What of that upstart New York? It was wrongly situated geogrphically.
Circumstances had combined temporarily to give it a start. But Malden___
with unlimited land North, South and West___Malden with the great highway
would soon show what was what in cities. And were there not mountains and
mountains of blue stone in and all around it? So Malden built great wharves
and all the steamers stopped there. She laid out a city in a plan based
on the same lines as the Commissioners of New York, which was started in
the same year ___1807. Houses were built on city lots. Streets were laid
out on the familiar
checker board plan. Grandfather Bigelow being a learned man knew the
whys and wherefores of City bulding and gave to the
newly born metropolis the benefit of his experience.
But something happened to the Blue Stone industry. The steamers no longer stop at Malden. The streets echo not to the tramp of millions of feet but only to the lowing of cattle and the cackle of hens. If it has no Great White Way, it has one with reverse English. The Stygian darkness of other towns is like the rosy dawn compared to the darkness of Malden at night. Even "culled pussons" look white when you meet them in the dark.
Across the river from the Bigelow Homestead can be seen the blackened
walls and charred remains of historic Clermont, the
old home of Chancellor Livingston. From the front porch John Bigelow
witnessed Lafayette's arrival at Clermont and the
reception accorded him by the Chancellor and his friends.
John Bigelow's life spanned but a few years short of a century. He was
the las connecting link with the Golden Age of "Old
New York." It seems strange to speak of a man scarcely gone, who was
the contemporary and friend of Washington Irving,
Fitz-Green Halleck, William Cullen Bryant, Fenimore Cooper, Charles
Dickens and Thackery. In the library ther is still the
copy of the "Life of Washington---With the kind regards of your friend
Washington Irving" in the clear cut regular penmanship
of New York's greatest author. A copy of Praed's poems, a very popular
writer in the mid-Victorian era, is inscribed "From
Charles Dickens on his departure from America with many kind wishes."
It recalls the visit of this distinguished novelist, while a
complete roster of the autographed books would read like a page of
American Bibliography.
Scarcely a generation has passed since the death of Franklin when his
biographer was born. Franklin's memory was still a
mighty influence in public affairs and the great American philosopher
grew daily in the esteem of the people.
The latter years of Franklin's life were largely spent abroad, chiefly
in Paris, and it was John Bigelow's good fortune to live also
for many years in the same atmosphere. As Lincoln's great minister
to France during the dark days of our civil war he
underwent to a startling degree an experience similiar to Franklin's
in the Revolution. It was perhaps only natural therefore that
he should become the biographer of the great statesman. Fortune threw
in his way most of the private papers of Franklin,
among them his diary. The latter is now in the library of Mr. Henry
E. Huntington who regards it as among his most valued
treasures. A cast steel medallion head of the great philosopher graces
the Bigelow garden. It is the only one of its kind in the
world having been molded by Capt. Zalinski, inventor of the dynamite
gun, during one of his experiments with the latter.
Another interesting item, also in the garden, is the first seal for
the Public Library made by the Academy of Munich. It was
rejected by the Trustees but is an interesting souvenir of the great
institution of which Mr. Bigelow was President and of which
as Trustee of the Tilden Will he did so much to create.
But perhaps the most striking memento in all the many interesting and historic memorabilia with which the garden abound is the marble bust of Samuel J. Tilden which stands at the left of the porch. Notwithstanding the vast sum which was received by the City of New York from the Tilden estate, there is nowhere a statue to the memory of this public spirited citizen. It would seem that the Library at least should have one. The statue at Malden is today the only one in existence to the memory of the Sage of Greystone.
The Bigelow Homestead is now owned and occupied by Poultney Bigelow,
his distinguished son. It is maintained in the same
primitive style as when grandfather Bigelow brought Miss Isham there
as a bride in 1807. There is the same Dutch oven. The
same candles to light the way to bed. The same pans and the same four
posted bedstead. The old well sweep still furnishes
water as it has done for over a century, and the same Franklin stove
supplies heat for the Library, and old grandfather's clock
still chimes out in cathedral tones the passing of the hours, and a
wood lot still provides fuel for domestic uses. An old fashioned
vegetable and flower garden, sleek, well-fed, pedigreed Jersey cattle,
and the Orpingtons, Leghorns and Rhode Island reds
furnish the main table supplies, while the fruit trees provide dainties
long after the season has passed. Everything is as it was.
The sun dial marks only the shining hours and life passes quietly in
the old homestead.
Memories of the days at Potsdam and San Souci seem far away. Turbulent
scenes in Borneo, Java and the Phillipines seem
never to have been and the war-like implements gathered the world over
seem strangely out of place. Poisoned arrows, cruel
looking scimitars, blood curdling machetes, swords of Sumari days,
countless trophies of a soldier of fortune, strike a jarring
note in the present pastoral surroundings. The Iron Gates of the Danube,
strenuous days in South Africa, and on the Bulawayo
with the ill fated Roger Casement, ship wrecks and moving accidents
by floods and field are all very unreal, yet very much in
evidence. Viscount Bryce writes in a note, "I have always had a great
fondness for the Danube and were I twenty years
younger, I would follow your example and take the same delightful way
of seeing its romantic shores." In the Library one sits
down to write on a table, an exact model of the one on which Luther
translated the Bible. It came from Castle Warthburg in the
Thuringen Forest. On the wall is a portrait of Emperor William dated
1888, the end of his first year as Kaiser of Germany. It
bears a message: "With my very best thanks for your kind sketch of
me, Wilhelm" and refers to the article in the Century by
Bigelow reviving the events of this apparently auspicious reign. In
the hallway is a still earlier portrait, 1880, of the Emperor with
a frank, open, boyish face in his student days. Many others of still
earlier and perhaps more interesting days, are about the
house but never shown. They cover the period of Biglow's personal friendship
with the Emperor, which continued
uninterruptedly till the trend of Prussianism became unmistakable and
a parting of the ways inevitable. It is an undoubted fact
fact that Emperor William never had, nor was it in his power to have,
a more unselfish, genuine friendship with any human being
on earth than he had with Poultney Bigelow. Rainy afternoons in the
attic of the old Palace at Sans Souci, when Prince William,
Prince Henry, Poultney and another boy played Indians, when Bigelow
was the Heap Big Chief and delighted the two little
German boys with his realistic rendering of the redskins war cry ---those
are the memories that puzzle one and throw a strange
glamour on the sinister events of the present day. What would not the
historian of the future give for a personal first hand
account of these memorable days! It is hard to get. I led gently up
to the subject on a recent visit. Bigelow sat at the piano idly
strumming a vagrant air. "Yes," he replied, which was no reply at all,
"I think some of the fold lore songs I have heard sung by
the natives of Borneo deserve preservation---listen." And off he went
into as delightful a medley of curious airs as I have never
before been privileged to hear. One had to admit the weirdness, the
tragedy, the joyousness of the strange music as it unfolded. But you listened
in vain for an answer to your query.
Near the piano is the photograph of a slim
almost frail looking young man and below it is a letter. It is dated Oyster
Bay, L.I., Aug. 2nd, 1882, and begins "Dear Poultney" and reads in part
"By jove old man you had a narrow escape." Elsewhere in the letter referring
to an invitation for an outing, the writer bewails the fact that "he is
now a married man and does not know how Mrs. R. would treat such a desertion
in spite of her fondness for the instigator of it." Needless to say the
writer is none other than our hero T.R.
A beautiful bronze bust of Sitting Bull who
slew General Custer, and probably the only one ever modeled from a living
Indian is a present from the late J. Kennedy Tod. It is by Kemeys whose
group in Central Park is still so much admired. All around the walls are
remembrances from famous men and women. Mark Twain inscribes his books,
"To Poultney Bigelow with the love of Mark Twain." Henry W. Stanley is
seen as a White Friar and his portrait recalls the fact that it was taken
at the club dinner given him at Anderton's in London in 1890, just when
he had emerged from darkest Africa. He is shown holding a lighted candle
against that part of the world which his labors had just illuminated. It
is fitting that Gertrude Atherton, the great, great niece of Benjamin Franklin,
should be represented by a portrait in her girlish days indited to the
"One and only Poultney Bigelow," nor is it strange that Grances Hodgson
Burnett should say "From the keeper of the Deer Park to one of the Dears."
Carroll Beckwith is remembered with a painting
of the original Gibson Girl taken from the model Gibson was then using
in Paris and from which this famous series originated. R. Caton Woodville
who painted the last portrait of King Edward, sends a
spirited drawing of a horse inscribed "To my friend." Mrs. E. R. Thomas
is represented by a charming portrait of Billy Burke.
Miss Dewing Woodward by Autumn Voices, Samuel Isham by a painting ultimately
designed for the Malden Library. Thure de Thulstrup, Alfred Parsons, R.
F. Zogbaum are among the other artist who have delighted to honor this
friend of thiers by some
little personal memento. James Russell Lowell, John Hay, Elihu Root
and many others must be mentioned ere the list of friends
is closed.
One must not forget the medallion bust of
John Bigelow which occupies the place of honor in the front court. Nor
the curious little headstone which flanks the front stoop inscribed to
"Corporal Peter Snyder of Co. H., N. Y. Infantry." Snyder was the name
Joe Jefferson bestowed upon Rip Van Winkle's dog and, as the scene of Rip's
long slumber is right back
of the house, Mr. Bigelow gave the homeless headstone a final resting
place.
The master of the house arrayed in the picturesque
costume of the French peasant, blue shirt, loosely fitting corduroy trousers,
the surmounted by an immense towering Mexican sombrero, bids you a friendly
farewell. And you depart with the curious sensation of having lived for
a time in a world strangely different from the one that awaits you in New
York.
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