we attended dr. gurley's church and found that the president also had taken a seat in that church. our own was near the door, and for many sundays before i knew him, i was interested in seeing him enter the church and walk briskly up to his pew near the pulpit (while the bell was ringing), buttoned in his broadcloth coat, wearing no overcoat in the coldest weather. immediately after the benediction he would walk rapidly down the aisle, the congregation standing until he passed. miss lane attended st. john's church, and the president was accompanied only by his secretary, mr. buchanan henry. after i knew him quite well, i always spoke to him when he passed me near the door and i sometimes ventured, "a good sermon, mr. president!" he never failing to reply, "too long, madam, too long."
i was leading a very happy domestic life, busy with my little boys and my housekeeping, proud of my self-constituted office as my congressman's private secretary, much exercised in sending documents, seeds, and cuttings (we were introducing tea-culture in virginia) to his constituents, when i was called to 48 order by our dear old friend, mr. dudley mann, an old politician, diplomat, and "society man."
"madam, did you come to washington to live in your own house and write letters to farmers?"
"what better could i do?"
"the president does not agree with you. he admires your husband and wonders why you were not at the levee. he has asked me to see that you come to the next one."
"i shall be on a committee that night," said my congressman, hastily,—he was usually on a committee when a reception was to the fore.
"i will take her myself," said mr. mann. "now, wear a pretty evening dress of silk or velvet. can it be lavender? and i will call precisely at nine."
i appreciated the honor of mr. mann's escort, and, wishing to please him, procured the lavender silk. our evening gowns were cut straight across the neck, and finished with a bertha of lace. the full skirt was distended over a large hoop. an elaborate headdress of flowers or marabout feathers was de rigueur for a levee, which, however, demanded simpler attire than a ball or a dinner. our white gloves were short and were finished at the wrist with a fall of lace three or four inches wide, and a band of ribbon and rosette.
mr. mann approved my attire and gave me a very good time. the crowd was great and the amplitude and length of the ladies' robes filled me with anxiety.
"dear mr. mann," i said, "pray be careful not to tread on the trains." 49
"my child," he answered, "i haven't lifted my feet for twenty years!"
the president detained us for a few courteous words, and we were passed on to miss lane, standing, not beside him, but in a group with other ladies. thence we found our way to the east room, and a great many ladies and gentlemen were introduced to me, as i stood on the arm of my courtly escort.
such a number of cards came to us after this that the housekeeping, the writing, the little boys, the seeds, and the tea-culture in virginia were likely to suffer.
the reign of the "afternoon tea" was not yet—at least not in washington; but entertainments included morning receptions, evening receptions, dinners, musicales, children's parties, old-fashioned evening parties with music and supper, and splendid balls. so many of these were crowded into a season that we often attended three balls in one evening.
the first time i dined with the president i made early and elaborate preparation. when the great day arrived, all my paraphernalia, rosetted slippers, gloves, fan, dress, and wrap were duly laid out on my bed and sofa. in the evening i seated myself at a dressing table and submitted my head to fran?ois' hands. the evening coiffure was elaborate and troublesome. the hair in front was stiffened with bandoline, and formed into sleek, smooth bandeaux, framing the face. behind, all the hair was tightly tied, low at the nape of the neck, then divided into two parts, and each woven with many strands into a wide braid. these were curved from ear to ear 50 to form a basket, and within the basket were roses, or pond-lilies, or violets, with long trailing vines floating behind.
fran?ois was a very agreeable talker. he had dressed rachel's hair and was leisurely giving a charming lecture on rachel's art. suddenly my husband burst in: "the carriage is at the door! hurry, hurry! we've only ten minutes to reach the white house."
i literally leaped into my gown, had no time for flowers or jewels, snatched up my gloves, left everything else, and ran! we entered the green room just as mr. buchanan henry was arranging the guests for dinner. luckily i was low down on his list.
i was miserably heated, and very uncomfortable lest i should not be able to conceal my congress gaiters, having had no time to change them. my gloves were on, but not buttoned. to add to my misfortunes i found i was to be taken in by a southern congressman who was already—well, not exactly himself. to my horror he winked at miss lane when he drank wine with her. when a side dish was handed, he said audibly: "now look here, joe! is that the same old thing you gave me here last year? because if it is, i don't want any of it." after we returned to the parlor i confided my miseries to the lady who had been placed next him at dinner, and she reassured me: "oh, that's nothing! such things happen here any day—nobody notices these people from the rural districts."
this was worse than the ramshackle carriage. 51 could i bear to be classed with "people from the rural districts?" i was never a moment late afterward.
dinners at the white house were much less elaborate in their appointments than were dinners at the homes of the wealthy cabinet officers and senators. mr. buchanan set an example of republican simplicity. few flowers were placed in the drawing rooms. in the centre of the blue room there was a divan surrounding a stand of potted plants and surmounted by a small palm. the dinner table was not ornamented with flowers, nor were bouquets at the covers. a long plateau, a mirror edged with a hunting scene (gilt figures in high relief), extended down the middle, and from the centre and at the two ends rose epergnes with small crystal dishes for bonbons and cakes.
one evening the president said to me, "madam, what is this small shrub i find always placed before me?"
"if the berries were white, mr. president, it would be ardisia alba."
"ah," he answered, "i am all right! my berries are red—i have 'ardisia rufa!' miss harriet has the alba!"
there were no other floral decorations on the table.
i once ventured to send the president a virginia ham, with particular directions for cooking it. it was to be soaked, boiled gently three or four hours, suffered to get cold in its own juices, and then toasted.
this would seem simple enough, but the executive 52 cook disdained it, perhaps for the reason that it was so simple. the dish, a shapeless, jellylike mass, was placed before the president. he took his knife and fork in hand to honor the dish by carving it himself, looked at it helplessly, and called out—"take it away! take it away! oh, miss harriet! you are a poor housekeeper! not even a virginia lady can teach you."
the glass dishes of the epergne contained wonderful "french kisses"—two-inch squares of crystallized sugar wrapped in silver paper, and elaborately decorated with lace and artificial flowers. i was very proud at one dinner when the president said to me, "madam, i am sending you a souvenir for your little daughter," and a waiter handed me one of those gorgeous affairs. he had questioned me about my boys, and i had told him of my daughter gordon, eight years old, who lived with her grandmother. "you must bring her to see miss harriet," he had said—which, in due season, i did; an event, with its crowning glory of a checked silk dress, white hat and feather, which she proudly remembers to this day. having been duly presented at court, the little lady was much "in society" and accompanied me to many brilliant afternoon functions.
she was a thoughtful listener to the talk in her father's library, and once when an old politician spoke sadly of a possible rupture of the united states, surprised and delighted him by slipping her hand in his and saying, "never mind! united will spell untied just as well"—a little mot which was remembered and repeated long afterwards. 53
mr. buchanan's kind notice of her is gratefully recollected. it was said that he was influenced by the southern senators and representatives. i only know he was most kind to us, and i refuse to believe we were of consequence enough to make this kindness a matter of policy. i would fain think he really liked us, really desired to add to our happiness.
it cannot be said that his niece, miss harriet lane, although universally admired, was a popular woman. she lacked magnetism. she followed a prescribed rule of manner from which she never deviated, no matter with whom she was thrown. this was, perhaps, fortunate. always courteous, always in place, silent whenever it was possible to be silent, watchful, and careful, she made no enemies, was betrayed into no entangling alliances, and was involved in no contretemps of any kind.
she was very handsome, a fair, blue-eyed, self-contained young woman. she was dignified—as indeed all women had to be, in gesture at least, when they wore great hoops! the "curtsy" was a perilous duty. "how does she do it? she never makes a cheese of herself," said one, looking on at a morning reception. miss lane's courtesy was the perfection of deference and grace. and she had exquisite taste in dress. she never wore many ornaments, many flowers, nor the billows of ruffles then in fashion. i remember her in white tulle, with a wreath of clematis; in soft brown or blue silk; in much white muslin, dotted and plain, with blue ribbons run in puffs on skirt and bodice.
she was very affable and agreeable, in an unemotional 54 way—the proper manner, of course, for her. i imagine no one could take a liberty with her then, but i risked the experiment some years ago when we spent a summer together at bar harbor. a handsome widow, with silver hair, she was even more distingué than she had been in the white house. i recalled, to her genuine amusement, two incidents of her life there. when she took her place as mistress of the executive mansion, the president had given her but one rule for her conduct: never under any circumstances to accept a present. "think of my feelings," she had said to me, "when the lovely lacquered boxes and tables the japanese embassy brought me were turned from the door, to say nothing of the music-boxes and these fascinating sewing-machines they have just invented."
a party was once made up for a visit to mount vernon. mr. augustus schell of new york accompanied miss lane. he was a fine-looking fellow and very much in love with her. as they walked along the banks of the potomac, she picked up a handful of colored pebbles. mr. schell requested them of her and put them in his pocket. he took them to tiffany, had them beautifully polished, set with diamonds, and linked together in a bracelet, and sent them as "a souvenir of mount vernon" to miss lane for a christmas gift.
she carried them for a week in her pocket, trying to get her own consent to give them up. the more she looked at them the better she liked them. one day the president was in fine spirits. he liked to rally 55 her about lord lyons, which she did not fancy overmuch. but this time she humored him, and at last ventured to say, "uncle buchanan, if i have a few pretty pebbles given me, you do not object to my accepting them?"
"oh, no, miss harriet! keep your pebbles! keep your pebbles," he exclaimed, in high good humor.
"you know," miss lane said, in telling me the story at the time, "diamonds are pebbles."
there was an impression that she never condescended to the r?le of a coquette, but i could testify to the contrary.
mr. porcher miles, congressman from south carolina, was one of her train of devoted admirers. he accompanied me once to an evening reception at the white house. miss lane stood in front of the flower-trimmed divan in the blue room. mr. miles and i paid our respects, lingered awhile, and, having other engagements, sent for our carriage.
as we stood at the door waiting, he talked of miss lane's beauty and charm—"look at her where she stands! is she not the personification of a high-bred lady from head to foot?"
miss lane perceived we were talking about her,—and while she gave her right hand to the arriving guests she passed her left behind her and plucked a spray of mignonette. we saw her beckon a servant, who immediately found us, and gave the flowers to mr. miles, "with miss lane's compliments."
i repeated these two little stories to her when her head was silvered,—less by age than by sorrow,—and 56 awoke one of those rare moonlight smiles which her friends remember so well.
no one who observed mr. buchanan could fail to perceive the rapid change in him after he became president. having committed himself to the policy of rotation in office, he was overwhelmed with the persistence of place hunters. "they give me no time to say my prayers," he complained. they exhausted him in listening to their petty interests at a time when the most important problems that ever confronted the head of the nation clamored for his consideration.
toward the last, when the older men almost gave up hope, his only prayer was that the catastrophe of conflict might not come in his day. he cannot be blamed above others for hesitation, vacillation. the problems were too mighty for one man's wisdom, too mighty for the collective wisdom of many.
lord and lady napier were interesting members of washington society. they occupied the house built by admiral porter on h street, near fourteenth, now the residence of the french embassy. they had succeeded mr. crampton, and were themselves succeeded in 1859 by lord lyons—so we had three british ministers within a few years. lord and lady napier gave delightful entertainments—dinners, musicales, receptions, evening parties. my lady was more admired than were any of her predecessors. she was lovely in person, gentle, cultivated, most affable and approachable. at her receptions, and even at her balls, her sons, charming boys of ten and twelve, were always present to help her receive 57 her guests. everything she did, everything she said, seemed wisest, virtuousest, discreetest, best. we have had no representative from the court of st. james who did so much for the entertainment of our own people as lord and lady napier.
they gave a splendid ball in 1858 in honor of the queen's birthday. lady napier was superb in a tiara of diamonds and emeralds. lord napier and all the foreign ministers shone forth in all the splendor of court dress; and everybody must concede—mr. marcy to the contrary notwithstanding—that the glitter of gold lace and gems, the distinction of orders, the imperial stars and decorations, do add to the interest of such an occasion. they mean much. they mean honor achieved, services recognized.
a recording jenkins of this ball dilates upon the elegance of the supper, "this vista of gold and silver plate and the more than epicurean daintiness of the delicacies, the age and vintage of the wines."
the most interesting ball of the season was that given by the senators and representatives to lord and lady napier just before they returned to england.
we were early arrivals at this ball, because we wished to see the sanded floor of the ball room, representing in colors st. george and the dragon, before it should be effaced by the dancers.
lord and lady napier were seated on a dais at the head of the room, and we passed in review before them. lady napier was attired in rich white satin, embroidered with pearls, with a close 58 "juliet cap" of pearls on her hair. no lofty throne could make her less gracious than was her wont.
dion boucicault gave me his arm at the door, and after our obeisance walked around the room to show me the portraits and paintings. on the right of lord and lady napier was a full-length portrait of young victoria in her ermine robe and crown, and on the left, one of washington. "alas, alas," said mr. boucicault, "that so great a man should have been painted with cramp in his fingers!" my escort was altogether charming. i discovered he was "putting in time" with me, for presently here came little agnes robertson, just from the theatre, where she had been playing in the "siege of lucknow," and i lost mr. boucicault! he married her soon afterward. and afterward! ah, well! that is none of the business of this story.
when we entered the banquet hall, lady napier's exclamations were enthusiastic. "look, george," she cried, "there is the knight and his dragon again—all in sugar! and here are the english arms and—oh, george! here are our own arms!" gautier had excelled himself. there were glittering haystacks of spun sugar; wonderful roman chariots, drawn by swans, and driven by cupids; pyramids of costly bonbons; dolphins in a sea of rock candy; and ices in every form from a pair of turtle doves to a pillared temple. gautier spread all his tables in this fashion, the grosser dishes of game, terrapin, and canvasback being served from a buffet.
washington suppers in the fifties were superb. one wondered if we might not some day return 59 to the feasts of the roman emperors, the tables of cedar and ivory incrusted with jewels, the movable ceilings representing the celestial spheres, the showers of violets and roses which rained down on the guests in the intervals between the courses of peacocks' brains and nightingales' tongues, the trumpets which greeted the appearance of the stuffed peacocks with spread plumage. time has really changed our supper fashions less than we imagine. music, delicate wines, confectionery in fanciful forms, silver dishes, flowers, perfumed water for the fingers, were all fashionable in the fourteenth century. we smile to read of the flocks of living birds and the stuffed fowls that adorned the boards of the neapolitan kings. but it has not been many years since, at a banquet given in new york to ex-president cleveland by the manhattan club, a tank was placed in the middle of the table where living terrapins crawled about and were thoughtful spectators of the fate of the terrapin à la maryland. and at intervals around the board, stuffed pheasants contemplated the flight of the faisan r?ti down democratic throats. benedetti salutati in 1476 never did better than this. and, compared with these ancients and moderns, m. gautier was extremely refined, and only a bit anachronistic with his roman chariots, cupids, and swans.
people were wont to remark upon the atmosphere the lovely lady napier seemed to bring with her everywhere. those who were admitted into her sanctum sanctorum, her little boudoir, fancied they could explain it. upon her table was much silver 60 marked with her coronet and initials, and beside these was a rosewood book rack containing half a dozen volumes—a bible, a "treatise on practical religion," "the mount of olivet," "paradise of the christian soul," "the christian year," "child's catechism," "life of dean ramsey." these were the pure waters from which lady napier drank daily. "ninia napier" was written in a delicate italian hand on the fly-leaf of each volume.
my acquaintance with lord napier was slight. judge douglas introduced him to me at a ball. he stood some seconds without speaking. at last he raised his cold blue eyes and asked, "have you been long at this place?" i answered, "no, my lord!" ten words had passed between us, with which he seemed to be satisfied. but lady napier i knew well. she returned all visits, and mine among the rest.
england and russia had been at war, and peace had recently been concluded. of all the foreign ministers i knew best the english and russian. baron sto?ckle, then the russian envoy, and baron bodisco, his predecessor (i am not sure about the "baron"), i knew very well, and i cordially liked their wives. this does not imply that their wives, both american, liked each other.
madame bodisco, laden with diamonds, looked with disfavor upon madame sto?ckle, young, blue-eyed, and in simple attire. the latter was from massachusetts; the former had been a beautiful georgetown girl, whom the baron, passing her father's orchard, had spied in a blossoming apple 61 tree, and to whom he had forthwith lost his russian and baronial heart. madame bodisco was an enthusiastic southern sympathizer. at madame sto?ckle's own table, after she had related an amusing anecdote, madame bodisco whispered to me, "will you listen to that yankee woman with her 'says she's' and 'says i's'!"
of course politics, in this seething time, were never alluded to in any company, least of all in the presence of our foreign envoys. it required skill; but we kept the talk upon "literature and flowers," the birds and fishes of different lands, anything, everything, except the topic of all-consuming interest. but at one of baron sto?ckle's very genial dinners, one of us, to test his ingenuity, said: "come now, baron! here we are, republican and democrat! show your colors! where do you belong?" "alas, dear lady," said the wily diplomat, "i am an orphan! i belong nowhere! i am an old-line whig." this party had just become extinct.
one of the exciting events during the buchanan administration was the arrival in washington of the first embassy from japan—the japan which for hundreds of years had been governed by the dominant idea: "to preserve unchanged the condition of the native intelligence" and to "prevent the introduction of new ideas." the government had maintained a rigid policy of isolation, "living like frogs in a well," until 1853, when they were rudely awakened from their dream of peace and security by commodore perry sailing into the harbor of yokohama with a squadron of united states war 62 vessels. by dignity, resolution, argument, and promise, he extorted a treaty in 1854—and thus japan entered the family of nations.
we had much curiosity about the japanese. we read perry's "expedition" with keen interest, and were delighted with the prospect of receiving the embassy from the new land. arrangements were made for a series of entertainments, invitations were already issued—one to the white house to witness the presentation of credentials and the reception of the president.
at last we heard that the strangers had landed and would soon arrive. i was in the gallery of the senate chamber with an intimate friend. we were doubtful about going out with the crowd of citizens to meet the japanese, and were hoping that the senate and house would adjourn. presently a member rose and said: "mr. president, the first ambassadors from the venerable country of japan are about to arrive. i move the senate do now adjourn to meet and welcome the japanese."
immediately another senator was on his feet, not to second the motion, but to say sharply, "mr. president, i humbly trust the senate of the united states of america will not adjourn for every show that comes along." that settled it. my friend and i hurried to our carriage, and meeting the cortège, turned just in time to drive side by side with the first landau containing the ambassadors.
our progress was slow and often interrupted—and we had abundant time to observe the two dignitaries close beside us in the first carriage. they sat, 63 fanning themselves, without looking to right or left. the one next me was extremely wrinkled and withered—doubtless the greater man—and he was so wooden, so destitute of expression that i—oh, this is much worse than the episode of the ramshackle hack! how can i confess that i "lost my head." the old creature, with his wrinkled, yellow face, turban, short gown, and petticoats looked so very like my old mulatto mammy, the darling of my childhood, that—i leaned over and put my pearl-handled fan on his knee, motioning to him to give me his in exchange. the old gentleman looked startled for an instant, but he soon understood, and i became the first possessor of a japanese fan. but then a strange thing happened! i was suddenly overwhelmed with confusion and sank back beside my companion, pulling her parasol well over my face. "was it so dreadful?" i implored. "i'm afraid it was," said she. "hide your fan from the others. we will never tell." presently she added, thoughtfully, "i wonder what your aunt mary would say?" i did not wonder. i knew perfectly well what my aunt mary would say.
all of which goes to prove that it was lucky my husband had not taken his wife to greece, and had not accepted the mission to persia which was offered him. he had a wife, unfortunately, who might on provocation lose her head.
the next morning we repaired to the white house to help receive the japanese embassy. mr. buchanan would have done well to select his guests with regard to their slimness. the east room was 64 packed. ranging on either side according to our rank, the congressmen found themselves near the wall. we mounted our smallest representative, mr. boyce, on the low mantelpiece behind some palms with instructions to peep and tell us everything he saw. "what are they doing now, mr. boyce?" "oh, it's grand! they bow, and then they bow again!" "well, what are they saying? what are they doing now?" "they are still bowing, and 'old buck,' god bless him, is bowing too." the ceremony was long. the murmured voices were low. one might have imagined one's self at a funeral.
the belgian baron de limbourg gave a fine garden party to the strangers. the baron considered himself on the entertainment committee as he had recently married the daughter of our secretary of state, mr. cass. there were large grounds around his residence, and these he lighted with japanese lanterns, dotting the lawn all over with pretty tents, in which young girls costumed to represent the peasants of various countries served ices and confections. the large area in the rear was converted by carpets, hangings, and divans into a luxurious turkish smoking den.
the japanese always presented a pretty work-box, filled with curious silks, to the ladies who entertained them. they would then range themselves on the seats prepared for them and look on silently, with half-shut eyes and expressionless faces. the dancing delighted them. "how much are the women paid?" ventured one, and was amazed to find they 65 danced for pleasure only. a tiny, round-faced boy was always of the party. we sometimes spoke to him, and he invariably answered "all right," until he was known as "little all right," and, as he was the only gracious one of the whole party, he became a favorite.
the prince de joinville attended madame de limbourg's fête. during the afternoon our host sent for me, and i was conducted to an alcove where the prince, miss lane, lord lyons, and some of the cabinet ladies were gathered around a little bottle of wine, which was, we were told, old, old rose wine—costing so much that now, what with interest and compound interest, every drop was worth—i forget how much! and we were to drink miss lane's health. "and i!"—she protested. "i cannot drink my own health! am i to have no wine?" whereupon she was conjured to think her own toast—and we would, not knowing her thought, drink it with her.
it was supposed that lord lyons was her suitor, and we were persuaded that the president desired her to marry him. but nobody knows the heart of the king, nor the heart of the president (who fills in some sort a king's position), still less the heart of the president's pretty niece—least of all the heart of a wily diplomat! we only know she married one of her own countrymen—and as to lord lyons, we lost him for good and all when the dreadful war came.
