To understand the humour and good cheer which reign among the corps diplomatique in Washington, it is sufficient to know that it consists almost wholly of bachelors, who, according to the étiquette of the place, enjoy the privilege of inviting ladies to their parties.[21] This is certainly an enviable distinction; and, if anything can reconcile a man to living in single blessedness, it is, I am sure, an ambassadorship in the American metropolis. Yet, great as the advantages of such a situation are to the ministers of England, Russia, and even France, they prove a source of incessant vexation to the envoys of minor powers. I was told of several of the ministers who lived in houses of such frail construction as to make the ladies afraid of walking into them, much less to attempt a dance; they said that “they regretted extremely that it was not in their power to give parties, it being useless to send out invitations when the ladies vowed they would not come.”
In what light ambassadors are held by the ladies will appear from the following anecdote:—At a dinner party to which most of the representatives of the greater powers and some of the smaller ones were invited, one of them, a jolly old bachelor of the English school, attempted a song, which so much gratified the ladies, that it was proposed every gentleman present should, in turn, follow the example. Russia and some other great powers immediately obeyed the summons; but when the turn came to the representative of a new court, he indignantly exclaimed, “Mon roi ne m’a pas envoyé ici pour chanter.”—“Well,” answered a lady, “if you will not sing, we shall ask your gallant king to send us somebody else who will.”
Being made acquainted with the étiquette of Washington, I ordered a carriage, and inquired the directions of the persons on whom I wished to call.
“Bless your soul, sir!” cried the landlord, “that is not at all necessary in this city; all you have to do is to tell the name of the person you wish to call on to the ‘driver,’ and he will carry you there with the greatest possible speed.”
“That may be with regard to the President’s house and the residences of foreign ministers; but I have also letters to some of the senators, and even representatives of Congress.”
“That don’t signify,” rejoined the landlord. “These black fellows not only know the residences of every senator and distinguished member of Congress, but also those of the higher public officers, clerks, editors of newspapers, &c. Once under the care of a black ‘driver,’ it is quite needless for you to know the direction of a single gentleman in this city.”
With this piece of information I “embarked,” as the Americans say, “on board of a Washington hack,”—the usual means of conveyance for gentlemen; and in a short time found myself tête-à-tête with the editor of one of the first papers. I found him a plain unassuming gentleman, though he enjoyed the reputation of being a man of extraordinary talents. He regretted that he could not be of more service to me during my short stay in the city; but, notwithstanding, promised to introduce me personally to some of the most distinguished senators of his party. “I have nothing to do with the rest,” added he; “but I dare say you have letters to some of them, and one will cheerfully introduce you to all the others.” He then unceremoniously excused himself with pressing business, invited me to dine with him sans cérémonie on the Sunday following, in company with a select number of his party, and almost bowed me out of the room.
“A singular character!” said I to myself, as I again stepped into my carriage and ordered the coachman to proceed to Mr. Woodbury, the secretary of the Treasury. “I have, after all, done wrong to omit the De.”
I was so fortunate as to find Mr. Woodbury at home, and was at once ushered into the parlour. I found him surrounded by his family, equally distinguished for beauty and accomplishments. Mr. Woodbury is a gentleman very nearly, or quite, fifty years of age, of agreeable address and kind manners; though, probably owing to his being born and brought up in New England, a little ceremonious. It has been the fashion in America for the last eight or ten years to decry “the secretary of the Treasury,” and to impeach even his honesty; as if the money withdrawn from the United States’ bank had filled his coffers and those of the President.
Mr. Woodbury is a man of great tact for business, and of the most indefatigable application; but the style of his official documents is often laborious and cumbrous, with an occasional attempt at laconism, which renders the fault still more apparent. But, notwithstanding this imperfection, his annual reports contain a vast deal of information, and the most minute statistical details of the progress of agriculture, manufacture, and commerce, not only of America, but of every other country. To judge fairly and impartially of the ability of Mr. Woodbury as a head of department, it is necessary to consider that every question which has agitated the country ever since the elevation of General Jackson, has turned on the subject of finance, and that therefore the secretary of the Treasury was placed in the most difficult and conspicuous position of any public man in the United States, the President himself scarcely excepted.