The antiquity of the furniture in our homes can scarcely be described,
every article appearing to have been purchased during the reign of
George III., since which period no new fixtures or household utensils
seemed to have been bought.
The books in our libraries had been brought from England almost two
hundred years before. In our own library there were Hogarth's
pictures, in old worm-eaten frames; and among the literary
curiosities, one of the earliest editions of Shakespeare (1685)
containing under the author's picture the lines by Ben Jonson:
"This Figure, that thou here seest put,
It was for gentle Shakespeare cut;
Wherein the Graver had a strife
With Nature to outdo the Life:
O, could he but have drawn his Wit
As well in Brass, as he has hit
His Face; the Print would then surpass
All that was ever writ in Brass.
But since he cannot, Reader, look
Not on his Picture, but his Book."
This was a reprint of the first edition of Shakespeare's works,
collected by John Heminge and Henry Condell, two of his friends in the
company of comedians.
When a small child, the perusal of the "Arabian Nights" possessed me
with the idea that their dazzling pictures were to be realized when we
emerged from plantation life into the outside world, and the
disappointment at not finding Richmond paved with gems and gold like
those cities in Eastern story is remembered to the present time.
Brought up amid antiquities, the Virginia girl disturbed herself not
about modern fashions, appearing happy in her mother's old silks and
satins made over. She rejoiced in her grandmother's laces and in her
brooch of untold dimensions, with a weeping willow and tombstone on
it,--a constant reminder of the past,--which had descended from some
remote ancestor.
She slept in a high bedstead--the bed of her ancestors; washed her
face on an old-fashioned, spindle-legged washstand; mounted a high
chair to arrange her hair before the old-fashioned mirror on the high
bureau; climbed to the top of a high mantelpiece to take down the
old-fashioned high candlesticks; climbed a pair of steps to get into
the high-swung, old-fashioned carriage; perched her feet upon the top
of a high brass fender if she wanted to get them warm; and, in short,
had to perform so many gymnastics that she felt convinced her
ancestors must have been a race of giants, or they could not have
required such tall and inaccessible furniture.
An occasional visit to Richmond or Petersburg sometimes animated her
with a desire for some style of dress less antique than her own,
although she had as much admiration and attention as if she had just
received her wardrobe from Paris.
Her social outlook might have been regarded as limited and
circumscribed, her parents being unwilling that her acquaintance
should extend beyond the descendants of their own old friends.
She had never any occasion to make what the world calls her "_début_,"
the constant flow of company at her father's house having rendered her
assistance necessary in entertaining guests as soon as she could
converse and be companionable, so that her manners were early formed,
and she remembered not the time when it was anything but very easy and
agreeable to be in the society of ladies and gentlemen.
In due time we were provided--my sister and myself--with the best
instructors--a lady all the way from Bordeaux to teach French, and a
German professor for German and music. The latter opened to us a new
world of music. He was a fine linguist, a thorough musician, and a
gentleman. He lived with us for five years, and remained our sincere
and truly valued friend through life.
After some years we were thought to have arrived at "sufficient age of
discretion" for a trip to New York City.
Fancy our feelings on arriving in that world of modern people and
modern things! Fancy two young girls suddenly transported from the
time of George III. to the largest hotel on Broadway in 1855!
All was as strange to us then as we are now to the Chinese. Never had
we seen white servants before, and on being attended by them at first
we felt a sort of embarrassment, but soon found they were accustomed
to less consideration and more hard work than were our negro servants
at home.
Everything and everybody seemed in a mad whirl--the "march of material
progress," they told us. It seemed to us more the "perpetual motion of
progress." Everybody said that if old-fogy Virginia did not make haste
to join this march, she would be left "a wreck behind."
We found ourselves in the "advanced age": in the land of water-pipes
and dumb-waiters; the land of enterprise and money, and, at the same
time, of an economy amounting to parsimony.
The manners of the people were strange to us, and different from ours.
The ladies seemed to have gone ahead of the men in the "march of
progress," their manner being more pronounced. They did not hesitate
to push about through crowds and public places.
Still we were young; and, dazzled with the gloss and glitter, we
wondered why old Virginia couldn't join this march of progress, and
have dumb-waiters, and elevators, and water-pipes, and gas-fixtures,
and baby-jumpers, and washing-machines.
We asked a gentleman who was with us why old Virginia had not all
these, and he replied: "Because, while the people here have been busy
working for themselves, old-fogy Virginia has been working for
negroes. All the money Virginia makes is spent in feeding and clothing
negroes. And," he continued, "these people in the North were shrewd
enough years ago to sell all theirs to the South."
All was strange to us,--even the tablecloths on the tea and breakfast
tables, instead of napkins under the plates, such as we had at home,
and which always looked so pretty on the mahogany.
But the novelty having worn off after a while, we found out there was
a good deal of imitation, after all, mixed up in everything. Things
did not seem to have been "fixed up" to last as long as our old things
at home, and we began to wonder if the "advanced age" really made the
people any better, or more agreeable, or more hospitable, or more
generous, or more brave, or more self-reliant, or more charitable, or
more true, or more pious, than in "old-fogy Virginia."
There was one thing most curious to us in New York. No one seemed to
do anything by himself or herself. No one had an individuality; all
existed in "clubs" or "societies." They had many "isms" also, of which
we had never heard, some of the people sitting up all night and going
around all day talking about "manifestations," and "spirits," and
"affinities," which they told us was "spiritualism."
All this impressed us slow, old-fashioned Virginians as a strangely
upside-down, wrong-side-out condition of things.
Much of the conversation we heard was confined to asking questions of
strangers, and discussing the best means of making money.
We were surprised, too, to hear of "plantation customs," said to exist
among us, which were entirely new to us; and one of the magazines
published in the city informed us that "dipping" was one of the
characteristics of Southern women. What could the word "dipping" mean?
we wondered, for we had never heard it before. Upon inquiry we found
that it meant "rubbing the teeth with snuff on a small stick"--a truly
disgusting habit which could not have prevailed in Virginia, or we
would have had some tradition of it at least, our acquaintance
extending over the State, and our ancestors having settled there two
hundred years ago.
A young gentleman from Virginia, bright and overflowing with
fun,--also visiting New York,--coming into the parlor one day, threw
himself on a sofa in a violent fit of laughter.
"What is the matter?" we asked.
"I am laughing," he replied, "at the absurd questions these people can
ask. What do you think? A man asked me just now if we didn't keep
bloodhounds in Virginia to chase negroes! I told him: Oh, yes, every
plantation keeps several dozen! And we often have a tender boiled
negro infant for breakfast!"
"Oh, how could you have told such a story?" we said.
"Well," said he, "you know we never saw a bloodhound in Virginia, and
I do not expect there is one in the State; but these people delight
in believing everything horrible about us, and I thought I might as
well gratify them with something marvelous. So the next book published
up here will have, I've no doubt, a chapter headed: 'Bloodhounds in
Virginia and boiled negroes for breakfast!'"
While we were purchasing some trifles to bring home to some of our
servants, a lady who had entertained us most kindly at her house on
Fifth Avenue, expressing surprise, said: "_We_ never think of bringing
home presents to our help."
This was the first time we had ever heard, instead of "servant," the
word "help," which seemed then, and still seems, misapplied. The
dictionaries define "help" to mean aid, assistance, remedy, while
"servant" means one who attends another and acts at his command. When
a man pays another to "help" him, it implies he is to do part of the
work himself, and is dishonest if he leaves the whole to be performed
by his "help."
Among other discoveries during this visit we found how much more
talent it requires to entertain company in the country than in the
city. In the latter the guests and family form no "social circle round
the blazing hearth" at night, but disperse far and wide, to be
entertained at the concert, the opera, the theatre, or club; while in
the country one depends entirely upon native intellect and
conversational talent.
And, oh! the memory of our own fireside circles! The exquisite women,
the men of giant intellect, eloquence, and wit, at sundry times
assembled there! Could our andirons but utter speech, what would they
not tell of mirth and song, eloquence and wit, whose flow made many an
evening bright!
As all delights must have an end, the time came for us to leave these
metropolitan scenes, and, bidding adieu forever to the land of "modern
appliances" and stale bread, we returned to the land of "old ham and
corn cakes," and were soon surrounded by friends who came to hear the
marvels we had to relate.
How monotonous, how dull, prosy, inconvenient, everything seemed after
our plunge into modern life!
We told old Virginia about all the enterprise we had seen, and how
she was left far behind everybody and everything, urging her to join
at once the "march of material progress."
But the Mother of States persisted in sitting contentedly over her
old-fashioned wood fire with brass andirons, and, while thus musing,
these words fell slowly and distinctly from her lips:
"They call me 'old fogy,' and tell me I must get out of my old ruts
and come into the 'advanced age.' But I don't care about their
'advanced age,' their water-pipes and elevators. Give me the right
sort of men and women--God-loving, God-serving men and women. Men
brave, courteous, true; women sensible, gentle, and retiring.
"Have not my plantation homes furnished warriors, statesmen, and
orators, acknowledged great by the world? I make it a rule to 'keep on
hand' men equal to emergencies. Had I not Washington, Patrick Henry,
Light-Horse Harry Lee, and others, ready for the first Revolution? and
if there comes another,--which God forbid!--have I not plenty more
just like them?"
Here she laughed with delight as she called over their names: "Robert
Lee, Jackson, Joe Johnstone, Stuart, Early, Floyd, Preston, the
Breckinridges, Scott, and others like them, brave and true as steel.
Ha! ha! I know of what stuff to make men! And if my old 'ruts and
grooves' produce men like these, should they be abandoned? Can any
'advanced age' produce better?
"Then there are my soldiers of the Cross. Do I not yearly send out a
faithful band to be a 'shining light,' and spread the Gospel North,
South, East, West, even into foreign lands? Is not the only Christian
paper in Athens, Greece, the result of the love and labor of one of my
soldiers?[2]
[2] Rev. G. W. Leyburn.
"And can I not send out men of science, as well as warriors,
statesmen, and orators? There is Maury on the seas, showing the world
what a man of science can do. If my 'old-fogy' system has produced men
like these, must it be abandoned?"
Here the old Mother of States settled herself back in her chair, a
smile of satisfaction resting on her face, and she ceased to think of
_change_.
Telling our mother of all the wonders and pleasures of New York, she
said:
"You were so delighted I judge that you would like to sell out
everything here and move there!"
"It would be delightful!" we exclaimed.
"But you would miss many pleasures you have in our present home."
"We would have no time to miss anything," said my sister, "in that
whirl of excitement! But," she continued, "I believe one might as well
try to move the Rocky Mountains to Fifth Avenue as an old Virginian!
They have such a horror of selling out and moving."
"It is not so easy to sell out and move," replied our mother, "when
you remember all the negroes we have to take care of and support."
"Yes, the negroes," we said, "are the weight continually pulling us
down! Will the time _ever_ come for us to be free of them?"
"They were placed here," replied our mother, "by God, for us to take
care of, and it does not seem that we can change it. When we
emancipate them, it does not better their condition. Those left free
and with good farms given them by their masters soon sink into poverty
and wretchedness, and become a nuisance to the community. We see how
miserable are Mr. Randolph's[3] negroes, who with their freedom
received from their master a large section of the best land in Prince
Edward County. My own grandfather also emancipated a large number,
having first had them taught lucrative trades that they might support
themselves, and giving them money and land. But they were not
prosperous or happy. We have also tried sending them to Liberia. You
know my old friend Mrs. L. emancipated all hers and sent them to
Liberia; but she told me the other day that she was convinced it had
been no kindness to them, for she continually receives letters begging
assistance, and yearly supplies them with clothes and money."
[3] John Randolph of Roanoke.
So it seemed our way was surrounded by walls of circumstances too
thick and solid to be pulled down, and we said no more.
Some weeks after this conversation we had a visit from a friend--Dr.
Bagby--who, having lived in New York, and hearing us express a wish to
live there, said:
"What! exchange a home in old Virginia for one on Fifth Avenue? You
don't know what you are talking about! It is not even called 'home'
there, but '_house_,' where they turn into bed at midnight, eat
stale-bread breakfasts, have brilliant parties--where several hundred
people meet who don't care anything about each other. They have no
soul life, but shut themselves up in themselves, live for themselves,
and never have any social enjoyment like ours."
"But," we said, "could not our friends come to see us there as well as
anywhere else?"
"No, indeed!" he answered. "Your hearts would soon be as cold and dead
as a marble door-front. You wouldn't want to see anybody, and nobody
would want to see you."
"You are complimentary, certainly!"
"I know all about it; and"--he continued--"I know you could not find
on Fifth Avenue such women as your mother and grandmother, who never
think of themselves, but are constantly planning and providing for
others, making their homes comfortable and pleasant, and attending to
the wants and welfare of so many negroes. And that is what the women
all over the South are doing, and what the New York women cannot
comprehend. How can anybody know, except ourselves, the personal
sacrifices of our women?"
"Well," said my sister, "you need not be so severe and eloquent
because we thought we should like to live in New York! If we should
sell all we possess, we could never afford to live there. Besides, you
know our mother would as soon think of selling her children as her
servants."
"But," he replied, "I can't help talking, for I hear our people
abused, and called indolent and self-indulgent, when I know they have
valor and endurance enough. And I believe so much 'material progress'
leaves no leisure for the highest development of heart and mind. Where
the whole energy of a people is applied to making money, the souls of
men become dwarfed."
"We do not feel," we said, "like abusing Northern people, in whose
thrift and enterprise we found much to admire; and especially the
self-reliance of their women, enabling them to take care of themselves
and to travel from Maine to the Gulf without escort, while we find it
impossible to travel a day's journey without a special protector."
"That is just what I don't like," said he, "to see a woman in a crowd
of strangers and needing no 'special protector.'"
"This dependence upon your sex," we replied, "keeps you so vain."
"We should lose our gallantry altogether," said he, "if we found you
could get along without us."