XVI
FANCY DRESS BALL AT THE MINT IN 1850
I have never heard of a society ball in a United States mint building, before nor since, but the Kennedys, who gave this one, were a power in the social world at that time—and ambitious beyond their means. Rose and Josephine, the two oldest of quite a flock of daughters, were débutantes that winter. Both were handsome and accomplished. Rose was also a famous pianist, even in those days when every woman strove to excel in music, and it was customary to entertain even a casual caller with a sonata. Gottschalk declared Rose Kennedy rendered his famous “Bamboula” better than he did himself, and to hear her was to rise and dance.
Who was at that fancy ball? Everybody who was anybody in the fifties. The Eustises—George and Mathilde, George as “a learned judge” (he was son of Chief Justice Eustis), and Mathilde in pure white and flowing veil was a bewitching nun. George, years after, married the only child of the banker-millionaire, W. C. Corcoran, in Washington. Mathilde married Alan Johnson, an Englishman; both are long since dead. There was Mrs. John Slidell, of “Mason and Slidell” fame, a “marquise,” in thread lace and velvet, her sisters, the Misses Deslonde, “peasant girls of France.” Mathilde Deslonde became the wife of Gen. Beauregard, and her sister, Caroline, married Mr. R. W. Adams. All three sisters are with the departed. Col. and Mrs. John Winthrop, “gentleman and lady of the nineteenth century,” the jolly colonel announced. Who fails to recall, with a smile, the Winthrops, who lived in Royal Street, near Conti; near neighbors of the—long departed—Bonfords? The genial colonel became a tottering old man, asking his devoted wife “who and where are we?” before he peacefully faded away. Young De Wolf of Rhode Island, nephew of Col. Winthrop’s, “an Arab sheik,” wore probably the only genuine costume in the room—a flowing robe that was catching in every girl’s coiffure, and every man’s sword and spurs, in the dance.
All the gilded youth who wanted boisterous fun, and no jury duty, were firemen, in those days of voluntary service. Philippe De la Chaise wore his uniform. He later married Victoria Gasquet, and was relegated to a “back number” shortly after.
I make no special mention of the chaperons, but, Creole like, they were present in force. Cuthbert Slocomb was a mousquetaire, and Augusta, in red and black, “Diablotan,” a vision of beauty and grace. She married the Urquhart mentioned in “Musical History of Louisiana,” as the father of Cora Urquhart Potter. Mr. Urquhart died years ago, but his widow survives. She lives with her daughter at Staines on the Thames, in a stone house that was a lodge of Windsor Castle in the time of Henry VIII. Cuthbert Slocomb married a Miss Day; his widow and daughter, Countess di Brazza, survive him. Ida Slocomb was the noted philanthropist of New Orleans, the widow of Dr. T. G. Richardson.
There was the stately Mrs. Martin Gordon chaperoning her exceedingly pretty sister, Myrtle Bringier, who became the wife of Gen. Dick Taylor, and whose descendants are among the few of those mentioned above still living and reigning in New Orleans society.
The mint building was made ample for the gay festivities by utilizing committee rooms, offices and every apartment that could be diverted for the crowd’s comfort—so, we wandered about corridors and spacious rooms, but never beyond the touch of a gendarme—officers, soldiers, policemen at every step. These precautions gave a rather regal air to the whole affair.
Augusta Slocomb Urquhart