“I forgot to go to tea parties; I overslept myself of a morning. I protested against the moon and derided that blessed planet most villainously. In a word I was soon given up as a young man of most preposterous and incorrigible opinions, and was left to do e’en just as I pleased. Yet, believe me, I did, notwithstanding, admire the fair damsels of Richmond exceedingly; and, to be candid at once, the character of the whole sex, though it has ever ranked high in my estimation, is still more exalted than ever.”
Bless the young man! The fair damsels would have been flattered at his general impressions of them, even though not one of them had succeeded in winning his heart. They may have reflected that, had they encountered him when Richmond weather was more on their side they might have made greater headway. If Miss Fairlee was as sentimentally inclined as the young ladies in Richmond she must have felt reassured by this evidence that the handsome young Washington Irving would return home to New York as detached and uninvolved as though he had never been exposed to the wiles of designing southern belles. On the other hand, after reading the letter and reflecting on the character it unconsciously revealed, might she not have concluded that Irving’s imperviousness to the assaults of impressionable females knew no sectional bounds?
During the first week in June the Enquirer in its columns had hailed the arrival in Richmond of the “celebrated Cowper.” The Enquirer hoped that the manager of the new brick theater on the edge of Shockoe Hill would not fail to avail himself of the opportunity of gratifying the public by engaging him for a few evenings at least.
The “celebrated Cowper” was without doubt Thomas Abthorpe Cooper, a handsome and talented young Irish actor. No doubt Cooper, too, had been attracted to Richmond by the gathering of celebrities there and had concluded that the list would not be complete without the presence of the leading actor of the day.
Richmond in the summer of 1807 not only attracted the leading actor of the day; it attracted also an artist recently arrived from France who was making a name for himself in the cities of the coast through his ingenious manner of making likenesses. On Friday, July 17, the Enquirer carried on its front page a paid notice under the heading “Likenesses Taken and Engraved.” It stated that the subscriber, as an advertiser was politely known in those days, begged leave to inform the ladies and gentlemen of the city of Richmond that “he takes and engraves Likenesses in a style never introduced before in this country.”
The subscriber respectfully solicited the same favor and patronage he had met with in the largest cities in the United States. Samples of his work, said the announcement, could be seen at the subscriber’s lodgings in Mrs. Harris’s house nearly opposite the Custom House. To stir the Richmonders to prompt action he closed his public notice by stating that in order not to disappoint those who might desire to “set for their likenesses,” he begged leave to suggest that his stay in the city would be short. The notice was signed, “St. Mémin.”
The subscriber, to give him his full name, was Charles Balthazer Julien Ferret de Saint-Mémin. Born in Dijon, France, of an aristocratic family, he fled the French Revolution and arrived in New York in 1793. He proceeded at once to tour the cities of the East. He visited Philadelphia, Baltimore, and Annapolis successively. Wherever he went he left behind him a trail of his crayon portraits. They were done in black and white crayon on pink paper with the aid of a device invented by the gentleman himself and known as a “physionotrace.” The profile of the subject was thrown as a shadow on the paper and there traced with mathematical exactness. Saint-Mémin was an artist as well as a technician. The portrait executed life size was framed in black and gold and the whole presented a lifelike and satisfying effect.
But that was not all. In addition to every life-size portrait, the artist made a small copper plate about two inches in diameter from which were struck off a dozen engravings. The sitter received the framed portrait, the engravings, and the plate. Saint-Mémin’s usual price was $25 for gentlemen and—somewhat ungallantly—$35 for ladies. Though high according to contemporary values the price was not exorbitant as portraits go.
Saint-Mémin’s reputation preceded him to Richmond. Shrewd man that he was, he no doubt counted on the trial to provide a healthy lot of potential customers. If so, he was not disappointed. He did the Chief Justice. He did John Wickham, and Mrs. Wickham too. He did William Wirt, and the Cabells, the Gambles and the Mayos, and others prominent in Richmond society.
Modern art critics are inclined to turn up their noses at Saint-Mémin’s work because of its mechanical quality. Yet from the standpoint of social prestige the money paid out for it could not have been better spent. No doubt there were many men and women in Richmond who thought of engaging Saint-Mémin. They may then have reflected that $25 or $35 was a goodly sum. They would have been unusual if they had not had more pressing demands than portraits—perhaps new parlor furniture, or a great four poster bed in the heavy empire style just coming into vogue. Perhaps they reflected that at least part of that sum might be needed to pay the fees for their children at the dancing class going on at the Haymarket Gardens. What better and more direct way to obtain social prestige than by sending children to a dancing class? Or a room may have needed papering or a leaking roof called for attention.