THE FIRST OF HEARTS
Selected Letters of Mrs. Henry Adams 1865 - 1883By WARD THORONAuthorHouse
Copyright © 2011 Cokie Roberts
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4634-2452-7Contents
Introduction by Cokie Roberts..........................................................................iiiPart I. An Early Letter: May 1865......................................................................1Marian Hooper to Mary Louise Shaw The Grand Review of Grant's and Sherman's Armies.....................3Part II. Letters to Her Father From Washington: 1880-1883..............................................11Epilogue...............................................................................................208Bibliography...........................................................................................210
Chapter One
WASHINGTON OCTOBER 1880-MAY 1881
Washington, Sunday, 10th October, 1880.
Dear Pater: Thanks for your note of the 7th. It seems unnatural to be seeing old friends here before all of you. We left New York Thursday; Misses Schurz waited a day to come on with us, and Wayne MacVeagh was on the train,—Cameron's brother-in-law,—full of politics and most interesting to our long-famished souls. He is an Independent, and the clan Cameron is not in sympathy with him.
Lovely weather here—cool and crisp, a fire every evening. Up to our eyes in work, hardly time to eat and sleep; Corcoran sweet as barley candy, and the house bids fair to suit us well. All plumbing is to be in new brick addition on east side, separated from main house by double brick wall; laundry in brick building in yard, which has five rooms and will hold coachman and any servants we may wish. We ought to stay and oversee everything, but of course shall not. We find a cabinet-maker who will make wooden mantelpieces and library bookcases; his work in two of our friends' new houses is quite as good as Leach's. This saves us much bother and expense. Have taken six years' lease with right to renew, pay two hundred dollars a month; Corcoran spends twenty-five hundred dollars in repairs and pays all taxes. On the second floor we get six bedrooms, two bathrooms, and new servants' staircase—verandas behind all three stories.
Miss Clymer and her brother here this A.M.; he sailed in White Star three days before us and had nasty voyage—head winds and gale. What a scratch we had! We go to New York Wednesday and hope to head for Boston Friday; will write or telegraph from there. Adíós. Affectionately M. A.
Washington, Sunday, October 31st, 1880.
Dear Pater: Just a few lines to tell you of our being here. We had a very busy day in New York on Thursday—on our feet from breakfast time to dusk, Boojum knowing himself a champion shopper and enjoying it, especially the feminine blandishments which fell on his ears: "That sweet little dog!" We bagged our library paper at Herter's, four vases at Vantine's for gas lamps. Tell Ned the last importation of which he sent word to Bil Bigelow was Chinese. Got five cheap bedroom rugs at Sloane's; said "How do you do" and "Good-bye" in the same breath to Mrs. Lawrence and Miss Chapman at the Brevoort, and fled South into a warm storm. After heroic struggles we got some south rooms out of Wormley,—squalid and dear,—but we shall do very well and it will be an incentive to driving workmen as hard as we can. We find the house progressing and no mistakes are made in our absence. It is a solid old pile, outside all round fourteen inches of brick; no laths, but plastered on to the brick; such stout chimneys that we can have four-foot openings in the ground-floor rooms.
Yesterday was such a driving storm that we saw no one except those in the house, a cup of tea at Miss Schurz's off my own table being the only outing. Today is warm and windy; Mrs. Loring and Harriet have just been to see me; the former is to celebrate her golden wedding in the winter. We hear nothing of politics—have seen only diplomats, who never talk of them. I hope you too are warm and sunny today; Boojum sends his love and thanks to Betsy; mine to Fanny and the magpies—I send them three pairs India rubbers tomorrow. Ever affectionately M. A.
P.S. I forgot to say that on Thursday evening Henry met at the Brevoort my partner in the emerald mine scheme. He took the Spanish papers from me in March on his way home; has since then consulted the superintendent of mines of New Granada, finds from him that the mine I found in the British Museum manuscript has been reopened from local tradition, but they find the quartz too hard to work the emeralds profitably in that mine. But it shows that my trail was not a false one, though fruitless, and blows his theory to atoms. So, like your oft-quoted friend, we have split on that rock called quartz's.
Washington, Sunday, November 7th, 1880.
Dear Pater: Thanks for yours of Sunday last. Doll's death is indeed a real loss to Boston—his partner will scarcely fill his place. We've had a quiet, restful week here, our work at the house not yet begun—several days of rain, alternating with summer heat, making even a wood fire impossible. Wednesday we took a lovely drive; the leaves hang on bravely here. Our stable is painting, and so much epizoöty raging that we shall let our horses stay in Virginia for a week yet. The election news gave quiet satisfaction here, except to our Southern friends. I'm told Mr. Corcoran gave ten thousand dollars toward the Democratic campaign fund. Miss Eustis, who lives with him, says our red outbuildings throw a "cheerful glow" into their dining room, and though he gasped at first, I am amused to find that he has ordered the sides of that and stable which abut on his yard painted red too, at his expense; I had ordered them left brown, as they were on his side. The addition was plastered yesterday, and today a high northwest wind will dry it bravely. I took my ebony cook to see her new quarters the other day and when she entered the kitchen her lips parted like a black walnut piano suddenly opening, and she exclaimed: "Oh, it's powerful large!"—twenty-seven by twenty-two is pretty ample.
Sunday evening we divided between the Bancrofts' and Judge Loring's; the former seemed younger and fresher even than when we left, Mr. Bancroft chuckling over Evarts's mot in saying that he was "overeighted." Judge and Mrs. Loring are to have a golden wedding this winter. Dined Thursday with the Hopkinses in their pretty new house. Miss Beale sends you many kind messages; wants you to bring Kitty when you come. Why can't you in your spring visit anyway—and scour the country when the dogwood is in bloom? Have a vile cold in my head, so adiós. Affectionately Clover
Wormley's, November 9th, 10 A.M.
Dear Pater: Yours of the 7th came last night. I want you to do something for me. Can't get any tea here fit to drink; as you know where "Heard Mixture" can be got, will you kindly order me a small chest—about fifteen pounds or so—and tell the man to send it on at once by Adams Express to this hotel. And will you ask Betsy or William to pay this for me; it is so small to pay by cheque. I will pay tea and this in one cheque to you or Ned. Will do as much for you if you want anything in the lobbying line. Weather here like seventh heaven, a pleasure to breathe even with a cold. Have finished M'Carthy. Do read it! Charles writes me about it in enthusiasm, wants us to read it—it's like looking through old newspaper files. Ned would like it. The raking down of Vernon Harcourt in Volume III is delicious to those who don't fancy him.
Mr. Woolner writes me from London, October 28th; says he has sent my Bonington—that "if you don't say it's one of the `largest' small pictures you ever saw, I shall say that the Atlantic winds have swept out much of your power of appreciating." Isn't he good, with a small purse and large family, to send me such a present. I must send him an Aztec vase or some bit of Tiffany silver. He says they are having "horrible drizzling weather." Love to all the folks. Yours affectionately M. A.
Wormley's, Sunday, November 14, 1880.
Dear Pater: The tea-chest came safely yesterday A.M., and we used it for five o'clock and find it most delicious. I've been trying teas here at a dollar twenty-five and a dollar, and found them not at all nice. Many thanks to you for your trouble. Another week of hard work is behind us and the chaos is settling. The process of scraping off papers brought to light so much cracked plaster that the work of pointing it has brought despair to the soul of Corcoran's contractor. He didn't realize when he undertook to put the house in perfect order that he would have two driving New Englanders at his heels. Our cabinet-maker—late officer in the rebel army—has kept us dancing, but bookcases and mantelpiece are finally in Henry's den, and room half papered—will be finished tomorrow. We stuck in Turkey rug, chairs, and table last evening, and have agreed to give Schurz his tea there this P.M. to silence his derisive doubts. "Few! Few! The bird builds her nest," says my Portuguese grammar.
We are much amused by our work and, though most anxious to get in, very comfortable here. The daily dinner is quite amusing; we've so many friends and acquaintances that we can talk across, and Boojum wanders alternately from Spanish counts to army officers and is well treated. Today we are to eat roast beef with the Beales. The fair Emily has been quite ill, but is convalescing. She wishes me to tell Bil Bigelow to come here and practice; says: "Tell him I'll make it worth his while, I'm ill so much." Will you give him the message.
Weather until yesterday lovely, then and today raw and cold. Our friend Mr. Hewitt has got into an awful mess. Have you seen Judge Noah Davis's charge against him and Mr. Hewitt's lame and impotent defense? We have been so much thrown with him that it will be awkward to go on just the same. It is utterly indefensible on his part. Give Ellen the enclosed about her friends the Crosses; it may amuse her. Let me know, please, when the Peabodys get into No. 91—the 16th was their aim. If you were as near as New York, we should run on to Thanksgiving. Any news from Ellen Dixey? Please answer all my questions. Affectionately yours
M. A.
1607 H Street, Washington, Sunday P.M., November 21, 1880.
Dear Pater: You see by my new paper that we are partly in our new quarters. If you were sitting by this blazing wood fire in Henry's den looking out on "bare ruined choirs" and evergreens you would think us very cosy. At five I'd make you some tea—"A.H. mixture" from Boston; before that we've some calls to make, which we can find no time for on week days: Jerome Bonapartes, who very civilly called first; your friend Madame Lewenhaupt, etc., etc. The town is filling fast and we expect an interesting winter. Sunday we had a quiet pleasant dinner with the Beales and an hour in the evening with the Bancroft Davises. Wednesday, dined with the Schurzes, he playing deliciously to us after dinner. Last evening, dined with the John Hays; only Schurz and his daughter—it was lively and amusing. When we got home at ten, no Boojum could be found. At three in the morning he gave a tap on our bedroom door, one which is never used, but he seemed to have thought that if he knocked at the parlour door—which is an outroom to mine—we should not hear him. He crept to his bed like a guilty rat-catcher. Usually, when we go out, he flops on a young woman from Troy and passes his time in her room.
The air is thick with political flakes. One, that Fish is to be next Secretary of State as a sop to the Conkling wing of the party—the latter wouldn't be able to rule him anyway. No one seems to put much faith in the future strength of Garfield's spine; he is thought to be too much inclined to conciliate. Miles is talked of for General Myer's place, but he has no scientific training and is so successful as a fighting general that he seems hardly the man for the place.
Mrs. Evarts has very kindly asked us to join their Thanksgiving dinner, so we shall have a Vermont turkey, if not a Massachusetts one. You ask in your last if I've found the wagon you offered me yet. We had no time as we came through, but as I hardly could enjoy it before February or March, we shall hunt for one in our next trip there. The saddle horses we expect to be ready for in about a week. We are doing our best to get in, but plastering the addition has been a tiresome business. Did Mrs. Walter Cabot's child get well? I'm anxious to hear. Love to Fanny. Take good care of yourself and Aunty. Affectionately yours Marian Adams
1607 H Street, Wednesday, November 24, 1880.
Dear Pater: As you take an interest in our daily incidents, read the enclosed. This gentle Teuton has been doing our cornices and on Saturday P.M. lost his temper with Henry, saying he "couldn't please him." Henry tried to soothe him and I went in and mollified him in such execrable German that he came round and was very polite. He went from here to his own house, and from there seemed to have no alternative but the grave or the gallows. He is a fine-looking six-foot man, and if he had chosen to stick his putty knife into us a few hours earlier, it would have been uncomfortable all round.
Cold and still, here; plastering retarded in drying; furniture left last Friday, Leach writes. Woolner's Bonington has come—is an oil painting about eight by ten inches, and is very delicious, we think. As Bonington ranks with Turner in England, and higher in Paris, I'm rather staggered at so valuable a gift. Custom House charged two dollars, as I, thinking it was a water colour, told Mr. Sturgis to rate it at four pounds! Many thanks for your tea. You are like Hepzibah Pyncheon, who gave away all her gingerbread camels. I have a score to send Ned as soon as I get time, which will fill your purse nicely. Vale. Affectionately M. A.
1607 H Street, Washington, Sunday, November 28, 1880.
Dear Pater: Thanks for your last. I wish you gave better news of Fanny, and that we could be of any use to her in any way.
We are working very hard, but it is all for ourselves. We have sworn spherical oaths to Corcoran's contractor that we will eat and sleep in this house Saturday next. His nasty plaster has kept us waiting—the weather being dead against it—and all plumbing in ell, so we can't go in till that does. Our furniture got here Tuesday, but they waited three days before they sent us word! Yesterday Henry and our groom John Brent went to Potomac depot and I received at this end fifteen wagonloads in three hours. The car was so full that a mosquito who tried to go as a stowaway got his ribs broken. Leach is a trump and his mantelpieces very nice; the one we designed for the library you must say you like even at the risk of perjury. But a truce to our affairs.
Had a quiet dinner at the Evartses' Thursday; met only the John Hays and a twenty-six pound turkey of Senator Anthony's raising. Evarts and John Hay were both witty and full of talk. Next Wednesday we are to dine with the Jerome Bonapartes; I've not seen her since we were infants. I must inaugurate your red velvet gown. Clarence King has been very ill; has now gone on six weeks' leave to Mexico, will turn up here about January 1st. Why did Harshaw decline to get up when that blooming telegram came? We are happy in thinking we were economizing on Turner, etc., in Queen Anne's Gate, for if we'd been in Boston we should inevitably have sold Calumet as being too high and gone as the other "publicans" did.
Think of us tomorrow at the christening of a brat whose mama rejoices in the pen-name of "Bessie Beech,"—so the Star says,—just because I had a colic in October and called in her husband to see me writhe. If I had not disgraced myself by convulsive laughter at her literary party I would not go this time. It's so nice that the Bernhardt is being socially tabooed on this side, our English cousins made such asses of themselves. See to it that Boston snubs her off the stage anyway. Miss Beale always speaks of Henry J. Bigelow as old Dr. Bigelow, and when I laughed she said: "I assure you I should never say `old Dr. Hooper.' He's very different!" Henry Jacob would be pleased!
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Excerpted from THE FIRST OF HEARTSby WARD THORON Copyright © 2011 by Cokie Roberts. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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