CHAPTER I.WHERE TO STAY.
Thequestion of location must of course be decided by the individual taste of the visitor. It would be strange indeed if, with a transient population roughly estimated at 200,000, the city did not possess hotels of all grades and descriptions, from which the most captious-minded person might take his choice and procure satisfaction. Chicago, at the present writing, contains at least 1,500 hotels, with constant additions each year. There is no more difficult task than to tell a man with any accuracy what hotel will suit him best. A caravansary that would delight one man would disgust another andvice versa. The most satisfactory plan, therefore, and the safest, is to give a brief pen-sketch of the leading hotels, with some idea of the special characteristics of each and the style of entertainment they afford.
The Lake Front hotels—the Richelieu, Auditorium, and Leland—enjoy the cream of thenewtransient patronage. By “new,” is meant those people who have never before visited Chicago, and who naturally select the houses with the prettiest sites. The Auditorium (Michigan Avenue and Congress Street), despite its gorgeousness and the flourish of trumpets with which it was opened, does not indulge in ruinous rates. It is a very large hotel and accommodations may be had therein from $4 per day up. Perhaps it is this moderate charge that makes it so great a favorite with the theatrical profession, the more prosperous members of which enjoy the comfort it affords. Well-to-do managers, famous stars, and sometimes interrogatively opulent soubrettes and chorus girls seek lodging at the Auditorium, and some very pretty romances are narrated of flirtations more or less interesting which the “blooded” habitues of this swell hotel “strike up” with the fair footlight favorites who enjoy its hospitality. It is worth the price of a day’s board, or at least a dinner, sometimes, to take a stroll in the corridors and catch the fragments of delicious lays that are being caroled forth by the song birds who are practicing their chosen art in the sanctity of their various chambers. Especially is this the case during a season of grand or light opera in the great theater adjoining the hotel, in which case the latter is sure to be thronged with singers of both sexes, and of all grades of artistic and professional prominence.There is a roomy balcony over the entrance to the Auditorium which, on pleasant days, is thronged with gaily dressed people of both sexes, who sit there and enjoy the dual delight of drinking in the balmy air and watching the cavalcade on the broad avenue below.
A block north of the Auditorium is the Richelieu, the famous hostelry the destinies of which are presided over by the renowned “Cardinal” Bemis. For people of means, to whom money is less of an object than the engagement of luxuries, the Richelieu, they say, is the place par excellence at which to stop. Some notable people have honored the Richelieu with their presence, and one is just as liable to run plumb against a real, live English Lord or Italian Marquis within its doors as against a plain, everyday American citizen. Sara Bernhardt selects the Richelieu when in the city; so does Mrs. Langtry when the confines of her private car become too narrow for comfort. The Richelieu is famous for the rare pictures that adorn its walls, some of which are worth small fortunes, and also—whisper this with bated breath, Oh, ye irreverent!—for its wine cellars, which are stocked with some of the rarest and costliest vintages to be found on the entire continent. On state occasions, when the Cardinal is entertaining some choice party of notables, he is wont to disappear suddenly, absent himself for about fifteen minutes and thenreappear with a quaint-shaped bottle or two in either hand covered with cobwebs. Those who sample the contents of said bottles close their eyes,pat their stomachs softly as the divine liquid glides down their throats, and then shed tears of joy and gratitude to the Cardinal for having given them the happiest moment of their lives. If you are aconnoisseurof wines and wish to test your art in judgment thereof, cultivate the acquaintance of the Cardinal, and perhaps he will go down into the cellar for you.
Mr. Warren Leland, who recently sold the hotel of that name, always said he had the prettiest house in Chicago, and there are some people who agree with him. The Leland rates, on the American plan, are from $3 to $5 per day up; the European, $1.50 up. The Leland is known as the “home hotel” of Chicago, and there is a tradition abroad to the effect that people who once patronize it never go elsewhere.
“The Blooded District”—Before proceeding to the consideration of other prominent hotels, it may be interesting to inform the reader that the district which we are about to leave, and of which the three hostelries enumerated form the nucleus, has achieved some fame in the annals of the town as “the blooded district”—so-called for the reason that the “high-rolling” young men of the city have made it a sort of headquarters or rendezvous, both before and after the hours when sober-minded and steady-going folk are fast asleep. The Auditorium, Richelieu, and LelandCafes, together withDevine’s wine-room on the other side of Jackson Street, and Colonel John Harvey’s “Wayside Inn” in the alley, form a sort of circuit or beat, which these “rapid” young men (i.e. the “bloods”) travel at all times, including such hours as the sale of cheering beverages is forbidden by city ordinance. Of these, Harvey’s is perhaps the most unique resort, though if one cannot find his friends in one of the places named after midnight he is tolerably certain to encounter them in one of the others. Colonel Harvey is the father of the pert little soubrette, Hattie Harvey, of whom the greatdiva, Patti, became so desperately enamored as to invite her to her castle in Wales, and admirers of the young lady are fond of dropping in to discuss her merits with her papa, the Colonel, who, it goes without saying, is the most devoted of her admirers. If you praise Hattie’s beauty to the Colonel he will mix for you, with his own hands, one of his choicest drinks; if you swear on your honor that she is destined to become the greatest actress of the century, he will probably crack a bottle. The door of Harvey’s “Wayside Inn” is tightly closed at midnight, but the initiated may gain ready admittance by learning the pass-word of the night and roaring it, in tones more or less musical, through the key-hole. You can always tell whether there is any fun going on in Harvey’s by the galaxy of hackmen who stand in line at the curb, waiting for the“boys” to emerge in the small hours of the morning. But we may now leave the “blooded district” and take a glance at other South side hotels.
The venerable Palmer House stands like a bulwark at the corner of State and Monroe Streets, its vast expanse stretching away for half a block. The Palmer enjoys a steady patronage from people who have been “putting up” there for years. It has a largeclienteleof the better class of commercial travelers. The wits of the town crack jokes at the expense of the Palmer on the score of the number of guests of Hebraic extraction it shelters. Be that as it may, the Palmer welcomes all who pay their bills and those who patronize it generally possess that admirable qualification. The Palmer’s rates are $3 to $5 per day.
There is a little room on the sixth floor of the Palmer which is an environ of romantic interest,it having been the scene of one of the most famous tragedies in Chicago’s history. In the summer of 1882, it was occupied by Charles Stiles, the popular and high-living “caller” of the Board of Trade. Early one morning a veiled woman, whose tasteful but somber raiment revealed the outlines of an entrancing figure, took the elevator to the sixth floor and knocked at the door of Stiles’ room. He came out scantily clad in response to the summons. There was a flash, the ringing report of a revolver, and in another instant the young man lay dead on the floor. The woman knelt down, kissed his forehead and submitted to arrest without a murmur. She was an Italian, Teresa Sturlata by name, and the mistress of Stiles. His previous abuse of her, as testified to at the trial, so influenced the jury in her behalf that she received but the nominal punishment of one year in the penitentiary, though her great beauty doubtless had some influence on the leniency of the sentence. Many men went daft over the beautiful murderess. Some of the letters that she received while in jail were published, and precious epistles they were, too. They all contained protestations of affection, and several offers of marriage were included among them. The woman went to the penitentiary and served her sentence. When released she disappeared as completely as though the earth had swallowed her. Her presentwhereabouts is unknown, but the room made famous by the great tragedy is still pointed out to new guests at the Palmer.
The Grand Pacific, on South Clark Street, kept by Landlord Drake, is of the same class as the Palmer, enjoying a steady patronage all the year round. The rates are $3 to $5 per day. The Tremont, kept by Mr. Eden (Lake and Dearborn) and the Sherman, kept by Mr. Pierce (Clark and Randolph), are of the same grade as the Palmer and Grand Pacific.
These comprise the list of first-class down-town hotels, though several others are in progress of construction, with a view to caring for the thousands of strangers who will visit the World’s Fair. Notable among these is the Great Northern, which, under the supervision of Mr. Eden, has just been pushed to completion. It is on Dearborn Street opposite the post office, between Jackson and Quincy, being situated, therefore, in the very heart of the business district.
The Victoria, the new hotel on the site of the building formerly known as the Beaurivage, Michigan Avenue and Congress Street, is a fashionable house, patronized by the best people. The same is true of The Wellington, corner of Jackson Street and Wabash Avenue.
The smaller hotels are much too numerous to particularize. They are scattered in all directionsand their rates for rooms vary from fifty cents upward per day. There is no street in the business part of the city without two or three such hotels, and the traveler must be hard to please who cannot suit himself at one or another among so many. The residence part of the city, particularly on the North and South sides, is thickly dotted with first-class family hotels, where persons contemplating an extended stay may obtain quiet accommodation in the exact ratio for which they care to pay. The two most magnificent family hotels are the Virginia, 78 Rush Street, and the Metropole, Michigan Avenue and Twenty-third Street. These two houses cannot be surpassed for style and elegance and they are patronized exclusively by people of means.