Etiquette and White House Mistresses

 

During her residence in the White House, Mrs. Cleveland stood up in all the beauty of her young womanhood and bravely shook hands with the mighty public until she had to take her rings and gloves off, until her fingers were swollen, her arm was lame and her hand was like a puff ball. After every reception her maid had a solution ready to bathe her dislocated members, and it was often necessary to rip her sleeve up in order to get it off. 

Presidents’ Wives: Different Views of Different Mistresses of the White House

Mrs. James A. Garfield never got into harmony with the ostentation, excitement and vulgarity of public life. She is a woman of innate refinement, very domestic in her tastes, and the presumptions of the public grated on her. She could not reconcile herself to the privileges assumed by agents representing photographic and advertising companies, business firms, newspapers, artists and charitable, industrial and social organizations, and when she sent down word that she did not wish to become an adverting medium, that she did not want to be photographed, painted, interviewed or entertained, and that she begged to decline the testimonial of the club to which she was a stranger, she was most severely and cruelly assailed by message, letter and paragraph. 

In all her public life she did not receive ten reporters, says the New York World. Scores applied to her for audience, and very often poverty was offered as a plea for the coveted interview. To these importunators she frequently sent a sealed envelope containing a bill and a “please excuse me from newspaper comment” written on the back of her visiting card. She used to say that she “felt like a baby elephant” every time she received with the President. While fully recognizing her obligations as the wife of the Chief Magistrate, she argued at home and among her friends that she was not a politician, was not in office, and in no way compelled to make un exhibition of herself, her home and her children. There was no time between the election and burial of her husband, when she would not have gladly paid the newspaper writers and artists to decline the work assigned them. 

These very sentiments are entertained by Mrs. Harrison, who dreads publicity, suffers from the demands made upon her by strangers and shrinks from the ordeal of handshaking, committees and delegates bearing testimonials, resolutions or documents inquiring her approval. Last winter, while a member of Mrs. Wanamaker's Delsarte class, she entered the drawing-room just as Mrs. Russell was showing the Wanamaker girls how to bow. There was the little bow of the head, which would suffice for an employee in the “depot”; there was the warmer salutation, with an advancing of the chest, for the formal caller: there was a still more cordial salute, accompanied by a responsive movement of the head and torso, and finally the low, grand, sweeping bow from the head to the ankles, expressive of great respect, such as the Queen is accustomed to receive. 

Mrs. Harrison listened with undivided attention, and when the lesson was ended asked to be presented to Mrs. Russell, and during the conversation that ensued, talked very lively to the New York aesthete. She referred to the Grand Army reception when she carried a fan and bouquet, so as to have ample excuse for not shaking hands, and to which innovation the Logan division took swift violent offense. “I was sorry,” Mrs. Harrison said. “I did not mean to show an indisposition to kindness or courtesy, but it was a physical impossibility for me to extend my hand. Had I been permitted to shake hands it would have been different, but to have others do it was more than my strength was equal to.” Mrs. Harrison is very frank on the subject, and while disposed to be pleasant and gracious refuses to manifest for strangers the cordiality that only her friends are entitled to. 

The approach of a stalwart from the mud lakes and prairies of the Sieto, Des Moines and Kansas rivers, with beaming face and open hand, gives her a chill, the discomfort of which is increased by the vigorous fanning necessary to the safety of her wrist. This aversion of the First Lady to cross hands with the grasping multitude will be the means of amending the etiquette of the reception and draw rooms of Washington, if not the United States. 

During her residence in the White House, Mrs. Cleveland stood up in all the beauty of her young womanhood and bravely shook hands with the mighty public until she had to take her rings and gloves off, until her fingers were swollen, her arm was lame and her hand was like a puff ball. After every reception her maid had a solution ready to bathe her dislocated members, and it was often necessary to rip her sleeve up in order to get it off. This girl bride liked the public, and the affection was returned. She was gracious obliging and indulgent to a degree, but impertinence was met by revolt. She sent to Paris for her clothes because she was too well known in Washington, Albany and New York to buy them at home. When she wanted shoes, bonnets or gloves, an order was sent to her dress-maker, who purchased them in her own name. 

Mrs. General Grant has not one adverse criticism to pass on the great unwashed. She admits that she cried like a baby the day she left the White House. A special train carried the General's party to New York, but she says, “I watered the journey with my tears. The General stood between me and any annoyances that might have occurred, but I was very happy; my life was eight years of bliss and one round of pleasure.”– San Francisco Call, 1890

Etiquette Enthusiast, Maura J. Graber, is the Site Editor for the Etiquipedia© Etiquette Encyclopedia