The Bells, Madame Bodisco, Mrs. Southworth, and Governor Cooke.

Washington, October 20, 1875.

Recently some stones have been unearthed in Georgetown of great value to the student of antiquated taste. These slabs bear a date so remote that most of the letters have been eaten away by the teeth of Time, but sufficient remains to identify the Bell family, who occupied Georgetown Heights in the early part of the last century. Far back in the shadowy past the clear ringing tongue of this English Bell might have been heard as it poured its melody in the ear of an Indian princess, who soon after became his wife. The first nest of the young pair was a tent; afterward a quaint English cottage snuggled on the woody heights. Below them moved the silvery waters of the solemn Potomac. To the east stretched their vast possessions, which embraced all the land within the scope of vision which lay between the cottage and the rising sun. Here Madame Bell, attended by her pale-face consort, led the fashions without rivals and with none to dispute her sway. Over the stormy Atlantic came the winged schooners, bringing rich brocades for this dusky queen. Her costumes were half enlightened, half barbaric, like many of the styles of to-day. The descendants of these ancient Georgetown aristocrats have been slowly undergoing the bleaching process, and the past hundred years had almost obliterated the last trace of Indian lineage, and yet within the memory of the present generation “white trash” have been noticed in this vicinity bearing the name of Bell, and carrying in their lithe forms and eagle eyes the last superb touch of the grace of Indian origin. But, true to the savage instinct, these were the first men to seize the deadly musket in the Southern cause, and the late battlefields of the South are made richer by the bones of the last of the first aristocracy of Georgetown.

After the Bells came the Peters, a haughty Virginia family, whose slave call was answered by hundreds of inky men. Georgetown Heights in those early days was called the Tudor estate, in memory of the royal line of England. Tudor Place stretched itself between the Heights and the Washington Navy Yard, but in the course of time this vast estate was broken up. This was prior to the Revolution. The Peters family were related to the Washingtons and Lees. Washington Peters is the most prominent descendant of this aristocratic family, but the last fragment of the estate has passed away from him, and he lives at Ellicott’s Mills, on a farm, a man almost eighty years of age, the last to retain the haughty bearing of the proud old family, the last of his race whose hand has rested on the yoke of a slave.

The shifting panorama shows us Protestant Thirkel, who, through the influence of Archbishop Carroll, of Baltimore, gave the extensive grounds now occupied by the Georgetown College and Convent to the Roman Catholic Church some time during the latter part of the last century. Little is known of the social standing of the Thirkels, but they were a family of wealth, and their tombstones are institutions of learning.

Coming down to the last fifty years, we find the aristocracy of Georgetown strongly flavored with merchants and tradespeople. The Linthicum mansion, which is said to be one of the finest, was built and owned by a hardware merchant, but he, too, has passed away like all the old residents who gave tone to the elegant society which ruled during the administration of Polk and Buchanan. During the Presidential reign of these two men the social queen of the capital lived in Georgetown, the city of her birth and education. She was the daughter of an obscure but highly respected merchant, and was married at the early age of sixteen to the Russian Minister Bodisco, whose diplomatic position at once lifted his lovely wife to the highest round of the social ladder, whilst his vast wealth was used to give this wifely jewel the most costly setting. From over the sea came the flashing gems that had adorned the savage throats of a hundred generations of Bodisco Russians—diamonds only eclipsed by those of world-wide fame. In those somewhat primitive days the working people used to line the roadway to see Madame Bodisco pass from her mansion to the White House on occasion of reception or levee. If the weather permitted, she was visible to all in her open carriage—far more beautiful than the famous Eugenie, and with the same inimitable tact and grace. Creamy white satin and costly old lace was the favorite costume, and when adorned with jewels worth more than a million, mounted policemen followed in her train. The poor people said, “Old Bodisco is afraid some one will steal his wife,” but he was simply protecting her, Russian fashion. But this American girl was something more than a figure to be adorned with stones. With that superb tact which only a Josephine knew how to practice, she united the contending social elements. She thawed the frozen ocean of diplomatic ceremony and bade the foreign fortress open its doors to her countrywomen as well as herself. It is true she had standing at her right hand the incomparable Harriet Lane, of the White House, who held the last royal scepter of this extinct line. History rarely records the fact that distinguished leaders are beautiful, but popular acclamation gave to both these women the fairest crown. Alike in style of type, both opaline blondes, perfect in form and feature, with Titian-tinted flesh and golden hair, such as the old masters gave their beloved Madonnas, they held their emblems of power with a firmer grasp than did Marie Antoinette, a woman of the same mould. In the days which marked the magnificence of the Bodisco and Lane regime, beauty and grace were not punished as under the Grant dynasty. George H. Williams, of Oregon, would have been Chief Justice of the Republic to-day had his wife been one of the “ugly sisters.” “They pared their heels and they pared their toes,” but the Prince did not dare defy the “Sisters.” Underneath the political drift lies the stony social strata which decides the character of the products above.

With the coming of civil war a society mildew fell upon Georgetown. Neighbors and old friends looked upon each other with mutual distrust. As a general rule most of the fighting element rolled southward. In a few instances a house might be found divided against itself. Once a Georgetown mother appeared before Abraham Lincoln to beg for the life of her son, who had been caught as a guerrilla with arms in his hands. “My eldest son,” said the mother, “is a trusty officer in the Union army; my youngest, my darling, was one of Mosby’s guerrillas.” “Miserable mother!” said the great President. “God help you, for I cannot. I know who you are! This is the third time your boy has been caught; mercy is beyond me!” and the man with streaming eyes supported the faltering steps of the wretched woman beyond the threshold. At this period social life was dead, apparently beyond resurrection.

Mrs. Southworth, the noted novelist, and a prominent resident of Georgetown, nailed the stars and stripes over the front gate, saying, “Whoever comes to my door will have to pass under that.” With patriotic zeal she gave her only daughter, Lotta, to be the wife of a gallant Union captain, and her only son, who was studying and not strong enough to go into the field, was attached as medicine boy to one of the hospitals. But these deprivations were not enough sacrifice. Either in camp or hospital she caught the smallpox. “I cannot prevent the soldiers from taking the smallpox,” said the great novelist, “but I can suffer with them; there is some consolation in that.”

Alas, the social wave has receded, apparently never to return. Weddings, even, were under the ban; but with peace came a violent reaction which threw the sediments of society to the surface, and Henry D. Cooke, first governor of the District, came prominently into view. It was never intended that he should be anything but a figure-head for governor. When he was relieved from the cares of state it was but natural that he should turn to a field of action where there would be little or no competition. A leader of the ton! Why not? Old issues were dead; besides, if he traveled in this path Shepherd and Babcock would let him alone. Only a few moons previous to his being crowned governor his station in life was as humble as that of Sancho Panza—a modest clerk at the capital, with no higher aim than to make his salary cover the family needs. But at this particular epoch in our critical history Salmon P. Chase, then Secretary of the Treasury, thought he spied an open way to the White House. “Money,” said the statesman, “much money will pave the track.” So he gave the enchanted keys of the people’s pocket to his distant kinsman, Jay Cooke, and together they were to cook the political pie. It would take the pen of Victor Hugo to describe the huge financial bubble which hung so long suspended by a single hair. It made the little clerk first governor of the District, united with the fact that he was “Shepherd’s man.” “He won’t give us trouble,” said Alexander, and Grant broke a solemn pledge which he made to the people of the District to give him a crown. Politically Governor Cooke had no more weight than an Alaska Indian, but socially the resident governor gave Georgetown a new lease of life. But the few dying snails of the old aristocracy drew coldly within their shells like the monarchists under the Bonaparte reign. “Who is this parvenu and his upstart wife? Who are the Cookes?” said the proud old spirit. The question was soon answered. In one of the grandest of the proud old mansions might have been found the new governor, surrounded by all that was costly and luxurious in nature or art. The atmosphere of the large drawing-rooms was heavily laden with the fragrance of choice exotics, and foreign birds sang in the cages which hung in the emerald bloom. The richest Axminster covered the floors; silk, satin and embroidery ornamented rosewood and ebony; pictures and statuary were all as profuse as they were costly or extravagant. If refined taste did not prevail the defect was covered by Oriental splendor. Two thousand dollars per month was put into the hands of the steward to furnish this small private family with ordinary marketing, and this did not include the wines and staple groceries. Every day the courses were laid as if for a dinner party, with preparations for any number of the ordinary unexpected guests. Fleet horses stood in the stable, with coachman and footman awaiting call. A son of the illustrious house was married and a railroad car is chartered to bring the distant guests, and this, added to the expense of the wedding breakfast, costs the aristocratic governor the sum of $10,000, a large fortune for any young man of 21. An official reception is given in mid-winter, and $1,500 is paid for the single item of roses alone. Is not this truthful history as wonderful as any tale found between the covers of the Arabian Nights? From the narrow walls of a cheap tenement and sixteen hundred a year to all the gilded trappings of royalty! Yet only one-eighth of the profits of Jay Cooke’s concern was received by the governor as his share of the public plunder. The old, old story—the few robbing the many. The “court” traveling with its paint pots and the working men left to starve. Henry D. Cooke can no longer be called the “social leader.” His title has been taken away, and he has given up the mansion, but he has saved enough from the wrecked concern to establish his son and name-sake in the banking business. The son of the President is a member of the firm, whilst Mr. Sartoris has just stepped over to England to raise the wherewith to join this “national” enterprise. Mrs. Cooke is also independent for life. The passerby of Fifteenth street, opposite the Treasury, can almost any day see a portly, jolly man lounging like a genteel loafer. That is Henry D. Cooke, late clerk, governor, banker, and leader of the fashion of Georgetown.

Olivia.