THE BRILLIANT BUCHANAN ADMINISTRATION
The advent of Lord and Lady Napier was practically coincident with the
installation of Miss Harriet Lane at the White House, and, in each
instance, the _entrée_ of Miss Lane and Lady Napier had its share in
quickening the pace at which society was so merrily going, and in
accentuating its allurements. Miss Lane’s reign at the White House was
one of completest charm. Nature, education and experience were combined
in the President’s niece in such manner as eminently to qualify her to
meet the responsibilities that for four years were to be hers. Miss Lane
possessed great tact, and a perfect knowledge of Mr. Buchanan’s wishes.
Her education had been largely directed and her mind formed under his
careful guardianship; she had presided for several years over her
uncle’s household while Mr. Buchanan served as Minister to England. The
charms of young womanhood still lingered about her, but to these was
added an _aplomb_ rare in a woman of fifty, so that, during her
residence in it, White House functions rose to their highest degree of
elegance; to a standard, indeed, that has not since been approached save
during the occupancy of the beautiful bride of President Cleveland.
[Illustration:
MISS HARRIET LANE
Mistress of the White House, 1857–61
]
Miss Lane’s entrance into life at the American capital, at a trying
time, served to keep the surface of society in Washington serene and
smiling, though the fires of a volcano raged in the under-political
world, and the vibrations of Congressional strife spread to the
furthermost ends of the country the knowledge that the Government was
tottering. The young Lady of the White House came to her new honours
with the prestige of Queen Victoria’s favour. In her conquest of
statesmen, and, it was added, even in feature, she was said to resemble
the Queen in her younger days. Miss Lane was a little above the medium
height, and both in colour and physique was of an English rather than an
American type—a characteristic which was also marked in the President.
The latter’s complexion was of the rosiest and freshest, and his
presence exceedingly fine, notwithstanding a slight infirmity which
caused him to hold his head to one side, and gave him a quizzical
expression that was, however, pleasing rather than the contrary.
In figure, Miss Lane was full; her complexion was clear and brilliant.
In her cheeks there was always a rich, pretty colour, and her hair, a
bright chestnut, had a glow approaching gold upon it. She had a
columnar, full neck, upon which her head was set superbly. I thought her
not beautiful so much as handsome and healthful and good to look upon. I
told her once she was like a poet’s ideal of an English dairymaid, who
fed upon blush roses and the milk of her charges; but a lifting of the
head and a heightening of the pretty colour in her cheeks told me my
bucolic simile had not pleased her.
Of the Napiers it may be said that no ministerial representatives from a
foreign power ever more completely won the hearts of Washingtonians than
did that delightful Scotch couple. In appearance, Lady Napier was fair
and distinctly a patrician. She was perhaps thirty years of age when she
began her two-years’ residence in the American capital. Her manner was
unaffected and simple; her retinue small. During the Napiers’ occupancy,
the British Embassy was conspicuous for its complete absence of
ostentation and its generous hospitality. Their equipages were of the
handsomest, but in no instance showy, and this at a period when
Washington streets thronged with the conspicuous vehicles affected by
the foreign Legations. Indeed, at that time the foreigner was as
distinguished for his elaborate carriages as was the Southerner for his
blooded horses.[12]
Lady Napier’s avoidance of display extended to her gowning, which was of
the quietest, except when some great public function demanded more
elaborate preparation. On such occasions her laces—heirlooms for
centuries—were called into requisition, and coiffure and corsage blazed
with diamonds and emeralds. Her cozy at-homes were remarkable for their
informality and the ease which seemed to emanate from the hostess and
communicate itself to her guests. A quartette of handsome boys comprised
the Napier family, and often these princely little fellows, clad in
velvet costumes, assisted their mother at her afternoons, competing with
each other for the privilege of passing refreshments. At such times it
was no infrequent thing to hear Lady Napier compared with “Cornelia and
her Jewels.”
Lord Napier was especially fond of music, and I recall an evening dinner
given at this embassy to Miss Emily Schaumberg, of Philadelphia, in
which that lady’s singing roused the host to a high pitch of enthusiasm.
Miss Schaumberg was a great beauty, as well as a finished singer, and
was most admired in the capital, though she stayed but a very short time
there.
[Illustration:
LADY NAPIER AND HER SONS
]
A ball or formal dinner at the British Embassy (and these were not
infrequent) was always a memorable event. One met there the talented and
distinguished; heard good music; listened to the flow of wholesome wit;
and enjoyed delectable repasts. Early in 1859 the Napiers gave a large
ball to the young Lords Cavendish and Ashley, to which all the resident
and visiting belles were invited; and, I doubt not, both lords and
ladies were mutually delighted. Miss Corinne Acklin, who was under my
wing that season (she was a true beauty and thoroughly enjoyed her
belleship), was escorted to supper by Lord Cavendish, and, indeed, had
the lion’s share of the attentions of both of the visiting noblemen,
until our dear, ubiquitous Mrs. Crittenden appeared. That good lady was
arrayed, as usual, with remarkable splendour and frankly décolleté gown.
She approached Miss Acklin as the latter, glowing with her triumphs,
stood chatting vivaciously with her lordly admirers. “Lady” Crittenden
smilingly interrupted the trio by whispering in the young lady’s ear,
though by no means _sotto voce_: “Present me to Lord Ashley, my dear.
Ashley was my second husband’s name, you know, and maybe they were kin!”
“I thought her so silly,” said the pouting beauty afterward. “She must
be almost sixty!” But Mrs. Crittenden’s kindly inquiry was not an
unnatural one, for, as the rich widow Ashley, whose husband’s family
connections in some branches were known to be foreign, she had been
renowned from Florida to Maine for years before she became Mrs.
Crittenden.
At the home of the Napiers one frequently met Mr. Bayard, between whom
and the English Ambassador there existed a close intimacy. Mr. Bayard
was the most unobtrusive of men, modesty being his dominant social
characteristic. When I visited England in 1885, I had a signal testimony
to Lord Napier’s long-continued regard for the great Delaware statesman.
During my stay in London, the former Minister constituted himself
cicerone to our party, and, upon one memorable afternoon, he insisted
upon drinking a toast with us.
“Oh, no!” I demurred. “Toasts are obsolete!”
“Very well, then,” Lord Napier declared. “If you won’t, I will. Here’s
to your President, Mr. Cleveland! But,” he continued with a suddenly
added depth, “Were it your Chevalier Bayard, I would drink it on my
knee!”
Upon my return to America I had the pleasure of shouting to Mr. Bayard,
then Secretary of State, a recital of this great tribute. He had now
grown very deaf, but my words reached him at last, and he smiled in a
most happy way as he asked, almost shyly, but with a warm glance in the
eye, despite his effort to remain composed, “Did Napier really say
that?”
A feeling of universal regret spread over the capital when it became
known that the Napiers were to return to England; and the admiration of
the citizens for the popular diplomat expressed itself in the getting-up
of a farewell ball, which, in point of size, was one of the most
prodigious entertainments ever given in Washington. One group of that
great assemblage is vividly before me. In it the young James Gordon
Bennett, whom I had seen in earlier days at a fashionable water-cure
(and whose general naughtiness as a little boy defies description by my
feeble pen), danced _vis-à-vis_, a handsome, courtly youth, with his
mother and Daniel E. Sickles.
During the Pierce administration the old-fashioned quadrilles and
cotillions, with an occasional waltz number, were danced to the
exclusion of all other Terpsichorean forms; but in the term of his
successor, the German was introduced, when Miss Josephine Ward, of New
York, afterward Mrs. John R. Thomson, of New Jersey, became prominent as
a leader.
When I review those brilliant scenes in which passed and smiled, and
danced and chatted, the vast multitude of those who called me “friend,”
the army of those now numbered with the dead—I am lost in wonder! My
memory seems a Herculaneum, in which, let but a spade of thought be
sunk, and some long-hidden treasure is unearthed. I have referred to the
citizens of Washington. The term unrolls a scroll in which are listed
men and women renowned in those days as hostesses and entertainers. They
were a rich and exclusive, and, at the same time, a numerous class, that
gave body to the social life of the Federal City. Conspicuous among
these were Mrs. A. S. Parker and Mrs. Ogle Tayloe. The home of the
former was especially the rendezvous of the young. In the late fifties
and sixties it was a palatial residence, famous for its fine
conservatories, its spacious parlours, and glistening dancing floors.
To-day, so greatly has the city changed, that what is left of that once
luxurious home has been converted into small tenements which are rented
out for a trifle to the very poor. At the marriage of Mrs. Parker’s
daughter, Mary E., in 1860, to Congressman J. E. Bouligny, of Louisiana,
crowds thronged in these now forgotten parlours. The President himself
was present to give the pretty bride away, and half of Congress came to
wish Godspeed to their fellow-member.
The home of Mr. and Mrs. Ogle Tayloe was a museum of things rare and
beautiful, vying in this respect with the Corcoran Mansion and the homes
of the several members of the Riggs family. One of its treasured
mementos was a cane that had been used by Napoleon Bonaparte. Mrs.
Tayloe belonged to a New York family; the Tayloes to Virginia. She was a
woman of fine taste and broad views, a very gracious hostess, who shrank
from the coarse or vulgar wherever she detected it. When Washington
became metamorphosed by the strangers who poured into its precincts
following the inauguration of Mr. Lincoln in 1861, the Tayloe Mansion
was shrouded, its pictures were covered, and its chandeliers wound with
protective wrappings. Entertaining there ceased for years. “Nor have I,”
said Mrs. Tayloe to me in 1866, “crossed the threshold of the White
House since Harriet Lane went out.”
At the Tayloe home I often exchanged a smile and a greeting with Lilly
Price, my hostess’s niece, who, when she reached womanhood, was
distinguished first as Mrs. Hamersley, and afterward as Lillian, Duchess
of Marlborough. At that time she was a fairy-like little slip of a
schoolgirl, who, in the intervals between Fridays and Mondays, was
permitted to have a peep at the gay gatherings in her aunt’s home. Many
years afterward, being a passenger on an outgoing steamer, I learned
that Mrs. Hamersley, too, was on board; but before I could make my
presence known to her, as had been my intention, she had discovered me
and came seeking her “old friend, Mrs. Clay,” and I found that there
lingered in the manner of the brilliant society leader, Mrs. Hamersley,
much of the same bright charm that had distinguished the little Lilly
Price as she smiled down at me from her coign of vantage at the top of
the stairway of the Tayloe residence.
But the prince of entertainers, whether citizen or official, who was
also a prince among men, the father of unnumbered benefactions and
patron of the arts, was dear Mr. Corcoran. When my thoughts turn back to
him they invariably resolve themselves into
“And, lo! Ben Adhem’s name led all the rest”
Throughout our long acquaintance Mr. Corcoran proved himself to be what
he wrote himself down, “one of the dearest friends of my dear husband.”
He was already a widower when, shortly after our arrival in Washington,
I met him; and, though many a well-known beauty would have been willing
to assume his distinguished name, my own conviction is that Mr. Corcoran
never thought of marriage with any woman after he committed to the grave
the body of his well-beloved wife, Louise Morris, daughter of the brave
Commodore.
Mr. Corcoran was a tall and handsome man, even in his old age. In his
younger days his expression was the most benignant I have ever seen,
though in repose it was tinged with a peculiar mournfulness. The
banker’s weekly dinners were an institution in Washington life. During
each session he dined half of Congress, to say nothing of the foreign
representatives and the families of his fellow-citizens.
Evening dances were also of frequent occurrence at the Corcoran Mansion,
the giving of which always seemed to me proof of the host’s large and
great nature; for Louise Corcoran, his daughter, afterward Mrs. Eustis,
was a delicate girl, who, owing to some weakness of the heart, was
debarred from taking part in the pleasures of the dance. Nevertheless,
Mr. Corcoran opened his home to the young daughters of other men, and
took pleasure in the happiness he thus gave them. The “Greek Slave,” now
a principal object of interest in the Corcoran Art Gallery, was then an
ornament to the banker’s home, and stood in an alcove allotted to it,
protected by a gilded chain.
The hospitality of Mr. Corcoran’s home, which Senator Clay and I often
enjoyed, was a synonym for “good cheer” of the most generous and
epicurean sort. I remember an amusing meeting which my husband and I had
one evening with Secretary Cobb. It took place on the Treasury pavement.
Recognising us as we approached, the bland good humour which was
habitual to the Secretary deepened into a broad smile.
“Ah, Clay!” he said to my husband, pulling down his vest with a look of
completest satisfaction, “Been to Corcoran’s. Johannisberg and
_tar_repin, sir! I wish,” and he gave his waistcoat another pull,
glancing up significantly at the tall stone pile before us, “I wish the
Treasury were as full as I!”
Mr. Corcoran was famous for his Johannisberg, and I recall a dinner at
his home when, being escorted to the table by the Danish Minister, who
had somewhat the reputation of a connoisseur, our host and my companion
immediately began a discussion on the merits of this favourite wine,
which the Minister declared was of prime quality, and which, if I
remember rightly, Mr. Corcoran said was all made on the estate of the
Prince de Metternich. When the Minister announced his approval, our host
turned quietly to me and said, _sotto voce_, “I hoped it was pure. I
paid fifteen dollars for it!”
I wish it might be said that all the lavish hospitality of that
incomparable gentleman had been appreciated with never a record to the
contrary to mar the pleasure he gave; but it must be confessed that the
host at the capital whose reputation for liberality extends so widely as
did Mr. Corcoran’s runs the risk of entertaining some others than angels
unaware. The receptions at the Corcoran residence, as at the White House
and other famous homes, were occasionally, necessarily, somewhat
promiscuous. During the sessions of Congress the city thronged with
visitors, many of them constituents of Senators and Congressmen, who
came to Washington expecting to receive, as they usually did receive,
social courtesies at the hands of their Representatives. Many kindly
hosts, aware of these continually arising emergencies, gave latitude to
Congressional folk in their invitations sufficient to meet them.
At the Corcoran receptions, a feature of the decorations was the
elaborate festooning and grouping of growing plants, which were
distributed in profusion about the banker’s great parlours. Upon one
occasion, in addition to these natural flowers, there was displayed a
handsome _epergne_, in which was placed a most realistic bunch of
artificial blooms. These proved irresistibly tempting to an unidentified
woman visitor; for, in the course of the afternoon, Mr. Corcoran, moving
quietly among his guests, saw the stranger take hold of a bunch of these
curious ornaments and twist it violently in an effort to detach it from
the rest. At this surprising sight Mr. Corcoran stepped to the lady’s
side, and said with a gentle dignity: “I would not do that, Madam.
Please desist. The blossoms are not real. They are rare, however, and
have been brought from Europe only by the exercise of the greatest
care!”
“Well! If they have? What’s that to you?” snapped the lady defiantly.
“Nothing, Madam!” he responded, quietly. “Except that I am Mr.
Corcoran!”
Fortunately, not all strangers who were so entertained were of this
unpleasant sort. Sometimes the amusement the more provincial afforded
quite out-balanced the trouble their entertainment cost our resident
representatives. I remember an occasion on which I, acting for my
husband, was called upon to show a young woman the sights of the
capital. She was the daughter of an important constituent. One morning,
as I was about to step into the calash of a friend who had called to
take me for a drive, a note was handed to me. It read: “My dear Mrs.
Clay: I hope you will recall my name and, in your generosity of heart,
will do me a favour. My daughter is passing through Washington and will
be at the —— Hotel for one day,” naming that very day! “She is very
unsophisticated and will be most grateful for anything you can do toward
showing her the sights of the capital,” etc., etc.
As I knew I might command the services of my escort for the morning (he
was a Mr. Parrish, recently from the mines of Africa, and in Washington
for the purpose of securing our Government’s aid in pressing certain of
his claims against a foreign power), I proposed that we proceed at once
to the —— Hotel and take the young woman with us on our drive. To this a
kind consent was given, and in a short time I had sent my card to the
young stranger. I found her a typical, somewhat callow schoolgirl,
overdressed and self-conscious, who answered every question in the most
agitated manner, and who volunteered nothing in the way of a remark upon
any subject whatsoever, though she assented gaspingly to all my
questions, and went with a nervous alacrity to put on her hat when I
invited her to accompany us upon our drive.
We began our tour by taking her directly to the Capitol. We mounted to
the dome to view the wonderful plan of the Government City; thence to
the House and the Senate Chamber, and into such rooms of state as we
might enter; and on to the Government greenhouses, with their
horticultural wonders. We paused from time to time in our walk to give
the young lady an opportunity to admire and to consider the rare things
before her—to remark upon them, if she would; but all our inviting
enthusiasm was received in dull silence.
Failing to arouse her interest in the gardens, we next directed our
steps to the Smithsonian Institution, where corridor after corridor was
explored, in which were specimens from the obscurest comers of the
earth, monsters of the deep, and tiny denizens of the air, purchased at
fabulous sums of money, but now spread freely before the gaze of
whomsoever might desire to look upon them. The Smithsonian Institution,
at that time still a novelty even to Washingtonians, has ever been to me
a marvellous example of man’s humanity to man. I hoped it would so
reveal itself to my whilom protégée.
Alas for my hopes! Her apathy seemed to increase. We arrived presently
at the Ornithological Department. A multitude of specimens of the
feathered tribes were here, together with their nests and eggs; still
nothing appeared to interest my guest or lessen what I was rapidly
beginning to regard as a case of hebetude, pure and simple. I was
perplexed; Mr. Parrish, it was plain, was bored when, arriving almost at
the end of the cases, to my relief the girl’s attention seemed arrested.
More, she stood literally transfixed before the nest of the great Auk,
and uttered her first comment of the day:
“Lor’!” she said, in a tone of awestruck amazement, “What a big egg!”