CHAPTER X

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_Society’s Leaders--A Lady whose Dinners were Exquisite and whose Wines were Perfect--Her “Blue Room Parties”--Two Colonial Beauties--The Introduction of the Chef--The Prince of Wales in New York--The Ball in his Honor at the Academy of Music--The Fall of the Dancing Platform--Grotesque Figures cut by the Dancers--The Prince Dances Well--Admirable Supper Arrangements--A Light Tea and a Big Appetite--The Prince at West Point--I get a Snub from General Scott._

Society must have its leader or leaders. It has always had them, and will continue to have them. Their sway is more or less absolute. When I came to New York as a boy, forty years ago, there were two ladies who were skillful leaders and whose ability and social power the fashionable world acknowledged. They gave the handsomest balls and dinners given in this city, and had at them all the brilliant people of that period. Their suppers, given by old Peter Van Dyke, were famous. Living in two adjoining houses which communicated, they had superb rooms for entertaining. These were the days when Isaac Brown, sexton of Grace Church, was, in his line, a great character. His memory was something remarkable. He knew all and everything about everybody, knew always every one’s residence, was good-nature itself, and cracked his jokes and had a word for every one who passed into the ball-room. You would hear him _sotto voce_ remarking upon men as they passed: “Old family, good old stock,” or “He’s a new man; he had better mind his p’s and q’s, or I will trip him up. Ah, here’s a fellow who intends to dance his way into society. Here comes a handsome boy, the women are crazy about him,” etc.

A year or two later, during my absence in Europe and at the South, a lady living in Washington Place found herself filling a very conspicuous place in the matter of social entertainment by the departure of her husband’s relatives, who had been society’s leaders, for a prolonged stay in Europe. A woman of charming manners, possessing eminently the talent of social leadership, she took up and easily carried on society as represented by the “smart” set. For from six to seven years she gave brilliant entertainments; her dinners were exquisite; her wines perfect; her husband’s Madeiras are still famous. At that time, her small dances were most carefully chosen; they were the acme of exclusiveness. On this she prided herself. She also arranged and controlled for two years (the winters of 1870 and 1871) small subscription balls at Delmonico’s, Fourteenth Street, in his “blue rooms.” They were confined to the young men and maidens, with the exception, perhaps, of a dozen of the young married couples; a few elderly married ladies were invited as matrons. These dances were known and became famous as the “Blue Room parties.” There were three hundred subscribers to them. Having a large fortune, she was able to gratify her taste in entertaining. Her manners were charming, and she was a most pleasing conversationalist. Her brother-in-law was one of the founders of the Patriarchs, and at a later period her two sons-in-law also joined them, though the younger of the two, the husband of her accomplished and beautiful daughter, has lived abroad for many years, but is still numbered among the brilliant members of our society. It was during the winter of 1871 that a ball was given in these same rooms to Prince Arthur, when on his visit here. On this occasion, the Prince danced with the daughter of my old friend, the Major, who, in air and distinction, was unrivaled in this country.

About this time two beautiful, brilliant women came to the front. They were both descended from old Colonial families. They had beauty and wealth, and were eminently fitted to lead society. A new era then came in; old fashions passed away, new ones replaced them. The French _chef_ then literally, for the first time, made his appearance, and artistic dinners replaced the old-fashioned, solid repasts of the earlier period. We imported European habits and customs rapidly. Women were not satisfied with their old _modistes_, but must needs send to Paris for everything. The husband of one of these ladies had a great taste for society, and also a great knowledge of all relating to it. His delight was to see his beautiful young wife worshipped by everybody, which she was, and she soon became, in every sense, the prominent leader. All admired her, and we, the young men of that period, loved her as much as we dared. All did homage to her, and certainly she was deserving of it, for she had every charm, and never seemed to over-appreciate herself, or recognize that as Nature had lavished so much on her, and man had laid wealth at her feet, she was, in every sense, society’s queen. She was a woman _sans aucune prétention_. When you entered her house, her reassuring smile, her exquisitely gracious and unpretending manner of receiving, placed you at your ease and made you feel welcome. She had the power that all women should strive to obtain, the power of attaching men to her, and keeping them attached; calling forth a loyalty of devotion such as one imagines one yields to a sovereign, whose subjects are only too happy to be subjects. In the way of entertaining, the husband stood alone. He had a handsome house and a beautiful picture gallery (which served as his ball-room), the best _chef_ in the city, and entertained royally.

I well remember being asked by a member of my family, “Why are you so eager to go to this leader’s house?” My reply always was, “Because I enjoy such refined and cultivated entertainments. It improves and elevates one.” From him, I literally took my first lesson in the art of giving good dinners. I heard his criticisms, and well remember asking old Monnot, the keeper of the New York Hotel:

“Who do you think has the best cook in this city?”

“Why, of course, the husband of your leader of fashion, for the simple reason that he makes his cook give him a good dinner every day.”

* * * * *

Just at this time all New York aroused, and put on their holiday attire at the coming of the Prince of Wales. A grand ball at the Academy of Music was given him. Our best people, the smart set, the slow set, all sets, took a hand in it, and the endeavor was to make it so brilliant and beautiful that it would always be remembered by those present as one of the events of their lives.

My invitation to the ball read as follows:

_THE GENERAL COMMITTEE OF ARRANGEMENTS_

_Invite Mr. Ward McAllister to a Ball to be given by the Citizens of New York to the_

PRINCE OF WALES,

_At the Academy of Music, on Friday Evening, the twelfth of October, 1860, at nine o’clock_.

PETER COOPER, _Chairman_.

_M. B. Field_, _Secretary_.

The ball was to be opened by a _Quadrille d’Honneur_. Governor and Mrs. Morgan, Mr. Bancroft the historian, and Mrs. Bancroft, Colonel and Mrs. Abraham Van Buren, with others, were to dance in it. Mrs. Morgan had forgotten all she had learned of dancing in early childhood, so she at once took dancing lessons. Fernando Wood was then Mayor of New York. The great event of the evening was to be the opening quadrille, and the rush to be near it was so great that the floor gave way and in tumbled the whole centre of the stage. I stood up in the first tier, getting a good view of the catastrophe. The Duke of Newcastle, with the Prince, who, as it happened, was advancing to the centre of the stage, followed by all who were to dance in the quadrille, at once retired with the Prince to the reception room, while Mr. Renwick, the architect, and a gang of carpenters got to work to floor over the chasm. I well remember the enormous form of old Isaac Brown, sexton of Grace Church, rushing around and encouraging the workmen. A report had been spread that the Duke would not allow the Prince to again appear on the stage.

In the mean while, the whole royal party were conversing in groups in the reception room. The Prince had been led into a corner of the room by the Mayor’s daughter, when the Duke, feeling the young lady had had fully her share of his Royal Highness, was about to interrupt them, when our distinguished magistrate implored him not to do so. “Oh, Duke,” he exclaimed, “let the young people alone, they are enjoying themselves.” The stage made safe, the quadrille was danced, to the amusement of the assembled people. The old-fashioned curtseys, the pigeon-wings, and genuflexions only known to our ancestors were gone through with dignity and repose. Mrs. Van Buren, who had presided over the White House during Martin Van Buren’s presidency, has repeatedly since discussed this quadrille with me, declaring she was again and again on the point of laughing at the grotesque figures cut by the dancers.

“But, my dear sir,” she said, “I did not permit my dignity and repose to be at all ruffled; I think I went through the trying ordeal well; but why, why will not our people learn to dance!” A waltz immediately followed the quadrille; the Prince, a remarkably handsome young man, with blue eyes and light hair, a most agreeable countenance, and a gracious manner, danced with Miss Fish, Miss Mason, Miss Fannie Butler, and others, and danced well. I followed him with a fair partner, doing all I could to enlarge the dancing circle. He danced incessantly until supper, the arrangements for which were admirable.

One entered the supper room by one stage door and left it by another; a horseshoe table ran around the entire room,--behind it stood an army of servants, elbow to elbow, all in livery. At one end of the room was a raised dais, where the royal party supped. At each stage door a prominent citizen stood guard; the moment the supper room was full, no one else was admitted. As fifty would go out, fifty would come in. I remember on my attempting to get in through one of these doors, stealthily, the vigilant eye of John Jacob Astor met mine. He bid me wait my turn. Nothing could have been more successful, or better done. The house was packed to repletion. Now, all was the Prince. The city rang with his name; all desired to catch a glimpse of him. His own people could not have offered him greater homage.

A friend of mine at Barrytown telegraphed me to come to him and pass Sunday, and on Monday go with him to West Point to a breakfast to be given by Colonel Delafield, the Commandant of the Point, to the Prince of Wales. It was in the fall of the year, when the Hudson was at its best, clothed in its autumnal tints. I was enraptured on looking out of my window on Sunday morning at the scene that lay before me, with the river, like a tiny thread away below, gracefully flowing through a wilderness of foliage, the flock of Southdown sheep on my friend’s lawn, the picturesque little stone chapel adjoining his place, all in full view, and the great masses of autumn leaves raked in huge piles. Going to church in the morning, I proposed to myself a ten-mile walk in the afternoon to get an appetite for what I felt sure would be my friend’s best effort in the way of a dinner, as he well knew I loved the “flesh pots of Egypt.” Fully equipped for my walk, the butler entered my room and announced luncheon. I declined the meal. Again he appeared, stating that the family insisted on my lunching with them, as on Sunday it was always a most substantial repast.

My host now appeared to enforce the request. I protested. “My dear fellow, I can dine but once in twenty-four hours; dinner to me is an event; luncheon is fatal to dinner--takes off the edge of your appetite, and then you are unfit to do it justice.”

“Have it as you will,” he replied, and off I went. Returning, I donned my dress suit, and feeling as hungry as a hound, went to the drawing-room to await dinner. Seven came, half after seven, and still no announcement of that meal. I felt an inward sinking. At eight the butler announced “Tea is served.”

“Good heavens!” I muttered to myself; “I have lost dinner,” and woefully went in to tea. I can drink tea at my breakfast, but that suffices; I can never touch it a second time in twenty-four hours. I think my host took in the situation, and to intensify my suffering, walked over to me, tapping me on the back, exclaiming:

“My dear boy, in this house we never dine on Sunday.”

“Why in the plague, then,” I thought, “did you ask me up here on a fast day? However,” I said to myself, “I will make it up on bread and butter.” In we went to tea, and a tea indeed it was; what the French would call a “_Souper dinatoire_,” the English, a “high tea,” a combination of a heavy lunch, a breakfast, and tea. No hot dishes; but every cold delicacy you could dream of; a sort of “whipping the devil around the stump.” No dinner, a gorgeous feast at tea.

Down the river the next morning we went to West Point, every moment enjoyable, and reached the Commandant’s house. As General Scott was presenting Colonel Delafield’s guests to the Prince I approached the General, asking him to present me to his Royal Highness. A giant as he was in height, he bent down his head to me, and asked sharply, “What name, sir?” I gave him my name, but at the sound of “Mc,” not thinking it distinguished enough, he quietly said, “Pass on, sir,” and I subsequently was presented by the Duke of Newcastle.

DELIGHTS OF COUNTRY LIFE.

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