The Cairo Daily Bulletin

FISH-CATACAZY.

THE DIPLOMATIC SCANDAL

THE STORY TOLD IN TWO WAYS

Done up in Rhyme by the Lou. Cour.-Jour

FISH-CATACAZY—THE ROMANCE OF THE BEAUTIFUL RUSSIAN.

There was a young lady named Berwick,
The prettiest girl in all France;
She married a Count who was no count—
An Italian she'd met at a dance.

Count F—won her love just as easy
As rolling himself off a log,
But soon he went gambling and drinking
And led her the life of a dog.

Then rushed in a Russian Count quickly
And snatched her away from her home;
She loved the bold Russian directly—
They took a departure from Rome.

They never stopped once, it is written,
To get the all-healing divorce—
(In Russia folks always take such things
As really matters of course.)

Then they, having read Horace Greeley
Tout for the glorious West:
They rented and went to housekeeping,
With house-flies and ants like the rest.

They afterwards rushed back to Russia
And back to the grand Russian Court:
The Czarina grandly received them,
And didn't look down on their sort.

Twas thus that the Count Catacazy
And the wife of the ordinary Count
Got on with their matters right smoothly—
Things went like a Davidson fount.

At length the bald Count Catacazy
Again traveled over the sea;
He went as a great man from Russia
To the Court of Ulysses S. G.

And Mad. Cat. (of course she went with him
To the Court of the reticent Grant;)
No doubt they were loaded with presents
Whatever such things may have meant.

At the head of Grant's principal business
Was a party named Hamilton Fish.
And few things in Washington happened
That Ham. Was not into the dish.

This Fish was the sort they call codfish,
He dan few cmbodiarned enr ct,
And Mrs. Fish listened to gossips,
Who somehow had been led to suspect.

They told her as how they had heard it
That female from Russia was bad:
She'd gone from her previous husband
And "ought to be cut," so she had.

The virtuous wife of Grant's great man
Was shocked at the horrible tale.
And up went her proper old nostril,
From her nose might have hung a tin pail.

At that time the Joint High Commission
Had come on from London to dine.
And all the big flies and the gnats
Were doing their damnedest to shine.

And thus it was clearly the province
Of Mr. H. Fish to give out
The fact that he'd give a big dinner
At such and such time, without doubt.

The dinner came off at the time set,
And all the great people were there,
Less Count and Mme. Catacazy.
The pets of the big Russian Bear.

These had met, of course, been invited.
But few there at that time knew why
The news was cut off the gossips,
Though all did surmise something awry.

Count Cat. ripped and swore at the insult;
"My Gott, Mister Grant, vot is dish
dow dar—dey in-oolt my great gountry?

My Gott! vot a keet.e of Fish
I got troo de superaboskney
In Moscow or anyvere dere,
And not find such beple as dese le.

Dey puts on a tam sight of air.

And now this big fuss must be settled,
Or we'll have a fight on our hands;
Count Cat. is a man who has mettle,
He might concoct dangerous plans.

Alas, if for Fish-Catacazy
Our country should yet go to war
We hope we are not quite so crazy—
We're sure none of us are for gore.
THE PROSE VERSION

MADAME CATACAZY A PERSECUTED WOMAN—WELCOMED IN THE WHITE HOUSE AND THEN CUT DEAD—LOVE, ROMANCE, FIDELITY.

[Correspondence of the New York Commercial.]

THE STORY OF MADAME CATACAZY.

FIFTH AVENUE HOTEL, NEW YORK, October 1, 1871.

So much has been said at Washington, and so much will be said at St. Petersburg, before this Fish-Catacazy, or more properly, Mrs. Fish-Madame Catacazy muddle, will be straightened out, that it is again opportune to give to the public the inside facts of the great diplomatic imbroglio.

COMMENCEMENT.

Mrs. Fish, the wife of our Washington par excellence, threw down the gauntlet to Madame Catacazy one year ago in Washington. At that time Madame Catacazy received as a stab which threw the Russian Minister on the defensive, and made a decided breach in the diplomatic circle ever exercised or even felt in Washington.

Last November Mrs. Fish gave her grand diplomatic dinner. Every foreign Ambassador and Minister, with their ladies, were invited, for the dinner was given to the honor of the Joint High Commission. Mrs. Catacazy alone was uninvited. The omission fell like a bombshell in the republican court at Washington.

"Why didn't you ask Madame Catacazy?" every one asked Mrs. Fish.

"What is the matter?"

Mrs. Fish looked ominous, the gossips were busy, the old secession families of the West End, those parasitical relics of an ancient regular army aristocracy, were ready to hurl their darts of calumny at Madame Catacazy; but the dreadful secret was kept close shut up in the bosoms of a few of the diplomatic and old family aristocracy.

Sometimes some gossiping woman would whisper about Bladensburg—an Italian Count, but the foreign legations generally maintained their friendly relations with the beautiful wife of the Russian Minister.

A SAD STORY.

Madame Catacazy is a French lady—her name was Berwick. Eighteen years ago, while she was scarcely in her teens, she was the most beautiful child-woman in all France. Her father and mother were titled people, and the Berwick blood is the best in Europe. At this tender age she was thrown into the company of an Italian Count—Count F—. He was a handsome, dashing man of the world, knew all its wiles and snares, and could assume the face and tone of an angel.

Count F—won the love of this beautiful, innocent child, Mdle. Berwick, married her and took her to Rome to live. They lived happily for awhile, when he became dissipated, gambled, and became a bad man generally, treating his wife first with indifference, then neglect, then with positive cruelty. Colonel Barili, the Italian Charge d'Affaires, a year or so ago, knew the character of this bad Italian, and frequently said, "He was a countryman of mine, but he was a very bad man, and I do not blame Madame Catacazy when she did run away from him."

SHE MEETS MR. CATACAZY.

In Rome, eighteen years ago, Mr. Catacazy saw the abused wife—then one of the most beautiful women of the Italian capital. He felt a sympathy for her. Afterward they met in Paris, when she, tired and sick of the bad Count, her husband, had abandoned him and sought shelter under her father's roof.

Mr. Catacazy was appointed by the Russian Government as Secretary of Legation to Washington under Minister Bodisco. Before he came to this country a warm attachment sprang up between him and the unhappy Countess. Their fondness ripened into love—warm, confiding, and pure. From the French, and especially the Russian standpoint, where almost every Minister, and even the Czar himself, supports plurality of household, the Countess could never be questioned.

THEY COME TO AMERICA.

When the time came for Mr. Catacazy to join Bodisco, her poor lover was desolate. What was to be done? She could not live with her husband, and she had no divorce. To stay was living death; she could not brook the intermittent visits and abuse from her husband, whom she despised. The Western sky looked full of happiness, for there she could fly from every rumor and be happy with one whom she loved more than her life.

So they were married and came to America. This marriage was not strictly legal, for she was not divorced from her first husband, but it was a moral marriage, and never has a doubtful rumor clouded the moral sky of that covenant with Mr. Catacazy.

They arrived in this country as Mr. and Mrs. Catacazy. After staying awhile in New York, Mr. Catacazy went on to Washington, taking with him Mrs. Catacazy. The young secretary rented for his beautiful companion a pretty cottage in Bladensburg, eight miles from Washington, where he spent most of his time—he with wild, loose notions of a Russian Count, and she simply confiding in the only man she ever loved—and the only man, she thought, who could dare to call her his wife.

RETURN TO RUSSIA.

Eight years ago Mr. Catacazy returned to Russia. They were both received at the Russian Court, feted by the nobility, and the little spot which had caused them so much uneasiness was forgotten in their mutual happiness and prosperity.

The Czarina of Russia is a tall, graceful woman, like the Queen of Denmark, terribly devoted to the Greek church, and paying very little attention to society. But it is true that she, with all her orthodox scruples, received Madame Catacazy.

BACK TO WASHINGTON AS MINISTER.

In 1869 Mr. Constantine de Catacazy was appointed by Czar Alexander as Envoy Extraordinary and Minister Plenipotentiary to the United States. Accompanied by his wife, he arrived on the Ville de Paris, and proceeded at once to Washington, relieving Baron Stoeckl.

He was received everywhere in official circles without friendship, his beautiful wife sharing in all the honors of her husband. I myself have seen them together at President Johnson's, and also at Secretary Seward's.

RECEIVED IN NEW-YORK.

Mrs. James Brooks threw New-York society into an excitement by giving Madame Catacazy a reception at her beautiful residence on Fifth avenue, near Thirty-fourth street, last autumn. Here she was greeted by the best blood of the metropolis. Mrs. Judge Roosevelt, who had been presented to the Court of St. James, with Lady Ouseley, were there, and they vied with Mrs. Roberts, Mrs. Blodgett, Mrs. Stevens, Mrs. Whitney, Mrs. Vanderbilt and Mrs. Stewart, in polite welcoming and benedictions to the fair representative of the nation which stood by the government during a terrible war, and carried our beloved Farragut in her arms from St. Petersburg to Moscow—drinking the health of our saved republic in every town in Russia. Mrs. Gouger, the gifted singer of St. Thomas' Church, sang a song of welcome to her, and the fair face of the ambassador's wife was too happy for utterance.

Madame Catacazy's beauty was the theme of newspaper writers and the gossip of the West End. Her parlors on Franklin Square were thronged on reception days with West aristocratic residents and sojourners of the Capital.

They had been in Washington but a few days when they rode over to Bladensburg to see the beautiful vine-clad cottage where eight years before she had spent so many happy hours. Every nook was examined, and, as the enthusiastic wife recollected the hours of love and confidence she spent there, she said she would be happy to so live there again. Plucking a bouquet from the little yard beautiful as was Claude's Alpine rose, she rode back to Washington; but before some old Bladensburg crony had recognized the old sweetheart love of the Russian Secretary.

She reported the fact to the gossips of Washington.

SOCIAL DESTRUCTION MEDITATED.

The hereditary Washington gossip now came to work—their ancient female millinery and naval barnacles who live in West End boarding houses, wear long, black dresses, subsist on gossip about what Mrs. Laraine Bruenius did. They talk about Captain McClellan and Robert E. Lee, and only aspire to marry daughters to higher titles than lieutenants and captains in the army. They don't know that captains and lieutenants never get above Bleecker street in the executive city of the metropolis. Well, this set, who flutter around the Carrolls, and Riggs, Corcorans, began to breathe mildew upon the fair fame of the beautiful wife of the Russian Minister.

Mrs. Grant and Mrs. Fish, who had received more than once, and who had more than once been the recipient of her warm Russian courtesy, were taken in two by two.

"It is dreadful!" said one.

"Perfectly horrible," exclaimed another, with her hands out like a great V.

"You ought not to receive her," said all these female West End lucifers at once.

"It's an insult to send her here." As if she who had been honored at the Russian Court—she who had been kissed in the Imperial White Room of St. George by the Czarina and Dagmar and Grand Duke Constantine, could soil the characters of a few gossiping Washington West Enders, who became self-appointed boarding-house guardians of the National honor.

Yes, women are at the bottom of it, just as they have been at the bottom of more than one White House squabble, from Mrs. Eaton down to Kate Sprague and Mrs. Lincoln.

THE WEST END ANGELS ACCOMPLISH THEIR WORK.

The gossip carried the day, and at the dinner given to the "Joint High Commission," Mrs. Fish opened the barrel of powder, which may yet blow up a war between Russia and America.

Mr. Catacazy is an estimable man, and when his wife was cut this delicately, what wonder that he flew into a passion and called Fish an old sardine, and swore by the big bell in Kremlin that Fish and Mrs. Fish, and everybody in Washington, could be bought up like a load of cucumbers in the Moscow superaboskney?

Madame Catacazy has simply played the role of Mrs. A. D. Richardson. She comes from a proud, great court. She comes from where both the Russian and French traditions are loose on the subject of divorce and marriage, and from where many women think they are saints if they are true to one man, married or not. In Russia I have often been invited to dine with, perhaps, a member of the nobility, when I would have to ask the question, at which house, for the man kept two houses.

Now, that we've got in the diplomatic muddle, it will be hard to get out. But whatever transpires, remember Madame Catacazy is a beautiful woman; nobody questions her purity, and nobody doubts the mutual devotion, the absolute worship of love which exists between the Minister and his wife.