Kate Aylesford: A Story of the Refugees

by Charles J. Peterson

She is mine own;
And I as rich in having such a jewel,
As twenty seas, if all their sand were pearl,
The water nectar, and the rocks pure gold. —Shakespeare.

Expectation was more than realized when the ceremony actually came off. All that was distinguished in rank, talent, wealth, beauty, fashion, or social position in Philadelphia, assembled on the eventful evening at the Aylesford mansion. The commander-in-chief, who happened to be in the metropolis, conferring with the Congress, honored the occasion by his presence, and gave away the bride; while the French ambassador, with a large number of officers of his most Christian Majesty’s army, also attended; in fact, it was universally conceded that so brilliant a social assembly had never before been gathered together in Philadelphia.

That city, it must be remembered, was not only the political capital of the country at that period, but was also the first in the nation in respect to wealth, intelligence, scientific attainments, and social influence. A few years before, John Adams, on coming up to Philadelphia to attend the first Congress, had written home to his wife, in terms of amazement at what he styled the princely luxury in which the richer citizens lived, and to which, he declared, he had seen no parallel in Boston. Since that period there had been no decline, but rather an increase, in this splendid hospitality. There were fortunes, at that day, which, considering the difference in the value of money, would put even some of the colossal ones of a more modern period to the blush; while the example of the mother country, and the characteristic ostentation of the age, led to a far grander style of living than the taste of the present generation favors. The pompous coach and four; the crowd of liveried footmen; and the gold brocade dress, which a whole year’s expenses of a modern toilet would scarcely purchase; these have long been things of the past.

The front of the Aylesford mansion was a blaze of light, on the evening in question. The uproar of carriages, arriving and depositing their precious freights, was almost deafening at times. Between lanes of servants the guests passed up to the imposing doorway, and entering the carved and wainscoted hall, which was now fairly dazzling with light, were shown up the wide staircase to the chambers set aside for dressing rooms. It was a splendid spectacle to see the proud dames, attended by their lovely daughters, come pouring down the ample, heavily balustraded steps, and flock towards the drawing rooms like stately birds. The rustle of stiff brocades, and the fluttering sound of fans, were mingled with a rich, low murmur of animated conversations, carried on in whispers, that was like a soft undertone to a gay piece of music. Nor were the cavaliers less aristocratic looking than the swan-like creatures, before whom they bowed, offering the tip of their gloved fingers to their partners, in the ceremonious but lofty gallantry of the time. The age of dark and sober hues had not yet wholly usurped that of gay colors and silken fabrics for gentlemen’s wear; and the petit maitre of the day thought himself unfit for female society, if his ruffles were not of the choicest lace, his coat and waistcoat elaborately embroidered, and his white hands sparkling with jewels. All was a blaze of light and grandeur, therefore. Swords jingled; diamond shoe-buckles flashed; necklaces sparkled till they rivaled the fair wearer’s eyes; and the air was fragrant everywhere with the exquisite perfumes of the powder shaken from dozens of lovely heads whenever they moved. From a military band, stationed close by in the garden, came bursts of proud music continually, that made many a charming little foot move impatiently, and stirred the blood even of the old.

It would be impossible for us to describe half the superb dresses that made their debut on that occasion; but our fair readers would never forgive us if we omitted those of Mrs. Warren and the bride. The former wore a petticoat of crimson satin, thick as a board, the very sight of which would drive a modern belle crazy with envy. Over this was a skirt of rich, gold-flowered brocade; the boddice being made of the same material; and sleeves that, reaching to the elbow, were trimmed with deep, yellow, old lace, of almost fabulous value. But the head dress of Mrs. Warren was the crowning triumph of the good lady’s toilette. This coiffure was, in fact, the masterpiece of the French artist, whom Mrs. Warren had engaged three months before, and who had spent most of his leisure moments since in studying out this grand achievement of his genius. It rose nearly two feet in height, a perfect mass of interwoven ribbons, curls and jewels, almost rivaling that, which, a few years later, gave a European reputation to the celebrated Lemard, hair-dresser to Marie Antoinette, because he had consumed in it upwards of fourteen yards of gauze. It was, in short, a miniature tower of Babel, done in hair, pomatum and powder. The dowager was as proud of this chef d’oeuvre as her artist, and had but one drawback indeed on her satisfaction, which was that her cousin, Lord Alvanley, could not behold this miracle of art, taste and beauty.

The bride’s dress followed the fashion of the hour less servilely, having been made subservient to her own excellent taste. Her hair was drawn back entirely from her face, as was the prevailing mode: a style that eminently suited her regular features; but instead of being raised into an enormous tower, it was simply combed over an ordinary cushion, a long curl or two being allowed to fall behind each ear. It was slightly powdered on this occasion, but with silver mareschale, which produced an indescribably brilliant effect against her fair complexion; and further ornamented by a wreath of delicate flowers placed on one side. On her snowy, swan-like neck, she wore a superb necklace of diamonds, which had belonged to her mother. Her petticoat was of rich white satin, the bottom being trimmed with wreaths of flowers; while her gown was of rose-colored brocade, wrought with silver flowers, and looped back from the under skirt with bunches of ribbons and flowers. Her stomacher was of costly lace, interspersed with diamonds. Her sleeves, like her aunt’s, were tight to the elbow, where they were trimmed with a double ruffle of lace, whose fabric of frost-work set off the taper and rounded arm, heightening even its statuesque beauty. Her shoes were of white satin, pointed at the toes, and with high, red heels, a fashion which showed to the greatest advantage a lady’s instep. She carried a Watteau fan, a gift from the French ambassador, worth almost its weight in gold.

Such was our heroine’s costume, and amid all that splendid circle, with its furbelows and flounces, its silken net work over fair bosoms, its white shoulders, its powdered coiffures, its diamonds, and its scores of beautiful forms, she was, beyond rivalry, the loveliest. Nor was the bridegroom, who appeared simply in the uniform of his rank, less conspicuous among the array of magnificently clad gentlemen, who, in silk stockings, embroidered coats, broad-flapped vests descending to the hips, and lace frills and ruffles, moved proudly about the rooms. His air of command and of manly dignity had, indeed, but one rival there; and that was in Washington himself, who then, as ever, “towered pre-eminent.” The grand, yet simple dignity of that heroic form; the quiet authority in the somewhat severe face; and the unaffected, yet awe-inspiring manner: ah! what pen can describe these, which contemporary painters confessed themselves unable to limn, and which the tongues of his most gifted compatriots fell short of depicting. But, though every eye turned first on the commander-in-chief, (even the eyes of those suspected of secretly wishing well to the royal arms,) the next object of admiration, at least among the ladies, was the bridegroom, as that of the gentlemen was the bride. Even the graceful, highbred, and splendidly clad French noblemen, who were present, altogether failed of attracting attention by the side of these.

The ceremony was impressively performed, the bridegroom making the responses in a firm voice, and the bride in one a little fluttered. After a proper interval had elapsed, the dancing began. But our fair readers must not suppose that those highbred dames permitted themselves, as their descendants do, to be taken familiarly about the waist by a comparative stranger, and whirled around the room in a schottish, or other waltz, as if the giddy pair were human spinning-tops. Nor must they imagine that the cavalier and his partner, with arms a-kimbo and faces alternately turned towards each other and averted, went stamping up and down the apartment, like wild Indians, in a polka. They must not even think that the gentlemen was at liberty to swing his partner till her wrists ached, whenever he approached her in a quadrille, for that now comparatively obsolete dance had not then yet come into fashion. The minuet was the only dance sufficiently courtly for that highbred age. It required something more than ordinary grace also to elicit admiration in that princely pastime; for it was performed in single couples, and with the eyes of the whole room watching for a blunder, or even for the slightest display of awkwardness. When the minuet, however, was danced to perfection, as it was more than once during this evening, it elicited that complete satisfaction in the beholder, which any finished work of art always produces. The gentleman, leading out his fair partner as ceremoniously as if she was a queen, bowed over her hand till he bent almost to her waist; while she curtsied in return, with lashes drooping on her cheek, the color rising into her face, and her damask-gown rustling as it sank to the floor; ah! this had a grace, a stateliness, and an air of chivalrous worship, such as, alas! we never see in a modern ball room. Then the exquisite ease with which the partners subsequently moved through the aristocratic dance, gliding to the slow, measured, stately music, the cavalier inclining his powdered head profoundly, with his hand on his heart, whenever he touched the hand of his companion, while she performed each evolution with a lightness of step, a tender coyness, and a formal grace, which seemed to be the poetical realization of that lordly and perhaps pompous, yet knightly age! When the bride executed the minuet, she carried off all plaudits, however, for notwithstanding others danced well, she danced surprisingly so.

Amid this brilliant assembly there was one personage who attracted no little attention. He was a man, apparently about sixty, dressed with great simplicity, yet with perfect neatness, in the plain garb of what was then called a yeoman. He was evidently unaccustomed to such assemblies, and consequently deficient in the conventional usages proper for the occasion; but no one could look upon his broad, square brow, or kindly eye, or observe his native ease of manner, without being satisfied that he was one of “nature’s noblemen.” The attention exhibited towards him by the Aylesford family, had already made the guests curious to know who he was; but when the commander-in-chief was observed to be conversing with him, eager inquiries began to pass around. When it was told that he had been an old field companion of the bride’s father, and that he was the same person who had saved her life in a moment of great extremity, the romantic story of which was well known in town, everybody, especially the ladies, was crazy to be made acquainted with him. Franklin, in his plain costume, was not a greater favorite among the beauties of the French court, than was Uncle Lawrence on this occasion. Indeed, if it had been at all allowable so to distinguish any one but the bride, it is probable the enthusiasm of the fair creatures would have crowned the veteran with a chaplet, after the manner in which the ambassador and philosopher was honored about the same time at Versailles.

The conversation of Washington with the old man lasted for a considerable time. The unassuming character of Uncle Lawrence; his plain, homely sense; his sincere, yet unaffected piety; and the bravery which, as the General knew, had been proved at more than one crisis, were exactly such qualities as the great hero could fully appreciate. Few could so readily discern, and so thoroughly honor, true manhood, as the Father of his Country. In the course of their conversation, the General alluded to his companion’s passion for the chase, which he declared he had once been as fond of as any man; asked several questions about the mode of hunting practised about Sweetwater; and on parting expressed his determination, if ever he visited that part of New Jersey, and had the leisure to spare from the cares of his office, to track a buck with the patriarch.