FASHIONS OF THE FIFTIES
To estimate at anything like their value ante-bellum days at the
capital, it must be borne in mind that the period was one of general
prosperity and competitive expenditure. While a life-and-death struggle
raged between political parties, and oratorical battles of ominous
import were fought daily in Senate Chamber and House, a very reckless
gaiety was everywhere apparent in social circles. Especially was this to
be observed in the predominant and hospitable Southern division in the
capital; for predominant Southern society was, as even such deliberately
partisan historians as Messrs. Nicolay and Hay admit; and, what these
gentlemen designate as “the blandishments of Southern hospitality,” lent
a charm to life in the Government circles of that day which lifted the
capital to the very apex of its social glory. Writing of these phases of
life in the capital, in a letter dated March, 1858, I said to Governor
Clay: “People are mad with rivalry and vanity. It is said that Gwin is
spending money at the rate of $75,000 a year, and Brown and Thompson
quite the same. Mrs. Thompson (of Mississippi) is a great favourite
here. Mrs. Toombs, who is sober, and has but one daughter, Sally, who is
quite a belle, says _they_ spend $1,800 per month, or $21,000 per
annum.”
The four years’ war, which began in ’1, changed these social conditions.
As the result of that strife poverty spread both North and South. The
social world at Washington, which but an administration before had been
scarcely less fascinating and brilliant than the Court of Louis
Napoleon, underwent a radical change; and the White House itself, within
a month after it went into the hands of the new Black Republican party,
became degraded to a point where even Northern men recoiled at the sight
of the metamorphosed conditions.[9]
In the days of Presidents Pierce and Buchanan, Washington was a city of
statesmen, and in the foreground, relieving the solemnity of their
deliberations in that decade which preceded the Nation’s great disaster,
were fashion and mirth, beauty and wit. It was then, as the government
city of a Republic must ever be, a place of continuous novelty, of
perpetual changes, of new faces. The fashionable world comes and goes in
the Federal City with each Presidential term of four and Senatorial term
of six years, and its longer or shorter stays of the army and navy
contingent, and always it gathers its personnel from as many points as
there are States in the Union, and as many parts of the world as those
to which our diplomatic relations extend.
In the fifties, when the number of States was but two dozen, the list of
representatives gathering at the capital was proportionately smaller
than in the present day, and society was correspondingly select.
Moreover, political distinction and offices not infrequently continued
in many families through several generations, sons often succeeding
their fathers in Congress, inheriting, in some degree, their ancestors’
friends, until a social security had been established which greatly
assisted to give charm and prestige to the fashionable coteries of the
Federal centre. For example, for forty years previous to my husband’s
election to the Senate, the two branches of the Clay family had been
prominent in the life of the capital. In the late twenties, C. C. Clay,
Sr., had been active in the House, while the great Henry Clay was
stirring the country through his speeches in the Senate; in the fifties,
Mr. James B. Clay, son of the great Kentuckian, was a Congressman when
the scholarly statesmanship of Senator C. C. Clay, Jr., of Alabama, was
attracting the admiration and praise of North and South alike. It is a
pathetic coincidence that to my husband, during his sojourn in Canada,
fell the sad privilege of ministering at the death-bed of Mr. Clay, of
Kentucky, who died in that alien land without the solacing presence of
wife or children. Shortly before the end came, he presented to Senator
Clay the cane which for years had been carried by the great orator,
Henry Clay.[10]
The fashions of the times were graceful, rich and picturesque. Those of
the next decade, conspicuous for huge _chignons_, false hair, and
distorting bustles, rose like an ugly barrier between the lovely
costuming of the fifties and the dressing of to-day. A half century ago,
the beauties of the capital wore their hair _à la Grecque_, with flowers
wreathed over it, or a simple golden dagger or arrow to secure it. Their
gowns were festooned with blossoms that trailed over bodice and skirt
until not seldom they became, by reason of their graceful ornaments,
veritable Perditas. These delicate fashions continued until nearly the
end of the decade, when they were superseded by more complicated
coiffures and a general adoption of heavy materials and styles.
In 1858–’9 the hair was arranged on the top of the head in heavy braids
wound like a coronet over the head, and the coiffure was varied now and
then with a tiara of velvet and pearls, or jet or coral. Ruffled dresses
gave place to panelled skirts in which two materials, a plain and
embossed or brocaded fabric, were combined, and basques with postillion
backs became the order of the day. The low-coiled hair and brow free
from frizzes and bangs (_à l’idiote_, as our satirical friends, the
French, describe them) was the style adopted by such preëminent beauties
as Mrs. Senator Pugh, who was regarded by Baron Hulseman as without a
peer, and Mrs. Senator Pendleton, who, in Lord Napier’s opinion, had the
most classic head he had seen in America.
Low necks and lace berthas, made fashionable because of their adoption
by Miss Lane, were worn almost universally, either with open sleeves
revealing inner ones of filmy lace, or sleeves of the shortest possible
form, allowing the rounded length of a pretty arm to be seen in its
perfection. Evening gloves were half-length only, or as often reaching
only half-way to the elbow. They were of kid or silk with backs
embroidered in delicate silks, with now and then a jewel sparkling among
the colours. Jewels, indeed, were conspicuous even in men’s dressing,
and gentlemen of fashion were rare who did not have varieties of
sparkling studs and cravat-pins to add to the brightness of their
vari-coloured vests. The latter not infrequently were of richest satin
and velvet, brocaded and embroidered. They lent a desirable note of
colour, by no means inconspicuous, to the swallow-tailed evening dress
of that time, a note, by-the-bye, which was supplemented by a tie of
bright soft silk, and of ample proportions. President Buchanan was
remarkable for his undeviating choice of pure white cravats. Fashion was
not then arbitrary in the matter of gentlemen’s neckwear, and high or
low collars were worn, as best suited the taste of the individual.
To the attire of the women of the Government City in that day our home
manufacturers contributed but little. In fact, the industries of our
country yielded but a common grade of materials designed for wearing
apparel, and were altogether unequal to the demands of a capital in
which the wealthy vied with their own class in foreign cities in the
acquisition of all that goes to make up the moods and character of
fashion. Our gloves and fans and handkerchiefs, our bonnets and the
larger part of our dress accessories, as well as such beautiful gown
patterns as were purchased ready to be made up by a New York or
Washington dressmaker, were all imported directly from foreign houses,
and the services of our travelling and consular friends were in constant
requisition for the selection of fine laces, shawls, flounces,
undersleeves and the other fashionable garnitures. Scarcely a steamer
but brought to the capital dainty boxes of Parisian flowers, bonnets and
other foreign novelties, despatched by such interested deputies.
It was astonishing how astute even our bachelor representatives abroad
became in the selection of these articles for the wives of their
Senatorial indorsers in Washington. I was frequently indebted for such
friendly remembrances to my cousin, Tom Tait Tunstall, Consul at Cadiz,
and to Mrs. Leese, wife of the Consul at Spezia and sister of Rose
Kierulf and Mrs. Spicer. Thanks to the acumen of these thoughtful
friends, my laces, especially, and a velvet gown, the material of which
was woven to order at Genoa, were the particular envy of my less
fortunate “mess-mates.”
I remember with much pleasure the many courtesies of William Thomson,
Consul at Southampton, England, who was one of the many from whom the
war afterward separated us. From the time of his appointment in 1857 his
expressions of friendliness were frequent toward Miss Lane, Mrs.
Fitzpatrick, myself, and, I doubt not, toward many other fortunate ones
of the capital.
To the first named he sent a remarkable toy-terrier, so small that “it
might be put under a quart bowl,” as he wrote to me. The little stranger
was a nine-days’ curiosity at the White House, where it was exhibited to
all who were on visiting terms with Miss Lane. That I was not the
recipient of a similar midget was due to the death of “Nettle,” the
animal selected for me.
“Please ask Miss Lane,” he wrote, “to show you her terrier, and you will
be sure it is the identical ‘Nettle.’ I shall succeed in time in finding
a good specimen for you!”
But Mr. Thomson’s efforts and discrimination were by no means directed
solely toward the selection of canine rarities. In truth, he showed
himself in every way fitted to become a most satisfactory Benedick
(which I sincerely hope was his fate in the course of time), for,
besides picking up now and then odd and choice bits of quaint jewelry,
such as may please a woman’s fancy, and many an interesting legend about
which to gossip, he discovered a power of discernment in regard to the
wearing apparel of my sex, which was as refreshing in its epistolary
revelations as it was rare among his sex.
“I did think of sending you and Mrs. Fitzpatrick one of the new style
petticoats,” he wrote in March, 1858, “so novel, it seems, at the seat
of government; but, upon inquiry for the material, my bachelor wits were
quite outdone, for I could not even guess what size might suit both you
ladies! Since sending a few lines to you, I have spent a day at
Brighton, which is in my district, and I saw quite a new style and
decided improvement on the petticoat. A reversible crimson and black
striped linsey-wolsey under a white cambric skirt, with five, seven, or
nine tucks of handsome work, not less than ten or twelve inches deep.
This style of new garment is very _distingué_ to my feeble bachelor eye,
and would attract amazingly in Washington just now.”
Among the first to introduce in the capital the fashion of holding up
the skirt to show these ravishing petticoats were the lovely sisters of
Thomas F. Bayard, afterward Secretary of State and Minister to England
under President Cleveland, and the Misses Maury, daughters of the
ex-Mayor of Washington, all of whom were conspicuous for their Parisian
daintiness. None of this bevy but looked as if she might have stepped
directly from the rue St. Germain.
The bewildering description by Mr. Thomson had scarcely arrived, ere
fashion was busy evolving other petticoat novelties and adjuncts. A
quaint dress accessory at this time, and one which remained very much in
vogue for carriage, walking, and dancing dresses, consisted of several
little metal hands, which, depending from fine chains attached at the
waist, held up the skirt artistically at a sufficient height to show the
flounces beneath. The handkerchiefs of the time, which were appreciably
larger than those in use to-day, and very often of costly point-lace,
were drawn through a small ring that hung from a six-inch gold or silver
chain, on the other end of which was a circlet which just fitted over
the little finger.
I have spoken of our Washington dressmakers; how incomplete would be my
memories of the capital did I fail to mention here Mrs. Rich, the
favourite mantua-maker of those days, within whose power it lay to
transform provincial new-comers, often already over-stocked with
ill-made costumes and absurdly trimmed bonnets, into women of fashion!
Mrs. Rich was the only Reconstructionist, I think I may safely say, on
whom Southern ladies looked with unqualified approval. A
Reconstructionist? She was more; she was a physician who cured many ills
for the women of the Congressional circles, ills of a kind that could
never be reached by our favourite physician, Dr. Johnston, though he had
turned surgeon and competed in a contest of stitches; for, to the care
of the wives of our statesmen each season, came pretty heiresses from
far-off States, to see the gay Government City, under their experienced
guardianship, and to meet its celebrities. These, often mere buds of
girls, were wont to come to the capital supplied with costly brocade and
heavy velvet gowns, fit in quality for the stateliest dame; with hats
weighty with plumes that might only be worn appropriately in the helmet
of a prince or a Gainsborough duchess, and with diamonds enough to
please the heart of a matron. To strip these slim maidens of such
untoward finery, often of antediluvian, not to say outlandish, cut and
fashion, and to reapparel them in such soft fabrics as became their
youth and station, was no small or easy task for her who had undertaken
to chaperone them.
Nor were these sartorial _faux pas_ confined to the girl novices and
their far-off kind, and usually lavish parents. Many a charming matron
came to the capital as innocent of any knowledge of the demands of
fashionable life as a schoolgirl. There was the wife of a distinguished
legislator who afterward presided over an American embassy abroad, a
sweet little nun of a woman, who arrived in Washington with a wardrobe
that doubtless had caused her country neighbours many a pang of envy. It
comprised garments made of the costliest fabrics, but, alas! which had
been cut up so ridiculously by the local seamstress that the innocent
wearer’s first appearance in the gay world of the capital was the signal
for irrepressible smiles of amusement and simpers of derision from the
more heartless.
Because of a friendship between our husbands, our little nun fell into
my hands, and I promptly convoyed her to the crucible of Mrs. Rich, that
dauntless spirit, and my unfailing resource, sure of her ability to work
the necessary transmutation. Alas! as we were about to step out of our
carriage, I was startled by the appearance, above a shapely enough foot,
of a bright, yes! a brilliant indigo-blue stocking! Not even Mr.
Shillaber’s heroine from Beanville could boast a trapping more blatantly
blue! I held my breath in alarm! What if the eye of any of the more
scornful fashionables should detect its mate? I hurried my charge back
into the vehicle at once and summoned our good friend Mrs. Rich to the
door; and our errand that morning was accomplished by the aid of a trim
apprentice, who brought to our calash boxes of samples and
fashion-plates for our scanning.
Many, indeed, were the debtors to Mrs. Rich in those days, for the taste
and despatch with which she performed her incomparable miracles. And I
would not refrain from acknowledging an act of kindness at her hands in
darker days; for, when I returned to Washington in 1865 to plead with
the President for my husband’s release from Fortress Monroe, she
generously refused payment for the making of the modest dress I ordered,
declaring that she longed to serve one who had directed so many clients
to her in former days!
[Illustration:
MRS. CHESTNUT
of South Carolina
]
But there were occasions when a pressure upon the time of Mrs. Rich
necessitated the seeking of other assistance, and a hasty journey was
made to Mlle. Rountree, of Philadelphia, or even to New York, where the
fashionable dressmakers were capable of marvellous expedition in filling
one’s order completely, even to the furnishing of handkerchiefs and
hosiery and slippers to suit a special gown. I remember the arrival of
some wonderful “creations” made in the metropolis for Miss Stevens, of
Stevens Castle, who was spending the season with my “mess-mate,” Mrs.
Chestnut, and boxes of gowns as admirable, and from the same source, for
the lovely Marian Ramsey, who became Mrs. Brockholst Cutting, of New
York. Miss Ramsey, who was an especially admired belle in Washington,
was the daughter of that delightfully irascible old Admiral, who, it was
said, was such a disciplinarian that he never entered port without
having one or more of his crew in irons.
Brilliant as was the social life in Washington at this time, and
remarkable for its numbers of handsome men and lovely women, I remember
no exquisites of the Beau Brummel or Disraeli type, though there were
many who were distinguished as men of fashion, of social graces and
talent.
Foremost among the popular men of the capital were Philip Barton Key
(brother of the classic Mrs. Pendleton, Mrs. Howard of Baltimore, and of
Mrs. Blount, who attained a reputation among her contemporaries upon the
stage), Preston Brooks, and Laurence Keitt, members of Congress from
South Carolina, the last named of whom married the wealthy Miss Sparks.
For a long time previous to that alliance, Mr. Keitt and his colleague
from North Carolina, Mr. Clingman, were looked upon as rival suitors for
the hand of Miss Lane. Mr. Keitt was the friend of Preston Brooks, who
was one of the most magnetic and widely admired men in the capital. Were
half of the compliments here repeated which the name alone of Mr. Brooks
at that time elicited, they must serve to modify the disfavour into
which this spirited young legislator from South Carolina fell after his
historic assault upon Mr. Sumner in the Senate. When, a few months after
that unfortunate affair, the body of Mr. Brooks lay on view in the
Federal City, mourning for him became general, and his obsequies were
remarkable for the crowds that hastened to pay their last tribute to
him.
I recall an amusing incident by which I offended (happily, only
momentarily) our good friends Congressman and Mrs. Keitt, owing to a
tendency I possessed to indulge in nonsense whenever furnished with the
slightest pretext for it. When the former arrived at the capital, he was
commonly addressed and alluded to as “Kitt,” a wholly unwarrantable
mispronunciation of his name, but one which had become current in the
vernacular of his State, and which, from sheer force of habit, continued
in use in the Federal City. To the retention of this nickname, however,
his bride strongly objected, and so persistently did she correct all who
misscalled the name, that the Congressman’s old friends, though publicly
conforming to the lady’s wishes, smiled in private, and among themselves
clung fondly to the old pronunciation.
This little contention was still in operation when an interesting event
took place in the Keitt household. On the evening of the happy day,
meeting Senator Hammond at dinner, he asked me casually, “What’s the
news?”
“Why! haven’t you heard?” I replied. “Kitt has a kitten!”
My poor joke, so unexpected, exploded Senator Hammond’s gravity
immediately. So well did the sally please him, that it speedily became
an _on dit_, alas! to the passing annoyance of the happy young pair.
Mrs. Keitt was one of Washington’s most admired young matrons, a
graceful hostess, and famous for her social enterprise. It was she who
introduced in the capital the fashion of sending out birth-cards to
announce the arrival of infants.
I have spoken of Barton Key. He was a widower during my acquaintance
with him, and I recall him as the handsomest man in all Washington
society. In appearance an Apollo, he was a prominent figure at all the
principal fashionable functions; a graceful dancer, he was a favourite
with every hostess of the day. Clever at repartee, a generous and
pleasing man, who was even more popular with other men than with women,
his death at the hands of Daniel E. Sickles in February, 1859, stirred
Washington to its centre.
I remember very vividly how, one Sunday morning, as I was putting the
finishing touches to my toilette for attendance at St. John’s, Senator
Clay burst into the room, his face pale and awe-stricken, exclaiming: “A
horrible, horrible thing has happened, Virginia! Sickles, who for a year
or more has forced his wife into Barton’s company, has killed Key;
killed him most brutally, while he was unarmed!”
This untimely death of a man allied to a famous family, and himself so
generally admired, caused a remarkable and long depression in society.
Yet, so strenuous were the political needs of the time, and so tragic
and compelling the demands of national strife now centred in Washington,
that the horrible calamity entailed no punishment upon its author.
Only the Thursday before the tragedy, in company with Mrs. Pugh and Miss
Acklin, I called upon the unfortunate cause of the tragedy. She was so
young and fair, at most not more than twenty-two years of age, and so
naïve, that none of the party of which I was one was willing to harbour
a belief in the rumours which were then in circulation. On that, Mrs.
Sickles’ last “at home,” her parlours were thronged, one-half of the
hundred or more guests present being men. The girl hostess was even more
lovely than usual. Of an Italian type in feature and colouring (she was
the daughter of a famous musician, Baggioli, of New York), Mrs. Sickles
was dressed in a painted muslin gown, filmy and graceful, on which the
outlines of the crocus might be traced. A broad sash of brocaded ribbon
girdled her slender waist, and in her dark hair were yellow crocus
blooms. I never saw her again, but the picture of which she formed the
centre was so fair and innocent, it fixed itself permanently upon my
mind.
When my husband first entered the United States Senate, in 1853, there
were not more than four men in that body who wore moustaches. Indeed,
the prejudice against them was great. I remember a moustached gallant
who called upon me on one occasion, to whom my aunt greatly objected,
for, she said, referring to the growth upon his upper lip, “No one but
Tennessee hog-drivers and brigands dress like that!” When Mr. Clay
withdrew from the Senate, in January, 1861, there were scarcely as many
without them. Side and chin whiskers were worn, if any, though the front
of the chin was seldom covered. Many of the most distinguished statesmen
wore their faces as smoothly shaven as the Romans of old. Until late in
the fifties, men, particularly legislators, wore their hair rather long,
a fashion which has been followed more or less continuously among
statesmen and scholars since wigs were abandoned.
This decade was also notable as that in which the first radical efforts
of women were made toward suffrage, and the “Bloomer” costume became
conspicuous in the capital. “Bloomers are ‘most as plenty as
blackberries,’” I wrote home late in ’6, “and generally are followed by
a long train of little boys and ditto ‘niggers’!”
Nor were there lacking figures among the “stronger” sex as eccentric as
those of our women innovators. Of these, none was more remarkable than
“old Sam Houston.” Whether in the street or in his seat in the Senate,
he was sure to arrest the attention of everyone. He wore a leopard-skin
vest, with a voluminous scarlet neck-tie, and over his bushy grey locks
rested an immense sombrero. This remarkable headgear was made, it was
said, from an individual block to which the General reserved the
exclusive right. It was of grey felt, with a brim seven or eight inches
wide. Wrapped around his broad shoulders he wore a gaily coloured
Mexican _serape_, in which scarlet predominated. So arrayed, his huge
form, which, notwithstanding this remarkable garb, was distinguished by
a kind of inborn grandeur, towered above the heads of ordinary
pedestrians, and the appearance of the old warrior, whether viewed from
the front or the rear, was altogether unique. Strangers stared at him,
and street urchins covertly grinned, but the Senatorial Hercules
received all such attentions from the public with extreme composure, not
to say gratification, as a recognition to which he was entitled.
In the Senate, General Houston was an indefatigable whittler. A
seemingly inexhaustible supply of soft wood was always kept in his desk
and out of it he whittled stars and hearts and other fanciful shapes,
while he cogitated, his brows pleated in deep vertical folds, over the
grave arguments of his confrères. A great many conjectures were made as
to the ultimate use of these curious devices. I can, however, explain
the fate of one.
As our party entered the gallery of the Senate on one occasion, we
caught the eye of the whittling Senator, who, with completest
_sang-froid_, suspended his occupation and blew us a kiss; then with a
plainly perceptible twinkle in his eye, he resumed his usual occupation.
A little while afterward one of the Senate pages came up and handed me a
most pretentious envelope. It was capacious enough to have contained a
package of government bonds. I began to open the wrappings; they were
mysteriously manifold. When at last I had removed them all, I found
within a tiny, shiny, freshly whittled wooden heart, on which the
roguish old hero had inscribed, “Lady! I send thee my heart! Sam
Houston.”
This remarkable veteran was seldom to be seen at social gatherings, and
I do not remember ever to have met him at a dinner, but he called
sometimes upon me on my weekly reception days, and always in the
remarkable costume I have described. He had acquired, besides the
Mexican-Spanish _patois_, a number of Indian dialects, and nothing
amused him more than to reduce to a confused silence those who
surrounded him, by suddenly addressing them in all sorts of unknown
words in these tongues. My own spirit was not so to be crushed, and,
besides, I had a lurking doubt as to the linguistic value of the sounds
he uttered. They bore many of the indicia of the newly invented, and I
did not hesitate upon one occasion to enter upon a verbal contest of
gibberish on my side, and possibly on his, running the gamut of emphasis
throughout it; and, notwithstanding General Houston’s deprecations (in
_Indian dialect_), sustained my part so seriously that the tall hero at
last yielded the floor and, wrapping his scarlet _serape_ about him,
made his exit, laughing hilariously at his own defeat.