to the student of antiquated taste. These slabs bear a date so remote
that most of the letters have been eaten away by the teeth of Time,
but sufficient remains to identify the Bell family, who occupied
Georgetown Heights in the early part of the last century. Far back
in the shadowy past the clear ringing tongue of this English Bell
might have been heard as it poured its melody in the ear of an Indian
princess, who soon after became his wife. The first nest of the
young pair was a tent; afterward a quaint English cottage snuggled
on the woody heights. Below them moved the silvery waters of the
solemn Potomac. To the east stretched their vast possessions, which
embraced all the land within the scope of vision which lay between
the cottage and the rising sun. Here Madame Bell, attended by her
pale-face consort, led the fashions without rivals and with none to
dispute her sway. Over the stormy Atlantic came the winged schooners,
bringing rich brocades for this dusky queen. Her costumes were half
enlightened, half barbaric, like many of the styles of to-day. The
descendants of these ancient Georgetown aristocrats have been slowly
undergoing the bleaching process, and the past hundred years had
almost obliterated the last trace of Indian lineage, and yet within
the memory of the present generation “white trash” have been noticed
in this vicinity bearing the name of Bell, and carrying in their
lithe forms and eagle eyes the last superb touch of the grace of
Indian origin. But, true to the savage instinct, these were the first
men to seize the deadly musket in the Southern cause, and the late
battlefields of the South are made richer by the bones of the last of
the first aristocracy of Georgetown.
After the Bells came the Peters, a haughty Virginia family, whose
slave call was answered by hundreds of inky men. Georgetown Heights
in those early days was called the Tudor estate, in memory of the
royal line of England. Tudor Place stretched itself between the
Heights and the Washington Navy Yard, but in the course of time this
vast estate was broken up. This was prior to the Revolution. The
Peters family were related to the Washingtons and Lees. Washington
Peters is the most prominent descendant of this aristocratic family,
but the last fragment of the estate has passed away from him, and he
lives at Ellicott’s Mills, on a farm, a man almost eighty years of
age, the last to retain the haughty bearing of the proud old family,
the last of his race whose hand has rested on the yoke of a slave.
The shifting panorama shows us Protestant Thirkel, who, through the
influence of Archbishop Carroll, of Baltimore, gave the extensive
grounds now occupied by the Georgetown College and Convent to the
Roman Catholic Church some time during the latter part of the last
century. Little is known of the social standing of the Thirkels, but
they were a family of wealth, and their tombstones are institutions
of learning.
Coming down to the last fifty years, we find the aristocracy of
Georgetown strongly flavored with merchants and tradespeople. The
Linthicum mansion, which is said to be one of the finest, was built
and owned by a hardware merchant, but he, too, has passed away like
all the old residents who gave tone to the elegant society which
ruled during the administration of Polk and Buchanan. During the
Presidential reign of these two men the social queen of the capital
lived in Georgetown, the city of her birth and education. She was the
daughter of an obscure but highly respected merchant, and was married
at the early age of sixteen to the Russian Minister Bodisco, whose
diplomatic position at once lifted his lovely wife to the highest
round of the social ladder, whilst his vast wealth was used to give
this wifely jewel the most costly setting. From over the sea came
the flashing gems that had adorned the savage throats of a hundred
generations of Bodisco Russians--diamonds only eclipsed by those
of world-wide fame. In those somewhat primitive days the working
people used to line the roadway to see Madame Bodisco pass from her
mansion to the White House on occasion of reception or levee. If the
weather permitted, she was visible to all in her open carriage--far
more beautiful than the famous Eugenie, and with the same inimitable
tact and grace. Creamy white satin and costly old lace was the
favorite costume, and when adorned with jewels worth more than a
million, mounted policemen followed in her train. The poor people
said, “Old Bodisco is afraid some one will steal his wife,” but he
was simply protecting her, Russian fashion. But this American girl
was something more than a figure to be adorned with stones. With
that superb tact which only a Josephine knew how to practice, she
united the contending social elements. She thawed the frozen ocean
of diplomatic ceremony and bade the foreign fortress open its doors
to her countrywomen as well as herself. It is true she had standing
at her right hand the incomparable Harriet Lane, of the White House,
who held the last royal scepter of this extinct line. History rarely
records the fact that distinguished leaders are beautiful, but
popular acclamation gave to both these women the fairest crown. Alike
in style of type, both opaline blondes, perfect in form and feature,
with Titian-tinted flesh and golden hair, such as the old masters
gave their beloved Madonnas, they held their emblems of power
with a firmer grasp than did Marie Antoinette, a woman of the same
mould. In the days which marked the magnificence of the Bodisco and
Lane regime, beauty and grace were not punished as under the Grant
dynasty. George H. Williams, of Oregon, would have been Chief Justice
of the Republic to-day had his wife been one of the “ugly sisters.”
“They pared their heels and they pared their toes,” but the Prince
did not dare defy the “Sisters.” Underneath the political drift lies
the stony social strata which decides the character of the products
above.
With the coming of civil war a society mildew fell upon Georgetown.
Neighbors and old friends looked upon each other with mutual
distrust. As a general rule most of the fighting element rolled
southward. In a few instances a house might be found divided against
itself. Once a Georgetown mother appeared before Abraham Lincoln to
beg for the life of her son, who had been caught as a guerrilla with
arms in his hands. “My eldest son,” said the mother, “is a trusty
officer in the Union army; my youngest, my darling, was one of
Mosby’s guerrillas.” “Miserable mother!” said the great President.
“God help you, for I cannot. I know who you are! This is the third
time your boy has been caught; mercy is beyond me!” and the man with
streaming eyes supported the faltering steps of the wretched woman
beyond the threshold. At this period social life was dead, apparently
beyond resurrection.
Mrs. Southworth, the noted novelist, and a prominent resident of
Georgetown, nailed the stars and stripes over the front gate,
saying, “Whoever comes to my door will have to pass under that.”
With patriotic zeal she gave her only daughter, Lotta, to be the
wife of a gallant Union captain, and her only son, who was studying
and not strong enough to go into the field, was attached as medicine
boy to one of the hospitals. But these deprivations were not enough
sacrifice. Either in camp or hospital she caught the smallpox. “I
cannot prevent the soldiers from taking the smallpox,” said the great
novelist, “but I can suffer with them; there is some consolation in
that.”
Alas, the social wave has receded, apparently never to return.
Weddings, even, were under the ban; but with peace came a violent
reaction which threw the sediments of society to the surface, and
Henry D. Cooke, first governor of the District, came prominently
into view. It was never intended that he should be anything but a
figure-head for governor. When he was relieved from the cares of
state it was but natural that he should turn to a field of action
where there would be little or no competition. A leader of the
_ton_! Why not? Old issues were dead; besides, if he traveled in
this path Shepherd and Babcock would let him alone. Only a few moons
previous to his being crowned governor his station in life was as
humble as that of Sancho Panza--a modest clerk at the capital, with
no higher aim than to make his salary cover the family needs. But
at this particular epoch in our critical history Salmon P. Chase,
then Secretary of the Treasury, thought he spied an open way to the
White House. “Money,” said the statesman, “much money will pave
the track.” So he gave the enchanted keys of the people’s pocket
to his distant kinsman, Jay Cooke, and together they were to cook
the political pie. It would take the pen of Victor Hugo to describe
the huge financial bubble which hung so long suspended by a single
hair. It made the little clerk first governor of the District,
united with the fact that he was “Shepherd’s man.” “He won’t give us
trouble,” said Alexander, and Grant broke a solemn pledge which he
made to the people of the District to give him a crown. Politically
Governor Cooke had no more weight than an Alaska Indian, but socially
the resident governor gave Georgetown a new lease of life. But the
few dying snails of the old aristocracy drew coldly within their
shells like the monarchists under the Bonaparte reign. “Who is this
_parvenu_ and his upstart wife? Who are the Cookes?” said the proud
old spirit. The question was soon answered. In one of the grandest
of the proud old mansions might have been found the new governor,
surrounded by all that was costly and luxurious in nature or art.
The atmosphere of the large drawing-rooms was heavily laden with the
fragrance of choice exotics, and foreign birds sang in the cages
which hung in the emerald bloom. The richest Axminster covered the
floors; silk, satin and embroidery ornamented rosewood and ebony;
pictures and statuary were all as profuse as they were costly or
extravagant. If refined taste did not prevail the defect was covered
by Oriental splendor. Two thousand dollars per month was put into
the hands of the steward to furnish this small private family with
ordinary marketing, and this did not include the wines and staple
groceries. Every day the courses were laid as if for a dinner party,
with preparations for any number of the ordinary unexpected guests.
Fleet horses stood in the stable, with coachman and footman awaiting
call. A son of the illustrious house was married and a railroad car
is chartered to bring the distant guests, and this, added to the
expense of the wedding breakfast, costs the aristocratic governor the
sum of $10,000, a large fortune for any young man of 21. An official
reception is given in mid-winter, and $1,500 is paid for the single
item of roses alone. Is not this truthful history as wonderful as
any tale found between the covers of the Arabian Nights? From the
narrow walls of a cheap tenement and sixteen hundred a year to all
the gilded trappings of royalty! Yet only one-eighth of the profits
of Jay Cooke’s concern was received by the governor as his share of
the public plunder. The old, old story--the few robbing the many. The
“court” traveling with its paint pots and the working men left to
starve. Henry D. Cooke can no longer be called the “social leader.”
His title has been taken away, and he has given up the mansion, but
he has saved enough from the wrecked concern to establish his son
and name-sake in the banking business. The son of the President is
a member of the firm, whilst Mr. Sartoris has just stepped over to
England to raise the wherewith to join this “national” enterprise.
Mrs. Cooke is also independent for life. The passerby of Fifteenth
street, opposite the Treasury, can almost any day see a portly, jolly
man lounging like a genteel loafer. That is Henry D. Cooke, late
clerk, governor, banker, and leader of the fashion of Georgetown.
OLIVIA.
SENATORS EDMUNDS AND CARPENTER.
SOME INSIGHT INTO LIFE SENATORIAL--SAFEGUARDS OF THAT AUGUST BODY.
WASHINGTON, _April 7, 1876_.
To-day the Hon. Abram S. Hewitt, accompanied by other New York
citizens, will appear before the House Foreign Affairs Committee
to urge the adoption of the bill to incorporate the United States
International Commission, and provide for the same being held in
the city of New York in 1883. The bill had already been introduced
in the Senate by Senator Kernan, and championed by Senator Wallace,
of Pennsylvania, who always looks after legislation which will
benefit the Pennsylvania Central Railroad. Senator Carpenter argued
that it was in violation of the Constitution for Congress to aid a
corporation in any such way; that it was a precedent which would
entail any amount of trouble in the future. Other great cities would
come up with their projects, asking Congress to assume responsibility
and bestow financial aid. Senator Wallace argued that it had already
been done for the city of Philadelphia; which was answered by Senator
Carpenter in his own inimitable way. Leaving his seat, a step brought
him into the broad aisle, where he stood directly in front of the
Vice-President, and raising his voice to a key which penetrated all
surrounding space within the Senate walls, he replied, “Stealing has
precedent after precedent; but shall we argue for this reason it is
right to steal?” After a brief but ringing appeal in behalf of the
assaulted Constitution, this superb and polished orator left the
floor. In many ways Senator Carpenter is one of the most able men
in Congress, with the mark of genius more pronounced, or rather,
more noticeable in his case, than in any other man in the Senate.
One of the surest evidences of genius (for genius is God-given,
whilst talent can be acquired) is the carrying through the years to
the last all the qualities of each period of existence--the blind
enthusiasm, the winning folly of the child united to the grand
powers of maturity. In genius the character never crystallizes.
It is changeable, yet strangely invariable, and in many more ways
resembles the indestructible elements. Senator Carpenter has a way
of tying his collar, crushing down his hat, and bounding into the
Senate with the same kind of abandon which resembles the action of
a boy, while his laugh has all the music of youthful glee. His life
has been a prolonged enjoyment of the admiration of women, because in
him all ages, from romping girl to icy age, find something to adore.
A handsome man when in perfect health is Senator Carpenter, but at
present he is a good deal of a shadow as compared to his former self.
Upon the principle that a high-pressure engine sooner wears itself
out, so these men made on the Carpenter plan rarely live to old age.
It is the fret and wear of the invisible organization that finally
wrecks the physical, and there is no earthly picture so painful as
these men who have reached the snow line, when the sun of life,
according to the years, should be in full meridian of glory. Turning
to the Congressional Directory, it is recorded that Senator Carpenter
has reached the age of 56, not so young after all. Is it the boyish
mask that has deceived; or have Blaine and Edmunds been afflicted
with the weakness which is always pardonable in woman, and recorded
the wrong figures? Can it be possible that he is a half a dozen
years in advance of Blaine, and nearly the same in regard to Senator
Edmunds?
But here are two Senators whose lives are passed on the same
high-pressure plan, for such is the penalty which exalted ambition
must pay. Not a solitary measure passes the Senate that is not licked
into shape by the insinuating tongue and all-prevailing mind of
vigilant Senator Edmunds. Others may toil like the marble-cutters
on a statue, but when the breath of life is to be blown into the
nostrils, the great artist must be on hand to pinch a soul into the
inexorable stone. The casual observer would not pronounce Senator
Edmunds handsome according to the Greek or modern standard, but he
has the exact appearance which one, in imagination, would picture a
Roman Senator before the empire was in its decline. We can realize
in this Senator the highest ingredient of New England civilization.
His solemn visage seems a reflection of that sombre landscape, the
savage grandeur of the sea, the majestic mountains tipped with snow.
His sleepless efforts to keep the Senate records clean embody the
Puritan’s idea of justice, that rarest product of the seed planted by
the _Mayflower_. It is that awful something which nerves the hand of
the fisherman on that stormy coast united to the most intellectual
culture condensed into a single blade, and it is keen enough to cut a
ship’s cable or a single hair. When Belva Lockwood, the woman lawyer,
was trying to reach the bar of the Supreme Court through the Senate,
her fear centered on Senator Edmunds. She said, “I know I shall
‘pass’ if I can win his support.” So she sent a messenger to plead
her cause. “My vote,” said Senator Edmunds, “will not be recorded
against Mrs. Lockwood because she is a woman. I think her a very poor
lawyer! If I had my own way, only those thoroughly trained in the law
should be admitted to practice in the Supreme Court.”
Senator Edmunds has a social record at the capital without a flaw,
which proves that men can live pure, clean lives like women; or else
do the next best thing--conduct themselves in such a pious manner
that they are never found out. But in taking the moral estimate
of a man his avoirdupois weight should be carefully taken, and he
should be judged in a great measure by the way it is divided. These
bloodless New Englanders and fiery Southerners in Washington should
be tried by judges capable of tempering justice with mercy upon the
principle that tears are in the eyes of the court when he sentences
a starving man for stealing a loaf of bread. Senator Edmunds treats
women in the most refined and courteous way, just enough frigid to
be dignified; but if he chooses to descend to a limited quantity of
small talk, everything he says is valuable enough to be printed in
the newspapers. This man has been made selfish and otherwise spoiled
by the “buzzing of the Presidential bee.” If he should ever reach the
White House, of which there is not the slightest danger, no one would
be half so astonished as himself. He has reached the highest point of
his ambition--to be the leader of his party in the Senate, to fill to
the fullest measure the idea of an American Senator; and whilst like
the late Charles Sumner, he can grasp the great legislative matters
of state, unlike him he can take up the little things. Not a sparrow
could fall on the Senate floor without his notice.
But the saddest sight is apparent when a brilliant member is torn
up by the roots in the House, and is immediately transported to the
Senate. It is like removing a plant from the heat and moisture of a
conservatory to an atmosphere found almost anywhere in the temperate
zone. Senators Dawes, Lamar and Blaine are striking examples of this
kind of transubstantiation. Who can ever forget the brilliant career
of Senator Dawes when he occupied the proud position of “leader of
the House”? In this branch of Congress, argument, wit and repartee
have a specific value, and enable the possessor to mount the ladder
of fame; but in the Senate oratory is at a discount, whilst wit or
argument may be compared to a clown at a funeral. Speeches are looked
upon as talk to distant constituents, to which the Senators must
listen in order to make them “official.” The Senate chamber during
a “speech” is a subject worthy of study. An air of resignation is
born into this cold, selfish world, destined to last until the
torture is over. Usually most of the Senators make their escape
temporarily. Burnside and Anthony generally retire to the committee
room of “Revolutionary Claims,” a snug nest right under the eaves,
where the sparrows build their homes. This dainty spot is presided
over by Major Ben: Perley Poore, clerk of the committee, and one of
the daintiest morsels to be found at the Capitol done up in manly
form. There is a cupboard in the Revolutionary room, which is the
exact opposite to “old Mother Hubbard’s.” Lest the reader forget, the
poetry is quoted in full:
“Old Mother Hubbard, she went to the cupboard,
To get her poor dog a bone;
And when she got there, the cupboard was bare,
And so the poor dog got none.”
In this far-away, almost forgotten nook, where the musty archives
of the old Revolutionary war lie mouldering, this solemn sepulcher
is made alive by the spicy odors of fast-evaporating fluids, or the
delicate aroma of pineapple cheese. Sometimes, during the lunch
hours, crabs and oysters go there without any volition of their own.
About the same time the courtly old Thurman becomes so revolutionary
that he wends his way to the radical snuggery under the roof. He will
probably be joined on the way by Don Cameron, the young Scottish
chief, but this combination may be a union like the late Electoral
Commission, to produce a lasting peace. But it is astonishing to
find how sweet and delicious these old Senators become when they
are almost ripe enough to fall from the legislative tree. To go to
the committee room of Revolutionary Claims is one way to kill the
time during a “speech.” Sometimes the Senators adjourn to the cloak
rooms, throw themselves on the luxurious sofas, and steep their
crippled senses in well-colored meerschaums or a choice cigar.
Others, more nervous, repair to the marble baths, the like of which
have never been seen since Rome had her fall. So far as the writer
can ascertain, a Senatorial bath has never been witnessed by the
reportorial eye. It is the only sublime spectacle which has eluded
the correspondents. The old Roman Senators employed the most skilful
artists to portray them associated with the baths, and this will
probably follow in due time in the great Western empire. If a Senator
remains in the chamber during a speech, he is deeply absorbed in
reading or writing.
How can a man make himself felt in the Senate? His voice only reaches
his constituents or those who have a personal interest in the measure
or man. His fine oratorical efforts fall as those of Demosthenes on
the turbulent sea. He must stand, like Senator Edmunds, for years
at the mouth of the pit, and watch that nothing goes in dangerous
to the liberties of a free people. He must watch the aggressive
encroachments of an infamous lobby. The great railroad and other
gigantic corporations have their paid agents here to buy up all the
small-fry Congressmen, as well as to notify the monopolists all over
the country of any adverse legislation in advance. A paid Indian
lobby is always here to keep the Indian affairs from being turned
over to the War Department. The War Department never employs a lobby.
An army officer has never been known to ask for the Indian business,
except in the general protest that the soldiers should not be sent
out to be scalped and mutilated for the crimes committed by the
Indian agents. When a Senator is found to be faithful to the trust
confided to his keeping, we should guard him as the apple of our eye.
We should protect his good name from the assaults of the malicious,
for when a Senator is found immovable the lobby attempts his
destruction. It will be remembered that it was the lobby thugs that
tried to strangle Senator Blaine on the eve of the last Presidential
nomination. The storm is gathering again, but how can a man defend
himself against his invisible foes? It is not because Blaine is hated
so much; it is because other men are preferred so much the more.
OLIVIA.
HOME LIFE OF MRS. GRANT.
CHARACTERISTICS OF THE LADY OF THE WHITE HOUSE.
WASHINGTON, _December 13, 1879_.