Throughout our long acquaintance Mr. Corcoran proved himself to be what he wrote himself down, “one of the dearest friends of my dear husband.” He was already a widower when, shortly after our arrival in Washington, I met him; and, though many a well-known beauty would have been willing to assume his distinguished name, my own conviction is that Mr. Corcoran never thought of marriage with any woman after he committed to the grave the body of his well-beloved wife, Louise Morris, daughter of the brave Commodore.
Mr. Corcoran was a tall and handsome man, even in his old age. In his younger days his expression was the most benignant I have ever seen, though in repose it was tinged with a peculiar mournfulness. The banker’s weekly dinners were an institution in Washington life. During each session he dined half of Congress, to say nothing of the foreign representatives and the families of his fellow-citizens.
Evening dances were also of frequent occurrence at the Corcoran Mansion, the giving of which always seemed to me proof of the host’s large and great nature; for Louise Corcoran, his daughter, afterward Mrs. Eustis, was a delicate girl, who, owing to some weakness of the heart, was debarred from taking part in the pleasures of the dance. Nevertheless, Mr. Corcoran opened his home to the young daughters of other men, and took pleasure in the happiness he thus gave them. The “Greek Slave,” now a principal object of interest in the Corcoran Art Gallery, was then an ornament to the banker’s home, and stood in an alcove allotted to it, protected by a gilded chain.
The hospitality of Mr. Corcoran’s home, which Senator Clay and I often enjoyed, was a synonym for “good cheer” of the most generous and epicurean sort. I remember an amusing meeting which my husband and I had one evening with Secretary Cobb. It took place on the Treasury pavement. Recognising us as we approached, the bland good humour which was habitual to the Secretary deepened into a broad smile.
“Ah, Clay!” he said to my husband, pulling down his vest with a look of completest satisfaction, “Been to Corcoran’s. Johannisberg and tarrepin, sir! I wish,” and he gave his waistcoat another pull, glancing up significantly at the tall stone pile before us, “I wish the Treasury were as full as I!”
Mr. Corcoran was famous for his Johannisberg, and I recall a dinner at his home when, being escorted to the table by the Danish Minister, who had somewhat the reputation of a connoisseur, our host and my companion immediately began a discussion on the merits of this favourite wine, which the Minister declared was of prime quality, and which, if I remember rightly, Mr. Corcoran said was all made on the estate of the Prince de Metternich. When the Minister announced his approval, our host turned quietly to me and said, sotto voce, “I hoped it was pure. I paid fifteen dollars for it!”
I wish it might be said that all the lavish hospitality of that incomparable gentleman had been appreciated with never a record to the contrary to mar the pleasure he gave; but it must be confessed that the host at the capital whose reputation for liberality extends so widely as did Mr. Corcoran’s runs the risk of entertaining some others than angels unaware. The receptions at the Corcoran residence, as at the White House and other famous homes, were occasionally, necessarily, somewhat promiscuous. During the sessions of Congress the city thronged with visitors, many of them constituents of Senators and Congressmen, who came to Washington expecting to receive, as they usually did receive, social courtesies at the hands of their Representatives. Many kindly hosts, aware of these continually arising emergencies, gave latitude to Congressional folk in their invitations sufficient to meet them.
At the Corcoran receptions, a feature of the decorations was the elaborate festooning and grouping of growing plants, which were distributed in profusion about the banker’s great parlours. Upon one occasion, in addition to these natural flowers, there was displayed a handsome epergne, in which was placed a most realistic bunch of artificial blooms. These proved irresistibly tempting to an unidentified woman visitor; for, in the course of the afternoon, Mr. Corcoran, moving quietly among his guests, saw the stranger take hold of a bunch of these curious ornaments and twist it violently in an effort to detach it from the rest. At this surprising sight Mr. Corcoran stepped to the lady’s side, and said with a gentle dignity: “I would not do that, Madam. Please desist. The blossoms are not real. They are rare, however, and have been brought from Europe only by the exercise of the greatest care!”
“Well! If they have? What’s that to you?” snapped the lady defiantly.
“Nothing, Madam!” he responded, quietly. “Except that I am Mr. Corcoran!”