The late lamented Morris Franklin president of the New York Life Insurance Company, who, by the by, was a neighbor of mine for many years at Flushing, was a great hand at Sunday dinners, at which all the members of his family, scattered throughout the week, were reunited. The old gentleman found this Sunday dinner reunion the best method of keepin’ his family attached and affectionate, and held it was the best way of keepin’ Sunday. The late A. T. Stewart, although a childless man himself, was also a firm and steadfast believer in sociable Sunday dinners, formin’ weekly reunions of his friends, keepin’ up his circle of acquaintances and makin’ him “feel, once a week,” as he used to say “like a family man.” From the time he moved into his marble palace on Fifth avenue, the Stewart Sunday dinner was the main feature of the week, and probably the Stewart Sunday dinner was the one finest dinner in every respect given that day in New York. Stewart, who was the greatest master in the world of the art of “detail,” saw to all the details of these dinners himself. So that they were absolutely perfect. He had the best cook, steward, etc., that money could procure, yet he personally superintended ‘em all; he left nothing to chance.
He seldom attempted big dinner parties, because he found by experience, as everybody else will find who makes the trial, that where there are so many guests there are sure to be some bores, or some who do not assimilate and get along with the rest. So, as a rule he confined his invitations to a dinner to ten or twelve, and spent as much time and money on their entertainment as if there were a hundred.
And it was as much to Judge Hilton’s accomplishments as a talker at table as to his business abilities that Hilton owed his favor in Stewart’s eyes. In fact, it seemed as if Hilton was giving these dinners, not Stewart. It was Hilton, not Stewart, who made out the list of guests. It was only in the matter of wines that Stewart asserted himself. In this department he reigned supreme.
The millionaire claimed to be as good a judge of wines as he was of pictures, and he certainly spent enormous sums successfully on both. He employed one travelin’ agent in Europe, who did nothing but supply him with choice wines. The choicer and the more expensive the wines his agent selected the higher was the salary this favored agent received. Thus it was a mutually satisfactory arrangement, and on several occasions Stewart actually got the inside track of European dukes and princes and got wines that they had endeavored to secure in vain. This would tickle the old man greatly, and his lucky wine man would receive by the next steamer some substantial token of his employer’s satisfaction. Some men in the agent’s position would have abused their trust, but this agent didn’t. A. T. Stewart was a bad bad man to fool with, and especially on wines, for he really knew enough about ‘em to have been his own agent, had he so chosen.
One day, a red letter day in the great merchant’s calendar, he received an invoice of the world famous wine known as “Prince Metternich’s blue seal,” a wine he had set his heart upon for years but in vain. It took a great deal to move A. T. Stewart out of his regular routine. A panic wouldn’t have done, it but this “Blue Seal” did. With a smile of supreme self-satisfaction the Napoleon of trade went with his wine to his palace and enjoyed an hour’s bliss in the constant contemplation, and an occasional sip, of his treasure.
Stewart was a very abstemious man, even in wine. He valued it for quality. He did not gorge in quantity. He set an example of temperance, even at his own magnificence dinners. But his delight in looking at his wine, and feelin’ he owned it, was greater than the delirious joy of the most confirmed toper. And his next remittance to his wine agent contained $2,000 extra as an appreciation of his services in securin’ this prize. No one served Stewart well gratis. Stewart was also very fond of choice sherry and madeira, and once went on to Cincinnati in person to procure some rare vintages.
To be offered a sip of this Metternich “blue seal” was to be shown a special mark of favor and was a sure sign that the recipient of the courtesy stood high in the rich man’s esteem.
The millionaire had special glasses for this special wine, glasses very costly, very exquisite and very small. He poured out the wine into these glasses with his own hand, and small as the glasses were, he hardly ever quite filled ‘em. If the blue seal had been deadly poison it would have hardly killed in these glasses.
At one Stewart Sunday dinner a little episode occurred which cost the man who made a somewhat pointed remark about fifty thousand dollars. An English banker was invited by Stewart to his tables, and the millionaire poured out the blue seal. The Englishman quaffed down what there was of it at a gulp, in a careless manner, quite at contrast with the solemn style in which Stewart had poured it out. “Ah, you have tasted this wine before,” remarked the somewhat chagrined American Merchant. “Oh, yes,” replied the English banker, “and in larger glasses.” Stewart smiled faintly at the somewhat brusque remark, but that Englishman did not smile when Stewart dropped negotiations with his bankin’ house then pending and transferred his favors to a rival London house.
The last Sunday dinner at the Stewart palace was a memorable one. Lord Mandeville was there, the Hon. John Bigelow and Edwards Pierrepont, Judge Hilton, of course, and eight other gentlemen besides the host, Mrs. Stewart being absent. One of the gentleman invited, bein’ taken sick, sent his regrets, and thus, to Hilton’s annoyance and Stewart’s absolute dread, there were just thirteen sat down at table. Hilton offered to leave so as to reduce the number to twelve, but Stewart and the rest would not spare him. No one else could be asked to leave. Stewart couldn’t leave himself, and so with a strange forebodin’ the millionaire poured out the blue seal for his guests. Eight days later the millionaire lay dead in a chamber near the dinin’ room, and the blue seal has not been poured out since.
[Editor’s notes: A. T. Stewart (1803-1876) was a New York dry goods dealer, who dramatically changed business practices to focus on consumer appeal, principles he applied first to sell clothing, and then in opening one of the first large department stores, covering an entire city block.
Metternich rieslings employ different color seals to indicate the ripeness of the grapes used; blue is left on vine longest, until first freeze/”noble rot” sets in. Legend has it this was discovered by accident, when a delay caused the grapes to be harvested so late they were given to the peasants, who then produced a high-quality wine.]
