there were many brilliant and beautiful women who escaped the notice of the society newsmonger of the day.
mrs. cyrus mccormick, recently married to the inventor of the great reaping machine, was one of these. mr. mccormick, then a young man, was destined to be decorated by many european governments and to achieve a great fortune. his wife, just out of miss emma willard's school, was very beautiful, very gentle, and winning. no sheaves garnered by her husband's famous reaper can compare with the sheaves from her own sowing, during a long life devoted to good deeds.
then there were mrs. yulee, wife of the senator from florida, and her sisters, mrs. merrick and mrs. holt, all three noted for personal and intellectual charm; and beautiful mrs. robert j. walker, who was perhaps the first of the coterie to be called to make a sacrifice for her country, exchanging the brilliant life in washington for the hardships of kansas—"bleeding kansas," torn with dissensions among its "squatter sovereigns," and with a climate of stern severity, where food froze at night and must be broken with a hatchet for breakfast. mrs. 81 walker shrank from the ordeal, for she was well fitted for gay society; but the president himself visited her and begged the sacrifice for the good of the country. she went, and bore her trials. they were only a little in advance of sterner trials ordained for some of her washington friends. nor must we fail to acknowledge the social influence of mrs. jefferson davis, one of the most brilliant women of her time—greatly sought by cultivated men and women.
but the wittiest and brightest of them all was mrs. clay, the wife of the senator from alabama. she was extremely clever, the soul of every company. a costume ball at which she personated mrs. partington is still remembered in washington. mrs. partington's sayings could not be arranged beforehand and conned for the occasion. her malapropos replies must be improvised on the moment, and must moreover be seasoned with wit to redeem them from commonplace dulness. mrs. clay rose to the occasion, and her mrs. partington became the mrs. partington of the future.
the reader will not fail to observe the number of southern women who were prominent in mr. buchanan's court. a correspondent of a leading new york paper[4] has recently written an interesting article on this subject. he declares that the southern women (before lincoln's day) had long controlled the society of washington. "with their natural and acquired graces, with their inherited taste and ability in social affairs, it was natural that 82 the reins should fall to them. they represented a clique of aristocracy; they were recognized leaders who could afford to smile good-naturedly at the awkward and perplexed attempts of the women from the other sections—mrs. senator this, mrs. congressman that—to thread the ins and outs of washington's social labyrinth. to none of these ladies was the thought pleasant of secession from the union and consequent giving up whatever of social dominion she had acquired."
i wish i could give some idea of the "days at home" of these court ladies in washington in 1858. the large public functions were all alike then as now, with this exception, that nearly every man present was somebody, and every woman somebody's wife. it was not necessary for these people to talk. the men made little effort. it was well known what they had said yesterday in the house or the senate chamber; but we dared not express opinions in public (and not freely in private), such was the tense feeling at that time. conversation had been always, at the south, an art carefully cultivated. conversation suffered at a time when we were forced to ignore subjects that possessed us with absorbing interest and to confine ourselves to trivialities.
excusing the silence of one famous man, somebody remarked: "oh, well, you know brilliant men do not of necessity talk well. thrilled by their utterances in their speeches and writings, we are surprised, when we meet them, at their silence." a "famous man's" eye twinkled. "ask galt," 83 he said, "why he doesn't give away his gems. probably he might answer that he proposes to sell them," an ingenious way of avoiding the remotest hint that silence was the result of preoccupied thought on the grave questions of the hour.
for some inexplicable reason the wives of great men are apt to be quiet and non-committal—little moons revolving around a great luminary. moon-like, one side only is turned to the world. how is it on the other side? we have a glimpse of it over the demi-tasse in the drawing-room after dinner, or at our informal "at homes" in our own houses.
at these times of unbending in washington we were wont to begin in a rather stilted manner, sipping our coffee and liqueurs in a leisurely way, and steering widely clear of politics and politicians. we talked of art and artists, galleries in europe, shops in paris,—anything except what we were all thinking about. the art of conversation suffered under such circumstances. but some interesting books were just out in england, and everybody was discussing them. thackeray had recently given "the virginians" to the world. tennyson was turning all the girls' heads with "elaine." a new star was rising—george eliot. dickens, we were, at the moment, cordially hating because of his "american notes." bulwer was well to the fore. two valued members of our own special coterie were randolph rogers and thomas crawford the sculptor, whose genius, differently expressed, lives to-day in his gifted son, marion crawford. thomas 84 crawford had been commissioned by the state of virginia to execute a colossal statue of washington for the capitol square in richmond, a great work,—including statues of virginia's statesmen,—which was happily completed in 1861, and from which i heard jefferson davis's inaugural address, february 22, 1862, upon his taking the oath as permanent president of the confederacy. it was a black day of rain and snow; the new government, destined never to flourish in sunshine, was born in storm and tempest.
thomas crawford, born in new york in 1814, was now at the height of his fame. he had studied and worked with thorwaldsen. apart from his peculiar genius he was a charming companion, full of versatile talk. the younger man, randolph rogers, was also most interesting. he brought to us his sketches and drawings for the bronze doors of the capitol before they were submitted to the committee, and came again when they were accepted, to tell us of his good fortune.
the army and navy people were especially interesting. they never discussed politics. their positions were assured and there were consequently no feverish society strugglers among them. they had no vulgar respect for wealth, entertaining charmingly within their means. admiral porter and his family were there, general winfield scott was there, the admiral (then commander) forty-four years old, and the noble old veteran nearer seventy-four. both were delightful members of washington society. nobody esteemed wealth or spoke of it or thought 85 of it. office, position, talent, beauty, and charm were the requisites for men and women.
on one day, i remember, i had gone the rounds of cabinet receptions, had taken my chocolate from the generous urn of the secretary of state, and had dutifully looked in upon all the other secretaries. i knew a dear little lady, foreign, attached to one of the legations (i really never knew whether she was russian or hungarian), who had invited me for the "end of the afternoon." her husband had not a prominent place in the embassy, nor she in society, but she knew how to gather around her tea-kettle a choice little company, every one of whom felt honored to be included. i found her seated at a small round table, and she welcomed me in the english that gained from a musical voice, and the deliberate enunciation of syllable which always seems to me so complimentary and respectful in foreigners.
the fashion of the low tea-table had just been introduced. one could have tea, nothing else. one could always find behind the silver urns "'igh and 'aughty" butlers serving chocolate, wine, and every conceivable dainty at the houses of the great senators, ministers, and cabinet officers. things were much more distingué at this lady's tea-table. a few early spring flowers, crocuses, hyacinths, or purple heather, were blooming here and there about the room. our hostess was gowned in some white stuff, and there was a bit of classic suggestion in her attire, in the jewelled girdle, and an order or medal tucked under a ribbon. a little white-capped maid welcomed and ushered us, and managed 86 to hover about for all the service we were likely to require. the impression grew upon me that all this had been done for me especially, and i found myself thinking how fortunate it was i had happened to come. that lovely woman would have been so sorely disappointed had i stayed away!
but presently other guests arrived. they were all foreigners, but perceiving the american presence they spoke only english. the hostess put into motion the most musical conversation. how has she done it? she has made no effort "to entertain." conversation had come unbidden. russian tea? why, certainly! do we ever care for other than russian tea? she was deliberate. we forgot we were sorely pressed this day with seventeen names on our list. we gave ourselves up to the pleasure of observing her.
she lighted her silver lamp; and, although she wished us to see the great shining samovar which descended to her from her grandmother, she said it was good, very good indeed, in the camp or on journeys when one had only charcoal; but here in america the fairy lamp to light the wax taper and the alcohol burner beneath the kettle are best. she poured the water, which had bubbled, but not boiled (boiling water would make the tea flat), over delicious tea, paused a moment only, then poured the steaming amber upon two lumps of sugar, two slices of lemon, and one teaspoonful of rum, and we pronounced it a perfect cup of tea. but our enchantress said no, that some day ladies will grow tea in their own conservatories, and then only will it be 87 perfect in this country; for the ocean voyage spoils the delicacy of the sensitive herb.
glancing around the table, our hostess grasped the situation. here was a russian lady with a proud head, there two dark-eyed bohemians, one greek beauty, an english woman, and our own stiff, heavy, uncompromising american self!
she is to make these people happy for the five minutes they are around her little board. how does it come to pass that these strangers find a common ground upon which they can hold animated conversation?
they talked of genius and geniuses,—how they are not created by opportunity or culture, but are inspired; how that, apart from their gifts, they are quite like other people, not even cleverer always. "yes," said the greek girl, with an exalted look in her dark eyes, "they are chosen, like the prophets, to speak great words or compose immortal music, or build symphonies in stone; and what they do is outside themselves altogether." "it is literally true," said the englishwoman, "that people have 'a gift' apart from their ordinary selves. does not george eliot say that his novels grow in him like a plant. no amount of work and study can create a genius!" and then everybody marvels at the wonderful young man (for nobody knows it is a woman) who has just written "adam bede" and "the mill on the floss."
or perhaps the hostess has bribed some one of the foreign legation to come to her "at home." novels on washington life hint of such a possibility. or 88 perhaps some prince of good talkers among our own ministers is home for a brief holiday, or returned from a mission, and a circle gathers around him.
our minister, sent to france by mr. pierce, once honored me by his presence and told us the following story. everybody who remembers the genial john y. mason will easily imagine how he told it, and how his own magnetism possessed his listeners. not a tea-cup rattled during the narration. "i lived," said mr. mason, "at a hotel for a few weeks after receiving my appointment as minister plenipotentiary—while my house was being made ready to bring my family. the house was crowded, and my landlord was forced to divide one of his offices by a thin partition to receive me at all.
"one night i was awakened by a stifled sob on the other side of the partition. rising on my elbow, i listened. the sob was repeated—then i heard abusive language and oaths in english—i fancied i heard a blow! leaping to my feet, i struck smartly on the partition, and all was still.
"the next morning i asked the clerk about my neighbors and complained that they disturbed me. he shrugged his shoulders and said, 'mais, monsieur! they are americans!' as if that explained everything. however, he informed me that they had left the hotel that morning.
"a few days later i was sitting in my room at the legation, when i received a visitor—a slender female closely veiled, who said in a troubled whisper that she had come to claim protection of the french government. i told her i could not confer with 89 her while she was disguised, and she slowly raised her hand and held her veil aside. i never saw a lovelier face.
"she could not have been older than eighteen years. her features were delicate, her eyes large and expressive, her brow shaded by golden-brown hair. she was deathly white. i never saw such pallor. 'what can i do for you, my child?' i asked. well, it was a sad story. married to a dissipated young fellow, away on her wedding journey; threatened, and in terror of losing her life. she wished the protection of the police. she said she should never have had the courage to ask it alone, but that she knew i had slept near her at the maison dorée. i had heard! i could understand. i was the american minister, and i could help.
"'but think,' i said, 'i heard nothing but harsh language. we cannot go with this to the préfet. he will not consider it cause for action against your husband.'
"the girl hesitated. finally, with a burst of tears, she unfastened her gown at the throat, turned it down, and disclosed the dark print of fingers on the delicate skin.
"it was enough. she had been choked into silence—this frail american girl—on the night when i heard the smothered sob.
"of course you may imagine my zeal in her behalf. i had daughters of my own. i arranged to accompany the young wife at once to the office of the préfet, and having ascertained the address of her bankers i resolved to make arrangements to 90 get her out of paris in case she felt her life to be in danger.
"well, i waited long at the office of the préfet. finally our turn came. i rose and made my statement. imagine my feelings when my fair client threw back her veil, and with a surprised look said:
"'i think the american minister has been dreaming!'
"i felt as if a tub of ice-water had been poured over me. of course my position was perfectly ridiculous. before i could recover she had slipped through the crowd and was gone. while we waited she had changed her mind!"
"the wretch!" exclaimed one of the listeners. "that just proves that women are always attracted by brutality."
"really?" said mr. mason.
"not exactly, perhaps, but there was once an english countess who explained a divorce suit of one of her relatives thus:—
"'you see, ermentrude was one of those women who needed kicking down the stairs, and ferdinand was gentle; he was not up to it!'"
an agreeable function, no longer in vogue in this country, was the evening party. lady napier gave one of these parties to present her friends to edward everett.
these parties were arranged that pleasant people might meet distinguished strangers and each other. as this was the prime object of these occasions, there were no blatant bands to make conversation impossible, but there was no lack of delightful music. 91 miss nerissa saunders played exquisitely upon the harp; mrs. gales's niece, juliana may, sang divinely; many young ladies had cultivated voices. nobody thought of hiring entertainment for guests. the guests were bright talkers and could entertain each other. if a ball room were attached to the salon, dancing was expected; but the parlors were distant and people could talk! of course it is always stupid to collect a lot of dull people together, but the wives of the brilliant men of mr. buchanan's administration understood entertaining. there were always gifted conversationalists present who liked talking better than eating, with cleverness enough to draw out, and not forestall, the wit of others. this art could not be claimed by the great talkers of old english society, johnson, macaulay, coleridge, de quincey, and the rest. we should not now, i am sure, care much for these monopolists. sheridan, for instance, must have been rather a quenching element at an evening party; for in addition to his own witty creations, he had a trick of preserving the bon mots of others, leading conversation into channels where they would fit in, and using them accordingly. thus in talking with sheridan his friends had a dozen wits to cope with withal.
our washington hostesses always gave a supper—not a fine supper—a good supper, where the old family receipt book had been consulted, especially if our hostess had come from kentucky, maryland, or virginia. the canvasback ducks, terrapin, and oysters were unlike gautier's. we all know that rubies are now less rare in this country than good 92 cooks. we may essay the triumphs of the old washington of the fifties, but beneath our own fig tree they become failures and shabby makeshifts. there are mysteries in cooking unattainable to any but the elect—and of the elect were the sable priestesses of the washington kitchens.
