dinner at the White House. That event probably marks the close of the
fashionable season. With the New Year these dinners are inaugurated,
and every Wednesday of each week the President is expected to
entertain a given number of Senators and Members. Thirty-six persons
only can be seated in the banqueting hall of the Executive Mansion,
consequently it is impossible that all the people’s representatives,
during one season, shall have the honor of crossing their feet under
the national mahogany. If the President would follow the custom of
other nations, and invite only men to these official banquets, it
would happen that all, or nearly all, of our Congressmen would be
thus honored yearly. But the fairer portion of creation is mixed
ingeniously in these highly important state matters. Consequently
the same number of public men are obliged to dine elsewhere. In the
infancy of the Republic the President had time to bestow upon his
guests, as well as plenty of room, to entertain the nation’s limited
number of Congressmen. In those days women were necessary to fill up
the chinks of conversation; at the same time no public man was left
out in the cold for a whole year because his seat was taken. It has
now become a matter of great delicacy to choose who shall be invited
to the White House, and who shall not; but no President has given
less offence than the present Executive. It is, however, only amongst
the women, who are the social rulers at the capital, that any
feeling is expressed, for the Congressmen who declare state dinners
to be “bores,” and those who escape the trial, consider themselves
fortunate.
The “state dining-room” at the White House is a handsome apartment.
A long table, rounded at the ends, extends through the middle
of it, at which thirty-six can be comfortably seated. There is
plenty of room besides for the servants to perform their duties
admirably. New mirrors and chandeliers have been added since the
administration of President Grant, but the carpets, upholstering,
and papering have descended from Johnson’s regime. The exquisite
taste of Martha Patterson is seen on the daintily tinted walls, the
figures of the carpet so nicely adjusted to the size of the room,
the dark green satin damask at the windows, and the quaint chairs,
under her supervision, arranged to match. A clock as ancient as the
days of Madison adorns one of the marble mantels, whilst a pair of
hydra-headed candlesticks, grim with age, descended from nobody knows
whose brief reign, grace the other. With the exception of a pair of
modern mahogany sideboards, the furniture seems to have belonged to
the eras of Washington or Jefferson, it is so solid and sombre. The
White House was modeled after the palace of the Duke of Leister, and
the state dining-room, more than any other part of the building,
is suggestive of a baronial hall. But if there is one thing more
than another from which the state dining-room suffers it is from a
dearth of silver. “Steward Melah,” the silver-voiced Italian whom
the Government employs to look after this part of its business,
actually wrings his hands with terror and dismay when he “sets” the
table for state occasions. “Why, madame,” says Melah, “there isn’t
enough silver in the White House to set a respectable free-lunch
table.” Now, the incomparable Melah has been steward at the Everett
House, Boston, the Astor, New York, the Stetson at Long Branch, the
St. Charles, New Orleans, and having served in these first-class
capacities it may be possible that his ideas are too exalted for the
same kind of work in the White House. It must be remembered that
all these state dinners are paid for out of the President’s private
purse. The President, however, had put this delicate matter into
Steward Melah’s hands, and the Italian “gets up” a dinner according
to the quality of the guests. These dinners cost from three to
fifteen hundred dollars, though the average cost is about seven
hundred. The state dinner of which Prince Arthur had the honor of
partaking was composed of nine courses, and cost fifteen hundred
dollars; but it is only when royalty is to be entertained that these
feasts assume such costly proportions. This modest sum does not
include the wine and other beverages, for these come under a separate
“item.” In no other administration has the Government appointed a
man to spend the President’s money. Heretofore the “ladies of the
White House” have looked after this part of the official business,
and it will at once be seen what frugality is necessary in order to
make both ends of the Presidential year meet; but no man during the
existence of the Republic has ever been the recipient of so many
costly gifts as the Executive, and he reflects honor in return by his
unexampled and reciprocal generosity.
A rare work of art adorns the center of the long table in the state
dining-room. It is several feet long, and perhaps two feet wide,
and is composed of gilt and looking-glass. The foundation is a long
mirror, and this is beached by a perpendicular shore three inches in
height, but of no appreciable thickness. Little fern-like upheavings
may be seen rising out of the tawdry gilt at equal distances apart,
and these are used as receptacles for natural flowers. But, lest
the guests should look into this mirror, and see each other’s faces
reflected, at moments, too, when the human mouth assumes anything
but poetic proportions, large vases of flowers are strewn on its
glassy surface, and the mischief of the mirror is nipped in the bud.
The ornament is not merely ornamental; it is useful. It answers
the very purpose to help out a social ambuscade, for it can be so
arranged as to hide the President from any guest from whose presence
he is suffering, whether the said person comes under the head of
enemy or friend. Conversation at a state dinner cannot be general.
Each guest must depend upon his own neighborhood. The quality of the
conversation depends entirely upon the kind of people who manufacture
it. Mike Walsh terrified Mrs. Franklin Pierce at a state dinner by
talking about “going a fishing on Sunday.” A modern Congressman
filled up the official time between each mouthful by telling his next
lady the exact things which his palate craved. He didn’t like “French
dishes” but he was “fond of pork and beans, as well as ice-cream
and canned peaches.” No doubt the word “Jenkins” will be flung at
your correspondent for these social criticisms; but gentleman is the
highest term which can be applied to a politician, and the people
have just as much right to a description of an official dinner as any
other public event, especially when the Government employs a public
functionary in the person of Steward Melah to see the dignity of the
nation carried to the perfection point.
Once upon a time an accomplished young American woman had the
honor to dine with the Czar of all the Russias. During the royal
entertainment a plate of delicious grapes was passed around. It
is true the young lady saw the golden knife which rested on the
side of the basket, but as the fruit came to her first she had no
way of learning its use; so she did just as she would have done in
America--she reached out her dainty fingers and lifted from the dish
a whole stem of grapes. What was her consternation to see the next
person, as well as all the other guests, take the golden knife and
sever a single grape each, and transfer it to their plates. Had a
young Russian lady in this country helped herself to a whole chicken
the error would have been precisely the same. It is true the young
woman committed no crime, but her feelings and those of her friends
would have been spared had she learned the etiquette of royal tables
before she became an Emperor’s guest.
A man who will go to a state dinner, eat with his knife, and remain
ignorant of the use of his finger bowl, should be expelled from
Congress, and ever afterwards be prohibited from holding any place
of trust under the Government. Who does not long for the good
old “courtly” days of Hamilton and Jefferson? The writer of this
letter has once during the winter had the supreme honor of seeing a
gentleman of the old school hand a lady to her carriage. Oh! that
an artist had been on the spot to photograph this noble picture.
The old man stood with hat uplifted; his right hand touched the
tips of the lady’s fingers; the wind played with the scanty locks
of his uncovered head, and there was a dignity and purity about his
movements that reminded one of the out-door service when the preacher
says “ashes to ashes.” The superb manners of the aged gentleman could
only be felt; they cannot be described.
It is the evening of the President’s state dinner. The guests are
not only invited, but expected to be punctually in their places at
7 o’clock p. m. President and Mrs. Grant are already in the Red
Room waiting the company. The ladies have disrobed themselves of
outer wrappings, and, like graceful swans, they sail slowly into the
presence. Mrs. Grant is in full evening dress--jewels, laces, and all
the et ceteras to match. Her lady guests are attired as handsomely as
herself, and the gentlemen are expected to wear black swallow-tail
coats and white neckties.
President Grant leads the way with the wife of the oldest Senator
present on his arm--not the oldest Senator in years but the one who
has enjoyed the longest term of office. The President is followed by
the other guests, whilst Mrs. Grant, assisted by the husband of the
woman who honors the President by her exclusive attention, brings up
the rear, and after a slight confusion the guests are comfortably
seated.
When no parson is present the divine blessing is omitted, unless
it be the Quaker thankfulness--the silence of the heart. In the
beginning of the feast fruit, flowers, and sweetmeats grace the
table, whilst bread and butter only give a Spartan simplicity to
the “first course,” which is composed of a French vegetable soup,
and according to the description by those who have tasted it, no
soup, foreign or domestic, has ever been known to equal it. It is
said to be a little smoother than peacock’s brains, but not quite
so exquisitely flavored as a dish of nightingale’s tongues, and yet
“Professor Melah” is the only man in the nation who holds in his
hands the recipe for this aristocratic stew.
The ambrosial soup is followed by a French croquet of meat. Four
admirably trained servants remove the plates between each course, and
their motions are as perfect as clockwork. These servants are clad
in garments of faultless cut, which serve to heighten to the last
degree their sable complexion. White kid gloves add the finishing
touch to this part of the entertainment. The third “course” of the
dinner is composed of a fillet of beef, flanked on each side by
potatoes the size of a walnut, with plenty of mushrooms to keep
them company. The next course is dainty in the extreme. It is made
up entirely of luscious leg of partridges, and baptized by a French
name entirely beyond my comprehension. It will readily be seen that
a full description of the twenty-nine courses would be altogether
too much for the healthy columns of a newspaper to bear, so we pass
to the dessert, not omitting to say that the meridian or noon of the
feast is marked by the guests being served bountifully with frozen
punch. As a general rule, wine is served about every third course.
Six wineglasses of different sizes and a small bouquet of flowers
are placed before each guest at the beginning.
The dessert is inaugurated by the destruction of a rice pudding, but
not the kind which prompted the little boy to run away to the North
Pole because his mother “would have rice pudding for dinner.” It is
not the same dish which our Chinese brethren swallow with the aid of
chop-sticks, but it is such a pudding as would make our grandmothers
clap their hands with joy. Charles Lamb has made roast pig classic;
Professor Melah’s rice pudding is worthy to be embalmed in romance
or story, or at least to be illustrated in _Harper’s Weekly_. This
Presidential dish cannot be described except by the pen of genius,
therefore it can only be added that no plebeian pies or other pastry
are allowed to keep its company. After the rice pudding, canned
peaches, pears, and quinces are served. Then follow confectionery,
nuts, ice-cream, coffee, and chocolate, and with these warm, soothing
drinks the Presidential entertainment comes to an end, and the host
and his guests repair to the Red Room, and after fifteen minutes
spent in conversation the actors in a state dinner rapidly disappear.
Whilst we are discussing state dinners it may as well be remembered
that private citizens in New York, Boston, and Philadelphia, in
some respects have equalled if not surpassed the White House in the
elegance of their entertainments. In New York perfumed fountains
exhale their liquid delights in the centre of the table, and this is
as far ahead of that old mirror arrangement as the genuine surpasses
the imitation. No fault, however, should be found with Professor
Melah, for as far as he goes, no officer of the Government performs
his duty better. At the same time it would be well for the Professor
to remember that at an entertainment honored by the presence of women
something besides the sense of taste and vision must be gratified.
He should imitate the Japanese in the perfection of his surprises.
He must make pastries out of which live birds will spring. Such a
dish as this is none too dainty to set before President Grant and his
friends.
When Mrs. Lincoln lived in the White House she dearly loved to have
everybody know that she kept house in the Executive Mansion. If an
entertainment was to be given she didn’t mind lending a helping hand,
just as she would have done in that modest home in the “prairie
land.” Martha Patterson saw that the milk-pans were kept sweet and
clean, a matter of just as much importance in the White House as
in the humblest wayside cottage; but now that this order of things
which commenced with Martha Washington and ended with another Martha
has passed away, and the Government employs a man to look after this
beloved household, is it not a duty devolving particularly upon
the press to see that this officer performs his duty with military
strategy and perfection? Who has the authority to punish this man in
case the President’s digestive organs are impaired? Napoleon lost a
battle on account of a vicious dumpling. The greatest divorce case on
record was founded on the following touching epistle: “Dear Mrs. B.:
Chops and tomato sauce. Yours, PICKWICK.”
There are no entertainments in England like the state dinners in
the United States. The Queen has her drawing-room receptions, which
are not unlike the afternoon receptions of Mrs. Grant excepting the
rigidity and frozen formality. A woman must have a court dress in
order to be presented to Victoria; but a working woman in her serge
can take the President by the hand. The Queen asks whomsoever she
pleases, informally, to her palace, but she leaves “cabinet dinners”
to her Prime Minister and the Speaker of the House of Commons.
Women are never included in these official dinners, but the same
evening the wife of the minister or Speaker holds a reception, to
which the families of the guest are invited, and the day closes with
the feeling that all have been entertained. It will be remembered
that Mrs. Thornton asked gentlemen only to meet the Prince at dinner,
but in the evening the ladies were assembled to honor the royal
guest. At a regal entertainment only gold, silver, and glass are to
be seen on the tables. The King of little Hanover is said to have six
million dollars’ worth of silver to set before his guests. The King
of Prussia has for table ornaments mountains of silver from three to
five feet high, with deer climbing them, and huntsmen following, all
composed of that precious metal. It is next to an impossibility for a
mere traveler to be introduced to the King of Prussia. He cannot be
presented through the American minister, as it is practiced in France
and England. If the traveler is a distinguished citizen of this
country the case is different, and Prussian majesty allows itself to
be approached. Men in official life are invited to dine at the royal
table in Prussia, but a woman in high life must await the coming of
a court ball, and then, if her rank is strong enough, she is shown
into the royal dining-hall and has the supreme honor of hearing
his majesty say: “How many wax candles do you think I am burning
to-night?” The old King of Prussia was burning waxen tapers by the
thousands, and he wanted his generosity appreciated. Century after
century the etiquette of England and Prussia have followed in the
same groove. Certain rank has certain privileges as well defined as
the night and day. In France this stony rigidity is somewhat relaxed;
but the length to which this letter has already attained prevents any
further allusion to the subject.
OLIVIA.
SOME SENATORIAL SCENES.
JOHN SHERMAN, ZACH. S. CHANDLER AND OLIVER P. MORTON IN THE LIME
LIGHT.
WASHINGTON, _March 12, 1870_.
In order to see the light of the sun eclipsed, or completely thrown
in the shade, it is necessary to visit the Senate in night session.
In prosy daytime one’s senses are ravished by the bewildering beauty
of the decorative art in this “chamber;” but thus seen only a magic
hall pictured in the “Arabian Nights’ Entertainment” will compare
with the fairy-like beauty of the scene. Whence come the beams that
steep everything in a sea of liquid amber? No jetty flame is visible
anywhere. The exquisite roof of stained glass gleams with a deeper,
richer light than was ever borrowed from old Sol’s rays. In order
to be disenchanted one must be told that innumerable little gas
jets cover the interior roof of the chamber, but the stained glass
hides the ingenious contrivance from view. Who shall describe the
sea of splendor that wraps and beautifies everything caught in its
embrace? Under its influence grave Senators relax that stern gravity
and austerity so becoming in a man upon whom half the dignity of
a sovereign State depends. During last evening’s session, Senator
Ramsey deliberately placed his hands behind him, apparently without
malice aforethought, marched across the floor, and patted Senator
Drake on the head. But the most astonishing thing connected with
the performance consists in the fact that Senator Drake never
quacked or even called the attention of the Senate to this strange
proceeding. If in the course of legislation a Senator’s head must be
patted, by what authority has a man the right to do so? Considering
the irascibility of Senator Drake, his behavior under the hand of
Senator Ramsey was becoming in the extreme.
If there is a chestnut burr in the American Senate, it is found in
the person of Senator Drake, of Missouri. He bristles with sharp
points, like a porcupine. He is ever on the alert for his foes, and
when found he hurls shaft after shaft, unmindful where he hits; yet
there is something so upright and true in the man that one forgets,
as in the case of pricked fingers when a hoard of satin-backed
chestnuts are brought into view.
But the shimmering rays of the evening light up a unique picture. In
the outer circle of Senatorial chairs may be seen the one occupied
by the colored man from Mississippi. As yet it cannot be said that
a negro or black man has broken into Congress. Senator Revels has
the head of a bronze statue, and his hands are Anglo-Saxon. But the
cruel weight of slavery has left its mark upon him. He brings to
bear upon the tufted Wilton of the Senate chamber the plantation’s
walk. Slave idiom clings to his mellow, flute-like speech. He looks
so lonely and forlorn in his seat, the first in the edge of the
charmed circle, just as if he had been washed there by some great
tidal wave, which had retired, never more to return. Senator Revels
is a good man, but not great, after the manner of Frederick Douglass;
or keen as a Damascus blade, like Sella Martin, the editor of the
colored man’s national organ. And yet, in legislative attainments,
he compares favorably with the majority of the new Senators from the
reconstructed States.
The Senators are talking about the “funding bill.” In the colloquy
the clear-cut face of John Sherman, of Ohio, comes to the surface.
He has put his shoulder to the mountain of finance, and how manfully
he tugs. Oh, the wear and tear to the understanding in the attempt
to comprehend the money situation! A masculine biped whispers to
his next door neighbor, “Do you understand why they had a night
session?” Of course the little woman didn’t know. “It was to choke
off all discussion and come to a vote. In the House they have a way
of putting on the brakes, but in the Senate a man can talk and talk
until he spins a cocoon out of his brain, through which he must eat
in order to come back to common sense and terra firma. You see,”
continued the man, “that the Senate is tired. It wants to get home;
but a few of the hardy swimmers will not give up the race.”
Senatorial abandon takes possession of the hour. A Western Senator
perambulates the floor, smoking a cigar, but there are very
few ladies in the gallery, and the cigar is daintily fragrant,
considering its obnoxious origin. In the door of an adjoining
cloak-room may be seen the broad, open face of Zachariah Chandler,
and from its moon-like disc may be noticed small volumes of smoke
escaping; but whether this fiery exhibition is the result of the
destruction of tobacco, or a mild volcanic eruption in a very
delicate region, there is no means of ascertaining.
During the impatient conflict Charles Sumner is seen in his seat,
solemnly solemn as the sphinx. A woman whispers: “Did you ever see
Charles Sumner smile? I did once, you ought to have seen it.” “Why?”
asked her companion. “Because he looked so handsome. The smile
transfigured his countenance. I have liked his face ever since.”
“May I never see him smile,” said the other woman. “I prefer to
contemplate this man in the Senate as I do the mountain in a picture,
or as I would an Arctic landscape in a gloomy, sullen sea.”
Apparently weary of wielding the Vice-President’s sceptre, Schuyler
Colfax has slipped out of the honored chair to a lower seat, and
a Senator occupies his place. If a public man wants to be buried
alive he can accomplish it by getting himself elected heir-apparent
to the Executive. The Vice-President of the United States never
has a chance to read his name in the newspapers, and by the time
his four years are up the dear public have forgotten him. Oh,
the horror of riding on the topmost wave of popularity, and then
suddenly finding oneself plumped out of sight, actually buried under
a mountain of greatness. If the President would only die. But who
ever knew a President to commit suicide, though he is perfectly aware
that another man has been actually prepared to take his place, and
that the people of this country will not suffer for the want of a
President? The actual reason why the great body of American women
are against woman suffrage is because they fear that some time in
the course of their natural lives they will be called on to act as
Vice-President. Schuyler Colfax was seen reading a newspaper at the
foot of his throne, and if he gets any comfort out of his position
it must consist in holding the gavel suspended over the heads of the
shining lights of the country. And yet there is no chance of bringing
these Senators to order, as in the case of the unruly members of
the House. The Senators are always in order; there is no chance
of enjoyment for Schuyler Colfax except to crawl out of his seat
and read a newspaper. And what does he find in that newspaper? Oh,
sorrow and consternation! Dawes is ravishing the East with economical
delights, and Logan is cleansing the Augean stables of the House in
which iniquity has herded ever since the Republic began. There are
two positions which are alike, so far as the country is concerned,
the Vice-Presidency of the United States and that of a country
schoolmaster.