by Various
The clerk, like all modern hotel clerks, was exquisitely arrayed, highly perfumed, and too self-important to be obliging or even courteous.
“This is the woman I told you about. I want a good room for her,” Mrs. Lincoln said to the clerk.
“We have no room for her, madam,” was the pointed rejoinder.
“But she must have a room. She is a friend of mine, and I want a room for her adjoining mine.”
“We have no room for her on your floor.”
“That is strange, sir. I tell you that she is a friend of mine, and I am sure you could not give a room to a more worthy person.”
“Friend of yours, or not, I tell you we have no room for her on your floor. I can find a place for her on the fifth floor.”
“That, sir, I presume, will be a vast improvement on my room. Well, if she goes to the fifth floor, I shall go too, sir. What is good enough for her is good enough for me.”
“Very well, madam. Shall I give you adjoining rooms, and send your baggage up?”
“Yes, and have it done in a hurry. Let the boy show us up. Come, Elizabeth,” and Mrs. L. turned from the clerk with a haughty glance, and we commenced climbing the stairs. I thought we should never reach the top; and when we did reach the fifth story, what accommodations! little three-cornered rooms, scantily furnished. I never expected to see the widow of President Lincoln in such dingy, humble quarters.
“How provoking!” Mrs. Lincoln exclaimed, sitting down on a chair when we had reached the top, and panting from the effects of the climbing. “I declare, I never saw such unaccommodating people. Just to think of them sticking us away up here in the attic. I will give them a regular going over in the morning.”
“But you forget. They do not know you. Mrs. Lincoln would be treated differently from Mrs. Clarke.”
“True, I do forget. . . . Why did you not come to me yesterday, Lizzie? I was almost crazy when I reached here last night, and found you had not arrived. I sat down and wrote you a note—I felt so badly—imploring you to come to me immediately.” This note was afterward sent to me from Washington:
St. Denis Hotel, Broadway, N. Y.
Wednesday, 17 September.
MY DEAR LIZZIE: I arrived here last evening in utter despair at not finding you. I am frightened to death, being here alone. Come, I pray you, by next train. Inquire for
Mrs. Clarke,
Room 94, 5th or 6th Story.
House so crowded could not get another spot. I wrote you especially to meet me here last evening; it makes me wild to think of being here alone. Come by next train without fail.
YOUR FRIEND,
MRS. LINCOLN.
I am booked Mrs. Clarke; inquire for no other person. Come, come, come. I will pay your expenses when you arrive here. I shall not leave here or change my room until you come.
YOUR FRIEND, M. L.
Do not leave this house without seeing me.
Come!
I transcribe the letter literally.
In reply to Mrs. Lincoln’s last question I explained what has already been explained to the reader, that I was in hope she would change her mind, and knew that it would be impossible to secure the rooms requested for a person unknown to the proprietors or attachés of the hotel.
The explanation seemed to satisfy her. Turning to me suddenly, she exclaimed:
“You have not had your dinner, Lizzie, and must be hungry. I nearly forgot about it in the joy of seeing you. You must go down to the table right away.”
She pulled the bell-rope, and a servant appearing, she ordered him to give me my dinner. I followed him downstairs, and he led me into the dining hall, and seated me at a table in one corner of the room. I was giving my order, when the steward came forward and gruffly said:
“You are in the wrong room.”
“I was brought here by the waiter,” I replied.
“It makes no difference; I will find you another place where you can eat your dinner.”
9
ELIZA POTTER
(1820–after 1861)
Eliza Potter’s sharp-tongued and gossipy memoir, A Hairdresser’s Experience in High Life, is a departure from much of the serious women’s writing from the era. Potter lived and worked according to her own wishes and desires, traveling from one swank holiday spot to another, always in demand as a hairdresser, able to accept clients or not as she chose. Potter traveled to the South, saw a slave auction, and was disturbed by what she saw, but these moments, while emphasized in most of the studies on Potter, do not loom large in her narrative. Rather, Potter presents herself as a recorder of the hypocrisies of her wealthy clients—their pettiness, unhappiness, and moral corruption. In contradistinction to the usual narratives of African American life under scrutiny by the white observer, Potter assumes the role of observer.
The following excerpt from Potter’s memoir focuses on her experiences in New Orleans, in which she expresses disbelief about the shrewdness and scheming of members of “high society” she encounters. Potter’s account reads as a witness to a corrupt and decaying aristocracy.
“New Orleans,” from A Hairdresser’s Experience in High Life (1859)
SOURCE: Eliza Potter, A Hairdresser’s Experience in High Life (Cincinnati, OH: Published for the Author, 1859).
Did this throw a gloom over the house? No; for that very evening there was a tremendous large ball. The corpse was immediately taken away, and placed in a vault, and at the first opportunity sent to Kentucky. For my own part, the gloom did not wear off for a month; and I thought if I crossed the hall, that ghosts and hobgoblins were right behind me; and when I would go home at night, I would light three or four candles and place them in every part of the room, for the hospital was just opposite where I lived, and I knew every death that took place—man, woman, or child—by the toll of the bell. When a man would die, it would strike three times; a woman, twice, and a child, once; and never a night passed but it would toll several times. I must laugh now to think how frightened I was one day in going down the back stairs. I heard some one coming down very rapidly behind me; when I turned round I found it to be a gentleman who had just left a lady’s apartment who he had been in the habit of visiting in her husband’s absence, and as soon as he heard him come up the front stairs, he would rush down the back stairs. I went to the lady’s room to see what was the matter, and I found her almost fainting for fear her husband had seen the man; while the husband, frightened, thinking his wife very sick, was putting back her massive curls to bathe her temples. The gentleman was frightened for fear he had been seen; and I, also, frightened on account of his haste. However, I got through that week very quietly, without seeing hobgoblins or being frightened to death.
I remember well a lady and her two daughters who, about this time, came to New Orleans. The daughters were very gay, and very pretty. The first time I saw their mother she was in the hall speculating in pianos, and the next time I saw her she was in her own room. I did not know her again, as, when I had first seen her, she had jet black hair, a profusion of curls, clear red and white complexion, and magnificent teeth; her eyes shone like diamonds; she was tall, slender, and apparently a magnificent form. On entering the room, I saw her sitting on a chair. I looked half a dozen times for the lady, when she exclaimed, “Here I am; don’t you know me?” “No, madam, I did not know you.” “By George, no wonder; I have not got on my pretties.” Her hair was white, and her beautiful curls were all false; her complexion was eau de beaute, blond de pearl, and rouge; her teeth were the most perfect deception that ever was made, and her beautiful form was a perfect skeleton; and to hear her swear, I will acknowledge I was frightened for once by a woman.
While I was speaking to her, a handsome, amiable-looking girl stepped in, and said, “Oh, ma, why are you not dressed before this!” She replied, “Oh, don’t you know I was out playing cards till near three o’clock.” Hearin
g her speak in this manner before a stranger, her daughter shook her head, when she said, “Oh, thunder, by jingoes, there’s no use shaking your head; she will soon get to know me, and like me, too.” But she did not know me—for I did not like such ladies. Her daughters I became very much attached to; they were elegant, graceful and amiable girls—the eldest rather more so than the other.
In a few days I again saw this same lady in Camp-street, buying and selling bales of cotton; at another time I saw her in a wholesale store, buying sacks of coffee, and speculating on them. There was a family in the hotel, from off the coast, who had with them a very pretty maid, and a very good hair-dresser. She made her dissatisfied with her owner, that she might purchase her; she told the girl that so soon as she would earn what she paid for her, besides fixing her two daughter’s heads, she would give her her freedom. The maid brought home forty dollars every month, until she had nearly paid for herself; this woman then turned round and sold her for very near as much again as she paid for her—saying nothing of what the girl had paid her. She then left the hotel and went traveling. I did not see her again for a long time, but frequently heard of her.
On one occasion I saw a very nice free girl. She proposed to this girl to sell her, and divide the money between them, and then she was to kick up a row and swear she was free. I have seen many ladies, but never one that loved money as she did. Notwithstanding all her improper conduct, her daughters kept a fair position in society, more particularly with gentlemen.
Several seasons passed away, and I did not see or hear of this woman, till one season, on leaving Washington City, she happened to be on the same train, but not in the same car, with me. Sitting in the same seat with her, was a green, country woman. On my passing through the cars, I saw her in deep conversation with this woman, and knew immediately she was striking up some trade; so I took a seat in the same car she was in, to notice her maneuvers.
All at once I saw her jump up and, with the woman, go into a small room, called the ladies dressing-room; in a few moments she came out, laughing, and I saw she had changed her dress. I then went up to her and asked her why she changed her dress; she said, “By George, I had a good chance to sell it, and I sold it. I have worn it for a year or so, and I got as much as I gave for it. It won’t be long till the cars are in Philadelphia, and I have got a waist and long sleeves under my shawl, and then the girls will have plenty of new dresses for me from the mantuamakers.” She went to Philadelphia, and I did not see anything of her till about in the middle of the season, when she came to Saratoga. The salute I got from her was, “Halloo, langy!” When I turned around and saw it was her ladyship, I told her she looked very well. She said, “Yes; I come here to drink water, recruit, and get a husband.” I asked her where she had been all this time; she said she had been in the New York Hotel, she and the girls, raising the devil, and having more fun than a little. “Now,” says she, “I have come here, and the girls are going to be belles here, I can tell you that. Moreover, Pet has got a rich beau, but he is so old he can hardly stand straight,” and she laughed at the top of her voice.
She made her youngest daughter make the old man believe she was desperately in love with him, and the mother pretended to give her consent. She could find no other way to speculate, so she speculated with her daughter’s hand. The old man gave her a diamond ring worth several hundred dollars, an old family relic, they say. It was an expensive and elegant ring. She made him settle a large amount of property on her daughter, and got money from him herself. She went to a dress-maker’s with the ring, and told her to raffle it off for three hundred dollars, at twenty-five dollars a chance. The dress-maker retained the ring for some time; but, as she did not feel very safe with it in her possession, returned it, and said she could not raffle it off. She took the ring, and there is no telling what she did with it. She then took several boxes of goods, and was going to leave them at the dress-maker’s; but the dress-maker would not have anything to do with them; she knew there was something wrong, and a lady of her disposition did not care whether she got any one in trouble or not.
The season ended in Saratoga, and she, getting as much money as possible from the old man, started for Europe. The old man died, and she married her two daughters off, and remained herself in Europe, on account of the fuss about the property the old man settled on her. When I was in New York there was great confusion about the property and money the old man placed in her hands. The family grieved very much for the ring, and other pieces of jewelry belonging to the family.
I suppose that many of my readers would like to know where such a noble lady came from. She was from the South, although, when I was there, the Southerners were not proud to own her; and I am sure the North would not claim her. In the mean time my readers might ask where her husband was? A difficulty arose between a gentleman, a great gallant of hers, and her husband; the former went in her husband’s office one day and shot him, and he died some time after; she ever since has been like the Wandering Jew.
A few years ago, in Louisiana, there was a family of three sons, one of them an invalid; they had a mulatto servant with them, who was, in stature, color and disposition, pretty much the same as the brothers, only a shade or so darker. This invalid brother would have no one to wait on him, he would not be taught anything, nor would he eat or drink unless he was waited on, taught and served by this mulatto. So they had to have this servant taught, to enable him to teach their brother. All this annoyed the other brothers very much.
In the course of a few years the father died. On his decease it was found that this mulatto was his son, and half-brother to those he waited on. The father dying suddenly, left him unprovided for. In a short time the sickly brother died, and then the two brothers tried to quarrel with him, and at one time tried to whip him, but he gave them a pretty good turn, and, when they were asleep, locked them in the room, and, taking as much money as he wanted, left the country.
As he was in the habit of traveling with his younger brother, there was nothing thought of it till he got to New York. He there married a white girl, and it was there I saw and conversed with him. He told me where I could find his mother, and requested me, when I went back to Louisiana, to find her, and tell her I had seen him, and all the particulars at the same time. He told me he was never struck a blow but once in his life, and that was by his brother; and he said he felt he would be willing to die to have revenge.
Some may think it strange that a white woman should marry a colored man in the North, not knowing he was colored; but it is not more so than a rich white lady of Virginia, who was a belle at the St. Charles, and every place she visited, marrying a man, said to be a millionaire, whose mother was a mulatto, and his father a Frenchman, who sent him to Paris and had him educated. He came back highly educated, a wealthy gentleman, and greatly sought after for his millions and his handsome appearance, and he married this great belle. Many knew who he was, but on account of his millions and his father, nothing was said. His mother I saw, a few years ago, in Massachusetts; she would not know him if she saw him. And there are many in the same situation; for I know two sisters now, who often visit Saratoga, from St. Louis, who married two brothers on account of their wealth. They are very nice women; but it is known by many that they were born in slavery, but raised free, and well educated. On one occasion, while in Saratoga, they were coming to the dinner-table, and some ladies, who came along, said they were not white, they looked like negroes. One of their husbands, a fine-looking man, heard the remark, and after dinner sought out the husband of the lady, who was a diminutive bit of a creature, and made him take back all his wife had said; he was glad to do so with many apologies, and the next morning he and his family were missing. All this is nothing; for, in our Queen City of the West, I know hundreds of mulattoes who are married to white men, and lawfully married. Some of these pass for white, and some, again, are so independent they will be thought nothing but what they are.
A few year
s ago there was a marriage in Saratoga of a gentleman belonging to one of the best families of South Carolina. This occurred through the effects of alcohol. Several years ago a chambermaid was proved to be not respectable, and she was turned out from the hotel. She led an immoral life for some time, when Mr. —— married her. He could get no one to marry them, till at length he found out an old country parson, who performed the ceremony. There were great preparations for them to start to Charleston; but, I am told, at a certain station she was shoved off the cars, and they went on without her. Whether it was a compromise of his friends, I know not, but the apartments which he had engaged for the ensuing season were empty in Saratoga. There are a great many queer matches; one of them was a match of a gentleman of high rank and standing, with an Indian squaw. There was a camp of Indians near there, and many gentlemen chose their wives from among the squaws. This gentleman married her in the morning, and took her away with him. Several of these squaws have married men of high standing.
I knew a colored man who belonged to a family in Lexington, Ky. The children taught him to read and write, unknown to their parents. For some slight offense he was sold to a family in Bigbury; and the master found him writing passes for the servants to all parts of the city, and letters, when he was again sold, to a family living in Mississippi.
They put him to work in a cotton patch, but the head waiter in the house used to steal him newspapers to read, and at twelve o’clock they, the slaves, would go to their meals and return in a very short time, and they would lay in the grass around a tree, while he sat in the tree reading to them out of the newspaper. At last it was noticed that the slaves all hurried through their meals and it was thought so strange to see them all congregated together, that their master undertook to find out the reason. One of the young masters hid himself in one of the trees near to the one they were surrounding. They all came from their meals as usual, and he began to read the newspaper to them, he being in the tree, and they laying around. It was the time of the trouble between England and the United States on the account of McLeod, and he was explaining all the particulars, telling them England was threatening war, and what their course of conduct should be. When the master found out what they were about, he called this man to the house and questioned him; he acknowledged what he had done as he always did from the first. They then told him if he would not tell the servants, and leave the country in two hours, they would let him go; he did so, and went to Canada, I afterward saw him there at the Custom House, and we had quite a long talk.