Clermont State Historic Site

"Gown" With the Wind: Is This Alice's Wedding Dress?

2012-02-02T09:13:00.021-05:00

On Saturday, March 10th (2012) I am giving a lecture about gilded-age costumes. I've got to be honest here: we were all more than a little inspired by the PBS series "Downton Abbey." Quite simply, it's gosh-darn beautiful.

So anyway, in preparation for the talk, I went prodding around in Clermont's own costume collections. The collection is not extensive, but does have a few sparkling gems, for instance, the 1905-1910 taupe silk gown pictured at left. It takes a little imagination when they are all boxed up, I know, but that design down the front is all hand-applied soutache and embroidery, and the silk is so lucious you just want to pet it and call it "my precious" (but I managed to restrain myself--curatorial training can be a real stick in the mud).

But one label caught my eye. "CL 1981.18 Wedding dress." Well that's odd, I thought. I knew where Honoria's wedding dress was, and this wasn't it. So out of curiousity, I cracked the box open, gently folded aside layers of acid-free tissue paper, and got a look at something truly lovely.

Here was a rick ivory silk satin gown with the empire waist that was starting to come back into fashion by the end of the first decade of the 20th century (as seen in the 1910 Jeanne Paquin fashion illustration from the Victoria & Albert Museum).

Clearly, this was someone's special gown--Alice's judging by the time period-- It had stellar details: applied Milan lace along the top of the bodice and shoulders is studded with hemotite and silver-colored beads along with pearls, the whole thing heavily structed, belying its somewhat airy appearance.

Time to check the accession files.

So when I dug into the big bank of filing cabinets, I found that someone else had already recognized the quality of this gown back in 1981 when it was originally accessioned. Good black and white photography had already been taken. Voila:

Once I got a look at these, I had a much better feeling for the dress as a whole: A-line, trained, and look--pearl tassels on the sleeves! I had just seen similar tassels in images at the Victoria & Albert (Jeanne paquin again at right, 1907).

And here was something else useful: an image of the label printed on the waist tape in the dress. "Rouff /18 Haussmann Paris."--Ooh! It's Parisian.

It only took a few minutes on the internet to find out that here was a gown from a major nineteenth and twentieth century French design house, on par with the House of Worth, and in fact the house where Jeanne Paquin (whose dresses I had just been ogling) had trained before opening her own competing house in 1891. The House of Rouff had been opened in 1884, and Rouff gowns are held in museums of great repuation around the world, including the Metropolitan Museum of Art and the Kyoto Cotume Institute.

Owning a French gown carried a certain cache, and if this was Alice's wedding gown, it would have indicated that they went all out. Parisian gowns were even reported upon in the New York Times during the era, and one reporter tried to sum up the question of why French fashion was so all-important in fiercly-independent New York, "To get just that Parisian twist, that supreme essence of chic, which, in spite of protest, you never obtain elsewhere."

The accession file included no information as to why the attribution that the dress was worn at Alice's wedding. Honoria confirmed that the dress belonged to her mother, but there were other occassions that it would have been possible to wear the gown.

It is possible, looking at the design, that it was made as early as 1906, the year that Alice married John Henry Livingston. If that were the case, this gown would have been on the cutting edge of fashion, as many American ladies were still wearing the pouchy bodices popular for the last five years (pictured at right). In fact, Alice herself was still wearing that style in the photgraphs taken during their two-year honeymoon.

If this was Alice's wedding dress, she must have felt like a princess during her wedding procession, headed towards the stately Livingston heir to Clermont, one of the Hudson Valley mansions most notable for its historic social prowess.

Sadly, reading the accession file confirmed another observation I'd made while peaking in at the gown: the silk is shattering (see what this process looks like in the photograph of a seventeenth century embroidery at right). This extremely destructive and irreversible process is the fatal disease of silk.

It means that every time this gown handled, picked up, or shifted, the fibers will break down a little more. Even exposure to the light hastens the process. It means that this gown can never be exhibited because the process of getting it out (let alone leaving it in the leight for a week or two) would only hurry its innevitable demise.

It's items like this that make me glad I have an opportunity to share Clermont's collections with the vast internet community. A gown by a major French designer spent twenty years curled in Honoria's trunk in Sylvan cottage and is now locked in a new prison of acid-free tissue and cardboard. While it won't make an in-person appearance for the public any time in the future, at least it can be seen on the vast "interwebs" by other fashion-history-hungry folks.

Appleton Manor

2012-01-27T10:49:00.003-05:00

Quite a while ago, I wrote a blog about John Henry Livingston's first daughter, Katherine. Thirty six years older than daughters Honoria and Janet, Katherine had married and moved to England by the time Alice was moving into Clermont and beginning to redecorate (and revitalize the gardens that Katherine had once cared for).

In her elder years, Katherine remained separated from her husband in a house in Devon named Appleton. Much to my chagrine, no amount of internet searching could yeild me a picture of Katherine's retreat.

But while flipping through Alice's photo album of the family's years in Europe today, I noticed her penciled caption under one particular photo: "Appleton Manor." It's mostly a photo of the gardens (one of Alice's great loves anyway) and the girls, but as I often say in reference to recreating history, I'll take what I can get.

Wedding Album

2012-01-18T16:27:00.002-05:00

Our wedding coordinator Roberta just sent me this link to a wedding at Clermont featured on the blog Style Me Pretty New York. If you need more convincing that a wedding at Clermont can be absolutely beautiful--well, then I guess I don't know what to say to you.

Anyway, don't miss the adorable croquet pictures. Lawn games at a wedding add a surprising touch of class. Who wouldn't feel special playing croquet with a glass of champagne in their hand?

A Photo Tour of Clermont

2012-01-18T15:02:00.020-05:00

It occurred to me today that probably most of the 1,000-2,000 visitors to this blog every week have never physically set foot inside of Clermont. Using my internet stalking device (also known as a stat counter), I see that our web visitors come from down the road in Red Hook, New York, glamorous and beautiful Mission, British Columbia, and decidedly exotic Auckland, New Zealand.

So I thought I would take a moment to post a photographic tour of Clermont here on the blog. Hopefully if you are ever in our neck of the woods, but in the meantime, you can at least get familiar with the mansion through our eyes.

Ready? Here we go!

You approach Clermont down a long path called the Lilac Walk, bordered of course with tall lilac bushes. This walk was part of the Livingston's pleasure gardens in the 1810s, planted by Edward P. Livingston. It was later augmented by Alice Delafield Clarkson Livingston in the 1920s. Along the way, you can just catch fleeting glimpses of the mansion and the Hudson River away to your left, and if you are lucky, you'll spot one of the brilliant orange orioles that ocassionally flit through the branches here.

At the foot of the path, you find yourself on the Croquet Lawn, facing the back of the mansion. As the name implies, this broad flat lawn was Janet and Honoria's croquet court during the summers in the 1910s. The girls played here together or with their friends the Wyatts. Today it is home to a modern croquet tournament in their honor and additionally to our Old-Fashioned Independence Day celebration on July 4th.

Don't hesitate to take a seat on the porch under the wysteria. Located on the east side of the house, this is a always shady spot on summer afternoons.

When you enter the mansion, you'll push aside the heavy Dutch door and enter under the house's main staircase (left) into the center hall. The hall devides the house from front to back, and gives access to the house's four original first floor rooms. The hall is lined with portraits of the Lords of Livingston Manor and several Federal and Late Neoclassical pier tables. A broad arch devides the front of the house from the back, a feature not uncommon in Georgian and Federal homes.

Don't miss the view out the front door (at right). It's one of the highlights of the tour. When the house was built here in the 1740s, Robert of C lermont could boast that he owned everything he could see, including five mountain tops in the Catskill Mountains!

If you turn left, you will find yourself in the Drawing Room, one of the most formal rooms in the Livingston home. This room houses some of the finest furnishings, including a clock that was brought back to Clermont from France by Chancellor Livingston in 1807. The balloon clock (pictured at right) commemorates the first hydrogenated balloon flight by the Mongolfier brothers in France. The room also features a beautiful coffered ceiling (photographed in this post), beautiful door surrounds (Colonial Revival, added in the early 20th century), and a glittering crystal chandelier. The views from the room are stellar, but you're best to catch it in the evening, when you can watch the sun set over the river and the mountains from all four of its windows.

From the Drawing Room, we turn and head into the study. This less-formal room is lined with bookcases that were constructed in the 1830s. The room is much smaller than the study, and it is dominated by its fireplace and the large Lannuier mirror atop it.

In the center of the mantel, Alice Livingston mounted a small terra cota frieze in the 1920s or 30s. She sculpted this herself to depict her two daughters, their nurse Ollie, and their two favorite dogs (Peggy and Gobi).

This little sewing box is another intersting feature in the room. It is inlaid with mother of pearl and was imported from England in the early-mid 19th century. It belonged to John Henry's mother Cornelia. The top opens up to reveal little compartments all lined with blue velvet, which held a lady's sewing notions. Below, the hanging box was intended as storage for larger things, possibly the project she was working on presently.

From the study, walk on through that dark-looking door to the right, and you'll find yourself in one of everyon'e favorite rooms at Clermont: the library. This very large room is an addition to original Georgian footprint of the house and impresses almost everyone with its extensive oak paneling and large Gothic-revival fireplace.

In the early 20th century, this was the Livingstons' place for daily relaxation, reading, and pay-time for the girls. Its windows on three sides bring in lots of sun, making this room feel cozy and bright in the winter. However, when the interior shutters are closed in the summer, it can feel dark and cool.

At this point, we've reached the far end of the house. You'll need to turn back around and trek back through the study and the center hall to get to the dining room, the other most formal room in the Livingston home. Apart from the library, this is the largest room in the house, devoted to the nightly ritual of formal meals. Of all the rooms in the house, this is also the only one that John Henry chose not to put any electrical outlets into in 1923. He prefered that the family dine by candle light.

This room houses several important portraits, including Margaret Beekman Livingston, her husband, Robert R. Livingston (the Judge) and the Thomas Sully portrait of Andrew Jackson (just visible at right). Large, impressive portraits like these lend granduer to the space.

From the dining room, you turn and walk out the door to your right and go into the servants' working area. This includees a small hallway, the butler's pantry, and of course the kitchen. Here is where the cook spent most of her time and where the other servants in the house took their meals together (in between their various duties to the Livingstons).

This north wing was chronically dark for years, necessitating the addition of a skylight in the 1860s. It is well-appointed with a large number of built-in cabinets (see below at left), a coal-fired stove, and large double-basin enamel sink.

The large copper cylinder you see is a hot water tank (the water is actually heated by the coal stove).

From here we let you out the kitchen door, used as the main entrance for servants and deliveries. The nicest part of this is that it drops you right off in the large mock orange bushes, full of fragrant blooms for a week or two in the spring. Hidden by the (rather gray-brown) bushes in the photo is a pretty little porch where you are let out.

From here, we encourage you to wander through the gardens (where this photo is taken from) and to get the view from the front of the house. So there you have it; the first floor of Clermont. I haven't showed you upstairs today because, quite honestly, this post was getting to long for my normal length limit. I will save the bedrooms for another day.

A Few Words About Weddings at Clermont

2012-01-10T10:07:00.017-05:00

'Tis the season--for wedding planning, that is! If jewelry commercials are to be believed, the winter hoidays are a popular time to pop the question, and that makes the cold gray of winter, the logical time to begin planning a wedding.

The task can be daunting and fanciful at the same time. Lots of us ladies (though not all) have fuzzy images dancing in our heads of something pretty with music and a white dress and memories that last a life time. But most of us don't have big party planning experience so when it comes down to brass tacks, we're left spending dreamy hours paging through pretty pictures on the internet and trying to imagine ourselves in that situation.

Everyone has a different opinion of where to begin you planning (and I'm not going to argue with Martha Stewart or "A Wedding Story"), but at some point, you're going to have to select a location. Many historic sites--including us!--offer some portion of their grounds for weddings, and here are a few things you're going to want to consider to make sure you find the spot that is right for you:

*Indoors versus outdoors: Probably the first thing you'll want to know about Clermont weddings is that our locations are all outdoors. And what an outdoors it is! Stunning views of the Hudson River have drawn people to this area for centuries. Why do you think all of these glamorous historic mansions are located along the river? The Vanderbuilts, the Astors, the Livingstons, and the Roosevelts all enjoyed heart-throbbing sunsets here from their private porches, and in spaces that have since become public, like Clermont, you can enjoy them too. Clermont is one of the closest of all the mansions to the river, giving pleasant afternoon breezes and a sense of granduer to you wedding.

You will want to take a moment to think about the practicalities of an outdoor wedding and/or reception. Most couples choose to rent a tent (we can help you find a reputable company nearby if you need it), which provides protection from the weather and grounds the party in a particular space. Outdoor weddings also have the added benefit of the natural beauty adding to your decorations, and Clermont has many nooks and crannies that make good photographs.

*Catering: Clermont does not use an in-house caterer, nor do we require use of a sole-source caterer. We do provide a list of caterers who have successfully produced events at Clermont during the past five years, but you are welcome to pick from on or off this list.

*Selecting the right lawn: Once you've decided on an outdoor wedding at Clermont, you'll need to look for the right location with the right ambience. Clermont has about six different reception sites and ceremony sites. Some sites are small enough to feel cozy with intimate guest lists of 30-50 people; others have accomodated up to 300 people! All of our reception sites have access to electricity and running water--a must if you are going to party into the night.

At right and in the preceeding three pictures, you can see images of the Southwest Mansion Lawn, one of the most popular locations at Clermont for a wedding. Its spacious lawn can accomodate up to larger receptions, and located immediately adjacent to the mansion, it is the closest you can get to feeling like a high-society Livingston at your wedding. Direct your guests to use the winding stone staircase if you really want to make a special entrance (handicapped access is available too) or use the attractive stone patio for your cocktail hour (after 5:00pm).

The spacious North Mansion Lawn is close by and has views of both the mansion and the Italian-inspired walled garden. Spring flowers bloom along the perimeter, including magnolias, lilacs, wysteria, and mock orange. It can accomodate up to 200 people and includes use of the stone patio at the Mansion's front door (after 5:00pm). This was the location of Clermont's 18th century pleasure gardens. It is also where Honoria Livingston chose to have her wedding reception in 1931.

The secluded Cutting Garden is well-suited to more intimate receptions or ceremonies, up to 80 people. Its beds are filled with flowers that bloom all season long. Your guests will cross the little wooden bridge to find heirloom rose bushes, peonies, and thousands of annuals blooming all around them, depending on the season.

The ruins of Arryl House provide a whimsical backdrop for the lawns at Arryl North and Arryl South. Both of these locations can accomodate large tents and make beautiful lawns for a party. Adjacent to the parking lot, Arryl North gives easy access for groups with mobility-impaired guests. Its open views of the river are breathtaking at sunset. Arryl South, pictured at left, is surrounded by woodlands, lending a sense privacy that always reminds me of "A Midsummer Night's Dream."

*Ceremonies: All of the reception locations can be used for ceremonies as well, but there are a few special additional ones I will mention here. The Wilderness Garden (pictured at right) is ideal for groups up to 100 people. My favorite time there is spring, when the irises are blooming.

The last spot I'll mention is probably the grandest: the Spring Garden, and unfortunately my weak photography skills just can't do it justice. Lined by fragrant lilacs, plums, and forsythia in the spring, it opens onto a dramatic view of the Hudson River or alternatively (if you turn around 180 degrees) onto the white, castle-like mansion towering above you. It is connected to the Southwest Mansion lawn by that winding stone staircase I mentioned earlier, and it was Alice Livingston's favorite spot in the sparkling Gilded Age.

*Security: For weddings continuing past sunset, a security guard will be provided for your wedding. This person will ensure that any emergencies associated with your party are efficiently and safely managed. An additional fee is associated with this service. Please note that until sunset, Clermont will remain open to the public.

*History: If you like a "sense of place," Clermont might well be just the place for you. The mansion has been here since the 1740s and has been home to quite a few society weddings over the years.

It was also burned by the British army during the American Revolution, the home of the first practical steamboat, and was known as early as the mid 1800s for its beautifully-scuplted lanscape. Some wedding couples have even elected to allow their guests to tour the historic mansion during their reception (please ask about fees and availability).

So if you are one of the many people browsing through pictures of laughing couples, bubbling champagne, and delicate flowers, you might take a moment to inquire about our comprehensive wedding packet. The best way to pick your location is to visit it if you have a chance, and we are happy to take you on a tour of the site to see if Clermont is right for you!

Please contact Roberta Nolan (Roberta.Nolan@oprhp.state.ny.us or call at 518-537-4240) on Sundays, Mondays, or Wednesdays for more information.

"Company at Dinner:" The Sorrowful Tale of Nancy Shippen, part 10

2012-01-07T09:48:00.011-05:00

Not all of Nancy's life was sorrowful. In fact, the round of parties, teas, and socials she describes are enough to dizzy the modern reader!

With the issue of her daughter's custody finally at a settlement and her dreadful husband for the moment out of the picture, Nancy Shippen Livingston could rejoin the dazzling Philadelphia social scene of the Federal era. For the 18th and 19th century wealthy, winter was the social season, and few early diaries give us such a vivid depcition of this as Nancy's. She describes dinners, teas, lectures, singing, and dancing--so often in fact that it almost becomes a routine of busy-ness.

"Sunday [Jan] 4 [1786]--Company at dinner--spent the afternoon & evening alone reading..."

Dinner was the afternoon meal and generally the largest of the day, but the evening meal could also serve as a social gathering. Restaurants as we know them did not exist yet (and were certainly not frequented by the upper classes), and social dining was done in the homes of friends.

These meals could be intimate with only a few guests: "Col. Harry & Mrs. Lee have spent this evening with us in a very friendly and sociable manner..." wrote Nancy's father in 1787. Another day in March of 1786, Nancy wrote "Louisa and I staid all night with our friend Mrs Burrows who insisted on our staying & dining with her today also." Small gathering gave time for intimate chats with close friends, less bounded by the strictures of mixed company ettiquette.

Or social meals could also be very large as Margaret Beekman Livingston described in 1788, "at dinner, surrounded by 17 or 18 people" including her son "the Chancellor." Nancy also dined with larger groups: "A company of learned men dined here today," she wrote in March of 1786 These may have been guests of her father's since she withdrew sometime after the meal and left them to themselves.

Each member of the company was responsible for keeping the gathering pleasant for all. In March of 1786, a blind philospher named Dr. Moyse spent several evenings with the Shippen home with mixed results. "The good Dr entertained us on the Piano Forti, on which he played delightfully. He insisted on my performing, I did & and accompanied it with my voice," wrote Nancy on Thursday. But on Saturday she wrote again:

Had a small party at home this even'g. The blind Philospher made one of the company. The even'g the most disadreable I ever spent--owing altogether to Mr S.'s ill-timed raillery. His extreme ill nater'd criticisms made every one unhappy. Dr Moyse far from being entertaining.

Tea held an important palce in the visiting routine. Often it was a small group of people, as small as two or three people. Nancy fmentions "Drank Tea at Mrs Vardons with Miss Craig," and "Dr Moyse drank a sociable dish of Tea with Papa & Myself...," both in March of 1786. At other times, "tea" could be an excuse to bring a much larger group of people. Only a week after the small tea shared with Dr. Moyse, Nancy had the "happiest [evening] I ever spent" with a party of ten well-selected guests for tea. (1787 French fashion plate at left borrowed from the eye-poppingly beautiful 18th Century Blog).

Tea parties could become large social affairs, as in the one held in Peggy's honor in April of that year: "20 young misses, treated...with all good things, & a violin." All the comotion! Five coaches were left standing outside the door, awaiting their cargo. Still another night, nancy threw an "elegant Teaparty" resulting in seven carriages waiting at the door. Dr. Shippen wrote Nancy's brother Tommy "Nancy made a great exertion at the nobility & aquitted herself to a charm as you know she can when every thing is to her mind..."

Large dinner parties, assemblies, and balls were still more exciting entertainments. They were beautiful, filled with glamousous spectacles of food and decoration and dress, as in those described in Louise Conway Belden's book The Festive Tradition. A 1798 dessert table in Philadelphia was once described thus:

In the middle was an orange tree with ripe fruit, [its] root...covered wtih evergreens [and] some natural and artificial flowers. Nothing scarcely appeared on table without evergreens to decorate it. The girandole...was let down just to reach the top of the tree. you can't think how beautiful it looked.

Nancy took these gatherings seriously, once mentioning that it took her three hours to get dressed, and another time mentioning with mock embarassment "Must I acknowledge that the greatest part of this day was spent in preparing for the assembly." Women especially devoted extreme attention to their appearances for these events (lampooned at right in a print by James Gilray). In fact, the only comparable modern situation I could think of would be how long it takes most brides to get ready for their weddings. If only there were a few more opportunities for us to get so dressed up today!

It seems that the social season of 1786 kept Nancy so busy, that she completely gave up writing in her diary for most of a year. Well--perhaps it was more than just parties and balls. At any rate, most of the news we have from that year comes frome letters, corresponding with Uncle Lee or her brother Tommy away at school in England. Gifts of extravagant hats and fine white cotton stockings (to serve in place of silk) mingled with his descriptions of English and Americna social life fill the letters.

It wasn't until September of 1787 that Nancy picked up her journal again. She penned a melancholy entry describing the untimely death of a Miss P Ross at 17 years of age. Nancy sat alone in her her room "ruminating on my past life & lamenting the uncertainty of all human hopes" when she remembered the diary and dug it out of her writing desk (pictured at left, an escritoire said to have belonged to Marie Antoinette).

Another death later that year was to bring an old drama back into Nancy's life. Her old flame Louis Otto's wife Eliza Livingston died in childbirth, and a new string of heart-fluttering letters began to fly between them in the winter of 1788.

From Our Fellow Bloggers

2012-01-03T09:44:00.004-05:00

Our good friend and steamboat enthusiast Pete sent us this link to the blog of the Morgan Library & Museum today. Definitely the livliest contemporary image of Robert Fulton that I have seen, the picture had me all in smiles. Don't miss the associated essay where Fulton defends his "invention" against competitors and interlopers!

Tricky Script: Finding Woolacombe Beach

2011-12-31T10:19:00.015-05:00

One of the banes of an historian's existance is historic script. Especially in pencil, which fades and smudges. Reading it can be slow and involve a lot of guesswork and sighing. Thankfully, Alice Livingston had reasonably clear handwriting, like this:

"S.S. Rotterdam/Plymouth 24 June 1921" Nevertheless, when I come across a word I don't know (which seems to be all the time in the photo albums that involve travel and exotic place names), I honestly tend to skim over it unless it is vital to my research. I've been skimming over this word for a while: but today I guess I was feeling bold. I was pretty sure I could read W-O-O-L-A-C-O-(?)-(?)-E. Is that even a word? Well, thanks be to Google's autocomplete, because when I got halfway through typing, it finished the word for me: Woolacombe, a seaside resort on the north coast of North Devon, England. I even found their current tourism website.

Well, don't I feel smart?

From the dates on Alice's pictures, it looks as though the family got on their steamer (the S.S. Rotterdam, pictured at left) at the end of June in 1921 and steamed over to England, where they went to see John Henry's eldest daughter Katharine and then off all together for a seaside holiday to Woolacombe in July.

This would have been the first time that Honoria and Janet would meet their neice and nephew Theodore and Katharine (who were actually 6 and 8 years older than Honoria, respectively). They also seem to have have met up with or made other friends along the way. In the picture at right, you can see Honoria and Janet with three other children, all too young to be Katharine's son and daughter. They are all pictured again in the photograph below. John Henry in his dignified suit looks a little out of place on a sunny beach, but his daughters have certainly made themselves comfortable; either Janet or Honoria has stripped off her shoes and flopped onto her back to soak up a little sun. You can just see her bare legs sticking out from behind his chair.

Woolacombe was just a short stop on their tour of England (which was of course just a piece of their six-years in Europe). From there they visited the sites: Wells, Clovelly (the photo at left shows them on the way to Clovelly), Fairford, even Stonehenge (and plenty of other places I haven't yet decoded the handwriting on). Photos show that they staid in England until about September, before heading south to Florence, Italy. Later trips back to England would take them to even more of England's countryside and cities.

Decoding Alice's handwriting can be tricky at times, but clearly it's worth the effort. We managed to fill out a travel itinerary for the first part of the Livingstons' European adventure! Three months exploring England before they were to find a longer-term home in Italy.

Now if only I can get better at reading John Henry's and Chancellor Livingston's dreadful scrawls, then I will feel accomplished...

Roman Holiday

2011-12-28T09:40:00.017-05:00

In 1921, Alice and John Henry Livingston decided their two daughters needed a cultural education--"Culture with a big 'C,' we called it," said Honoria of the trip. The family packed up and moved to Italy.

For six years, they lived in Florence, renting villas and traveling around Europe to see the sites (Seen at right, Villa Camerata was one of their homes. This villa still exists as a youth hostel, and there are lots of pictures of its historic rooms and veranda). "It was wonderful because we'd get in the car and drive," said Honoria much later, recalling road trips to famous Roman ruins, exotic landscapes, and historic and cultural sites. They even traveled to England to visit John Henry's oldest daughter, Katherine (you can see them at left in Stratford-on-Avon, long known as the home of Shakespeare).

The Livingstons did not completely abandon their beloved Clermont during this time. John Henry was overseeing major changes at a distance: the installation of electricity, the removal of the large Victorian veranda to make the house look more "Colonial." They made a few trips back to America, including one in 1923 aboard the Mauretania, a luxurious sister ship to the Lusitania. After two decades of use (including a stint as a troopship during WWI), the boat was an aging memory of a glamorous Edwardian age (the photo at left shows the Veranda Court, the cafe where guests could enjoy the sun, while being protected from the weather). At right, the girls can be see wrapped up against the chilly ocean breeze on their one-week trip across the Atlantic Ocean back to Euorpe.

I love looking at the photos of their trips--seeing familiar locations that I've seen a hundred other times in photographs, but this time seeing it through their eyes. For Honoria and Janet, who were still children this was a whole new continent previously seen only in books, a place to explore and learn.

But the girls' interests were not always just in the historic gravity of a famous European hotspot. Janet was perhaps not as enthusiastic as her sister. Honoria said of their trips, "I don't think Janet cared so much for it, but I loved it." In some ways, it reminds me of my trips to Civil War battlefields when I was young--more monuments and plaques than I cared to read. It would not be until years later that I grasped the importance of the places I had visited.

For Alice and John Henry, the experience would have been much different. Both of them had been to Europe on their 1906 honeymoon (and John Henry on several ocassions before that), but that was before World War I. Many things had changed, buildings damaged and destroyed, country borders entirely moved.

The Livingstons' years in Europe would prove to be the source of many important memories and the last they were to have with John Henry. It was within a few weeks of their final return to America that John Henry passed away at the age of 79. Italy continued to have an influence on Alice in particular for years to come, visible in the prominent display of her favorite souvenirs and the Italian look she incorporated into her large gardens at Clermont, especially the Walled Garden. What effect it had on Honoria and Janet is not so visible, but I can only imagine that the memories they carried of the trip were as important to them as to their mother.

Years later, Honoria would return to Europe, though to though this time to Ireland, not Italy. In 1931 she married Reginald (Rex) McVitty, and went with him to see meet his family there. Another week on an ocean liner, this time as a newlywed, is captured in this photograph of the couple playing foosball.

New Acquisitions

2011-12-05T16:21:00.006-05:00

Clermont is a museum dedicated to the long history of the Livingston family. But the Livingstons aren't gone; many of their descendants can still be found in the Hudson Valley and beyond. In fact, hundreds of descendants have come to our family reunions held every five years or so (photographed at right in the Livingston tartan are some of our Livingston descendant friends).

Like many families, they have been the recipients of treasured family heirlooms: books from Chancellor Livingston's library, silver spoons from their table, or portraits of a great, great uncle. It just so happens that their great, great uncle was Chancellor Livingston.

It's important to remember these pieces in this light when a Livingston family member agrees to donate a Livingston artifact to Clermont. It is not just some beautiful old thing their house, it carries with it their family pride and often childhood memories. Just as I fondly remember opening presents Christmas morning while my grandfather was propped in his red leather arm chair, these Livingston descendants often have close personal ties to the upholstered arm chair that sat in the corner of the living room and they were not allowed to put their feet on.

So when a Livingston family member called to offer us a grouping of nineteenth century parlor furniture in December, we were excited. But we also needed to remember that this furniture held more than just its financial value for its owners and historic value for the museum; it also held all those family memories.

The grouping consisted of two chairs and a sofa, re-upholstered in blue to match one another in the 1960s or '70s, though the furniture itself was not a set. All three had been photographed in Clermont's Drawing Room by Alice Livingston in a set of photos taken in 1928. The furniture was given to the donor's mother by Janet Livingston just before Clermont became a museum in 1965.

To a curator, this is exciting stuff.

The sofa (pictured at left and again below) was a mid-nineteenth century transitional piece, not as bulky or Classical looking as the earlier period, but not as curvacious and ornate as the later Belter or Roccoco Revival styles that dominated American furniture after the Civil War.

The chairs were slightly later--both being simple examples of the Rococo Revival. Although they also did not match, the smaller held the exciting surprise of being a match for the curved-back chair that we currently have in the Drawing Room (photographed at right). To be honest, I'd never seen the 1928 photos, which are stored at our conservation center on Peebles Island, and had no knowledge of this furniture's existence (incidentally, those photographs also show a second floral wallpaper--different from the 1880s image--and heavy drapes on the windows. Hopefully I can get some copies scanned to share with you one of these days).

So when will you see these exciting new acquisitions? We know the sofa and two chairs were in the Drawing Room in 1928. But Alice had a tendancy to rearrange her furniture periodically (don't we all start messing with the house when the winter blues start getting us down?), and the current arrangement of the Drawing Room reflects photographs taken in the mid 1930s and 40s. Which one is correct? Both are. So in order to display the "new" trio of furniture appropriatly, we can't just combine it all but instead will have to do some thinking about which arrangement to go with, which set of pictures to go with, etc. By using the pictures, we know for sure that this is the way that Alice wanted it (not the way that we think looks right,; it's not a museum to us).

While we are thinking about that, the furniture is being conserved. The later upholstery will be removed and replaced with something similar to what we see in the photographs (or, if we are lucky, we will find more of the same damask on other furniture we already own so we can know we are really close).

But while we are recreating Alice's world, we have to remember to stop and thank the Livingston descendants who parted with it in the first place. What family memories of Christmas morning or afternoons with iced tea or bored children with their feet sticking off the edge did they part with?

I guess there's only so much musing I can do about that, and instead will just have to say a hearty "Thank you!"

Well Served: Service in Chancellor Livingston's House

2011-11-19T09:57:00.008-05:00

This post is part of a new series on servants in Livingston households. What was it like to serve one of the richest families in the country? What kind of life did these people live? It's a big question, and a blog is not the place for a complete investigation, but I am attacking it bit by bit with some of the interesting pieces I've gathered over the years.

"The servants were busy cleaning and sweeping": Serving at Arryl House On August 14th, 1798 Julian Ursyn Niemcewicz climbed the the steep bluff from the Hudson River to Chancellor Livingston's fashionable mansion, letter of introduction in hand. A keen observer with an interest in darn near everything, Niemcewicz wrote about the first people he encountered:

"It was seven in the morning, the whole family was sleeping, the servants were busy cleaning and sweeping the house."

So imagine the scene: It's about an hour after sunrise, the Livingstons are still asleep, and the servants have already begun the work of the day. They has risen from their basement bedrooms, dressed, and possibly eaten and were already to work. Niemcevicz saw "cleaning and sweeping" happening--but that was on the main floor.

Down in the basement kitchen (which may have looked something like the Hope Lodge kitchen at left), the cook had undoubtedly already poked the fire back up and begun breakfast preparations. Dishes were rattling, and her knife was chopping in away rhythm as she began preparations for mid-day dinner as well.

Was the cook a slave? Yes, probably. While we cannot be positive, the Chancellor owned 12 slaves in the year 1800, and the days of importing fancy French-trained chefs were still a few decades in the future. So the cook, probably a black slave woman, probably well trained in her art, spent most of her time living and sleeping in the kitchen, organizing and overseeing not only the preparation, but also the care and storage of the household's food.

According to Niemcevicz, these "servants" were well-treated. "They serve, it seems, rather from enjoyment than from necessity." Well, I would take that with a grain of salt, but it sounds as though the Chancellor ran a convivial household. His servants were well-fed and well-cared for: "They have the same food and practically the same comforts as do their masters." I doubt that the slaves slept in feather beds or dined on strawberry ices, but suffice to say that they were reasonably well-fed and treated with some affection and care, an assertion that was backed up by other travelers as well.

As I've already mentioned, some of these "servants" could have been paid staff, and some were definitely slaves. What was the ratio? The 1800 census records show that the Chancellor owned 12 slaves. Some of these would have worked outside as oposed to inside the mansion, where Niemcevicz would have encountered them. Some of these may have been the four young slave boys described by and English visitor four years ealier. At that point, they were ages five to twelve, and they were general helpmeets around the house.

But the 1790 census also shows one free female between the ages of 10 and 16 who is unaccounted for who could have been either a paid servant or Harriet Livingston (later Harriet Fulton) who is sometimes said to have staid at Clermont. Two free females between the ages of 26 and 45 are also unaccounted for, and there is no obvious answer to who those could be. One free male age 10 to 16 is also unaccounted for, leaving a total of four possible paid servants in the Chancellor's household in 1800.

If it is the case that there were four paid servants in Livingston's staff in addition to the slaves, what kind of working environment would this have lead to? Who did what? And how were the relationships between coworkers? The questions about daily life are endless.

One other paragraph of interest can be found in the Niemcevicz account of Clermont.

Amongst other servants here there was a quite black Mulatress. Having secretly has an affair with a white carpenter she had a daughter...This girl and other black imps, children of the servants, are treated and favored by their master as if they belonged to the family.

First of all, this tells us who else was filling out the household at Clermont: little children. The servants were responsible for watching their children as best they could while they worked, and these children played where they could encounter the Livingstons and their guests. This probably meant that they were not playing in the kitchen (where few guests would consider even setting foot), but more likely outside where they were not underfoot.

This passage also references two intimate relationships between black and white New York residents. The "Mulatress" was a woman of African and European descent, herself the product of an earlier relationship. According to Niemcevicz she had "a secret affair with a white carpenter," though as an inquisitive visitor, I wonder how many details the Livingstons were willing to share with him--or even how many they knew. This brief summation does not explain the complexities of human relationships and interaction. I wonder what the whole story was?

At any rate, Niemcevicz levels little or no judgement on the woman for her relationship outside of marriage; as a slave, legal marriage (had she desired it) was not an option for her, and the burden of care of their daughter fell to her. Now her personal life was on display, a point of interest for travelers from foreign countries.

Other mixed race relationships are known within the Livingston households. Henry Beekman Livingston, the Chancellor's younger brother, is said to have fathered numerous illegitimate children, some of whom with African American mothers. Henry's maladjusted and sometimes violent behavior was scandalous all around however (he was practically disowned by his mother), and he can hardly be used as an example that explains the broader Livingston family.

All in all, Niemcevicz's description of Clermont and its "servants" is one of the most colorful available to us, perhaps matched only by William Strickland's visit four years ealier. It paints a somewhat rosie look at the Livingston's relationships with their slaves, omitting stories like that of Robin, a slave in Margaret Beekman Livingston's house who was nearly sold south for his troublesome behavior.

Niemcevicz's description nevertheless includes valuable information about the background life of Clermont, not just the glittering family that owned it, but the men, women, and children who polished it until it shone.

Growing up Livingston: The Sorrowful Tale of Nancy Shippen, part 9

2011-11-08T09:57:00.011-05:00

Little Peggy was no longer a baby, but a little girl, growing up in one of the most wealthy and notable households in the northern United States. In December of 1785, while her mother Nancy was attempting to rouse herself from a crushing depression, Peggy was turning four years old (at right, a contemporary portrait by English artist Arthur Devis).

Despite being far from her mother and caught in the center of dreadful custody battle, Peggy was surrounded by caring adults in the home of her grandmother. By this time, Margaret Beekman Livingston was 61-year-old widow with an empty nest. The sparkling face of a little grand daughter might have been just what she needed by her side. She doted on the girl a good bit, calling her "so beloved a Child," and often complimented her to others. "The old Lady supposes her to be a prodigy of good sense," wrote Nancy's brother Tommy once.

By all accounts, the Livingston household was a loving one in which to grow up. When Tommy visited Peggy at her grandmother's house in New York City, he decsribed a visit in which all love and attention was focused on the beloved little girl.

..she seated herself very much at ease on my lap & held up her little ruby lips, as often as I wished to kess them, which was every minute...the old Lady [Margaret Beekman Livingston] could not keep her hands off her, but almost smothered her with kisses.

She was the darling of all who visited the household, trotted out to charm the Bon Mond of eighteenth-century New York (now also the capital of the new nation). But during these visits Peggy was also learning the social skills which were expected to aid her in adulthood. She was escorted into the parlour for polite visits, where she was allowed to play on the floor, talk to the adults, and climb into their laps. Here she began learning polite language and manners, as in Tommy's description from the same 1785 letter:

She takes the round two or three time in the Evening to dispense her Curtesys [curtsies] and her kisses to all her uncles and aunts, whom she mentions by name before she makes her curtesy...

With grown-up assistance, the little girl even got to hold her very own tea party, inviting "20 young misses" "by card 3 days before." The party was lavish, thrown by her mother Nancy when Peggy was given leave to spend the winter and spring of 1787 in Philadelphia (surely a great excitement for both mother and daughter!).

Sewing and needlework were more skills that Peggy needed to learn. Although often taught at girls' schools, it is likely she would have practised her skills at home alongside her female family members. Peggy's mother also regularly recorded working on decorative needlework, including tambor so she would have seen adults around her doing similar work. Peggy was starting with more basic work however. "Ask her to show you her pocket [handkercheif] which she has hemmed [be] Surpris[ed] how well it is done," wrote her grandmother Margaret.

Peggy had long shown an appreciation for music, something near and dear to the hearts of the eighteenth century wealthy, and now she was learning to take part. She "sings 6 songs," wrote Dr. Shippen of his grandaughter, accompanied by the household piano forte. At just five years old, this was a good accomlishment! In addition to personal pleasure, when Peggy got bigger singing at social gatherings could entertain friends and gain the ear of a sensible gentleman, a scene often played out in Jane Austen's novels in the years ahead. Music was considered an appropriate outlet for women as well as men, and Peggy's cousins, Besty and Margaret Maria Livingston were both to study music in the years to come as well.

Dancing, another vital social skill during the period, had also been part of her education. In April, at her tea party, she "danced a cotillion well," and later we hear that "Miss Binghamton & Miss Livingston ...have been dancing minuets & Cotillions..." on March 17th.

Her education also included more formal studies. "Peggy was perfectly well at school," reported Nancy's uncle. A variety of schools were available to wealthy girls at this point, but Peggy was most likely learning at least reading and religion. When sending the little girl off to her mother late in 1786, Margaret Beekman Livingston wrote, "Her book do not suffer her to neglect" when describing the importance of her studies in a list of instructions. (See the Metropolitan Museum of Art for the full Peale portrait and credits)

It is not documented, but it is likely, that Peggy sometimes had her cousins for playmates when she was with her grandmother. The Chancellor's daughters Betsy and Margaret Maria were a year older and two years younger, respectively. Although the Chancellor and his wife did not rebuild their home at Clermont until the 1790s, their visits to his mother would have brought the girls together. It is also possible that Harriet Livingston (eventually to become Fulton) was sometimes with the party, as there is one reference to her being in the care of Chancellor Livingston for a time. In Philadelphia, her mother's shining social connections wouldhave provided her with a wealth of girls her own age (think of those 20 tea party guests!) to play with as well.

All of this was to the good, but the fact remained that here was that here was a little girl, caught in between fueding parents, and shuttled from guardian to guardian at various points of the year. She was occassionally visited by her father, whom nobody seemed to like or trust anymore because of his frightening behavior. And for half the year she knew her mother only through letters and presents. Most people seemed to view her situation with pity and indulge her perhaps more than was healthy.

It was soon worked out that Peggy would spend summers with her grandmother Margaret Beekman Livingston at Clermont and winters with her mother in Philadelphia. In between, she was passed from person to person. "Your Daughter shall [be home] on Sat under the care of her Uncle Tillotson & my Dinah who is very careful & tender of her," wrote Margaret in 1786," and then from her Uncle Lee, "Our dear little Peggy is expected hourly with her Aunt Montgomery & Mrs. Lee will speedily bring her next week."

So what was life like for little Peggy? It was full of opportunities. She had access to good education, the people with the best connections, and the lively parties that would prepare her for her future. It was full of life's luxuries, doll's from France, a pet dog, and music from harps, harpsichords, and piano fortes.

But it was also confusing. Her parents were warring. Her father was pretty well cast out of the family. Her mother was emotionally distraught. She went from guardian to guardian and home to home. That her large family universally showered her with love may have helped to distract her from this fact, but without continuity, she did get a bit unruly. Children are both fragile and resilient, and if nothing else she grew up knowing that she belonged to an important class of people. She grew up surrounded by the bon mond, as Nancy's friend called it, the "good world," where there was much to see and much to learn.

Well Served: Servants in the Eighteenth Century, #1

2011-11-01T14:58:00.007-04:00

(Please excuse my little hiatus during October. Between assembling costumes, writing scripts, and rehearsing ghosts, the Ghost Tours quite devoured my time! You may be glad to know that our tours were quite thronged with people and well worth the effort. But back to the history!)

We talk a lot about the Livingstons and the Shippens, and the Van Rensselaers, and the Schuylers in this blog. But it is easy to forget that these folks represented the very wealthiest families. Not everyone could gallivant about in their phaeton and spend three hours getting dressed for a fancy party!

How did the other half--or 99%--live?

I always keep an eye out for references to the other residents of Clermont while doing research. What was it like to live as a servant in the households of the very rich? What were the rules? What were the daily aggrevations? What were the smells, sites, and sounds?

While a complete compendium of their lives would require a good thick tome, I think I will take the next few entries of the blog to share my favorite glimpses of servant life with you:

"Off he tumbled": Nancy Shippen's servants and drinking--Drinking in the eighteenth century did not carry the social stygmas that it it earned in later centuries. In fact, many Westerners still avoided drinking water, favoring instead beers, wines, hard cider and some hot beverages like tea, coffee, and chocolate. In cities or along waterways polluted by animal and human waste water could carry disease. Even though this was not to be understood until the 1840s, it was often thought best to leave the water alone anyway.

So the Temperance Movement was a distant dream when on Thursday, March 10, 1785 Nancy recorded the following incident:
"When I came home about one oclock I was much alarmd with [news] ... of the coachmans falling off the box & nearly killing himself. After he put me down at the assembly he came home, took up the maids & carried them to a Tavern, treated them with wine & cakes & got so drunk himself that off he tumbled. There was every thing done for him that was necessary, but the poor creatures groans still vibrate in my ears."
The night ended poorly for the coachman, but it seemed to start out rather well. Once he'd gotten his mistress dropped off at her party, he had a few hours to kill before he was going to have to go back and pick her up again. In past entries, Nancy described staying out as late as 2am dancing so what was a man to do? He rounded up the maids of the house and went out for a good time.

This means that the anonymous coachman had enough spare money to treat at least a few ladies in addition to himself, and it means that by this time of night (probably around nine or ten o'clock, when he would have had time to return from the drop-off), the maids didn't have any chores they couldn't escape. It also seems to suggest that the maids got a ride in the plush carriage, yet another treat by their friend the coachman.

I can only imagine what life was like for the maids at that point in the Shippen household. Mrs. Shippen was almost certainly clinically depressed, which was also manifesting itself in phyisical ways. Their mistress's estranged husband Henry Beekman Livingston (who had a track record of physical violence towards servants) had been seen lurking around. Nancy was alternately depressed and keeping up an active social schedule to avoid her misery, and she was having ocassional battles with her father about this matter. Things were probably tense. The maids may have needed a drink--or at least some sort of release.

After a few hours of merrymaking, the company set off for home in the early spring night over rutted roads still melting and freezing with each day. They were probably flush with wine, the ladies possibly giggling until over went their drunk driver into the road. Nancy described this incident as "nearly killing himself." Was this hyperbole? Considering that he could easily have been sitting five or six feet in the air and would have had to contend with the danger of winding up under the wheels once he came down, I don't know. Either way, he faired poorly.

Which maid quit her giggling and ran for help? Who drove the carriage home? Were they on a lighted street or was the tavern in a less savory part of town?

Living and working in the household of one of Philadelphia's respected doctors, one can only hope that he received some good care once he did get home. "There was everything done for him that was necessary," says Nancy. Hopefully that didn't involve a little "hair of the dog!"

The coachman's story continues no further. Nancy doesn't see fit to comment on his recovery or return to work. She certainly doesn't mention him getting fired or reprimanded (in fact, she quite pitties him) for the incident so perhaps it was merely regarded as an unfortunate accident--not a deviant behavior. The excitement eventually blended into the background of Nancy's existence, though I imagine he was feeling the reprocussions for some time!

Two Livingston Ladies: A Tale of Two Shoppers

2011-09-29T09:52:00.008-04:00

As a consumate shopper myself (and fashion historian), I can't help but be fascinated by the Livingston's shopping habits--especially clothes. There isn't much in the way of eighteenth century clothing left in Clermont's collections so for the most past, I am left eagerly pawing through the documentary references I can find.

So when, in the course of doing other research, I bumped into records from both Alida Schuyler Livingston (1656-1729, pictured at right) and her grandaughter-in-law Margaret Beekman Livingston (1724-1800), I was all excited when I started finding references to clothing items. Here are two women that we have minimal imagery of (only three portraits between the two of them) so knowing about day-to-day clothing for them and their families is difficult. What on earth were they wearing!?

The two sets of records are of very different kinds so the information they provide is a little different too. From Alida, I have a collection of transcribed letters in "Livingston Then and Now." They date from between February 1697 and June 1724. Because this is not a complete list of her correspondance, just a dozen or so missives between she and her husband, there are gaping holes about other sources from which she may have done purchasing. From Margaret, I have a few pages from an account book ranging between November 1776 and April 1779. For whatever reason, this book doesn't appear to give a very complete accounting, even in the narrow range of dates it provides. Nevertheless, in spite of their flaws, both sources reference items of clothing that give us hints about the past.

I'll take what I can get.

So what do they have to say?

Alida wrote letters to her husband Robert, who was often in New York while she was in Albany or minding the manor at the Roeliff Jansen Kill. The two missed each other, and often expressed concern or endearments in their missives. But the letters were also practical exchanges of information. Located, as he was, in a major shipping capital, she often wrote requesting that he purchase certain supplies for her--clothing items among them. Other times he wrote requesting things from their stores at home. A few times, clothes simply became part of the discussion of daily life.

In November of 1711, amidst sorowful descriptions of Alida's plight supervising the Palatines, she added several mundane requests onto the end of letter, including, "Robert has to have a pair of shoes."

The shoes must have been slow in coming, because she mentioned it twice more in successive letters that month. Although, by the second request, apparently everyone's shoes were wearing out: "Don't forget my shoes and Robbert's and Hendrikje's and Naetje's shoes at Jackson's." And later, "A pair of shoes for Robbert; he wear Hensje's shoes when he goes to the mill." Shoes were required clothing for those who wished to demonstrate status so having to share a pair between the boys must have been a trial.

In July of 1711, the requested a "box of lace" and "a piece of black chalon, 1/4 black sewing thread, 1/2 black mohair and black camisole buttons." (Chalon is a light weight wool fabric) It appears that someone was getting a black garment, though I can't determine for sure what it was or who it was for. Much later in 1724, Alida was ordering more garments from her husband in New York: a cap and a "black garment"--probably a dress since it needed to be made "in accordance with your body."

At other times, Robert requested thing from home or clothing simply was part of the conversation. Alida once mentioned her husband's wigbox, suggesting that he had joined in the popular (and expensive) fashion of wearing styled wigs. Another time Robert requested that Alida send him both his leather and linen stockings and also that he "urgently" needing some night shirts, as "[I] have only 4." In the same letter he requested that Alida send down some cloth with which to make new "dress-coats." His were "all going to pieces."

When Alida gave birth to their last child in 1698, she was feverish and sick (most likely from an infection), but still gave her stays (corset) to her sister "to enlarge them on each side." Aparently she had no hope of losing enough weight to get back to her old size.

So that was Alida. What about our old friend Margaret Beekman Livingston. Margaret was born in 1724, the same year that Alida was having her "black garment" made. Her account book pages (which appear to have been written out by her eldest son Robert the Chancellor, since they once note that "mama is to pay.") are written some fifty years after Alida's later letters.

Nevertheless, some things never change. Margaret was still making sure her children had shoes to wear. In August of 1777, Margaret paid 6 shillings for "shoes for Edward," her teenage son. In March of the next year (while she was building a farm house in which to live until the mansion was ready), she paid 1 pound for "shoes for Sarah." Sarah is not the name of any of her children so I can only assume that these were for a servant or other dependant.

More shoes came in April of 1779 when Gertrude and Margaret (her daughter, also nicknamed "Peggy") were getting married. Peggy caught a new pair and so did her younger sister Alida (named after her great grandmother). At 8 pounds for one pair and 6 pounds, 5 shillings, 4 pence for the other, they much have been some pretty ones! (Maybe like these from the Bata Shoe Museum)

Gloves were also an important accessory in the 18th century, and Margaret lists several glove purchases: one pair in 1778 for 9 shillings and another that might have been for Peggy's wedding for 6 pounds, 2 shillings. Both of these purchases were made from "Mrs. Provost."

While hunkered down for the winter of 1778 (after the mansion had been burned) there is only one notable clothing purchase including one pair of silk stockings (L5.2.1) and 4 yards of cambric (a nice, but not extravagant fabric).

A few other fabric and notions purchases can be found in the record. "two pieces of tape" were bought for 3 shillings in March of 1778. Tapes were a woven linen or cotton ribbon of sorts, commonly used for apron strings amongst many other things. (At right is the small loom on which these were woven.) Later came 2 yards "crape" (crepe) for 6 pounds. And finally for Alida's big purchase in 1779 (including the white shoes), there was a "half a piece of linnen" at L6.13.4 and "shalloon" (the same as the "chalon" from above) at L20. Whatever else was purchased that day didn't get recorded, but the total was over 72 pounds.

Whew! Little Alida's shopping high must have made her giddy.

So what does all of this tell us about the Livingston ladies? We can't always find what colors they bought or how they fit (or didn't) into the current fashion trends. We can't tell how much Alida's purchases cost. And both sources give us only the tiniest picture of what these wealthy women were consuming during their long lives.

But even that tiny picture is a step forward to understanding their clothes. We can see that Margaret Beekman Livingston was buying things in a wide variety of qualities when we compare the different prices of the shoes and gloves. We can see the Alida was commited to wearing her stays (there's always a debate about how universally they were worn), even right after giving birth. And we can see the struggles she went through to keep her children in shoes, something that many parents are still wrestling with--although not always dealing with the supply issue.

Like I said at the beginning, there is not that much information surviving on this topic for the Livingstons so I'll take what I can get.

Raising the Spirits: Clermont at Halloween

2011-09-16T14:26:00.004-04:00

Clermont State Historic Site seems to have been designed for Halloween. Coming down its bushy paths in the fall, the house looms ahead, its tall, slate roofs poking their way through the Hudson River fog. After dark, the isolated setting and twisting paths combine to create an eerie beauty that suggests the ambience of a 1920s silent horror movie. What’s that shadow over there? Was that a noise in the woods?

This year Clermont will embrace its spooky setting for its fifth year of Legends by Candlelight Spook Tours on October 21st & 22nd, and 29th & 30th. These tours are one of the highlights of the museum's season, introducing visitors to true, sad, and unusual tales of Clermont's long history. Tours run from 6:00 to 9:00, and tickets are $10 for adults and $4 for children.

Few visitors get the thrill of seeing Clermont after dark, because ordinarily the site’s gates close at dusk. It is only for rare events, like Independence Day or Christmas tours, that the grounds are open at night.

Visitors who come to Clermont for the Spook Tours will be asked to step into the year 1921, when Halloween was only just beginning to resemble our modern celebration. A brightly-adorned children’s party, complete with decorations recreated from period publications, will welcome guests intially. But 1920s mysticism goes awry when an attempt to speak to a long-lost ancestor calls back a host of Livingston ghosts! Ghosts who appear for the tour will share their stories of pirates, death in the dining room, portentious dreams, the 1777 house fire, and a pet cemetery. Stories for the Legends by Candlelight Spook Tour were researched in the museum’s archives and inspired by the many faces of Clermont’s portraits. Are the stories spookier because they’re true? Visitors will have to decide for themselves.

Exactly how the Livinsgstons of the 1920s celebrated Halloween cannot be known. They left us few records of the holiday. Two photographs exist that demonstrate their love for one tradition: carving jack-o-lanterns. Photographs from the 1910s and 1920s show the two Livingston daughters Janet and Honoria showing off their pumpkins with familiarly-toothy faces carved on them. Another image that could have been from Halloween shows the girls pearing into the eerie glow of Chinese lanterns, a common symbol of Halloween dating at least as far back as the 1880s.

Other information to re-create a 1920s Halloween at Clermont was drawn from magazines and handbooks that encouraged women of the day to decorate their houses with orange and black crepe paper and silhouettes of black cats and witches on broomsticks. The 1910s and 20s witnessed a surge of Halloween parafanalia, including special greeting cards, printed paper plates and napkins, and books that described fortune-telling games and scarey skits to liven up a party. Although trick-or-treating did not become a popular passtime until the 1930s, costumes were still fast becoming de riguer at the fashionable Halloween party.

Rehearsals for Clermont’s Spook Tours will begin in October, and community members interested in participating in a “spirited” interpretation of the museum’s history are encouraged to volunteer. Opportunities exist for acting, decorating, and more! Pumpkins entered in the Halloween Harvest Jack-o-Lantern Contest will also be displayed as part of the tour on Saturday night. For more information on the Legends by Candlelight Spook Tours, Jack-o-Lantern Contest, or the Halloween Harvest, call Kjirsten at (518) 537-4240 or visit www.FriendsofClermont.org.

Good Night Irene: A Hurricane Hits Clermont

2011-09-08T15:13:00.016-04:00

In all likelyhood, you haven't missed the news for the past few weeks. You probably know that eastern New York got hit pretty hard by Tropical Storm Irene. Trees down, power out, and devastating flooding that destroyed whole towns all around us. Even historic Guy Park Manor along the Mohawk River was not spared by the muddy waters which tore the beautiful house to shreds.

Here at Clermont, we joined everyone else out there in battening down the hatches and holding onto our hats. The front windows were covered with plywood sheilds that would protect them and the precious contents within from flying debris or falling trees. In many rooms, we found the historic supports to hold bars that would keep the shutters closed in the event of window damage, and our maintenance guys cut new bars to fit them. Andrew Jackson's portrait by Thomas Sully (which has been exhibited at the Smithsonian Institute in the past) was draped with plastic "just in case." Our fearless leader Susan Boudreau even came on Saturday (the night before the storm) put her cats in the safety of one of the staff rooms, and settled in for as long as it would take.

Well here at Clermont we were lucky. That's all that can be said. The Livingstons built on a bluff above the river where they would be visible to passing traffic, but also where they were well above flood waters. Sure we had flooding and erosion in a number of areas of the grounds, but the rain and first wave of wind left all of the structures mainly untouched. Susan reported by Sunday evening that the power had not even been lost for any appreciable time.

One of our chimneys sprang leak and down poured several pints of rusty red water. Thank goodness for Jackson's "just in case" covering! He was right unerd that leak, and the heavy plastic draped over him protected him from any damage.

And of course, then the tail end of the storm whiplashed in with its wild, gusty winds.

All around the house and woodlands and gardens trees came roaring to the ground. One even brushed the mansion, it's branches scraping down the stucco and finally cracking a storm window before it hit the gound! We've already lost a number of our favorites this year, and to lose still more was disheartening.

When the storm cleared, Susan and the crew went out to survey the damage. Large walnuts in the cutting garden and in front of Sylvan cottage were felled, leaving sun beating down on spaces once dappled with shade. Still others came crashing down on trails and roads--the parking lot fielded three trees, one of which came down on the director's car! (The car was amazingly okay once they got the tree off it--which was good, because after three days of living at work, she was ready to go home.)

The most dangerous trees were those that had not fallen but were leaning precariously over, like deadfall traps around the park. A giant catalpa tree near the Visitor Center split up the center and groaned to one side, threatening our major roadway and forcing us to declare the park closed.

And so the work commenced. Our crew of three maintenance guys set to work with chainsaws and the back hoe. New York Parks maintenance staff came from the Taconic Region headquarters and chipped in with their chainsaws and hardhats and good strong backs too.

When the tree count was in, we found 150 trees were downed throughout the property, but by some small miracle, not a single one had landed on any of our houses or auxiliary buildings. Nevertheless the skilled work required to remove some of those trees (especially the catalpa) meant we needed help. And after three days of moving trunks as big as four feet in diameter, our guys were tired and needed more hands!

In the spirit of unity, the Central Region of New York's State Parks sent us a crew of four men skilled with tree removal, including an arborist and some very large trucks. After a four-hour drive on Thursday, the crew of four and our crew five set right to work on the trees.

From my end it looked like magic, but I know that it was sweaty, grinding labor. While I stood there in my red hard hat reflecting on the old addage about Star Trek and danger of being the only guy in a red shirt, they went through the complex task of safely belting, guiding, and felling that giant catalpa. And they didn't stop there. By Thursday afternoon, the park could safely open to the public. By Friday, the mansion was open for tours. Working straight through the weekend, they made Clermont look more like itself again.

The process is not over. Of the 150 trees that fell, only a handful have been fully cleared. Our trails are closed until further notice. We are only beginning to think about a plan of replanting, though there is no way to truly replace a 200 year old tree. Volunteers have begun flooding in to pick up sticks, clear limbs, and bring us us back. But this process will take many months.

All I can think is how very lucky we are and how very many people weren't. There are many homes in Scoharie County and elsewhere that were completely destroyed; many people are still living in shelters and watching fresh flood waters stream in as Tropical storm Lee drenches us with its remains. There is much work to be done out there, and it will take a long time for everybody.

Calamities of War: Part 6

2011-09-01T16:27:00.008-04:00

A review of secondary source material relating to the burning of Clermont

With the end of the Civil War in 1865, and the approach of the Centennial in 1876, America began a renewed sense of nationalism and pride. As the material goods craze of the Victorian Era and Industrial Revolution began to wind down, a movement of Colonial Revival began. Americans desired to get back to an imagined “simpler time” of the “good old days.” The period of the Revolutionary War was seen as a golden happy time, and stories related to the Revolution began to be recorded. The last generations of Americans who had lived through the Revolution were long since gone, and their grandchildren were becoming old men and women themselves. Well-intentioned historians began writing down the stories they had heard from their revolutionary ancestors, so that future generations of Americans could honor them properly. Given the importance of the Livingston family, many such family histories regale the reader with the story of the burning of Clermont. A review of these sources must be taken with a degree of skepticism, but also provides a unique perspective on the event. The authors of these books actually had access to eyewitnesses, and heard the stories from people who were there.

Thomas Clarkson, author of A Biographical History of Clermont or Livingston Manor, Before and During the War for Independence, did not give footnotes for his information, but he did make reference to a book entitled the “Perfect Light” by a Julia Olin on pg. 42. The book, The Perfect Light, or Seven Hues of Christian Character (1865), is a biographical sketch of eminent Christian Women. Julia Olin was a granddaughter of Margaret Tillotson and probably got the story from the family. Upon review of The Perfect Light, Clarkson copied the text exactly from Julia Olin’s book, therefore the text is one of the earliest known description of the burning published.

Note: As Clarkson did not source his work, all footnotes are modern insertions.

The aim of the British was to obtain, if possible, the entire possession of the Hudson River, and thus isolate New England from the rest of the States. To effect this much desired object, Burgoyne, was to march from the North, and Vaughn from the south. There was intense excitement at Clermont when the news arrived of Burgoyne’s surrender. Margaret, afterwards Mrs. Tillotson, was knitting a long stocking for an old family servant, which, for a wager, she was to finish in a day. It was near midnight, the stocking was rapidly approaching its completion, when black Scipio rushed in with the joyful news of Burgoyne’s surrender.[1]
The enemy, however were steadily approaching from the South, lighting their way by burning towns and private dwellings. Clermont might have been untouched, as at that time two British officers, a wounded captain named Montgomery, and his Surgeon, had been for some time very hospitably entertained by Mrs. Livingston, at Clermont. They proposed to extend their protection to the house and family, but Mrs. Livingston and her son both refused to have their property protected by the enemies of their country, and her son, the future Chancellor, sent them to the house of a Tory neighbor. The preparations for the quick departure of the family were made. All were busy. The females of the household all giving a hand, to assist the general packing, for the removal of clothing and all moveable valuables. Silver and other articles of value were buried in the wood, books were placed in the basin of a dry fountain and covered with rubbish; wagons and carts were piled up with baggage and all necessary articles required by so large a family, both for the immediate use as well as preservation. Even at this hour, Mrs. Livingston burst into a hearty laugh, at the odd figure of an old black woman perched upon this miscellaneous assortment of trunks and bundles.[2] There was not much time to spare, for as the last load from the house had disappeared, and when the carriages containing the family had reached the top of the hill overlooking the house they beheld the smoke already rising from its walls. It had been fired as soon as entered by the British soldiers, one party of whom had arrived by land from Rhinebeck, which place they had burned, and another party landed from the British ship of war, which lay south of the point.
Large looking-glasses had been carefully hung in an out-house, by the family before their departure, and an inside frame made to conceal them from view, but the soldiers discharged their muskets at the building and reduced to splinters the valuable mirrors. With heavy hearts the family left a home, endeared to them by all the associations which make a home one of cheerfulness, happiness and contentment. They took refuge in the town of Salisbury, in Berkshire, just beyond the border of Massachusetts, where they made a temporary home, in a house which is still standing; a stone house near a picturesque lake; here they remained for a short time.[3] The hasty retreat of Vaughn’s forces rendering Clermont a safe residence again, Mrs. Livingston and her family returned to her farm house and at once commenced to rebuild the Mansion House, and in about a year removed into it.

Julia Delafield, author of The Biographies of Francis and Morgan Lewis by their granddaughter Julia Delafield in 1877, was the granddaughter of Gertrude Livingston (Mrs. Morgan Lewis), the daughter of Margaret Beekman. Gertrude was present at the burning of Clermont, and Julia Delafield makes note of the fact that she heard the story directly from her grandmother “on several occasions.”

Pg. 149-152.

In 1777 the Assembly that declared the Colony of New York an independent State met at the little town of Esopus, on the Hudson. I have read somewhere that the independence of the Empire State was proclaimed by a clerk mounted on a barrel in front of the court-house. Governor George Clinton was the first Governor, John Jay the first Chief Justice, and Robert R. Livingston, of Clermont, the first Chancellor...The mansion of the mother of Chancellor Livingston, of Col. Henry Beekman Livingston, and the mother-in-law of Montgomery, was not to be spared. Captain Montgomery, a relation of the General’s, and an officer in the British Army, was, at that time, with his surgeon, the guest of Mrs. Livingston. He had been wounded and taken prisoner, and was within our lines. Mrs. Livingston had succeeded in having him removed to Clermont, that she might give him the attention his situation demanded. This gentleman begged permission to remain in her house; he felt certain he could protect it if she authorized him to do so. She replied at once that she preferred sharing the fate of her friends and neighbors. There was no time for consultation. Edward was the only one of her sons at home; she followed the dictates of her own noble nature. Feather beds, blankets, and straw were thrown on the bottom of carts and wagons, for the accommodation of the old slaves, some of whom knew of no other world than the Clermont estate. The mother and her daughters crowded into the family coach. Gertrude (Mrs. Lewis) looked out of the back window, and was so diverted by the ludicrous figure of an overgrown negress perched on top of a feather bed, and rolling helplessly from side to side, that for a moment she forgot her grief and laughed aloud. He mother turned to her and said, “Oh, Gertrude, can you laugh now?” I related this anecdote, which I have heard repeatedly from the culprit herself, to the biographer of Edward Livingston. He misunderstood me, and stated in his narrative that Mrs. Livingston had laughed out loud.[4] Where was the heroism of her conduct if she could then enjoy a joke? But a young and merry girl can not long remain depressed.
The helpless cavalcade had not gone many miles when a column, accompanied by tongues of flame, showed them that the work of destruction had commenced....When she returned to Clermont, a farm building was fitted up as a temporary shelter....5]

In the 1864 book Life of Edward Livingston Hunt appears to have been one of the sources for Thomas Clarkson’s work. It contains two of the same “errors” noted by later historians[6].

Young Livingston [Edward] had, in these events, occasion for an eccentric visit to Clermont. The house of his mother, in which he had been born, and in which his father and grandfather had lately expired, as well as that of his brother Robert, was among those marked for destruction by Vaughn’s men on this expedition. At the very time, two British officers, a wounded Captain, named Montgomery, and his surgeon, had been or some time hospitably entertained by Margaret Beekman at Clermont. They Gratefully proposed to extend to the house the protection of their presence and influence. But the offer was politely yet firmly declined, on the ground that the widowed proprietor did not desire any such advantage over her neighbors and countrymen. The sturdy matron determined to evacuate Clermont, carrying off what needful articles she might. A part of her furniture was buried, the remainder loaded in wagon; and when warned that the enemy was approaching and not too many miles distant, she set forth on a weary journey eastward, accompanied by all of her family and a retinue of servants. The timeliness of this departure was proved by a column of smoke which the party, after advancing a few miles, plainly saw rising from the flames of the mansion they had left. This scene was destined to recur to the memory of Edward, the youngest of the company, and to point to an eloquent passage in a speech delivered by him twenty years later on the floor of the House of Representatives of the United States. If the reader would have further illustration of the robustness of Margaret Beekman’s nature, let him picture to himself—what actually occurred—that high-bred dame, at the very moment of starting upon this journey, enjoying a hearty laugh at the figure made by a favorite servant, a fat old negro woman, perched in solemn anxiety at the top of one of the wagon-loads.

Hunt did not mention several details listed in Clarkson’s later version. Notably the details of burying of the silver, hanging mirrors in the outhouse or knitting the wool stocking by Margaret Livingston Tillotson, which Clarkson derived from Julia Olin.

John Henry also Clermont and the Livingstons of Clermont, an unpublished manuscript in the archival collections of Clermont. He had the following to say:

Mrs. Livingston [Margaret Beekman Livingston] continued to live tranquilly at her home at Clermont after her husband’s death, until 1777 its peace was broken by the expedition under General Vaughn, which, advancing up the Hudson with the purpose of joining Burgoyne, burnt Kingston, and then proceeded to wreak vengeance upon the homes of “Rebels.” …
When the British advanced to their work of destruction, both the house at Clermont and the newer one were destroyed, the latter entirely. Of the former, however, two of the old walls remained, and still form part of the present “Clermont.” When the third story was raised by the present owner [John Henry Livingston] in 1874, they were found to be in better preservation than the newer East and West ones.
On November 19th, 1778, Mrs. Livingston writes to Governor Clinton, requesting and exemption from Military duty in favor of certain laborers, for she states that “many hands” must necessarily be engaged, “such as Masons, Carpenters, Brick Burners, Labourers [sic], Stone & Lime Breakers, and Burners.” This letter is important, as it gives exactly the date at which her house was rebuilt…..

Although by 1919, John Henry would have had all of the earlier versions of the story (i.e. Delafield, Clarkson, etc.) he chose not to entertain the reader with a full version of the story. He was probably influenced by the work of Edwin Livingston, who had already quoted Clarkson in his work (see above). As the Edwin Livingston book was dedicated to John Henry, and John Henry helped publish the book, he probably did not feel the need to repeat the story.

Janet Livingston, the eldest daughter of Margaret Beekman Livingston and Judge Robert Livingston, wrote the article “Reminisces” in a small book for her youngest brother Edward. Interestingly, she did not mention the burning of Clermont, or the family’s flight to Connecticut. She did, however, make an interesting comment about her sister Gertrude on pg. 61: “All that had passed in her youth she repeated every day and thought it a new tale.” This seems to confirm the fact that Gertrude enjoyed telling stories frequently and lends validity to Julia Delafield’s statement of hearing the story from her grandmother “several times.”

The Ralph Jacobs manuscript Louisiana Purchase – Chancellor Robert R. Livingston of 1945 is included solely to illustrate the difficulty of utilizing secondary source material. In his Chapter XIV (pages 230-237). Jacobs tells the story of the burning of Clermont, with a heavy use of artistic license. Notes included in brackets [..] are handmade corrections in the original manuscript.

On the night of October 17, a household of nervous women sat in the living room at Clermont listening tensely for a sound to indicate that news had arrived from Saratoga. All they heard for hour after hour as midnight approached, was the stately beat of the grandfather’s clock at the foot of the stairs.
All of the Chancellor’s sisters except Janet were present. Present also were Mother Livingston and the Chancellor’s wife, the latter now concerned with a new source of worry since her husband had taken up arms.[8] There was Margaret, the oldest, twenty-eight, waiting only for the conclusion of the war or an important break to marry Dr. Thomas Tillotson, a surgeon with the Northern army at Saratoga; Catherine, twenty-three; Gertrude, twenty; Johanna, eighteen and Alida, sixteen. The man of the house was thirteen-year old Edward Livingston.
The oldest of the daughters at home had brought upon herself the tedious task of trying to complete that night a pair of long woolen stockings for one of the household servants. During the morning she had chided one of the younger sisters for clumsy fingers, and boasting of her own diligence and prowess, declared that she could turn out the pair in a day. There was a challenge and a wager. Not a sordid bet for money or thing of value, for in that household real wagers were forbidden, just a plain word-of-mouth wager, a dare. The golden sun had dropped majestically behind the Catskill mountains on the other side of the river on that autumn day, but the job was far from finished, so Margaret, the true daughter of a line of lawyers, [quick wittedly] resorted to her legal rights, a technicality, that the day was not at an end until midnight.
The women had taken the incident as their excuse to wait up for news from the north and fixed their eyes on the flying fingers as they listened for black Scipio, stationed at the road a half mile east to catch from the express rider, riding south, the words which meant war or peace. But all they heard was the click of the flying needles fitted into the rhythmic swing of the old clock’s pendulum.
It was just as well that the family had something to focus its attention upon in view of the important military crisis at hand. A few miles south, the Chancellor who had yet to sit for the first time in a case, was possibly in danger of his life. To the north was the daredevil brother, Henry Beekman, now a Lieutenant-Colonel, serving under Benedict Arnold with Gates; with that army also was Margaret’s fiancé, and the handsome youth, Morgan Lewis, who had favor in the sight of Gertrude Livingston.
Word had reached Clermont that Burgoyne had been beaten and trapped at Saratoga, a surrender likely, but the news of the actual capitulation was disappointingly slow in arriving. Perhaps something had gone wrong and there would be a renewal of the hostilities. One did not discuss such matters openly in view of might occur, so the fear hidden in each heart was not brought into light.
It was well towards midnight when Scipio burst into the room. “He done it! He shore did! Burgoyne surrendered!” The knitting was thrown aside, the wager forgotten as the girls kissed and embraced mother and one another into a jubilant minor armistice day celebration. The war was over! Safety had come to life and liberty, security and property. Independence had been achieved![9]
In the midst of the jollification, there came a sound of horses’ hoofs on the road outside, followed by a loud rap on the front door. Silence fell on the joy-makers. A British captain stood at the open portal. Mother Livingston invited him to enter. This was Captain Montgomery, a relative of her late son-in-law, the American general, Richard Montgomery. Wounded and on leave the Captain had been hospitably entertained at Clermont and had returned to reciprocate. He informed the gathering that General Vaughn had crossed the river after having burned Kingston and was now on his way north on the east side, putting to the torch to the homes of all patriots, sparing only friends of the Crown. The Captain tendered his influence to save Clermont, for, he said, Robert Livingston and his family had been too prominent in the rebel cause to be overlooked otherwise; the staunch Peggy Livingston refused to accept any advantage not accorded to her neighbors.[10] The only alternative here was flight, for this was war and anything could happen.
The servants were called to begin immediate preparations to remove the household of women and to try to save from destruction the contents of the buildings. Silver and trinkets were buried in the woods, books placed in a dry fountain and covered with leaves, large mirrors removed and carefully hung in an outhouse, concealed from view.
All through the night the business-like mother of the brood assisted by daughter-in-law Polly, thirteen year old Edward and the girls, worked side by side with the household salves [sic]. It was well after dawn before the wagons and carts were loaded with sufficient linens, clothing, food and bedding to provide for an extended stay away from home for the family and its retainers.
At last all was ready, the family were bundled into two large coaches, and the parade moved off. The sparkling Gertrude looked back and caught a glimpse of a fat negro woman on one of the carts, perched on top of a miscellaneous assortment of household goods, swaying perilously from side to side. The expression of abject terror in her eyes caused Gertrude to break into a merry laugh, which brought a mild rebuke from mother, “Oh, Gertrude, can you laugh now?”
As the carriages reached the top of the hill overlooking the house the refugees casting a parting glance at the top of the homestead they loved so well, saw through the trees a wisp of telltale smoke rising from Clermont. Two companies of Vaughn’s men had entered and put to flames the large building and the Chancellor’s smaller home, wantonly discharged their muskets at the outhouses and smashed to smithereens the precious mirrors.

In Jacob’s work, the influence of both Clarkson and Delafield’s versions can be seen. He has the more “acceptable” version of Gertrude Livingston laughing at the slave woman as noted in Delafield. However, details like the mirrors in the outhouse destroyed by musket fire, or the knitted-stocking wager are clearly derived from Clarkson. Unfortunately, Jacobs endnotes for the manuscript are lost for this chapter. While Jacobs’ embellishment of the story make for an entertaining read, the danger of quoting secondary source material of previous historians is clearly evident. As the story is told and retold, it begins to lose some of its value as factual resource. Each generation of historian was putting a well-intentioned cultural spin on the story, making it difficult to separate fact from fiction. Notable in Jacob’s work is the mention of the Chancellor’s smaller home, Belvedere. The earlier accounts did not mention Belvedere at all, and Delafield even calls Clermont the home of Chancellor Livingston. While she may have been using the name Clermont to evoke an image of the entire estate, the fact Jacobs mentioned it means he was using other sources than just Clarkson and Delafield. A review of his extant endnotes from other chapters does show he used some primary source material, making the loss of his notes to this chapter especially more difficult.

Summary of Secondary Sources:
In all of the secondary sources consulted, the following are the common factors:
1) A wounded relative of General Richard Montgomery and his surgeon, officers in the British Army, had been entertained at Clermont while recovering from his wounds. He offered to use his influence to spare Clermont from the approaching army. New research has produced information on Captain Montgomery and his surgeon, and a biography will be seen later.
2) The family and the slaves loaded mattresses or beds onto carts for the slaves to ride upon. The family rode in some type of carriage.
3) One of the Livingston women present (probably Gertrude) is said to have laughed at the site of an obese slave woman precariously situated atop a wagon.
4) The family saw the smoke rising from Clermont as they made their retreat to Salisbury.
5) The family did not return to Clermont until after Vaughn had retreated.

These stories may be partially based on first person accounts of the destruction of Clermont. Julia Delafield (1801-1882) stated her grandmother Gertrude told her the story “several times.” Even being only two generations removed, however, Delafield still wrote her work one-hundred years after the original event. Julia wrote the book as a seventy-six year old woman, and retold a story she had not heard for at least forty-five years (Gertrude died in 1833). The situation is similar for the Julia Olin book used by Clarkson. Julia Olin (1814-1879) was only fifty-one when her book was published, but her grandmother Margaret Tillotson Livingston had died in 1823 (forty-two years before the book was published). While the stories remain very valuable resources, they must be read in context and taken with some degree of skepticism. When comparing the work of Delafield to Jacobs, one has to note the fact that one-hundred years after Delafield, Jacobs has more details than the original story. More significantly, Jacobs did not have access to an eye-witness account like Delafield or Olin did. While this does not lessen the value of the historical narratives, it does illustrate the danger of using secondary source material.
In the two-hundred and twenty-five years since the burning of Clermont, many family legends and stories have developed. These family traditions are very much a part of the history of Clermont, and the purpose of this exhibit is not to dispel them. Many of these stories stem from these nineteenth century version of events, and add to the charm of Clermont as a public museum. By retelling these stories to our visitors, we honor the last Livingston family to call Clermont home, and help bring the Revolutionary War alive.

[1] Scipio, a black slave is mentioned once in William Wilson’s Daybook as being in the household of Margaret Beekman Livingston. Daybook excerpt taken from Settlers and Residents Volume I.
The surrender of Burgoyne took place on October 17, 1777.
[2] In Julia Delafield’s The Biographies of Francis and Morgan Lewis by their Granddaughter Julia Delafield, she insisted it was Gertrude Livingston (1757-1833) not Margaret Beekman Livingston who laughed at the slave woman’s situation-to be discussed later.
[3] The destination of the family was Salisbury, Connecticut, not Massachusetts as indicated. It is unknown if the house still stands presently.
[4] Hunt, Charles Haven. The Life of Edward Livingston. D. Appleton & Co. New York, New York. 1864. Pps 37-8. Hunt’s account closely resembles Thomas Clarkson’s account published 5 years later. It is possible Clarkson simply copied the story from Hunt as was common practice among historians in the 19th and early 20th centuries.
[5] Edward Livingston served in the House of Representatives as a Congressman from New York in the 4th, 5th and 6th Congress (1795-1801). Several 19th century historians make reference to this famous retelling of the burning of Clermont on the House floor, including Hunt, Delafield, and Clarkson.
[6] The “errors” being the which Livingston female found humor in the site of the slave woman, and stating the family fled to Massachusetts, not Connecticut.
[7] Here Lossing states the British penetrated as far north as Livingston Manor. Although he does not cite the reference it may come from General Vaughn’s confusion of the Upper Manor (the manor proper) and the so-called “lower manor” (Clermont). Vaughn addresses a dispatch to Sir Henry Clinton from Livingston’s Manor, but there is no indication the soldiers made it any farther north than Clermont.
[8] Mary Stevens Livingston (1752-1814) married Chancellor Robert Livingston in 1770. As to the Chancellor taking up arms, Jacobs may be referring here to the Chancellor being given a commission as LT. Colonel of the Manor Livingston Militia-see E.B. Livingston The Livingstons of Livingston Manor pg. 284-footnote #2.
[9] Given the military situation of New York State in 1777, it is highly unlikely that the Livingston family would have viewed the Battles of Saratoga as the end of the war. Only later did historians realize Saratoga as a turning point in the war and name it one of the ten most influential battles in the history of the world.
[10] “Peggy” Livingston here is referring to Margaret Beekman Livingston.

Calamities of War: Part 5

2011-08-18T09:37:00.006-04:00

1777: A Missed Opportunity

A further blow to British arms came in the form of orders General Clinton received from General Howe to abandon the captured highland forts and send many of the troops who participated in their taking to Philadelphia. Whatever gains could have been salvaged from the campaigns of 1777 were lost by 1778. Fort Ticonderoga and its environ’s were abandoned in November, never to be reoccupied by the British or American forces. The American Army reoccupied the Hudson Highlands shortly after General Vaughn returned from his raid north. The Americans built bigger and better fortifications at West Point along with a much improved chain boom across the river. Howe’s great prize of Philadelphia was abandoned in May of 1778 as an untenable position when General Clinton became British Commander in Chief in North America. Howe made the mistake of focusing on Philadelphia as his objective and not the destruction of General Washington and his army. After Howe took Philadelphia, Washington was able to regroup and keep the American Army in the field and keep American hope alive for the rest of the war. For the rest of his life, General Clinton was sure if at least the forts had been kept, things might have turned out differently for the British. In this respect, Clinton may have been right. Letters from Commander-in-Chief George Washington show just how tactically important the Americans and the British considered the Hudson River:

Letter from George Washington to Massachusetts Militia Generals.
July 18, 1777
Head Quarters at the Clove:

Gentlemen: The evacuation of Ticonderoga has opened a door for the enemy, unless speedily and vigorously opposed, to penetrate the Northern parts of the State of New York and the Western parts of New Hampshire and Massachusetts Bay, It is also feared that they will form a junction by way of the North (Hudson) River with General Howe, and thereby cut off the communication between the Eastern and Southern States. I need not represent to you how fatal such a measure could prove to the interests and Liberties of the United States.

To paraphrase, if the British controlled New York from Canada to New York City, the colonies would be effectively cut in half. This letter was written at the suggestion of Robert R. Livingston, who believed the New England States did not realize the danger such a campaign would pose to everyone involved. As it turned out, the taking of New York from the South and North were exactly what the British attempted later that year. Once the Highland forts of Montgomery and Clinton fell into British hands, Washington realized only Burgoyne’s loss at Saratoga may have saved the American cause:

George Washington to George Clinton
Head Qurs., Philadelphia County, October 15, 1777

Dr. Sir: I was this day honored with yours of the 9th containing a full account of the Storm of Forts Montgomery and Clinton….This affair might have been attended with fatal consequences, had not there been a most favorable providential intervention in favor of General Gates arms on the 7th instant [i.e. the Battle of Saratoga], but I am fully of the opinion that Sir Henry Clinton will not advance up much further up the River upon hearing of Burgoyne’s defeat and retreat…

Here, Washington was indeed correct, Clinton’s Army remained at the Forts, while a small flying squadron of troops and small boats was sent up the river to gather information on Burgoyne. When news of the destruction of Kingston and other Hudson Valley properties reached Washington, he reacted as one would expect:

George Washington to George Clinton, October 25, 1777.

Dear Sir, Your favor of the 20th. I received Yesterday Afternoon and feel much for the Havoc and devastation committed by the Enemy employed on the North River. Their maxim seems to be, to destroy where they cannot conquer and they hesitate not, to pursue a conduct that would do dishonour to the Arms of Barbarians.

In this short excerpt, the future President of the United States of America summed up Vaughn’s campaign up the Hudson River. Vaughn was not attempting to conquer territory, and his actions had no real military value. Even Sir Henry Clinton, his own commander, seemed to have disapproved. Two-Hundred and twenty-five years later, it is hard to imagine the true loss felt by the Livingston family.

Two months after the burning of Clermont, the Livingston family gathered at the Manor House for a Christmas dinner. As the talk naturally turned to the war, William Smith recorded the family’s reaction in his journal:

December 25, 1777:

RRL said that retaliating burning for burning would ruin the Country & that the true Mode of acting was instantly hanging every Man who had been concerned in such Work. I talked with Emly who sat next to me & affected not to listed to these Speeches & they soon dropp’d [sic] upon my saying the Consequences of a War should have been considered before it was begun.

This passage illustrates part of the reason William Smith was not always a reliable source. Two months after the destruction of their estate, it seems unlikely the family would have dropped the debate so easily based on one statement by a Tory in-law. Given the skill of the Chancellor as an orator and writer, one also has to doubt whether William Smith could have bested him without difficulty. What is evident in the passage is the real conflict going on all across America at the time of the Revolution. Tories and Patriots attacked each other mercilessly, destroying property and taking lives. In the Mohawk Valley, next door to the Livingstons, bloody partisan battles continued throughout the entire war. For example, a company of Loyalist soldiers known as Butler’s Rangers terrorized the Mohawk Valley until Walter Butler’s death in October of 1781. Butler’s Rangers were responsible for the burning of Cherry Valley, Deerfield (modern Day Utica), and the Wyoming Valley in Pennsylvania. The death of Walter Butler was reportedly celebrated as a more momentous occasion than the final surrender of the British at Yorktown. Closer to home, Loyalist and Patriot tensions ran high in the Hudson Valley as well. According to William Smith’s journal entry for May of 1777:

May 4, 1777
The Claverack Committee [i.e. Committee of Safety], as two men from there inform PRL [Peter Livingston], have discovered that the Tenants of the Manor have bound themselves by an oath to support each other as subjects of King George.

May 10, 1777
[Peter R. Livingston] told me last night that all of his father’s tenants (about 400) and Robert L. Livingston’s also (about 60), with other inhabitants, mechanics and inmates & the camp people—about 50 fighting men more—are attached to the Crown.

The Committees of Safety were responsible for rooting out Loyalist sentiments in their jurisdiction. Loyalists were often treated very badly, they were frequently jailed, their property could be confiscated, and they were sometimes victims of physical violence. William Smith, a rampant Tory, spends the war under a form of house arrest at the home of his in-laws. Even marriage to the most powerful family in the region could not keep William Smith from being called before the Committee of Safety and made to answer a charge of refusing to sign an oath of allegiance against Britain. From a loyalist point of view, the burning of Kingston, Clermont and the others was merely a payback for the type of treatment they had been receiving all along. Interestingly, while the mostly Palatine German tenants at Livingston Manor are accused of supporting the King, their relatives in the Mohawk Valley are overwhelmingly Patriots. Descendents of many of the original Palatine settlers brought to America by Robert the Builder made a brave stand against British forces at the Battle of Oriskany in western New York.

Calamities of War: Part 4

2011-08-09T09:31:00.011-04:00

Clermont Attacked: The Primary Sources

Unfortunately, this is the last known letter Gouverneur Morris sends to Robert R. Livingston until December of 1777. We do not have Morris’ eyewitness account of Kingston’s destruction or writings on Vaughn’s troops. Another primary source to consult is the journal of William Smith. Smith was a devout Loyalist, but through his marriage to a Manor Livingston, he was allowed to serve a form of house arrest during the War. William Smith does record an account in his journal on October 13, 1777:

One Zippoly, an intimate of Campbell, a Servant Lad to RRL, told McDonald that the family say there are 5,000 regulars on the West Side of the River marching to Esopus.

Smith’s information is fourth hand-from someone who knows a servant of Robert R. Livingston, who overheard the family discussing the situation, but it does contain some truth. Also relevant in the passage is the indication that the family was still at Clermont five days before the attack. Smith continues his matter-of-fact description later in his journal on October 16, 1777:

8 at Night. Martin Hoffman and his wife stop here in their flight from the River—much firing this Morning and then a Landing on both sides at Kingston & the Flatts—The Firing ceased at 1 o’clock—at 4 a column of Smoke rises at Kingston—conjectured to be burnt.

October 17, 1777:

Bob G. Livingston’s house burnt. Widow Livingston’s [Margaret Beekman Livingston] Mill at Sawyer’s Creek. Widow Ten Broeck’s Buildings.

October 18, 1777:

Nicholas Hoffman’s House & etc. Rob R. L. & his Mother’s burnt. Phil John Livingston’s & Anthony Hoffman’s untouched and one Monkler’s on the opposite side the several houses were burnt there.

Here William Smith tells us Clermont and Belvedere are burnt along with several other patriot home on both sides of the river. The next entry in Smith’s journal is also relevant to the story of Clermont’s destruction:

October 19, 1777:

The ships in the River have not moved this day tho’ the Wind blew fresh at South. General Putnam arrives here having lined the River from Peekskill up to the Manor House with some few Continental Troops and Militia collected in this Colony and Connecticut….General Putnam posted Guards this day at the Manor House and dined at Mr. Patterson’s.

In this entry, Smith showed the British Fleet staying at Clermont even though they had a favorable wind which could have taken them to Albany. Smith also reveals that Israel Putnam had begun to line the River with troops, and these troops were taking opportunistic shots at the British fleet and soldiers. This is confirmed later by British sources as well. General Vaughn was beginning to hear reports of Burgoyne’s surrender at Saratoga, and this news combined with the presence of American troops persuaded him not to chance any further up the river. Once he confirmed the reports of Saratoga, he quickly retreated to the Highland Forts and eventually to New York City. Days after the attack on his and his mother’s homes, Robert R. Livingston dined with the same Mr. Patterson mentioned above, and his mood was fiery according to Smith’s journal entry from October 21, 1777:

Robt. R. L. dined the day before Yesterday at Mr. Patterson’s—He has lost his Temper—I mean that he will exact Forfeitures from his Tenants towards building new houses for himself and Mother. Believes the King gave orders for this Devastation—That he is a Tyrant with whom he will never be reconciled – Putnam was there and said George Clinton has hanged a Messenger from Genrl. Clinton’s to Burgoyne on an Apple Tree. His name Van Kleek.

Considering Robert R. Livingston’s home had just been burned and the British Army still occupied the space, Livingston’s attitude is understandable. The execution of another of Clinton’s spies to Burgoyne illustrates the southern army is anxious to get official word of Burgoyne’s surrender. Smith goes on to describe further British troop movements:

October 23, 1777:
The [British] fleet fall down from Red Hook—Burell’s Reg[iment] of Militia posted at Colo[nel] L. [the manor house] discharged and the Rest drawn down to Red Hook. A great firing of Cannon below from 11 to 1 o’clock. The inhabitants pillaged.

The British fleet remained at Clermont for about five days and then began a steady retreat back down the river, once they had a true confirmation of Burgoyne’s defeat. During the attack, Chancellor Robert R. Livingston was with the American militia troops under Israel Putnam:

Excerpt of a letter written by Robert R. Livingston to the Council of Safety from Salisbury, Connecticut, October 28, 1777. (Quoted in EBL The Livingstons of Livingston Manor pg. 284).

I thought it improper when the enemy came up the river to leave this side of the water, which was unfortunate, in wanting both yours and the Governor’s direction. I therefore remained with the militia till the enemy left us. I am now just arrived at this place in order to inquire into the situation of my family, which hitherto been left to shift for themselves.

This letter proves the Chancellor was not at the burning of Clermont with his family, he did even see his family until almost two weeks after the attack. After the destruction of Clermont, another of Margaret Beekman’s sons, Colonel Henry Livingston, wrote an angry letter to Sir Henry Clinton. Letter of Colonel Henry Beekman Livingston to General Henry Clinton (commander of forces which burned Clermont). October 31, 1777. Written aboard ship Mercury.
Destroying defenseless Houses and Villages cannot in the least Contribute to the Conquest of a Country nor to increase the Revenue of your King. You have reduced to ashes the beautiful Village of Kingston and many Buildings the Proprietors of which could never had injured you. Helpless Widows and Children are left Exposed to all the Inclemencies [sic] of an approaching Winter. This conduct sufficiently evinces your despair of ever conquering the Country. The Fortune of War has placed in our Power an Office of Equal Rank to that you hold and whose prospects of success were greater than any you now can latter yourself with. You Sir may not always be exempted from the Calamities of War. Accident or injuries may one Day subject you to the same fate. When should your further Conduct be delineated by such Horrid Barbarity. Our utmost Efforts may prove ineffectual to preserve you from the resentment of a justly incensed people.

Archaeological evidence lends support to this letter as well. According to Anne Wentworth’s Women of Business or Lady of the Manor: Archaeological Examination of Changes in Gender Roles among the Hudson Valley Elite during the Eighteenth Century (1995):

The great numbers of domestic artifacts, including Chinese porcelain plates, buttons, straight pins, furniture parts, table and kitchen items, indicate that although the Livingstons had some advance warning of the raid they lost many personal possessions as well. Burned nuts, seeds, fruit pits and animal bones suggested the fire interrupted the preparation of winter food supplies. (pg. 116)

As Henry Beekman Livingston’s mother, Margaret Beekman Livingston, would have been a widow, she could very well have been one of the helpless widows and children left exposed to all the “inclemencies” of an approaching winter, although helpless is not a word ever used to describe Margaret Beekman Livingston. More likely, Henry was describing the many, many other women and children left homeless by the attacks on the Hudson Valley. Eighteenth century warfare was considered a genteel affair which took place honorably on the field of battle. Attacking civilians and carrying on a war of attrition are common in more modern warfare, but were considered especially distasteful during the period of the American Revolution. A copy of the original Henry Livingston letter received by Clinton is in the Sir Henry Clinton Papers, located at the Clements Library in Ann Arbor, Michigan. On the back of this letter, are notes which Sir Henry Clinton apparently wrote upon receiving the letter:

Sir H.C.’s orders were to proceed d[i]rect for Burgoyne cooperate with him nay join him if necessary. He stopt [sic] at Kingston burned it & Esopus fr [sic] what reason I am yet to learn this letter is the only information I have.
(Quoted in Dangerfield’s Chancellor Robert R. Livingston of New York pg. 105)

It appears from these notes, that Sir Henry Clinton may not have approved of the burning of Kingston and the other Patriot houses. Vaughn was sent forward on a fact-finding mission to learn the status of Burgoyne’s army and assist him if possible. Instead, Vaughn spends the time firing houses, destroying property and terrorizing inhabitants. Two weeks after the attack on Kingston, William Smith gathered a version of the attack:

November 3, 1777:

I could not obtain until now any particular Account of the Destruction of the 16[th] at Kingston. Every House burnt except Alderman Leffert’s, Johanns Stecht’s Mill & Brewery and one Steenberger’s. They did not save above half their moveables.

Besides Kingston and Clermont, an indication of the extent of the destruction of the lower Hudson Valley can be seen in a letter by the Chancellor.

Letter from Robert R. Livingston to Viscount Ranelagh, November 2, 1777 (excerpts).
Written from Salisbury, Connecticut.

I was honored by about two months ago with a letter from your Lordship of a very old date tho I do not at present recollect it exactly owing to its being burned with many other of my papers about a month since in a little excursion made by Genl. Vaughn up Hudson at the head of a considerable body of troops. In which being secured by his shipping __ from opposition he had ____ acquired Laurels of a very modern growth by burning about 200 farm houses and barns, hay and a few Country seats among them my Mother’s and mine which were close to water’s edge and under the cover of British shipping

Of note in the Chancellor’s letter are two important points. Firstly, the Chancellor referred to the destruction of about 200 barns and houses, the Livingston’s did not bear the destruction alone (General Vaughn’s own tally would put the number of buildings destroyed at 300). Several other families and residents were burned out of their homes by the troops, and most could probably not afford to quickly rebuild their houses like the Livingstons. The Chancellor referred to his house and Clermont as country seats, and as refined gentry they were wealthy enough to pack some possessions, flee to safety and rebuild when the smoke cleared. For the lower class tenant farmer, freeholder, or shop-owner in Kingston, their entire world would have been lost in a few hours. The Chancellor also intentionally crossed out the phrase “under the cover of British shipping”. This phrase would have meant that the British Navy fired on Clermont-i.e. provided cover. As there was no one at the estate to resist the raiders, it would have been unnecessary for the Navy to spend ammunition by using the house for target practice, but this topic will be covered more extensively later. For now it only important to note that the Chancellor was not present for the destruction of Clermont, and he may have crossed the line out once he realized the ships did not actually fire at the house. This, however, is purely 20th century speculation and the true story may never be known.

British authors were also writing about the campaign. A review of British primary sources reveals the nature of the military action as seen by the enemy.

The journals of Colonel Stephen Kemble, from June 9th, 1773, to October 23, 1779, while Deputy Adjunct General of the British Army in North America. Kemble served under Generals Thomas Gage, Sir William Howe and Sir Henry Clinton. In 1777, he served under Sir Henry Clinton, and the burning of Clermont is related as follows:

Sunday, Oct. 19th to Saturday, 25th. Nothing Extraordinary. Informed this evening by an Officer from General Vaughn that he had been as far as Livingston’s Manor; that he had burn’t [sic] Livingston’s House and some others. His Intelligence from General Burgoyne not the most favorable, and that he has surrendered; but we don’t believe it. Putnam on the River, watching Vaughn’s motions, with about 5000 men, firing at our shipping as they come down, but with very little damage to us, only Wounding five or six men…..
Sunday, Oct. 26th. General Vaughn with the Troops under his Command, arrived from Livingston’s Manor; those for the Grand Army arrived at New York; the whole to Land (those intended for King’s Bridge) as soon as come down.
Our unfavorable accounts of General Burgoyne being Prisoner with his army, confirmed. He capitulated on the 16th and 17th; the Brunswickers and Hannau and British to be sent to Boston, to be exchanged or sent to Europe; said (troops) not to serve during the War.
Reported that he was attacked as formerly said, on the 7th; the Rebels most of them Drunk; they themselves say he Killed and Wounded 5,000 (cannot believe it)….

A reading of this passage illustrates several points. First, it again shows how slowly information traveled in the 18th century. Even by the 25th of October, 1777, Sir Henry Clinton’s army did not have true confirmation of Burgoyne’s surrender at Saratoga a full week earlier (although Vaughn knew on October 23rd). British messengers had to travel through over a hundred miles of hostile territory to relay this message, and, as noted before, spies were hung on the spot. Kemble obviously did not believe the reports he was getting from the Americans, he was waiting for an official confirmation.

One can also glimpse the attitude of the British officers towards the Americans. He did not believe the accounts of Saratoga, and the only way (in his eyes) for the Americans to have defeated Burgoyne is if they were “drunk.” The burning of Livingston’s house is related as matter-of-factly as if he were giving the weather conditions. It is important to keep in mind that what was a major event to the Livingston family was nothing more than a military footnote to the British. Burning the “Rebel” houses was being used a wartime technique to destroy supply sources and terrorize an enemy population into submission, although there is the indication that Sir Henry Clinton did not approve of Vaughn’s actions as noted previously.

Clinton, Sir Henry. The American Rebellion: Sir Henry Clinton’s narratives of his campaigns: 1775-1782. William Wilcox ed. 1954. New Haven and London.

Sir Henry Clinton was the commanding officer of the British military campaign up the Hudson River. After the war, he spent the last 12 years of his life compiling his narrative.

The little armament got up to Esopus [Kingston] on the 15th; and General Vaughn informed me he judged it proper to stop and destroy the place, lest the works and troops there might interrupt his communication with Fort Clinton or harass him on his return. He afterward proceeded to Livingston’s Manor, about 45 miles from Albany, where the vessels were obliged to come to anchor by the pilots’ absolutely refusing to take charge of them further. From hence the General sent me information that he had not been able to communicate with Burgoyne, as Putnam with 5000 men had taken posts on his right and Parsons with 1500 on his left; but that all accounts agreed in representing his situation as desperate.

Once again, one can readily see the difficulty of relaying information in the eighteenth century. Vaughn was operating in enemy territory and, although he could not directly communicate with Burgoyne, the reports were not favorable. Also apparent in Clinton’s account is the lack of significance of the burning of Clermont and Kingston. Clinton’s book has a heavy apologetic tone throughout, he tries to explain why the British lost the American Revolution. When this passage is read in full context, Clinton explains how his Commander and Chief (William Howe) did not supply him with enough troops, and Burgoyne never made it clear that he wished Clinton’s force to meet his in Albany. The "what" details are not as important as the "why" details and why he never relieved Burgoyne’s force at Saratoga.

In addition to the published journals, Clermont is fortunate to have the extant military records from the campaign. The British Army was meticulous at keeping records, and these records survived in the British Public Records Office. In order to find out more information about Burgoyne on October 14th Clinton sent a mixed force of naval vessels and 1,700 troops north on the river. In the mean time, he had to return to New York due to the illness of the ranking British officer left in charge of that garrison.

On October 14th the log book of the HMS Preston (a 50 gun Frigate) notes that “…P.M. several Transports sail’d up the River with the Galleys.”

The log of the Galley Dependence notes for the 15th of October that “…made sail in compy 13 Transports…anch’d…Compy his majesties Brig Diligent Spitfire (Galley) and Crane (Galley).”

Contrary to many accounts of Vaughn’s raid by later historians, the only mention of major naval units is in Hotham’s letter of the 15th. Admiral Hotham gave the ships dispositions as being along the river, not with Vaughn and Wallace:

…They sailed yesterday [Wallace on the 14th ] and are now above the chevaux de frize [a defensive work in the river made of timber cribs filled with stone and sharpened logs put in-place facing down stream] off Pollepus Island, where I have placed the Mercury [20 guns] to secure the passage against their return, and the Cerubus [28 guns] being reported to me as only fit for river service takes her station off Stoney Point to scour that neck and to give her assistance at the same time to the camp an Verplanks; the Tarter [28 guns] flanks the approaches to Fort Clinton, and the Preston [50 guns] lies between the two, within signals of either.

Pointing further towards the lack of large men-of-war on the expedition was Wallace’s letter of the 17th of October, where he wrote from what he described as “Gallies & Armed Vessels off Ezopus Creek.” It appears from primary sources that Wallace’s “Flying Squadron” consisted of 3 armed Gallies, one brig and various other small craft while Vaghn’s men were located on 13 transports and flatboats.

Vaughn and Wallace arrived in the river off Kingston on October 15th : “We proceeded up the River destroying a Number of Vessels as we sailed along, without stopping till we arrived at Ezopus Creek…” (Wallace, 17th October 1777, Gallies & Armed Vessels off Ezopus). General Vaughn described his arrival off of Esopus (Kingston) in a letter dated October 17th:

I arrived off Esopus, finding that the Rebels had thrown up Works, and had made every Disposition to annoy us, and cut off our Communication. I judged it necessary to attack them the Wind being at that Time so much against us that we could make no way, I accordingly landed Troops, attacked their Batteries, drove them from their Works, spiked & destroyed their Guns. Esopus being a Nursery for almost every Villain in the Country, I judged necessary to proceed to that Town. On our approach they were drawn up, with Cannon which we took & drove them out of the Place. On our entering the Town they fired from their Houses which induced me to reduce the Place to Ashes, which I accordingly did, not leaving a House. We found a considerable quantity of stores of all kinds, which shared the same fate.

In a latter undated report he gave further reason for burning Kingston:

…I had a much greater inducement as the Congress and Mr. Clinton had taken refuge there that morning and its being a town notorious for harboring the rebellious people in that part of the Country.

While in Esopus, Vaughn received news that Burgoyne had surrendered, but he did not trust his source. He quickly moved as far as Clermont. Wallace in his report on October 17th stated,"By all our Information I am afraid General Burgoyne is retreated---if not worse."

Vaughn and Wallace continued raiding along the river until they reached Clermont, there the log book of the galley Dependence reported for October 18th that:

SSE 2 miles [wind condition] D[itt]o weather these 24 hours…at 4PM sent the Boats Mann’d and Arm’d to Destroy some Reble Store on Livingstons Manner. A.M. Lower’d Down the Main Yard to mend the Main Sail…

Clermont was burnt by Vaughn and his men. The burning of Clermont was reported simply by the Loyalist newspaper The New-York Gazette and Weekly Mercury of November 3, 1777, “Oct. 18 Another House belonging to Robert Livingston, Esq; on to Mr. John Livingston, with three others, destroyed in like Manner (burnt).”

The Dependence logbook shows that Vaughn and Wallace lingered in the vicinity of Clermont for five days awaiting news of Burgoyne. In his undated report, Vaughn detailed why he turned around the 23rd of October:

From the accounts I had received of his situation, I found it impracticable to give him (Burgoyne) any further Assistance; And as Mr. Putnam had taken post with 5,000 men on my Right, and Clinton or Parsons with 1500 on my Left, I determined to return to Fort Vaughn…

While Vaughn could not save Burgoyne’s army, he had wreaked havoc on the Hudson River Valley, destroying the town of Kingston and hundreds of other homes and crops and supplies destined for the American Army.

His final tally as reported to General Clinton:

Taken
14 Pieces of Cannon
150 Stands of Arms
12 Barrels of Flints
6 Sloops loaded with Provisions of all Kind &ca: &ca: &ca:

Destroyed
1150 Stands of Arms
44 Barrels of Gunpowder
80 Small Vessels
400 Houses, Barns, Mills &ca:

Losing an Old Friend: Trees at Clermont

2011-08-03T11:01:00.010-04:00

The spring and summer of 2011 has been a tough one at Clermont for trees. We've lost several large, historic ones to storms. We have felt a sense of loss with each one and wondered about this affects our historic landscape.

Sadly, our biggest loss came last week when two very large limbs were blown off the big maple that stood within 100 feet of the mansion. This tree has shaded the Croquet Lawn, framed our view of the house, and been a thing of beauty since long before I got here. But the loss of the limbs revealed a danger that could not be ignored: the tree was hollow for 15 feet inside. We consulted several tree companies, but the news was the same from each. The tree could fall at any time, and there was no way of knowing who would be under it when it did.

With heavy hearts we were forced to order its removal. For two days the air was ful of the sound of chainsaws and crashing branches as we bid goodbye to our old friend. The ivy alone was as thick as my wrist!

As hard as it is, losses like this are one of the challenges of maintaining an historic landscape. While we are trying to keep things "the way they were," plants grow and change and die. Trees that were huge when Janet and Honoria were children were dead and gone before New York State ever made Clermont a museum. The forsythia bushes that now brighten the edge of the Southwest Terrace with a tangled jungle were barely more than wisps in the early 20th century when the photo at right was taken (though the black walnut at the corner of the house was, and still is, absolutely massive).

The question of what should get cut back to resemble historic appearances or what should be preserved out of respect for beautiful old plants is a difficult one. Our policy up until now has been to replace significant trees with another of the same breed. Plants that are not historic to the 1930s (for instance, the two magnificent magnolias in the walled garden, which were planted a decade or so later) are kept until they die naturally and are then not replaced. It doesn't make us less sad when those plants go!

We are currently making plans to properly honor this tree and its place at Clermont. In the meantime, I just had to go look at the hulking trunk on the Croquet Lawn. It was true, the hollow area was large enough for a full-grown man to crawl inside. I counted the rings on the ramaining wood and got 84. Eighty-four years ago, it was 1927, the year John Henry passed away after returning from a seven-year trip to Europe. The fungus that was killing the tree had progressed only as far as the wood that was present during his lifetime. Strange coincidences happen every day, I guess...

Just a Facade: Changes to the Face of Clermont

2011-07-30T09:50:00.019-04:00

At Clermont, we welcome our guests at the back door. This isn't just because we like to be friendly. This is because our back door is the first one you come to, and we don't want you to have to go wandering all about the place just to get a tour.

With that big porch attached to it however, many people get a little confused and think they are coming in via a lovely front porch.

The front of the house actually faces the river, and if you think about the 18th century, when most visitors would come by the Hudson River, this only makes sense. The river was the super highway of its day.

The front of the mansion was of great importance, putting the Livingston's best foot forward, so to speak. It could welcome, impress, or intimidate guests, and it comminicated Livingston status and wealth throughout the house's 220-ish years of occupancy.
So there it is, the front of the mansion, with its Georgrian symetry, its stately roofline, and its quaint shutters with their moon-shaped cutouts. But Clermont, as you know, has been the object of many, many building projects, and the facade was not spared from the updater's zeal.

Clermont began its life in the 1740s as a Georgian structure, built by Robert of Clermont. It was a symetrical home with five bays (each window and door space across the front counts as a "bay." Five was ideal in a fashionable home). Ornament was regular and simple, primarily consisting of a railing across the top, with the attractive tall chimneys thrusting upward out of the whole structure. A contemporary traveler described it as "a Large BricK House on the East Side [of the Hudson River]." At right you can see the Dey mansion in New Jersey, built around the same time. This imposing block would have conveyed not only wealth, but a scientific regularity prized by the Elightenment and reflecting Classical Roman ideals.

Don't expect to see a porch on Clermont at this time. Porches were still a rarity on American homes--especially in the North. The idea of an "outdoor room" did not become popular in Western homes for another two generations.

Was it all brick? The north and south walls were reused after the burning 1777, and those are stone. In some 18th and early 19th century homes the front was given the most attractive and wealthy-looking treatment, while the back and sides might be given less expensive treatments. Arryl House, Chancellor Livingston's 1793 mansion next door, is built partially of brick and partially of stone, but was also covered with stucco and painted white. The More House (at right) at the Farmers' Museum gives you a good idea of this; the front is cream, the back is cheaper red paint. What was the case at Clermont? Unfortunately, without some more research, I can't prove it one way or the other. Either way, the house was dressed to impress.

According to family lore, Margaret Beekman Livingston rebuilt the house during the Revolutionary War and kept it the same as it had looked in the past. You can see it at left as it looked in 1796, with its grand staircase, pediment over the door (with fanlight), Palladian window, and no shutters.

At some point, whether during the rebuilding or later, Clermont's face went from red brick to white stucco. Incised with ruler-straight lines that immitated cut stone, this would have made a big difference in the overall impression. Cut stone would have been considerably more expensive than brick, and thus the move was a clever one to improve the house's image.

Margaret's son-in-law Edward Philip Livingston made the next big changes in the early 1800s. Here was his house, now 70 years old and looking out of date next to its airier-looking Federal competitors (think Mount Vernon). Over the course of several years, Edward Philip added a two one-story wings to the north and south of Clermont, maintaining the building's symetry. These were constructed using bricks made in Red Hook and stone quarried on the property. He (or possibly his son) also added a grand entrance to the front with a projecting square porch. Note that the door in this early illustration has a fanlight above it, but lacks the side lights that we have now.

In 1844, this porch over the front door got friends when Edward's son Clermont added two matching piazzas on either side. He also had his workmen chop the first floor windows right down to the floor, providing access to the piazzas and more light. This manuever gave the building a more up-to-date Italianate look.

The next major change was the addition of the large, pointed roof in 1874, shown here when it was still brand new. Now Clermont towered above the ground (though it was still dwarfed by the massive trees planted to sheild it from the noise of the railroad that now cut along the bottom of the bluff). Dark green louvered shutters now also adorned the house, offering shade on hot summer days.

Eventually, Clermont Livingston moved out of Clermont (the house), and left John Henry Livingston to enjoy it with his family. John Henry set to work right away, adding a second floor to the south wing and redecorating mcuh of the first floor interior.

What happened next was the biggest change to Clermont's face that had yet occured. In the 1880s John Henry added a massive front porch to the house. The porch highlighted the house's roll as a place for summer relaxing. It would have captured the breeze of the Hudson River while providing a deep shade in which to sit and read or even do some informal entertaining. The windows that had been cut to the floor in the previous generation were returned to normal height, and some French doors were added to give access to the porch from other rooms inside the mansion.

John Henry's impressive decorating masterpiece (the architect was actually Michael O'Connor of Hudson) obscurred much of the orginal staid Georgian structure with late-Victorian exuberance. So it is curious that just 20 years later he tore it all back down again in an attempt to return to the house's "Colonial" appearance.

While he and the rest of the family were living in Italy and gallavanting about Europe, John Henry was sending back instructions to do new work on his beloved Clermont. In 1925 he orderd "Blue Stone, for entrance to Livingston Home" at a cost of $1,650.00, and by 1926, that big porch was gone, replaced with the stone steps and lions we know and love now.

At this time he also switched out the old green shutters with the white paneled ones that are still there today.

The post card at right was sent from John Henry's daughter Honoria to her former nursemaid to show off the changes. The house had been transformed from the one Honoria grew up with!

Most of the many changes to Clermont were updates attempting to bring it into the current fashion trend. While the age and history of the building was appreciated, a need to keep current was the driving force. But this final consturction project of John Henry's (only a year before his death) was an act nostalgia, bringing the facade back to a state that more closely honored the way his grandfather Chancellor Robert R. may have known the house during the American Revolution.

But even this "retro" Clermont was a new face entirely, its door flanked by bright Federal-looking sidelights, its roof topped with a towering Chateauesque addition. Each generation left its mark, molded Clermont a new face, and tried to hold onto their legacy while keeping it looking modern.

To the Livingstons, the house remained historic even with all of the changes to the outside. To them, the history was inside. Everything else was just a facade.

Calamities of War: Part 3

2011-07-26T14:50:00.009-04:00

The Clermont Livingstons as Revolutionaries

The Clermont branch of the Livingston family began an active participation in the Revolutionary War almost from the beginning. Robert the Judge was a member of the Stamp Act Congress, and is said to have been the man who penned the letter of protest to King George. Robert the Judge also became involved with the Sons of Liberty movement in New York State. The intricacies of New York Colonial Politics are far beyond the scope of this work, but several good books on the subject do exist. Family tradition tells us that Robert the Judge’s father, Robert the Builder of Clermont, was a revolutionary:

It is intolerable that a continent like America should be governed by a little island, three thousand miles away. America must and will be independent. My son, you will not live to see it; Montgomery you may; Robert, you will.

Quote attributed to Robert the Builder of Clermont in Hunt’s Life of Edward Livingston, pg. 20.

Robert the Builder is speaking to Robert the Judge (his son), Richard Montgomery (married to his granddaughter) and Chancellor Robert R. Livingston (his grandson).

The quote is mentioned in several nineteenth century sources, although they vary slightly. While the quote is essentially the same in all sources, it did turn out to be a little too accurate. The builder himself died July 27, 1775.

The judge died December 9, 1775. Richard Montgomery died December 31, 1775. The Chancellor of course survived the war and did see an independent America. A rebel to end, Robert the Builder’s dying words, according to family sources, were: “Peggy, what news from Boston?” Peggy referred to his daughter-in-law Margaret Beekman Livingston, and Boston referred to the outbreak of hostilities at Bunker Hill in June, 1775. In addition to losing her Father-in-law, her husband and her son-in-law, Margaret Beekman Livingston’s father also died in December, 1775. In the span of 5 months, four family members were lost, three within 1 month. Even before she is forced to flee from her home and it is destroyed, for Margaret Beekman Livingston the war had many personal consequences. It is a tribute to her that she was able to supervise the evacuation of Clermont and had the strength of character to have it rebuilt. In addition to the losses before and during the War, the children of Margaret Beekman Livingston must have been a source of great worry to her.

Margaret Beekman Livingston had two sons directly involved in the patriot cause:
Henry Beekman-an enlisted officer in the Colonial Militia Chancellor Robert R. Livingston-had a commission in the militia, he also served in the Continental Congress.

Besides her two sons, two of Margaret Beekman Livingston’s daughters married military officers during the Revolution, and one married shortly after the war. Considering the fate of daughter Janet’s military husband, Richard Montgomery, this was an uncertain prospect at best:

Margaret Livingston married Thomas Tillotson February 22, 1779. Dr. Tillotson was a surgeon with the Northern army and was present at the Battle of Saratoga.

Gertrude Livingston married Morgan Lewis May 11, 1779. Morgan Lewis was an aide to General Gates at the Battle of Saratoga, and later a Chief Justice and Governor of New York. His father (Gertrude’s Father-in-law) was Francis Lewis, a signer of the Declaration of Independence.

Alida Livingston married John Armstrong January 19, 1789. John Armstrong was an aide and adjunct-general to General Gates during the Revolution.

Of Margaret Beekman Livingston’s ten surviving children, six were personally and directly involved in the fighting effort. Another son, John Livingston, was a merchant in Boston, and although he did not fight, he did help advance the rebel cause through his business dealings. Edward Livingston was only thirteen years old when Clermont is burned, so he was unable to contribute directly to the war effort.

Chancellor Robert R. Livingston was the family member most active in the Revolution. Due his prominence in New York, he occupied several important government positions throughout and after the war. In April of 1775, he was elected as a delegate to the Second Continental Congress. A year later, he was given the honor of being one of the five men chosen to draft the Declaration of Independence. Although Thomas Jefferson wrote most of the document, Robert Livingston’s inclusion on the committee would help insure New York support of the document. In 1777, he was elected Chancellor of the state, the highest judicial position. It was in his capacity as Chancellor that Robert Livingston would administer the oath of office to George Washington as the first President of the United States. Before there was a President Washington, however, America first had to win a war of independence. One of Chancellor Robert Livingston’s most important duties was to serve on a select committee of three men who were responsible for the defense of the Hudson Valley Highlands. This aptly named Council of Safety consisted of Robert Livingston Jr, Gouverneur Morris and John Jay. Many letters written to the Chancellor survive and offer first-hand accounts of the British moving up the Hudson River.

Gouverneur Morris to Robert R. Livingston. Written from Kingston 8th October, 1777:

Dear Livingston

Tis but too true that Fort Montgomery hath been attacked and taken. The Fort was lost for want of Men to defend it. If there had been 1500 instead of 700 of them and at Fort Clinton, we should have certainly repulsed the enemy. The attack began early in the Day upon our advanced ___ which consisted of thirty Men they retreated to where a small Field Piece with 100 men were forced to cover a gap in the Road here there was a very obstinate Conflict till the enemy drove us at the point of the Bayonet. The gun hounere? Was picked up before we quitted it after that a Twelve Pounder brought them up us before. About an Hour before Sunset after a demand of the Fort the Enemy made a general ____ and carried it until after dark. The matter was contested with the Bayonet for a full Hour. Numbers finally prevailed. The same scene was acted out at Fort Clinton at the same time. The Enemy had about five thousand men. Gen. James Clinton was wounded in the groin and Col. DuBois in the neck with the Bayonet. Under cover of the Darkness many officers and men escaped. The Governor is safe and writes that the Enemy have indeed got the Fort but he can assure us they have paid for it. I am told the Conflict was obstinately maintained in some of the Redoubts after the Enemy were formed upon the Parade. The ships Congress and Montgomery are burnt and Fort Constitution destroyed. Thus you see fortune changes sides but it is a common adage that Fortitude and ___ can fix the wavering Fair? Their campaign will be I believe very bloody. I have been told that Gen. Washington is on his way to fight Howe and Gates must now immediately attack Burgoyne or he may chance to get in the same ridiculous Situation with his opponent. I am certain that if gain a complete Victory to the Northward our affairs will wear a smiling Aspect Their ___ otherwise be very somber. I would have written by Edward but I must again assure you that I had no time today such a ___ may appear. The last I wrote was in the ___ Chamber during a Debate of some Importance in which I took considerable ____. The two ___ have resolved themselves into a convention which ___ hath chosen a Committee of Safety. The ___ adjourned for twenty Days. We are hellishly frightened but don’t say a word of that for we shall get our Spirits again and then perhaps be so full of Valor as to smite the air for blowing in our Faces. We fought gloriously below. The Militia behaved as well as they could do. We shall beat them. We should soon do so if we had as good officers as our Governor.
My Sincere _____Gouv Morris
The ladies should not be frightened if they can help it pray in my Name give them that Advice. I Can’t __ you to come over for I know how many Tears it would Occasion but you know what is proper on such Occasion. Again Adieu.

Although Morris’ troop estimates were significantly off (the British attacked both forts with approximately 2200 men combined), he did personalize the attack of the Forts for the modern reader. The quote on the terror being felt by Hudson Valley residents in the Fall of 1777 truly brings the war home. Modern Americans often look back on the Revolutionary War a golden time when all stood up to British oppression and won our freedom. Reading primary source documents from the period show it to be much more terrible conflict than taught in school. It is hard to imagine a hand to hand one hour long bayonet fight after dark, but the Militia defending the forts and British foot soldiers endured this struggle. In 2011 we live in fear of a terror attack, but in 1777 the threat was in their own backyard. Once the highland forts fell, there was little to stop Clinton’s army from advancing towards Albany. Every resident and family of the Valley who had committed themselves to the cause of Independence was now facing loss of life or property. Their sacrifice and struggle is what we honor, and it helps to remind people in these troubled times that the first Americans fought to establish the freedoms we enjoy today.

Letter from Gouverneur Morris to Robert R. Livingston written from Kingston 12th October 1777.

Dear Livingston

Yesterday we received an account from the Governor that a certain Daniel Taylor was taken on his Way from Clinton to Burgoyne who gave the Gov. Intelligence that he was to tell Burgoyne that Gen. Clinton had made himself Master of the Key to America and would soon assist him. That he removed the obstructions in the River and that Howe had beat Washington and that he hoped soon to meet him and the like. The Governor writes us this Morning that having Reason to believe this Taylor had a Letter about him when taken administered to him a very strong emetic calculated to operate as a Cathartic. That the Prisoner notwithstanding he was closely watched had Addoess (?) enough to conceal the most important Contents of his Intestines. Wherefore the Governor sent for him and threatened to have him instantly hanged and ripped open to divulge his Dispatches. He then delivered a Small Ball of Silver which he had before swallowed it was hollow and oval being unscrewed in the Middle the following Billet was found to wit

‘Nous y voici-and nothing now between us but Gates. I sincerely hope this little success of ours may facilitate your operations. In answer to your letter of the 28th of September by C.C. I shall only say, I cannot presume to order, or even advise, for reasons obvious. I heartily wish you success. Faithfully Yours H. Clinton.’

I send you a letter directed to you or rather than a Packet Whether from North or South I know not. Pray commend me to all friends and believe that
I am yours
Gouv Morris.

Here Gouverneur Morris was relating a famous spy story from the American Revolution. Daniel Taylor was later hanged by Governor Clinton, and his famous undelivered message was reportedly read to the victorious American Army at Saratoga after the battles. The silver bullet can be seen today at Fort Ticonderoga in New York State. The passage illustrates the difficulty of communication during the War. A spy or intelligence officer had to move through many miles of enemy territory just to deliver a message, and death was certain if caught. One must remember Burgoyne surrendered at Saratoga on October 17th, but Vaughn’s army did not have true word of the surrender until October 23rd.

Letter from Gouverneur Morris to Robert R. Livingston written from Kingston October 13th, 1777.

We have no News from the North or South of any Kind of Importance. Yesterday Evening the Great City of Esopus was alarmed by 2 Gallies (sic), one Schooner & one little Brig under the Command of Capt. Wallace, who hath graced the British Arms by firing two or three Mills. This alarm exhibited more of the Drolierie than the Pathos of Destruction. The good Dominie and his yefrow by the help of the pale and Astonished Antoine and the Gallant Mr. Bresh blowing between Resolution and valid Fear laded about half a ton upon my wagon and the eight of Them Children included were dragged dragged along slowly-before they Went Willy squealed, Sally bawled Adam played tricks and the Yefrow like Hecuba at the taking of Troy. Mon mon mon. The eldest daughter of Low at all times sufficiently affecting to the Sight but now bedewed with pearly drops stood a second Medusa. But why do I dwell on these things. It was by and all description. Adieu. I believe the Enemy will destroy Fort Montgomery & make an alarm along the River with their Gun Boats & attempt to march a little way into Dutchess and then retire to New York. I hope they may endeavor to make a solid impression. Again Adieu. Compliments to all from your friend. Sincerely
Gouv Morris.

Although somewhat difficult for twentieth century readers to understand, this letter contains several details. Three days before Kingston was burned, a small flotilla of British ships arrived and foreshadowed the city’s upcoming fate by burning some mills. The scene was so disturbing, that the Dominie (a Dutch religious teacher) decided to evacuate his school and family. With the help of his wife, the Yefrow (a German term for a woman), a person named Antoine and a Good Samaritan named Mr. Bresh they loaded up a wagon full of goods and children and prepared to leave the city. Little Willy squealed and little Sally bawled, little Adam played tricks and the eldest daughter of Low (the priest’s name is Low) was bedewed with pearly drops (i.e. she was crying). The reference to Hecuba at the taking of Troy was a reference to the scene in the Iliad where Hecuba, the Queen of Troy, screamed, wailed and pulled out her hair in extreme distress. Gouverneur Morris seemed to find the entire situation quite comical. His sarcasm was evident in the letter, and the term “drolerie” was a misspelling of drollery- a humorous situation. The scene was somewhat similar to the scene which will be repeated at Clermont a few days later. Adam still found time to have a little fun during the somber moment (he played tricks), just like Gertrude Livingston would find time to laugh at an obese slave woman when Clermont was evacuated. It should be noted, that Morris was a wealthy elite gentleman, and he may have been being facetious because he considered the overreaction beneath him. One should also note, at the time of the letter, Robert Livingston’s younger brother Edward attended the school of the Dominie in Kingston.

This time Morris was quite accurate about the future movements of British troops. The troops indeed did make an alarm along the river, marched into Dutchess county (Red Hook, Rhinebeck Flats and the Chancellor’s house Belvedere are all in Dutchess County) and returned to New York.

Is This Soda?

2011-07-22T10:17:00.008-04:00

This week I started a project to scan some of the many slides we've taken over the years. Along the way, I have encountered quite a few pictures I've never seen before, but none that piqued my curiosity so much as this one...

The Livingstons, particularly the last two generations, loved pets and always had a few dogs and cats around the house. As is sometimes the way with pets, a few of them met tragic ends, and the most heart-rending to me is Soda. According to a writing by John Henry, he was killed by "ruffians" in the nearby town of Tivoli.

Soda's story has long been one of the sad tales that we occassionally revisit. Once he was even part of our Legends by Candlelight Tours. His grave marker (shown at right) bears a prominent place in out pet cemetary within site of the mansion.

However, unlike many other dogs of Clermont, I have never seen a picture of this little guy. He died in 1901, five years before Alice (the family photographer) married John Henry and moved to Clermont. All I knew was that he was a Jack Russell terrier--the only one the Livingstons owned.

So when I came across this picture yesterday, I was very excited. Here is a Jack Russell Terrier, posed rather sweetly on the arm of an upholstered sofa.

Now, it could be any old photo of a dog, and not necessarily Soda, except for the fact that I am pretty sure (we'll say 90%) that that is the fireplace in Clermont's libary in the background. The ogee arch appears compressed, which could mean that it is a different fireplace entirely or could mean that this was taken a severe angle, creating that narrower appearance.

Unless I find the original photo (since this came from a pile of old slides) and hopefully find some writing on it, I can never be certain, but in the meantime, this earnest little face will represent to me that of John Henry's companion dog.

The Last Chance: The Sorrowful Tale of Nancy Shippen, part 8

2011-07-19T10:52:00.006-04:00

For Nancy, the whole of the summer of 1784 went by that way: bored in the country, worrying about her mother's health and her distant daughter.

In in July she wrote, "This day was still duller for it rain'd all day..." and in August, "This retirement begins to be very tiresome." But this boredom only floated on the surface of her emotional state. Along with everlasting concerns for her daughter (far away with her mother-in-law Livingston), her mother's long slow demise was taking its toll. Only two weeks later on September 11th, she wrote"Nothing can be a more distressing sight than to see a beloved Parent dying before ones eyes..."

In August and September, rides into town every few week became necessary to relieve the tension, and finally she moved back to Philadelphia to be in town through the winter. It took some convincing to get her mother to rejoin them in town: although she was once brought back in the carriage, she actually tricked the family and fled back to the country where she could be alone--only to be brought back into Philadelphia one last time.

Boredom or repetition or depression got the better of her. Her journal entries trickled to a halt by January of 1785. Fall dragged into winter, and in January, Nancy's husband Henry again visited Philadelphia to stir up her emotions. This time was to be different though. After three years of "Cruel absense," he offered her one last chance for reconcilliation. They met alone at his lodgings, and whatever passed between them offered Nancy hope. On her birthday, February 24th, she reopened her journal to write, "I now have a prospect of living happily with him & my darling Child."

Tired of waiting for news of little Peggy from friends and family, equally tired of living at 21 years old as her parents' ward (she had several times written about tearful arguments with her father about whether or not she could go out with her friends), she was elated. Nancy's three-year-old daughter was now walking, talking, and charming the dickens out of everyone she met--everyone but Nancy, who had seen her only a few times over the past year and a half. Perhaps this journey, which had been so long and so dark, could come to a happy end with Peggy back on her mother's lap and the Hudson River drifting lazily by outside the window.

In her merriment, Nancy came out of the seclusion she had been living in for months. Her social life picked back up, and she began again attending balls and hostessing dinners.

But Henry's manipulative cruelty brought this once more to a screaching halt. In March, he sent Nancy another letter, as usual bemoaning her cruelty towards him. There was to be no reconciliation. H was leaving Philadelphia. "I take my Paassage by Water in hopes some happy Accident may Rid you of a painful Restraint and me of My Woes," he wrote. In the letter, he references some perceived slight that Nancy dealt him, but with his track record of abuse, it is likely that Henry was using this simply as an excuse to dash her hopes for good. The blow was a hard one.

"I shew'd it to Papa & received his advice concerning it. This letter destroyed all my hopes," wrote Nancy. A few days later "..Supp'd tete a tete with Papa, who says he sees it will never do for me to return to my inflexible husband."

Nancy drifted through spring, summer, and fall. On October 15th she wrote:

Another Month is pass'd & no alteration has taken place in situation; I am however no more reconciled to it than I ever was...Now & then I hear of my Child--& some times for plans of having her with me, & as often am dissapointed. My Husband...lives in his old way trying to deprive his wife & lawful heir of their property by throwing it away on undeserving objects.

Worst of all, she was to be denied the legal separation that would have allowed her to finally marry Louis Otto, still waiting for her after all this time:

I have another new source of woe, for the authoriz'd separation that I have been so long expecting to take place, is given over entirely.

With that door shut, Louis Otto married two years later in 1787 to Nancy's best friend in New York Miss Eliza Livingston.

Was Nancy always to live as a child under her father's roof? And what was to become of Nancy's daughter? With her mother clinging to life through a deep shadow of physical illness and depression, her father doing his best to keep her from partying too much, and every plan she made to visit with little Peggy being broken again and again, the situation only got more hopeless as time went on.

Calamities of War: Part 2

2011-07-16T14:59:00.007-04:00

General Vaughn is sent north on the journey that will result in Clermont's burning in 1777...

The Course of the Summer Campaign Season of 1777

While Burgoyne’s Army of 7,500 men marched from Montreal towards Albany and General Howe moved to take Philadelphia with 15,000 men, General Clinton had been left to defend New York City and the surrounding area with a mixture of 7,000 British Regulars and Loyalist soldiers. Howe had left no orders for Clinton to cooperate with Burgoyne. It has been suggested by some historians that Howe started for Philadelphia so late in the campaign season (July 23) because he was waiting until he had information that Burgoyne’s army was not encountering major problems on its march south. Until this point, Burgoyne’s thrust south was wildly successful. He had taken Fort Ticonderoga (July 5) with hardly a shot fired and, in consequence, almost completely destroyed the American Northern Army which was forced to retreat all the way to the vicinity of Albany. Howe meanwhile, having embarked his men in transports July 23, did not make landfall until August 28 at Head of Elk (Modern day Elkton, Maryland) and then started moving towards Philadelphia.

General Clinton in New York was not fond of General Howe’s plan for the summer of 1777. He saw the taking of Philadelphia as a pointless endeavor. Clinton felt that with Howe so far to the south, he would be unable to cooperate with either him or Burgoyne. Clinton also feared that Washington would be able to concentrate rebel forces to either recapture New York (half of its garrison of 7,000 men was made up of 3,000 newly recruited and raw loyalists) or destroy Burgoyne’s Northern Army. As things progressed over the summer, he was to be proven correct in his assumptions.

Burgoyne had been optimistic of his situation up until mid-August. His army had advanced to Fort Edward by the end of July and he spent a considerable amount of time building up a supply base to facilitate his final push to Albany. Yet over the month of August, Burgoyne became aware that his great plan was coming to naught. Colonel Barry St. Leger’s column of British Regulars, Loyalist’s and Native Americans had been checked at Fort Stanwix by a stubborn American garrison. Even after winning a lopsided victory against a large column of American militia at the bloody Battle of Oriskany. Leger was forced to retire back to Canada when he received intelligence that General Benedict Arnold was approaching with a large relief force, causing his Native American allies to abandon his army. It was also at this time that Burgoyne became aware that Howe would be unable to cooperate with him from New York. Burgoyne’s plan had fallen apart, and the American forces in the north were now able to concentrate on his single army. Burgoyne was also encountering logistical problems and he lacked sufficient transport to adequately supply his army. To add even further to his woes, a large column of German troops and Loyalists from his army were crushed by American militia at the Battle of Bennington on August 16 while attempting to capture American supplies.

Yet under these circumstances, Burgoyne still remained optimistic that he could reach Albany. Over the 13th and 14th of September, he cut his communications with Canada and crossed the Hudson to move towards Albany. Even knowing that no juncture at Albany was certain, he felt confident that he could accomplish his objective. American forces under General Horatio Gates and Benedict Arnold had by this time constructed strong defensive positions at Bemis Heights just north of the town of present day Stillwater to check Burgoyne’s advance. On the 11th of September Clinton wrote Burgoyne (encoded within a message of mundane details):

…you know my goodwill, & are not ignorant of my poverty. If you think 2,000 men can assist you effectually [sic] I will make a push at Montgomery in about 10 days but ever jealous of my flanks: if they make a move in force on either of them, I must return to save this important post I expect reinforcements every day. Let me know what you would wish.

Clinton received a communication from Burgoyne on the 5th of October which had been communicated on the 20th of September, less than 24 hours after the Battle of Freeman’s Farm. The battle, while technically won by Burgoyne’s army, had come at a terrible cost of 600 British casualties. Arnold and Gates effectively stopped Burgoyne at Bemis Heights 30 miles from Albany. Burgoyne’s whole situation had changed drastically in the 6 days since he had so confidently crossed the Hudson River. Clinton received the following message via a conversation with a messenger, Captain Campbell, from Burgoyne’s army. The message surprised Clinton;

…that the General’s whole Army did not exceed five Thousand Men, that the Consequences of the battle on the 19th were the Loss of between five and six Hundred Men. That the enemy were within a Mile & a half of him, that he knew not their Numbers for certain, but believed them to be twelve or fourteen Thousand Men, that there was besides a considerable Body in his Rear. That he wished to receive my Orders whether he should attack or retreat to the Lakes…That he wished to know by a positive Answer as soon as possible, whether I could open a communication with Albany, when I should be there, and when there keep my Communication with New York.

Burgoyne replied desperately to Clinton’s coded letter on September 23rd:

I have lost the old Cypher, but being sure from the Tenor of your letter you meant it to be so read, I have made it out. An Attack, or the menace of an Attack upon Montgomery, must be of great Use, as it will draw away a Part of this Force, and I will follow them close: Do it my dear friend directly.

Around Philadelphia, General Howe, oblivious to Burgoyne’s situation and not in a position to assist Burgoyne in any fashion, defeated Washington’s army at Brandywine (Sept. 11) and Paoli (Sept. 21), and after much maneuvering moved into Philadelphia on September 26th. Washington counterattacked the British at the Battle of Germantown on October 14th. The battle was almost an American victory and caused Howe to send for reinforcements from New York which had a direct impact on General Clinton’s operations in the Hudson Highlands.

Clinton moves up the Hudson

As Clinton wrote Burgoyne on the 11th of September, he set into motion moving troops north up the Hudson to relieve some of the pressure on Burgoyne. Clinton had received reinforcements of 1,700 men direct from England and further bolstered his numbers when 1,000 men were offered to him from the British garrison in Rhode Island. In all, Clinton could spare only 3,000 men for his expedition. His troops consisted of the British 7th, 26th, 52nd, 57th, 63rd, 71st (one company) Regiments of Foot and the 17th Light Dragoons. His Loyalist forces consisted of the Loyal American Regiment, the New York Volunteers, and Emmericks Chasseurs. The German units were the Trumbach’s Regiment and a Grenadier company of the Anspach-Bayreuth Regiment. Clinton was also assisted by a Royal Navy flotilla under Admiral Hotham that consisted of a few ships of the line, galleys and smaller craft, and transports and flatboats to move the troops.

Clinton’s objective was to take the American Forts Clinton and Montgomery in the Hudson Highlands. While these forts were in an unfinished state, the terrain surrounding them was quite difficult and was conducive to a strong defense by a determined enemy. The American forces in the Highlands had been stripped bare to reinforce both Washington’s and Gates’ armies, and American General Israel Putnam had very few troops to oppose Clinton’s expedition. In the forts themselves, he was reduced to 600 militia and a small number of Continentals. The forts were in the command of Governor George Clinton and his brother James Clinton, in Fort Montgomery and Fort Clinton respectively. The landward defenses had been neglected as the rough nature of the terrain seemed to negate the possibility of an attack from that direction. In the region of Peekskill he had 1,000 Continentals and 400 militia. The numbers of Putnam’s forces may seem comparable to Clinton’s, but the militia was unreliable when facing the professional soldiers in the British ranks. Putnam himself is quoted as saying of the militia “…it would be damned unsafe to trust them.” A large chain that was laid across the river below the forts to hinder shipping going north augmented the defense of the forts. Further up the river another unfinished fort was scantily manned on Constitution Island opposite of West Point and beyond that lay another chain and chevaux-de-fris in the river. A flotilla of small warships further added to the American defenses.

On October 5th, Clinton landed at Verplanks Point taking that area after a brief skirmish. To keep Putnam confused, he left 1000 at the point and shifted the rest of his army to Stoney Point on the morning of the 6th. In a remarkable forced march of 12 miles through extremely difficult terrain led by Loyalist officers knowledgeable of the area, Clinton’s men positioned themselves to attack both forts at the same time from the landward side. At approximately 5:00 in the afternoon Clinton’s men attacked both forts. At Fort Clinton, General Vaughn ‘s 1,000 troops stormed into the fort using only the bayonet as ordered by General Clinton. At Fort Montgomery, Colonel Campbell pressed home his attack with 1,200 men. Campbell’s attack succeeded, but he was killed in the initial assault. Inside the forts, the few Continentals and the raw militia resisted as best they could against the determined professional British forces. Governor Clinton stated that his men fought “…with great spirit by Continentals as well as militia.” Inevitably both forts fell to the British with little loss while the Americans suffered 263 killed, wounded or captured and the loss of 67 hard-to-replace cannon. General Clinton in a letter to General Howe said of his losses, “Our loss was not very considerable excepting in some respectable officers who were killed in the attack.” Both Governor Clinton and his wounded brother were among those who were lucky enough to escape from the forts.

As night fell over the fallen forts, the small American fleet could not escape to the North due to contrary winds and was forced to scuttle itself on the banks of the river. Clinton notes this:

About 10 o’clock at night the rebels set fire to their two ships, Montgomery and Congress, some gallies and other armed vessels with their cannon stores &ca in them.

Another British officer gives a vivid description of the burning ships:

Flames suddenly broke forth and as every sail was set, the vessels soon became magnificent pyramids of fire. The reflection on the steep face of the mountain opposite, and the long train of ruddy light that shone upon the water for a prodigious distance, had a wonderful effect…the whole was sublimely terminated by explosions, which again left all to darkness. Charles Stedman (1794)

The following morning, on October 7th, General Clinton moved against Fort Constitution after attempting a parley for the fort’s surrender that met “…with an insolent reception unknown in any war, we determined to chastize, & therefore an embarkation under Major General Tryon, and Sir James Wallace with the gallies was ordered.” The British landed on the island only to find the fort abandoned, the storehouses and barracks burnt, and the cannon left behind intact to fall into British hands. On October 8th General Clinton (unaware of Burgoyne’s disastrous defeat the day before at the Battle of Bemis Heights) wrote Burgoyne:

“Nous y voila, and nothing now between us but Gates; I sincerely hope this little success may facilitate your operations.”

This letter was never destined to reach Burgoyne as the courier was captured and hung for espionage. Clinton staged several very successful raids into the interior from the river (most notably capturing and burning a large amount of supplies at Continental village on October 9th) while waiting to hear from Burgoyne. On October 14th, 1777 Sir Henry Clinton made a fateful decision to send an expedition up the Hudson River, in attempt to gather information about Burgoyne. This decision had a profound impact on the Livingston family and the entire Hudson Valley. Anyone who was not friendly to the Crown suffered, and the Clermont Livingstons were no exception.

Who's on First?

2011-07-09T08:54:00.009-04:00

Well Clermont's Old-Fashioned Independence Day is past, and I can breath a sigh of relief. As the most-attended event at Clermont, it is always one I am both happy and sad to be put to bed for another year. This year's event brought some new questions to my mind, and as part of my quest to de-mystify museums, I'm thinking I'd like to share them with my readers.

As has become a tradition, I helped three of my best and brightest (and most daring) guides into costumes and placed them in the mansion as historic Clermont characters: Margaret Beekman Livingston, Mary Stevens Livingston, and a servant I named Sarah Minkler who was drawn from an amalgamation of historic sources and people. The three ladies (Jane, Emily, and Jennie) were stationed in various rooms of the house to talk to visitors as though they really were women living in 1777 at Clermont. This is called First Person Interpretation.

We then set up an Open House so that guests could wander through the rooms at their own pace, exploring in any direction and encountering the characters for as long as they like.

But more than ever this year, it was hit and miss with our audience. Some people love it, some people are confused or even turned off by it. Thank goodness for my guides playing characters. Each one made their own decisions about which visitors to stay "in character" with and which ones to "break character" with to maximize their comfort.

The debate over the pluses and minuses of First Person Interpretation is one that has been raging amongst museum professionals for years. And at Clermont, gets a little more complicated.

Here's the biggest problem for us: as I have talked about time and again, Clermont is interpretted to 1930. That means we look the way we did when Calvin Coolidge was president. George Washington may have come to Clermont, but he never sat on the Duncan Phyfe sofa or read by the electric lamps. So when Sarah Minkler is talking to you in the kitchen about her father the loyalist, you might be distracted by the copper hot water tank in the corner of the room. It can be downright confusing what you are supposed to think in this situation.

Kids have no problem with it. They can pretend that a butter knife is a sword. Grownups usually want to be told how they are supposed to make the logic work in their heads. Why is the sword so short? Will it still "cut" you if I am two feet away? What are the rules and boundaries of this game?

I've seen the rules work very well. When I once visited Lindenwald's super-fun Candlelight Evening, the guide stopped on the steps to explain to us that the curators of the museum had transported everyone in the mansion into 2009 to visit with us. Unfortunately, the guide explained, their technique was imperfect, and the historic people had no idea we were there.

The rules are set, Van Buren and his friends are not going to talk to you so don't even try.

I liked this solution personally because I am a little too nervous to play act along with the characters. We both know you're getting in your Explorer and going home to watch TV tonight so let's stop the games.

This is not to say I don't like First Person. Quite the contrary--I love it! I love hearing what people might have had to say, and quite honestly, I love to see their cool clothes. I just need the rules spelled out for me, and I need a safe distance.

So here is what I gave to the guides:

Time Travel: We are all standing today in 2011, but some visitors may try to give you a hard time by getting technical about how you are here at Clermont today. Basically, for you it is Jul 4th, 1777, and you do not know what happened to you or anyone else after the war. This is not Clermont as you know it, but you are certain that you will be returned to your own time shortly. Essentially, Clermont’s curators have transported you to today in a time machine, but you’ll be going home tonight.

So why were visitors still feeling funny? I didn't give the rules to them!

Some years at Independence Day we have done these First Person encounters on a guided tour, and the guide will prepare people with a quick explanation (much as I have written above). During the Legends by Candlelight Halloween Tours, the house, the people, and the talk is all about 1921 so people know where they're at (so to speak). When the ghost of Captain Kidd is gesticulating wildly at you with a shovel, you know why he's not so worried about the electric lights in his face--he's a ghost, what does he care?!

Without these guidelines this year, people were left to figure it out for themselves, something that not everyone has the patience for.

So here is my promise to you the Clermont visitor: Never again will I put Margaret Beekman in the dining room, with furnishings she would never have seen in her lifetime, without explaining to you why and how she is there. Never again will you have to wonder if you should ask her about Andrew Jackson's portrait on the wall or why there is a velvet rope between you.

Instead, when you get to meet some of the many generations of Clermont Livingstons we are lucky enough to be able to interpret for you, you will be able to focus on their lives, their personalities, and of course their stunning clothes.

(Yes, that's me in my fabulous new 18th century costume from our Peebles Island Resource Center!)

Calamities of War: Part 1

2011-07-04T12:48:00.005-04:00

Before one can understand why and how British soldiers burned Clermont in October of 1777, an understanding of the progress of the Revolutionary War to that point is needed.

The War To 1777

The American War of Independence started on April 19, 1775 in the small Massachusetts’ towns of Lexington and Concord. From the initial small skirmishes of that day, the war expanded in a manner that shocked the British establishment. The Rebels, initially seen as no more than a rabble using unorthodox tactics, had proven themselves by standing up to the strict discipline of the attacking British Army at the Battle of Bunker Hill on June 17, 1775, a very costly British victory. The British for their part, had counted more on impressing the Rebels with a show of force than actually fighting them that day. In May of 1775, Ethan Allen and Benedict Arnold had also captured the strategic fortresses of Crown Point and Fort Ticonderoga on Lake Champlain. In September, the fiery General Arnold and the gallant former British Officer Richard Montgomery invaded Canada and pushed the British back to Quebec City. By January 1, 1776 the British only held Quebec City and Boston in the face of the rising Rebellion.

The Spring of 1776 dawned with the British government taking more seriously the threat posed by the Rebellion. Reinforcements were dispatched to Canada under General John Burgoyne to relieve Quebec and Lord Howe, now Commander and Chief in North America, evacuated Boston for Halifax on March 17, 1776. The Spring of 1776 was a dire period for British Arms as the initiative laid completely with the Rebels until these reinforcements could make their presence felt on the field. The subsequent campaigns in both Canada and the region surrounding New York City were very successful. The success at New York City forced the New York State Legislature to remove itself to upriver to Kingston. By the end of 1776, the Rebels had been pushed completely out of Canada by Generals Carlton and Burgoyne and into the fortifications surrounding Ticonderoga on the southern end of Lake Champlain. Lord Howe had executed amphibious operations that gained control of New York City, the lower Hudson River south of the Hudson Highlands, parts of New Jersey and Rhode Island.

Through these operations, the British had gained important base areas for their future operations in 1777. These gains, and the apparent loss of enthusiasm for the Rebellion amongst colonists due to these reverses, left the British government and the British Army in America feeling that a final victory could be achieved in the colonies during the coming year. Yet General Washington had gained a ray of hope for the Rebels by his surprise victory at Trenton on December 26th that led to the withdrawal of British troops from western New Jersey early in 1777. The British still remained optimistic in the face of these reverses and anticipated that the campaigns of 1777 would be decisive in bringing the war to an end. Historians point out that 1777 was the last year that the American Rebellion would remain an internal domestic dispute between the colonies and the Mother Country.

General ‘Gentleman Johnny’ Burgoyne and His ‘Thoughts For Conducting the War from the Side of Canada’

General John Burgoyne had served in North America since 1775. In that year, along with Lord Howe and Sir Henry Clinton, he had been sent to Boston to observe and help British forces in any manner that General Gage, then Commander and Chief, could devise. This ‘triumvirate of reputation’ had been picked by King George the Third because they were the best General Officers willing to fight the Rebellion brewing in the colonies. Many of Britain’s best officers were reluctant to fight what they saw as fellow Englishman.

The British were in a strong position to continue the war in 1777. Burgoyne had returned to England to lobby for the command of an invasion into New York of his own design from Canada. With political deftness and much scheming, Burgoyne maneuvered his way into command of the British Army that would invade Northern New York in 1777 from Canada. On February 28, 1777 Burgoyne submitted to Lord Germain, the Secretary of State for the American Colonies, his Thoughts for Conducting the War from the Side of Canada, which in essence was his own plans for invading Northern New York.

In Burgoyne’s ‘Thoughts’ he proposed a three-prong invasion of the Colony of New York. The three prongs would consist of an army moving along Lake Champlain via Lake George and the Hudson River or if necessary via Wood Creek to Fort Edward and the Hudson from Canada down to Albany; a diversionary force striking via Oswego to the Mohawk River to Albany; and, most important of all, the main British Army in North America at New York City under Lord Howe moving north along the Hudson River to affect a junction with the other prongs at Albany. Burgoyne’s main objective in his plan was to cut communications between New England and the rest of the colonies by controlling the Hudson River Valley thus cutting New England off from the rest of the Colonies. This strategy was based on a false assumption that New England was the main source and inspiration for the rebellion and that by cutting it off, the other colonies would quickly fall back into the British fold.

Burgoyne in this work anticipated and described many of the difficulties that he would encounter in his move toward Albany. He saw supply would be a great difficulty, but he was confident that Canada could supply many of his logistical needs (a confidence that would later prove unfounded). A reader of his plan has to admit that he had a very good grasp on the situation of Crown forces in Canada and what would be available for his operations as far as regular troops were concerned. Burgoyne over-anticipated Canadian support and the support that he would receive from Loyalist sections of the Colonial population in his area of operations.

This was an area of concern that would consistently be overestimated by planners in London throughout the war. Burgoyne saw his problems, but he greatly overestimated his army’s ability to overcome them. A further problem with Burgoyne’s plan is it failed before it was ever executed because Lord Germain never sent specific orders to General Howe commanding him to link up with Burgoyne at Albany. Burgoyne expected this juncture, but instead Lord Howe moved his army against Philadelphia, and left small forces in New York City. This breakdown in communication had dire consequences for Burgoyne as he moved towards a juncture that was not going to happen. Howe in the meantime had no idea that he had very specific orders to facilitate Burgoyne’s move to Albany. Howe was under the assumption that he was only to move north in the event that Burgoyne ran into trouble.

Bob's Folly Part 2: Making it Work

2011-06-24T16:19:00.005-04:00

Why then was Robert Fulton successful where so many others had failed? The answer might well be that Fulton had the great fortune of meeting and partnering with Robert R. Livingston. A descendant of Hudson Valley landed gentry and a product of the Enlightenment, Livingston dedicated over half his life to civil service. He served New York at the Continental Congress and was a member of the Committee of Five that drafted the Declaration of Independence. Like other men of his class, he wanted to be known as a scientist, a diplomat, a jurist, a farmer, and a politician. He experimented with fertilizers, animal husbandry, and exotic agricultural products. He patented processes to reduce the friction of millstones and to make paper from river weed. Of all his interests though, Livingston found steam the most fascinating. He built his first steamboat in 1793, and it promptly sank. Never one to be deterred, Livingston hired talented engineers to fix the problem. John Stevens (Livingston’s brother-in-law), Nicholas Roosevelt, and Samuel Morey were all still collaborating with Livingston when he was appointed minister to France in 1800.

While in France, Livingston met Robert Fulton, and the road to history began shortly after. Livingston had everything the keen young engineer Fulton needed. Livingston had been experimenting with steamboats for over twenty years, working closely with talented engineers. He was also the most powerful member of one of New York’s most powerful families. Livingston also had the ultimate ace in the hole, a monopoly on steamboats on the Hudson River. Originally granted to John Fitch, Livingston used his political clout to secure the monopoly for himself upon Fitch’s death. If Livingston and Fulton could build a boat capable of steaming four mph, Livingston’s monopoly would insure their legal protection from any competition.

Fulton was also no stranger to steamboats. A portrait painter, a canal engineer, an engraver, an inventor, he had dabbled in steamboat design and was most likely aware of the experiments of steamboat pioneers William Henry, John Fitch, James Rumsey, and William Symington. Knowing what previous inventors did right (and where they went wrong) gave Fulton an edge over his predecessors.

In 1803, Livingston and Fulton agreed to build a boat that would be the product of careful scientific development. Earlier inventors created a concept, built a full-sized boat, and fixed problems when they arose, “moving from mistake to mistake,” as one historian described. Fulton instead constructed a four-foot-long model, powered by two clockwork springs, to determine by experimentation whether paddles, endless chains, or water wheels would be the best mode of forward propulsion. After countless trials, he calculated water resistance, hull proportion, loss of power on the down or up stroke, and other variables. To test his conclusions, he built a larger, side paddle wheel-driven scale model. Finally, he ordered a 70-foot-long by eight-foot-wide boat powered by an eight horsepower steam engine and successfully ran it on the Seine River, near Paris, France, on August 9, 1803.

Flushed with success at last, Livingston wrote up a legal contract, stipulating each partner would provide half the funding and receive half the profits from their steamboat venture. Both men then remained in Europe for the next three years. Livingston pulled off the greatest land deal in history, the Louisiana Purchase while Fulton worked on naval contracts for the Napoleonic French and the Napoleonic-hating British governments, selling his “deadly” submarine to the highest bidder.

The partners returned to America in 1806, and work began on the steamboat. Fulton supplied the plans, garnered from the French experiments, and he secured a shipwright to construct a full-sized boat. Like all good captains, Livingston and Fulton supplied their boat with a name that would forever go down in the history books…they named their new craft “the steam-boat.” There was indeed no need for a fancier name since the boat was not only too small to be registered with the proper port authorities in New York , but was also the only working steamboat in America at the time. It operated for its first season as the steam-boat, although it was often referred to as the North River Steamboat or the North River (“North River” was the older Dutch name for the Hudson). Livingston and Fulton enlarged the boat during the winter of 1807-1808 and registered the improved craft’s home port as Livingston’s country seat on the Hudson River, Clermont.

The North River Steamboat of Clermont became the world’s first commercially successful steamboat, making the trip from New York City to Albany in 32 hours, fulfilling the speed requirements to maintain the monopoly. Inexplicably, Fulton’s friends, lawyer, and first biographer changed the name of the boat to the “Clermont” and the misnomer has stuck ever since.

History, of course, is written by the winners, and in the steamboat sweepstakes, Fulton clearly came out on top. John Fitch himself recognized the irony of his own failure, noting in his journal: “The day will come when a more powerful man will get fame and riches from my invention.” Fitch was remembered by many nineteenth-century historians as a failed inventor, a man who traded all his land to a local tavern owner in exchange for a daily ration of whiskey, a desperate (and ultimately successful) effort to drown out his life. Fulton is remembered as the man who invented the steamboat and changed the world. Robert R. Livingston once asked Fulton “who invented the steamboat?” Fulton’s response was telling: “[A]though the effect produced is new, the whole is composed of old parts and looks as though different persons who have attempted Steam boats [before] had tried the whole of them.”

Fulton never claimed he invented the concept, only the effect! His boat had the perfect proportions, the perfect engine, the perfect atmosphere, and the perfect fortune to be the last in series of a century of experimentation. When the Livingston-Fulton steam-boat sailed up the Hudson River in 1807 on that sunny August day, the steamboat was transformed from a crackpot idea to a necessity, and New York, America, and the world would never be the same.

Bobs' Folly, Part 1: Building Up Steam

2011-06-18T11:17:00.010-04:00

Former Clermont Curator Travis Bowman explains the beginnings of the Livingston Fulton steamboat...

Jonathan Hulls, the Marquis Claude de Jouffroy, William Henry, James Rumsey, John Fitch, John Stevens, Samuel Morey, Oliver Evans, Nicholas Roosevelt, Robert R. Livingston, William Symington, any of these men probably could lay claim to inventing the steamboat. Yet they are little known outside of their local advocates, a few experts, and some interested steam buffs. Everyone else knows that Robert Fulton invented his “folly” of a steamboat in 1807 and that he named the boat “Clermont.” But, there is much more to this story…

Imagine a time heavy with optimism. The old ways were gone, the slate symbolically wiped clean by the Revolutionary War. The fledgling Republic, though less than perfect, was full of promise and potential; America was a land where anyone could make his mark. Freedoms dreamed about in the Declaration of Independence, earned during the Revolution, and held inviolable in the Constitution gave America her confidence, and the American dream materialized as the nation was born.

The world’s first commercially successful steamboat was born from this optimism. But Fulton’s 1807 “folly” is the end of the story, not the beginning. The story actually began 2,000 years earlier when ancient Greek engineers and inventors first experimented with steam power. One of the earliest known references to the steam engine occurs in Hero (or Heron) of Alexandria’s book The Pneumatics. There, Hero described an “aeolipile” or wind ball, a basic steam engine that heated water in a copper globe and allowed steam to escape from two jets and cause the aeolipile to spin rapidly. Hero’s engine was considered an amusement and was never put to a practical application. Although other great ancient scientists periodically put steam power to limited uses, no records survive of their attempts to use it to propel a vehicle. With the fall of the western Roman Empire in 476 AD, scientists in western Europe lost the knowledge of its classical ancestors, and steam power would have to wait centuries to be rediscovered.

The steam engine reemerged for good in seventeenth-century England where industry and mining were gaining footholds and enterprising engineers were searching for labor-saving solutions. The Industrial Revolution and the steam engine thus went hand in hand, and bigger, better machines were needed to keep up with demands. Between the invention of first practical steam engine in 1698 and the development of Boulton and Watt’s rotative engine in 1781, faster and more efficient steam engines rapidly evolved. Although these modern steam engines were developed for mines and factories, almost as soon as they were produced, enterprising souls began conceptualizing how to strap one onto a vehicle and make it move.

Literally dozens of men created experimental steamboats in the century before the steamboat was finally “invented” for the last time in 1807. People wanted to invent, people needed to invent. Benjamin Franklin himself once called his era “an age of experiments.” Men of privilege believed in a debt to society, a debt that could be repaid through the advancement of knowledge. A curious mixture of altruism and vanity compelled the rich to tinker and discover. Nobility in the new nation was obtained not by birthright, but through capitalism. The combination of a strong work ethic and a good idea allowed even the humble to achieve fame and fortune. And in this ripe age of experimentation, good ideas were bound to happen.

A series of near-misses is the best way to describe early efforts at steamboat engineering. Inventors like Denis Papin (1707), Jonathan Hulls (1736), and partners Nicholas Roosevelt, John Stevens, and Robert Livingston (1798) built crafts that were simply not powerful enough to move effectively. Others, like William Henry (1763), the Marquis Claude de Jouffroy (1783), and Robert R. Livingston (1793), built boats that sank under the weight of their heavy steam engines. Still other inventors built working, practical boats that failed to attract a winning combination of interest or investors. This last group of “near-missers” included John Fitch (1785, pictured at right), James Rumsey (1786), Samuel Morey (1792), William Symington (1802), and Oliver Evans (1805).

Why then was Robert Fulton successful where so many others had failed? Look for the answer in next week's blog!

Trials at Home: The Sorrowful Tale of Nacy Shippen, part 7

2011-05-28T10:38:00.009-04:00

As if the strain of being separated from her child were not enough, Nancy was juggling other major difficulties in the winter of 1783-4. Three additional stresses were taking their emotional toll: she had a sick mother, estranged husband, and old flame to worry about.

Nancy's mother had been in fragile health since before Christmas, and she was often confined to her bed. "This morning I set in [my mother's] Chamber; & read to her. She has been sick for some time but is getting better," wrote Nancy on December 26th (before sadly acknowledging her daughter's second birthday). On Febuary 2, she wrote:

At eleven was much alam'd by my Mammas being taken suddenly ill...The symptoms of extream illness was so alarming yt I dispatch'd every body out of the house for papa who happen'd to to out yt evening. He came. She continued ill all night but recover'd towards Morning.

Though her father was a physician, nursing was women's work in the 18th century, and it was left to Nandy to ease her mother's discomfort in any way possible.

Nancy was often cut off from her friends by this situation because she could not easily leave the house while she was tending to her mother. "My dear Mammas health prevents me from seeing any body," she moaned to her diary. At least all of this time alone together seemed to build a stronger relationship between mother and daughter. They spent hours together when her mother was well enough to converse but not necessarily get out of bed. Often Nancy read aloud to fill the time. Other times they "had a great deal of conversation." Now she was beginning to see her mother not just as a parental figure, but as a person. "She is a woman of strong sense, & has a Masculine understanding; a generous ear, & a great share of sensibility."

Even in May, when she returned from her visit to the Livingstons in New York City, Nancy's mother was no better. She described her mother as being "in a very distressed situation." Mrs. Shippen was moved to a house in the country (near Germantown, PA) to convalesce. But only a week later, the situation had worsened both phyically and mentally:

Mama had a very bad night I was with her the greatest part of it. Towards morning being much fatigued I laid down at the foot of her bed, & fell fast asleep. She waked me in the morn'g by calling me...she beg'd me to hear her last request for she was not long for this world....would have sent to [Mount Peace] for my grand-papa but sawa plainly that her health was no worse, only her spirits much affected, & her imagination disorder'd.

The Frenchman Louis Otto (at left) was still a lingering presense in Nancy's life too. This was undoubtedly a bright spot in Nancy's life, but must also have added an emotional complexity: a dear friend, in whom she'd once professed a serious romantic interest was now back in her life while she was still married to the tyrant she'd left him for. How confusing!

They sometimes met alone in the Shippen parlor, once again playing the harpsichord and singing as they had when they were courting. "We sat alone about ten minutes & said very little, what we did say was upon friendship," she wrote in April just before she was to leave for New York. When her father came into the room, Louis Otto stayed only long enough to keep up appearances and then left.

In December they had shared some sore of intimate conversation when Louis Otto had come to tea. The letter he sent her that night was full of the old romantic language. "I thank you a thousand times my dear friend for your advice so full of Wisdom & experience...With how much tenderness do you deal with me!" he wrote her. She began to write often of her anticipation of seeing him or noting his visits. At the end of March she noted: "Received a letter this Evening from [Louis Otto]."

In May, Nancy moved out in the country with her mother when she received a visit from Louis Otto. It was to be a farewell: "I had not seen Leander for so long a time that I had a great deal to say to him; he told me that he sett off for Europe in a fortnight & then I lose in a manner a friend..."

Now without her Louis Otto, Nancy was left with her mother in the countryside feeling alone and abandonded by her friends and family.

All the while, the relationship with Nancy's husband Henry Beekman Livingston was becoming increasingly foul. His behavior was bordering on the bizarre at times. In November Nancy was too afraid to leave her father's house when she heard that Henry was slinking around Philadelphia incognito:

Sunday--I passed this day at home. I do not think it prudent to go out as I hear [Henry] is in Town...the other Evening somebody disguis'd came to the door and ask'd for me; he was told I was out--he ask'd where I slept--he was told...He ask'd several more questions concerning me & then left the house.

So there was Nancy, hiding in her house while the servants ran interference. Whatever had last passed between them had left Nancy outright "terefied at the Idea of seeing him." His rages had finally left her afraid her "life [would] be in danger!"

His two surviving letters from this period also show that he alternated betwee deliberately ignoring her and threatening her. His biggest leverage was the legal right to take baby Peggy away from her forever.

Nancy spent much of her time trying to divert attention from the persistent woes of her reality. Visits with friends and parties continued to fill the pages of her journal. But gradually, the trial at home and the extended absense from her beloved toddling daughter began to wear Nancy down. "Felt dull and disagreeable, very low spirited & out of humor--wherefore are there days that, given up to melancholy without knowing the cause, we are a burden to ourselves?" These words seem characteristic of depression.

What solutions could Nancy hope to find? The conditions of the marriage now had Nancy afraid for her safety and, worse that of her daughter. But divorce might give her one more chance to be with Louis Otto, but the social stigma was considerable, and if Louis Otto would not have her, she and her daughter would be left as dependents in her father's household. The road ahead looked increasingly muddy.

The Steamboat Belle: Harriet Livingston Fulton

2011-05-21T09:47:00.020-04:00

The romantic engagement of Harriet Livingston and Robert Fulton has become the fairy tale part of the steamboat story. But the marriage itself was nothing like a fairy tale, and it ended on a sad note for her children.

In August of 1807, Robert Fulton made his storied trip up the North River on his monstrous "tea kettle," the first practical steamboat. And according to Alice Crary Sutcliff, narrating some 100 years later, it was on this journey that, "Just before the boat was about to cast anchor off Clermont, the Chancellor announced the betrothal of Robert Fulton to his young kinswoman, Harriet Livingston."

Everybody loves a wedding, and this story has become part of the rich mythology that surrounds the historical turning point of the first steamboat ride.

Harriet Livingston was a pretty lass of twenty four years in 1807. One of the Manor Livingstons, she had grown up at the family's country estate of Teviotdale (shown at right) outside the present-day town of Germantown. She was one of nine children, though her father died when she was fourteen, leaving her imposing mother to see to them all. Nevertheless, Harriet was given a notable education; she spent two years in boarding school at the Moravian Seminary in Pennsylvania, which put her head and shoulders above many of the other girls she would have encountered. She was artistic, musical, and possessed of both lovely blonde hair and a fashionably-strong profile.

For Fulton she was a good catch. Harriet's second cousin was Robert the Chancellor (though she was actually the age of his daughters), and adding the seal of marriage to the business deals they were already engaged in could only strengthen the relationship. Fulton was also a bit of a social climber. He was born to a common farming family in Pennsylvania, and ever since leaving home with Benjamin West to learn portrait painting, he had been looking for new ways to improve his social status. Adding a Livingston bride to his pocket would serve that goal admirably.

For Harriet, 42-year-old Robert Fulton was a bit of a gamble as a husband. Those humble family beginnings would do nothing to augment her social status. His background as a painter and inventor were not yet earning him widespread fame either (though his tales of European art and paintings seem to have dazzled her). And with no Fulton family money to fall back on, she was banking on the success of the steamboat to finance her lifestyle and the lives of any future children. Nevertheless, the steamboat stood to make a very tidy sum of money very quickly, and she seemed ready to jump at it.

But when was the courtship? How did the two meet? What on earth brought them together?

These details seem to be largely lost to history. One story suggests that Harriet was among those invited to ride on the first trip of the steamboat in August of 1807 (making that engagement announcement the same day quite sudden). Some scholars refute the likelyhood of a bunch of ladies being brought along on the trip however. Perhaps Harriet was among those invited to celebrate the steamboat's success with dinner at the Chancellor's mansion on the evening of August 17. Perhaps other Livingston gatherings provided the setting.

Alice Crary Sutcliff's book relates the following:

An early newspaper clipping is authority for the statement that Fulton had previously asked the Chancellor, “Is it presumptuous in me to aspire to the hand of Miss Harriet Livingston?” “By no means,” the distinguished Chancellor is said to have replied, “her father may object because you are a humble and poor inventor, and the family may object —but if Harriet does not object,—and she seems to have a world of good sense,—go ahead, and my best wishes and blessings go with you.

At any rate, with Fulton having spent most of that summer in New York City building the steamboat, while Harriet was enjoying the summer at Teviotdale, it is unlikely that they spent a great deal of time together prior to August 17.

There wasn't much time to get to know each other after the experimental steamboat ride either. In October, Fulton left for Washington DC with his intimate friends the Barlows at their house Kalorama.

With little fanfare, the two were married on January 7 in the parlor of Teviotdale. Nowhere in Fulton's correspondance from this time are their mentions of any wedding planning. Harriet's brother Robert (married to the Chancellor's daughter Margaret Maria) was away in Paris, and even he simply received the news from the Chancellor as "I give you joy of the marriage of Harriet and Mr. Fulton." (He also, according to family legend, presented the couple with the Duncan Phyfe dressing table at right)

They moved into Teviotdale with Harriet's mother, and in a few weeks Harriet was pregnant and Fulton was "scurrying backwards and forwards between his mother-in-law's and Red Hook," rebuilding the Steamboat (as quoted in a letter from competitor John Stevens).

In April, when any morning sickness Harriet had would likely be subsiding, the steamboat (now called the North River Steamboat of Clermont) began making trips between Albany and New York City, earning the money that they needed for their growing family. And in June, Fulton began making plans to leave behind the Hudson Valley (and his mother in law) to stay back down in Wahsington with his beloved Barlows:

You have not told me Mrs. Barlow's plan for the Summer...Will she wait until our arrival and then form a plan? Say how shall it be ruthlinda [Mrs. Barlow]? Shall we unite our fortunes to Make Kalorama the centre of taste, beauty, love, and dearest friendship...

Harriet was not entirely forgotten in this lovey-dovey letter, though she seems like she is treated as quite the outsider in the group, "She [Harriet] is very desirous to know whether I think you will love her and I always tell her that depends on how She behaves," Fulton wrote at the end of the letter.

Soon after this letter, Fulton whisked Harriet down to spend the remainer of her pregnancy with the Barlows. Hopefully her "behavior" was enough to earn her their love.

On October 10 she gave birth to a son named for his father and his father's best friend: Robert Barlow Fulton. He was called by his middle name. According to Fulton, a few weeks later Harriet was "charmingly up running about, please to the soul, gay as a lark, laughing, singing, dancing, playing and plaguing my soul out while I am making these long letters and calculations."

But this seems to have been a pretty picture painted for the Chancellor. According to Cynthia Owen Philip, Harriet was ill for several weeks after the birth of her baby boy, and the household was closed to the tide of winter visitors, suggesting something was amiss. Perhaps having the two families share a household was not all that they had hoped. By February, Fulton was gently trying to extricate himself and his bride without hurting the Barlow's feelings. The Fultons bought a house in New York City and risked the blustery cold trip with a three-month- old baby in the midst of winter (they apparently made quite the pricey shopping stop, purchasing many pretty sundries for Harriet, in Philadelphia on the way).

They rented a large house near City Hall for $750 plus taxes. They found the appropriate servants and purchased a young slave woman (to whom he apparently promised her freedom after six years).

In 1810, Harriet gave birth to a daughter Julia (pictured at left with her brother Barlow), and in the summer of 1812 she was pregnant with her third child--though not too tired to give a "splendid entertainment" on the East River with a band and an eighteen-gun salute.

Things were not going so well between she and Fulton any longer, and money seemed to be the trouble. In July money arguments between she and her husband were coming to an ugly head. In desperation, she wrote a rather sarcastic and hot-headed letter to the Chancellor:

As my husband in his good nature and thoughtless was has been disposing of my property without consulting me...I must appeal to you for justice. Know then that when the Steam Ferry boat was commenced he gave to me for present pin money and future support of my Children in case of accidents the whole of the Patent rights to the ferry...Yesterday on claiming this right I was surprised to hear him say he had given you half of it and he was so delicate on this point that I am forced to negotiate with you.Say my dear Sir, have I not a prior right? in honor is it not mine?...indeed my heart is so set on it that your generosity must meet my wishes...

Money can really muck things up. Harriet was accustomed to income derived from passive collection of land rents, and she could not understand Fulton's need to reinvest his revenue in order to grow his business.

Not only that, but Fulton's affections were being lavished on his beloved Barlows. The couple had returned to France (from wence they'd originally come), and despite the distance involved, they continued to exchange gifts and necessaries on a regular basis. According to Cynthia Philip, "Ruth begged Fulton to send sugar because it was so expensive in France. She expected Harriet to buy English cambirc [a fabric] for her, since none was available there... Still, Fulton comissioned the Barlows to buy French carpets, chandeliers, dinner plates, and other embellishments..." But whenever Harriet got involved, the exchange never seemd to go right: the wrong product was purchased or requests were ignored. The relationship with the Barlows simply became an antagonism in her already dismal marriage to the dashing inventor.

Harriet gave birth to her fourth and final child in 1813. She was finally freed from her marriage when Fulton died in 1815, and Harriet found herself left to sort out Fulton's affairs. She had $9,000 per year left to her from her husbands will (this would reduce to $3000 per year if she remarried) and additional money for chid support. She and Ruth Barlow (the darling of her husband's affections) now quarreled over payment for the many articles he had asked for from France. Both women accused the other of attempting to sell the materials for profit.

Things seemed to be looking up for Harriet when, less than two years later, she married an "avaricious English charmer" named Charles Dale. They bought Teviotdale from her brother John, and set up housekeeping, but in 1820 the martgaged their country property and went to cavort about in England. They did not take her four children, but instead left them with a widowed sister-in-law in nearby Claverack.

They finally returned in 1825, Harriet died the next year, and her teenage children were left as orphans. Dale did little to care for them, and the only son Barlow (who was also the oldest) was left to fight for every penny to care for his sisters. "Money have they none," he wrote, "even to buy garments, & what I can save from my small sallary is by no means sufficient for even one of them."

Eventually, a governement settlement and decent marriage provided enough money for all three girls, thought Barlow died a batchelor at 32 (thus any living Fulton decendants do not share his surname).

The fairy tale engagement on board the first steamboat ride (or where ever it was originally announced) disolved into a miserable marriage for Harriet. And when she was finally free of it, she left her children and went to Europe to clear her head. In the end it sadly seemed to be her chldren who suffered most for the gamble she took in marrying Fulton. Left to scramble for themselves, Dale's final act of cruelty was to take everything of value from Teviotdale and order the servants to burn the rest. All the children managed to save from their mother was her harp, a few of her paintings and portraits, and some personal affects.

All of the high hopes and waving hats and handkerchiefs on that hot August day when the steamboat made its first journey up the Hudson did little for its inventors, who both died before a decade had past. And it did still less for their decendants who squabbled over the money and finally lost the monopoly that had promised to make the venture so very profitable.

In the long run, the people who benefited most from the steamboat were the many patrons and merchants who made use of the invention for shipping and for personal transportation. Although both Fulton and Livingston had hoped to improve their wealth with the project, it was their secondary goal of improving the lives of the public that was truly accomplished.

Another Peek at Arryl house

2011-04-14T12:58:00.007-04:00

When john Henry Livingston reaquired Arryl house in 1906, it was a very special day for him. Arryl house had fallen into disrepair since his father passed away in 1895. But now the Livingston mansions, Clermont and New Clermont (the old name for Arryl house), were reunited under one ownership. Alice snapped bunches of pictures of the Chancellor's old mansion as the family poked around and investigated the place.

Alice Livingston (John Henry's third wife) took so many pictures over the course of her life that it can be hard for one person to remember all of what is there. Thus, when I came across a slide of this old photo, I was excited. While I am familiar with the 1869 image shown at left, this new one is intersting. It gives you a different perspective on the long-lost mansion of the Chancellor.

It also shows some of the excitement of the acquisition of the building with about five people milling around and exploring, while a sixth, presumably Alice, snapped the picture.

There is John Henry holding his Boston Terrier Punchy. And is that Katherine to his right? If so, it would have been right before she moved to England, estranged from her father for reasons still unknown.

Since Arryl House burned in 1909, it is difficult to recreate a good picture of it in our minds. Every little snippet we get is cause for excitement as a way of recreating the lives of the Livingstons.

Poor Palatines

2011-03-24T09:30:00.015-04:00

I've recently been bombarded with interest in the Palatines recently so I'll see what I can do to add to the story...

The tricky thing about writing about Palatines at Clermont is that technically, they weren't really at Clermont at all. The Palatine settlement was made on Livingston Manor in 1711--before Robert "the Builder" ever got his piece divided out, built a mansion, and named it Clermont (that didn't happen until the 1730s and 40s).

Lots of times, people, especially geneologists, ask us whether or not we have records remaining from the Palatines. Sadly, we have very little here at Clermont, because the account books etc. that listed their expenses and payments were part of the perview of the Manor Livingstons and their desdendats--Philip the 2nd Lord and his progeny. We have no way of knowing where they went if they even survived (To me it always seems a funny thing to keep, really. It's not unlike holding onto you grandfather's check register from the back of his checkbook--not very interesting until several generations down the line).

At any rate, in 1711 3,000 or so "Palatines" were settled on Livingston Manor by Queen Anne in the area now known as Germantown. You can see it marked on the map above as a white rectangle in the midst of the yellow and orange. They were only a portion of the 10,000 people who had shown up in England starting in 1709. The other 7,000-10,00 remaining were either settled elswhere in the British Isles or staid near London, having depleated all sources of spare income just to get there in the first plase. They were passing themselves off as refugees from the war-ravaged Palatinate region of the Rhine Valley, but according to the recent book Becoming German: the 1709 Palatine Migration to New York, a large portion of these immigrants were not Palatine at all. They were also from neighboring regions including Nassau-Weilburg, Pfalz-Zweibricken, Wurttemberg. They were following the suggestions and promises of a travel manual they referred to as "The Golden Book," which suggested that Queen Anne would give Palatine refugees free passage to America (this was an overstatement on the book's part). After years of warfare had damaged the farming landscape and a the brutal winter of 1708-09, packing up and heading for greener pastures was an appealing idea.

The people who came to New York were mainly farmers with a few craftsmen thrown in for good measure. They were mostly families looking for better opportunities to escape their borderline poverty. So once the English government paid for these 3,000 people to get across the Atlantic and set them up with land and houses, what were they going to do with them?

The plan was to have the Palatines make naval stores, which would repay the English crown for their passage and care. Robert and Alida Livingston agreed to use some of their land (that future Germantown and Cheviot plot) for the project; the crown would get a deal on the land, provided they came up with a good price for the food. About two thirds of the total "Palatine" population America wound up here at East Camp, while the others headed across the river for the creatively-named "West Camp."

Once in East Camp in the fall of 1710, they were given 40 X 50 plots of land on which to build shelters. These plots were frightfully small to a group of people who expected to use it to supplement their foodstuffs with farming. The crown's plan was to supply them with food so official opinion was that the settlers had all they needed. They would be given 40 acre plots once they had repaid their debt, and they should be happy with they'd been given so far.

As usual with government-run programs in Colonial New York however, it was fraught with mismanagement. Supplies meant to aid the settlers in establishing their new farm were lost when the ship carrying them was sunk off Long Island. The settlers were also farmers and tradesmen, skilled with plowing, food processing or barrell-making. Boiling tar and cutting masts were a new, difficult, and probably distasteful set of tasks.

Then money meant to pay the Livingstons for grain that would feed the Palatines did not arrive. Politics in England saw to that. Without it, Alida, overseeing the project while Robert was away in Albany, was unwilling or unable to supply them with adequate food. In July of 1711 she wrote"I see that there's no money; no money [has] come out of England yet, and God knows whether money will turn up there." Soon her creditors were knocking on her door "I hope you bring the money laong, otherwise you will have an uneasy life from whom you have grain," she wrote a few days later.

Soon 300 Palatine men were sent off with the Manor Regiment to assist with the French and Indian War. Of course, they had to take food with them so not only were they leaving their wives at home alone with the kids (possibly against their wills), they were taking the food out of their mouthes to do so. The remaining families began to kick and scream for food. "There is a great crying among the wives and children that their men have gone and have no bread or beer."

Since May, the meat had been of deteriorating quality: "I never saw salted meat so nor packed with so much salt as this Pork was. In truth one eight of it was salt," wrote Governor Hunter. They complained that the loaves of bread were smaller than they were supposed to be. The quality of the beer was irregular at best. Milk was in short suppply. Then the apples ran out in August, about which Alida had great concern.

By late summer, things just got worse and worse. Several "negroes" had run off. Some Indian relations had turned ugly ("they had shot to death 8 Indians before they got David Kittele's house."). At the end of July they rioted and came for the baker, Kas. "I long for you to come here. I can not stand the crying of the people so they call for bread and beer," wrote Alida on August 7.

Through October 1711 things quieted down a little bit, but in November money had still not arrived. "I have now received the sad news that the bills of the Palatines are not paid which upsets me very much that we are so unfortunate," wrote Alida. "That we are so unfortunate"!? What about the Palatines who had hungry children crying and no reliable way to feed them? People were dieing; their losses were being recorded in the ledger.

To top it all off (from the English point of view), the Palatines were not doing as good a job as expected on those naval stores. "I myself have observed that where by mistake the trees have been first rinded on the side where the sun's heat had most influence, the ground near it was filled with turpentine drained by it from the tree," wrote Hunter in 1712.

In September of 1712, the axe fell. In fall, with little or no time to prepare foodstuffs for the winter, the Palatines were released from their contract and left to fend for themselves. They were left scrambling. Many scattered about neighboring settlements, looking for work that would pay enough to feed their fmailies. Some staid put and tried to muddle through the best they could. According to author Walter Allen Knittle, "During that winter without government aid their suffering was particularly pitiful." (Early Palatine Emigration).

During the next several years, they each sought a place in what they had believed was to be their Promised Land. Some went to New Jersey or Pennsylvania, others pushed into the Western Frontier in the Schoharie Valley.

Many staid put in Livingston Manor, accepting the rather demanding terms and stipulations of an endenture here. Some of the names of those who staid can be followed through local history, the Lascher family, who helped to rebuild Clermont in 1780, in particular (also the original builders of the Stone Jug, pictured at right).

Out of the Ashes: Rebuilding Clermont in the Revolutionary War

2011-03-15T10:12:00.008-04:00

The burning and subsequent rebuilding of Clermont is a pivotal moment in the site's history and earned Margaret Beekman Livingston the love of every successive generation. Building a house is never simple though, especially not in the middle of a war...

In October of 1777, Margaret Beekman Livingston was facing a second dismal winter at Clermont, far from the merry social. She had been cut off from her New York City townhouse since September of the previous year when the English army had taken control of the city (who knew what condition the place was in now!). Her unmarried daughters, (the oldest of whom was Catherine at 25) were thinking about their unused dinner dresses while they processed nuts and fruit and other winter foodstores in the large basement kitchen, and her 13-year-old son Edward was doing his best to keep up his education during the busy mess of the on-going war.

When Gouvernuer Morris's letter of October 13th arrived however, everything was halted and thrown into disarray: the English army was advancing up the river and was currently attacking Kingston. On October 15th, it is likely that Margaret could see the smoke and possibly light from the flames as General Vaughan burned the town, and she wasted no time in speeding her family out of harm's way in Connecticut.

General Vaughan arrived just two days later on October 17th and burned everything at Clermont that he could find: some two dozen outbuildings, the Chancellor's mansion, and the main mansion. The home where Margaret had shared her life with her beloved and recently-deceased husband was left in a charred pile of ash.

At the beginning of April, when the snow of one of the worst winters in years had melted and the mud had begun to dry out, Margaret was back at Clermont with the intention to rebuild. On April 11, 1778, the Chancellor wrote to his younger brother John in Boston, "Mama left us this morning to return to Clare Mont where she has put up a hut & spent the great part of last week."

It cannot have been an easy time. As she crested the hill returning home from the east, she would have been treated to the site of the chimney first, still standing but blackened after the blaze. In fact both of the chimney walls still stood, cradling a blackened mess of timbers, furniture, family portraits, silver, and fine dishes. Not only had she lost the memories and the moveable wealth once contained in the mansion, she had no home to call her own in the forseeable future. (note that the picture at right shows an 18th century structure burned in Midway, S. Carolina during the Civil War--Sadly, Peggy did not snap me a photo of Clermont in 1778)

We've always given her a lot of credit for rebuilding during the war, which she certainly deserves, but her choices were few. Margaret had several children to shelter, and she was still cut off from her house in New York City. If she hadn't rebuilt somewhere on her property, she'd have been forced to rely on friends and relatives to shelter them until the war was over or attempt to buy or rent something at a point when the market was simply a mess.

But rebuilding during the war was going to be a challange. Materials were scarce, and cash money was still more so. The war interupted trade, deepening the recession that had affected the northeast for several years, and many finished goods that the Americans depended on were produced outside the country. Taxes and wartime inflation were also rampant, further diminishing her resources. Margaret complained that she was being driven "almost to want" by the financial situation, and in June of 1778 the Chancellor complained that he was "now laying out as much in building a paltry farm house as would formerly have built me a palace."

Labor was one of the hardest resources to come by. Many of the skilled and unskilled men that Margaret would otherwise have hired were currently serving in the Manor militia. In the same letter quoted above, the Chancellor complained of a lack of leisure, of materials, & workmen." Margaret simply did not have the know-how or physical ability to build a house--let alone a mansion--on her own.

It was perhaps the height of entitlement that lead Margaret to her next course of action. She began to petition Governor George Clinton to release men from the Manor militia to rebuild her home. While the Continental Army was struggling to retain its members, and manpower for the Glorious Cause was getting weaker by the day, here was Margaret trying pull nearly a dozen men back to Clermont to rebuild her house.

To be fair, three of her sons were currently working to support the cause, and her eldest daughter had sacrificed her husband so maybe she thought she was owed a little support. The men she requested were also tenants from her lands, and she may have felt that they were her labor force to begin with.

In any case, Governor Clinton was unwilling. On April 16 he wrote to the Chancellor, "I have not granted any exemptions to workmen employed by the people who were burned out last fall nor do I think it would prudent until the drafts for filling up the Continental battalion are compleated. When that is done I will chearfully furnish you and Mrs. Livingston with your full Proportion." You have to give him some credit: it must have been hard to turn down a request from one of the richest families in the state.

No was not an acceptable answer. The letters continued, until Clinton broke down and gave Margaret several workers to rebuild a "Farm House." We don't know where this farm house was or what it looked like sadly, but it would have been a secure place in which to house herself and family temporarily. (The Hermance farmhouse from nearby Red Hook is pictured at right.) But a farm house was not enough, and once it was done, Margaret wanted her mansion back.

In November she wrote again:

Sir,

As you were so Abligen as to indulge me with an exemption from military Duty for my workmen, who were Imployed in Building my farm house, I am incouraged to request the same favor for those to be imployed in rebuilding my late Dwelling House--Many hands must necessarily be ingaged as the House is pretty large, such as Masons Carpenters Brick Burners Labourers & Stone & Lime Breakers & Burners. I hope for an exemption for the present for my Stonebreakers & Lime Maker, who are the Conrant Lesher Junr. & Henry Timmerman, both in Capt. Tiel Rockaveller's Company of the Camp [Germantown]--also for Phil. Shultas under Capt. Phillip Smith of the Manor--as a Labourer...

Give them an inch, and they'll take a mile.

At some point Margaret got her men, and work was begun rebuilding the mansion.

They began by using dirt to build a ramp out of the large trash-filled pit that had once been Clermont's basement. Then heavy charred timbers and bits that had once been valued goods were dragged out and hurled onto the hill in front of the house (this subsequently provided a rich archeological layer that we explored when the HVAC bunker was put in some years ago).

Work continued for several years, but the Livingston family moved into the more spacious and elegant accomodations as soon as they could. In June of 1782, Margaret wrote that "I am obliged to leave finishing the house for want of seasoned plank & an hand rail to finish my stairs." Nevertheless, the previous month she had entertained Mrs. Washington at the house, though the finest bedroom to spare was yet in the basement.

Margaret is often heroicized for her role in the rebuilding of Clermont, but the decision was more complex than simply thumbing her nose at the British. Cut off from her resources in New York City, Margaret was in need of a place to shelter her family through an uncertain period of time until the war was done. This place needed to be of adequate quality for their elite station so any little farmhouse would simply not do. Image was still important. Immediately after beginning to rebuild the house, Margaret's account books show that she was back to purchasing the fine things that would adorn her family and their lives (shoes, gloves, etc), and the archeological record show that the family was also resupplying themselves with appropriate ceramics for tea and dinners (like the above 1760s Chinese export porcelain plate from the Van Cortlandt House).

Whether or not she was guided by need, the process was not an easy one. While others around here were struggling to get luxury goods like tea and more basic ones like pins, Margaret was fighting for the laborers and supplies needed to build a home (finished wood, crown glass, nails, etc). Margaret's decision required perserverence and fortitude, characteristics which it appears she had in spades.

By way of thanks, her children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren passed on the stories of Margaret's deeds until the story of rebuilding has become a refrain that is inseparable from the story of Clermont. And doesn't she deserve it?

The Chancellor's "Ride"

2011-03-01T15:20:00.005-05:00

Reading historic documents can involve a little bit of detective work. The writers and receivers were accustomed to terms and slang that have fallen out of use today, and looking those up can enhance the meaning--even when it seems a trivial side trip.

This was the case when I was perusing fifty years of Livingston correspondance for information about Margaret Beekman Livingston. It's an often-tedious process decyphering two hundred year old script (see below for an image of Thomas Jefferson's handwriting).

The Chancellor's brother John had excellent handwriting though! So when I came across letters of his, I was pleased to read them in their entirety, whether or not they pertained to my research goals.

And so I came across a letter from John to the Chancellor on March 14, 1782. John was in Boston and conversing regularly with the Chancellor who was down with Congress in Philadelphia (while his mother sent him guilt-trip letters about coming to visit her at Clermont).

In it was a rather convoluted paragraph about John loaning his brother a "phaeton." It was in Boston with John, but the Chancellor seemed to have need of it in Philadelphia. There is talk of sending it to Clermont where the Chancellor will pick it up, or maybe sending it to the Chancellor directly in Philadelphia.

A "phaeton"? I had to look this one up. According to the Georgian Index, a phaeton is

A light four-wheeled carriage with open sides in front of the seat, generally drawn by one horse. The term was first applied to classify a carriage during that 18th and early 19th century period in France when it was so fashionable to use classical pseudonyms. Usage of the term spread quickly to England and America. There are few distinguishing characteristics that can restrict the use of the term -- perhaps only that it is an owner driven vehicle with no coachman's seat and that it nearly always includes some sort of top that would shelter, at least, the driver.

So the Chancellor was trying to borrow his brother's sporty little carriage!

A diverse body of carriages exhisted in the 18th and 19th century in the same way that we differentiate between SUVs, station wagons, and cross overs. The Chancellor did own another flashy carriage with a postilion at the head, and he probably would have owned a variety of utilitarian vehicles for use on the farm. But in this one instance he needed something extra-showy to drive himself around Philadelphia where the other Revolutionary hoi paloi were showing their stuff. I suppose he had to compete with Benjamin Franklin parading around town in his extravegant sedan chair (this one is English, from Eaton Hall).

Apparently the carriage served its purpose and went back to John in May or June. On June 4, the Chancellor's mother wrote him "you say you sent John['s] pheaton but I suppose you mean to Boston as it is [not here.]" Perhaps driving himself around was not as fun as he had hoped.

SilverWhere?: Place Settings in History

2011-02-19T09:02:00.022-05:00

Forks and knives and spoons--oh my!! From the first time I saw the movie "Pretty Woman," I knew that a formally-set table was something intimidating. You use what, when? In the movie, there's something in there about counting tines on the forks, and then the tutor in the scene breaks down and advises Julia Roberts to just "work from the outside in." Then I went graduate school and was given the additional advice to hesitate and watch what other people were doing (hopefully inconspicuously). Even a young George Washington was concerned with this issue when he copied out dining rules from 100-year-old etiquette manuals. It's an old story: how does the upwardly-mobile, but socially ignorant diner fit into a high-society dinner?

But what about the upwardly-mobile hostess? The presentation of that intimidating dinner table was something that required equal or greater effort than just selecting a fork. How many forks were suposed to go there in the first place? Centerpieces aside, the question is, "where does all that silverwear go?" (It is worth adding here that servants, especially butlers, were the ones asking this question in some time periods and social circles).

It's a question that has been asked throughout history, and there are as many answers as there are sources. The Festive Tradition: Table Decoration and Desserts in America, 1650-1900 , my new favorite source on the matter, has an impressive assortment of diagrams to inform the curious. I raided some historic magazines and books on my own shelves as well, and here is what I found.

Things started developing into a pretty recognizable form by the beginning of the 18th century, when forks were making it onto the scene and napkins were increasing in popularity and availability. Early on in the process, the stalwart dinner fork got put on the left side and staid there. Bless its little heart. You can always count on the dinner fork. You can see it at left even in the Thomas Rowlandson satirical cartoon of 1788. The fellows in the picture may look like uncultured slobs, but at least they know where the dinner fork goes.

But then the dinner fork had children. Many of them. Their names were Shrimp, Oyster, Pickle, Salad, Fish, Pastry, and Dessert (1935 illustration at right). And there were more too, but we can only follow so many of Fork's offspring. In the 18th century and early nineteenth century, it was the proliferation of dishes that made a meal notable. According to Festive Tradition, "...it might take several servants up to twenty minutes to carry in all the dishes to the the table." With meals served in only two or three courses, and different forks for each food, you couldn't really "work from the outside in." Knowing the use of each fork was a bit tougher, perhaps with the exception of dessert forks, which showed up alone at the end of the meal.

But then in the mid-to-late nineteenth century, we started dining a la Russe, meaning that each type of food was served in its own course, and the table didn't have to be reset between all of them. All the forks showed up on the table at once, and it was up to the hostess or butler to know which order the meal was coming out in so that the silverwear could be arranged accoridingly.

Thankfully for everyone, in the 20th century, we got a little bit more casual about our dining, and the number of forks on most fancy tables decreased. Even a 1906 Christmas table set on the right shows only one fork. Ladies Home Journal apparently let you off easy. See above photograph for a departure from this from Alice Livingston's 1935 copy of Table Service and Decoration. At left you can see an image a formal table from the same book however which shows only four forks, neatly arranged in order of use. Don't miss that wiley shrimp fork on the right. It can't be trusted; it moves around.

What about the Knife? It seems trustworthy enough. Predating the fork, this old codger was once used as the major dining implement of the well-bred. You stabbed your food with the tip of it and gently brought it to your mouth that way. There it is in an 1825 instructional illustration on the left. You'll notice that the blade points in. This is important. You can also see the blade pointing in on the Thomas Rowlandson image from 1788 and the 1935 photograph above. It is as constant as the Northern Star. Knife could even show up on the dessert table as shown in the 18th century image below (with the spoons). Even when the knife was not in its usual place to the right of the plate (as shown in the 1860s Godey's Ladies Book image at right), the blade pointed toward the plate.

The Knife's cousin, the Carving Knife, hung out nearby in the eighteenth century when the proliferation of dishes included multiple large meat dishes. Then several carving sets were dispersed around the table, and the diner nearest the roast mutton, for instance, was responsible for artfully carving it up. The Knife also had a pal named Butter Knife who came and went later on in history (my quickresearch didn't find any before the 20th century, but please correct me if I've missed one). Butter Knife usually had a safe home lying diagonally on the bread plate above and to the left. He was a bit of a loner.

So what of the spoon? The lowly Spoon, the first utensil most Western children learn to use. Sadly, it could not be trusted either. Spoon was a social butterfly. It made friends and moved around the table, even diverging from the strict perpendicular orientation of the other flatwear.

Like the knife, the spoon was specialized early on. Traditionally, the table spoon belonged on the right, outside the knife, the convex part facing up (oposite of modern day). It flipped over somewhere in the middle of the eighteenth century and remains concave part facing up still today.

Serving spoons of various sizes could be found all around the table in the serving dishes of course. Salt spoons could also be found on the 18th century table before salt began to be served in shakers. Several salt cellars, adorned with their own spoons would be located around the elgant table to make it easy for each diner to reach this expensive flavoring. But the soup spoon was a bit of a migrant. It could sit still further to the right or it could travel up above the plate and lie paralell to the edge of the table. Still worse was the Dessert Spoon who came out with the elite dessert team and could sometimes be found at a hazardous diagonal orientation (seen at left). By 1935 Alice's Table Service book also describes tea spoons, iced tea spoons, jelly spoons, olive spoons, orange spoons, ice cream spoons (with tines like a spork) and the 5 o'clock tea spoon (very closely resembling the cereal spoon).

The real show-off at the table turned out to be the Napkin. Perhaps it was because it was doomed to be tucked 'round the diner's neck (or eventually in their lap) to suffer as a sheild against sloppy oysters, butters sauce, and meat juices, or perhaps it was because of its humble name (in the 18th century, the word napkin refered to any small cloth, including a baby diaper). In any case the Napkin meandered around the place setting, trying out different places and appearances from early on.

The Napkin stared its life pressed to have sharp square fold that would match similar folds on the table cloth. Later, it could be dressed up with a silver napkin ring starting in the 19th century, as seen in this detail of the 1860s Godey's image. At various times, the Napkin could conceal a hot dinner roll, as seen at right in this late 19th century illustration.
Most flamboyently, the napkin could become a sculpture folded artfully on each diner's plate, as seen in the 1891 image at left. It continues to hang out on the plate in this manner at many fancy meals today. Folding instructions of all sorts are written down, shared, or kept secret as needed. Still on its humblest days, the napkin returns to basic folds beside or underneath the fork or even resting peacefully on the plate.

Indeed it seems that the only constant in this whole place-setting debacle is the Plate. It waits right in the middle of the party every time, just waiting for its helping of meat and potatoes. Sometimes it shares with a bread plate. Other times it patiently waits under a soup bowl. But it never wanders, and we are never left looking for it. Even the freshest hostess need never fear the placement of the Plate.

The addition of assorted wine, water, and cordial glasses could serve to make matters more confusing, but the truth of the matter turned out to be that the smart hostess used only as many utensils and dishes at she had things to put in them (no sense in putting out the red wine glass if you weren't going to use it in the first place), and the refined hostess put out enough that you would never have to use the same thing twice (the practice of licking your dinner fork clean so it can be used for dessert is not part of the refined table). Lastly, the layout needed to be sensible so that everyone could follow along.

By the early to mid 20th century, formality in dining decreased somewhat, but even today I find that many people are stilling trying to find the right way to set a table. The 20th century etiquette guru Emily Post continues to give advice in this matter, but the clever history student will find comfort in the knowledge that for over two hundred years, the rules have flexed and bent at will. When wrangling your flatwear into submission, trust only the plate, and know that all those other wiley pickle forks and olive spoons are just as confused as you are.

The Separation: The Sorrowful Tale of Nancy Shippen, part 6

2011-02-17T13:29:00.006-05:00

The morning dawned when Nancy Shippen Livingston was to leave with her daughter for Clermont. On July 7, 1783 she and her mother shared a good cry before she could bring herself to dress and ride out. Her parents and brother accompanied the traveling party a little ways before the time came at last to part.

Nancy's mother still hoped that her daughter would give up on her husband and leave Peggy at Clermont, returning to Philadephia alone. "don't let your love for our sweet baby tempt you to throw your self into Misery," she advised. Her father issued similar advice, but Nancy had convinced herself that the presence of their child would temper his cruelty. More tears and "sobbing," everyone kissed each other and the baby, and finally Nancy was on her way back north

They traveled on horseback through Newark and Hackensack, up to Fish Kill, and paused for breakfast in Newburgh with Mrs. Washington (at Washington's headquarters, pictured above), before spending the night in Poughkeepsie. Here she was disquieted to find out that her story as Henry Beekman Livingston's mistreated wife was already flying around the Hudson Valley.

She'd still had no letter from her husband even acknowledging that she was on her way, and she was beginning to experience jitters about what kind of reception she would receive. Unsure what else to do, she bypassed his house (technically her house too), and headed straight to Clermont. She wrote him a humble letter asking to reconcile, and the same day he responded with a letter so vile that she could not even bear to transcribe it into her journal: he was sending her away. Away from him, and more importantly, away from their child. "O! my heart! what must I suffer! & must I part with you my angel Child?" she wailed bitterly. Even Henry's mother could not convince him to take back his wife, and a week and a half later Nancy was back in Philadelphia with her parents--no husband, no child, no hope.

During her previous stay in Philadelphia, Nancy had developed a routine of reading, needlework, and visiting, but now she was too distracted to concentrate. "I spend my time mostly in my room," she wrote. "I read when I can, but it is seldom I can collect my thoughts sufficiently." She spent much of her time thinking of baby Peggy and crying alone. "I have retir'd, I am now fond of solitude," she wrote in September, a full month after leaving Peggy in New York.

We've already observed that the emotional bond between Nancy and her daughter was particularly strong. After the emotional crisis of her first year of marriage, Nancy's daughter became her main source and recipient of affection. "I feel she is 'close twisted' with the fibers of my heart," she wrote. The absense of the little girl left a large hole in Nancy's life.

She was also missing out on her child's development. She wrote to Margaret Beekman Livingston in October asking "if she [Peggy] can yet walk alone." (At 18 months, she was a late walker) During their trip to New York the previous month, Peggy had spoken only a few words. What new ones had she added to her vocabulary? Her socialization, education, and more were now all in someone else's hands.

Still more frightening was the threat of illness. Peggy was still recovering from the terrifying incident with a snuff box when Nancy left her, and the spectre of death was a constant threat to eighteenth century mothers. Some have estimated the overall child mortality rate in 18th century America as high as 20-30% (Family life in 17th- and 18th-century America), and the risk was the greatest for young children. The possibility that Peggy could become ill and die even die before her mother had a chance to see her again was a nagging fear in Nancy's mind. "I fear she is sick & that your humanity prevents you from letting me know it, & perhaps this is the reason I have not heard by the last two posts..." she cried to "gramama Livingston" in October when she had not heard recent enough news. Again November fear crept into her journal:

I am distressed past all discription at not hearing of my dear Child for so long a time. What can be the reason? is she sick or, what?

She waited anxiously for news of Peggy wherever she could get it. Letters came sometimes from Clermont. "Her looks are much improved, having grown quite fat," wrote her grandmother.

No person espcially Gentlemen enters the Room, but she goes to them and says upe, and sits on their Lap and begins a conversation intirely her own. But her favorite one is her baby that ingroces all her time and her care, next to the Harpsichord of which she is extremely fond.

At other times Nancy gathered information about her child from other society travelers who had visited the Livingstons. The Washingtons were ocasionally guests of Mrs. Livingston and the Shippens and shared their news of the little girl. In December Louis Otto brought her news, "he has been to N.Y. & saw Peggy, and kiss'd her he says a thousand time, & says she looks beautiful." in January she wrote "Mr Willing is return'd from N. York & I have heard from my precious Child. She is well & happy & her grand mama doats on her."

Finally in March Nancy had a chance to see her little girl. Margaret Beekman Livingston and her grand daughter were still in New York City for the winter, and on March 10, Nancy was eagerly packing to go. "How happy I feel in the thought of clasping my beloved child once more in my fond arms, & pressing her to my bosom..." After several fits and starts, Nancy finally arrived at the Livingston's town house on Queen St on March 17th. She had not seen Peggy in five months, and her baby was now a toddler.

The meeting was a tense one, since after all that time away, Peggy no longer recognized her mother.

I beg'd her to come [to] me & call'd her my darling Child & try'd to take her, by forse. All wou'd not do, she wou'd not take [the] least notice of me, nor let me take her from her grandmother; it was more than I cou'd bear, I was distress'd & mortified, & burst into tears.

One can only imagine the scene. As other family members did their best to tempt the little girl to over to her mother, the child only became more distressed by the drama and refused. Finally Nancy won out:

I walk'd to the window to hide my tears, & thought of some trinkets I had in my pocket which I had brought for her. I set down and display'd them upon my lap, & called her to me, the sight of them made her come instantly.

By that evening, the crisis was averted, and Nancy took Peggy (her beloved new maid in tow) to Lady Kitty Duer's house, where she was staying (for an unspecified reason, Margaret had to bow out of housing Nancy). The two spent several happy weeks together, and Nacy had no more time to write in her journal. But the visit had to come to an end sometime. Dr. Shippen had already forbade Nancy from taking Peggy away from her Livingston relatives, and soon Nancy was again facing the bitter prospect of returning home alone.

More resigned now to the prospect, Nancy wrote on May 1st "I parted this morning with my darling Child, and it was dreadful beyond all description, yet it was not near so painful as it was the time before. It was indeed nothing in comparison."

She now had a sick mother to return to, a resurging love for Louis Otto, and ever-deepening problems with her estranged husband. Perhaps in some ways, leaving Peggy in the loving and stable arms of her grandmother was not so bad.

Finding the Old Lady: Margaret Beekman Livingston

2011-02-09T10:23:00.012-05:00

I've got Peggy on my mind. One of the quirks of being a historian is that you feel like you get to know people who have been dead for a few hundred years. Margaret Beekman Livingston was Peggy to her close friends and family, and that is how I've come to feel about her. Now that I'm presenting a talk on her at the Great Estates Symposium, we've got to get to know one another a little better.

Stories about the Revolutionary War heroine of the Livingston family abound: she rebuilt the mansion after it was burned by the English army; she picked the first governor of New York State; she died suddenly in the dining room. Some of the stories are myths, and some are exagerations, and some are true. The game now is to pick apart one from the other and find the "Old Lady of Clermont" at the center of it all.

That so many stories exist about Peggy gives some clue to the importance she had in this family. Whether or not they are strictly true, it is Margaret Beekman Livingston that the stories are told about, rather than family other women who lived in the same time period. For instance, we know almost nothing about her daughter-in-law Mary Stevens Livingston or her mother-in-law Margaret Howarden. These two women were part of her daily life at Clermont, and yet we don't even know what year Margaret Howarden died! It was Peggy's powerful familial influence that was passed down from generation to generation.

The story of her early life is one that is not uncommon amongst wealthy 18th century women.

Like many women, she was intially defined by her association with powerful men. She was the daughter of Henry Beekman of the wealthy Rhinebeck Beekmans. She was the wife of Judge Robert R. Livingston (pictured at left). She was the mother of Chancellor Robert R. Livingston.

About her personally, we know that her Livingston mother died shortly after her birth, and she was raised by a maternal aunt in Brooklyn. As an adult, she was an intensly religious woman who kept a diary filled with her sentimental musings on faith. She was married at 18 and shared a very affectionate marriage with the Robert the Judge. "You are the cordial drop with which Heaven has graciously thought fit to sweeten my cup," he wrote in a letter to her once. They spent their winters in a town house in New York City and their summers at Clermont with his parents. She had eleven children in 22 years.

It was in 1775 that Margaret's life changed dramatically. Within seven months her father-in-law, father, and husband all passed away, leaving her as the proprietress of the Beekman patent and Clermont. It is at this point that we start to get the big stories about her, particularly as surround the burning of Clermont:

In october of 1777, English General Howe (at right) sent troops up the Hudson towards Albany. As General Vaughan lead these forces north, he began burning out the homes of rebellious families (the obvious problem here being that technically he was committing acts of violence against his fellow English citizens since the King hadn't recognized us as a seperate country yet).

Several stories have been immortaziled about this event in town histories and family lore. We know that somehow Mrs. Livingston got word ahead of time that Vaughan was commiting these acts and that on October 15, two days before he arrived at Clermont, she left with her youngest children for Salisbury, CT.

One family story puts she, her children, and her slaves wildly packing a broad array of furniture and moveable goods, then hiding silver, china, and mirrors in the surrounding outbuildings and wells before they left. But archeological evidence shows that many fine furnishings and china were burned with the house, meaning that she probably did not have as much time as she would have liked to remove her valuables, and thus many were destroyed with her home.

Two different family stories of her departure have been preserved in local histories or family recordings. One states that since she and her family were housing an English prisoner of war, he offered to speak to Vaughan on her behalf and save the house. According to the story, she insisted that her house be burned like the other patriots. Another puts she and her family actually departing by wagon on the hill above Clermont, when they looked behind them and saw the smoke from the house already curling through the air. Letters between she and her son show however, that she had been clear of the house for two days before Vaughan arrived on the 17th to burn the house.

Yet one more story, recorded in a 1924 history of the region, persists from this era: that Mrs. Livingston selected New York's first governor.

Shortly before the delegates, who declared NY independent, met at Kingston, a number of the most influencial met at Clermont, to consider, among other questions, who should be the first governow. A valid objection to every person was raised until Mrs. Livingston proposed G. Clinton. Her suggestion was received with acclamation..."

But even this story has been soundly abused by the Chancellor's most avid biographer George Dangerfield.

While these stories seek to pay homage to Peggy, they almost obscure her real accomplishments.

When left at the head of the massive estate of Clermont, she decided against remarrying in order to find someone who would manage it. Perhaps it was the idea of letting the Livingston name cease to be lord of Clermont or perhaps she simply felt confident enough in her own skills to do it alone. She had grown up in the Livingston tradition of women who were involved with the family business (Alida Schuyler Livingston pretty much ran the manor while her husband was regularly away) so it was likely that she had not been kept completely out of the loop for the past 33 years of estate management. Nevertheless, managing the large estate and its population of tenants was no small job that many women may have considered easier with a new husband.

Letters and tenant books show that she remained very much in personal control of the estate, using a lawyer (Cockburn) to handle legal proceedings and contracts where the law prevented her from representing herself.

She also stayed in close contact with her eldest son Robert. Even if she did not advise him in political matters, she certainly had a lot to say about his personal ones (once going on a rather long tangent imploring him not to party to hard while in Philadelphia at the age of 35).

In 1790, as a measure of her considerable wealth, we see that she owned 15 slaves, more than anyone else in Livingston, Clermont, or Germantown, with the exception of her Manor cousin, who owned the surprising sum of 44. Of 139 slaveholders in the area, most owned less than 10, and 3 seemed to be the most common.

On her own, Peggy became synonomous with Clermont, and several historic drawings or letters refer to "Mrs. Livingston's Clermont." While other wives identities were lost behind their husbands', Peggy's was the driving force behind one of the most prominent Hudson Valley Estates.

When she died in 1800, Margaret Beekman Livingston's life was again shrowded with legend. On July 1st, she passed away at the age of 76. An 1894 accoutn by Walter Rutherford states that

The old lady of Clermont took her leave of this world with great eclat. She walked about the garden [at Clermont] and did business all the morning, had several of her friends to dinner of which she amply partook. In taking a glass of wine she found her right hand failing, changed it to her left, soon fell in a fit, and expired without a groan.

And yet another story shows her dieing in Kingston or New York City, though why she wouldn't have left the city for Clermont in the summer (as was her custom), is questionable as well.

It seems only fit that her death be as curious as her life. No matter what the facts, we know that Margaret Beekman Livingston left a strong impression on the people around her, one that has lasted for over 200 years.

Archival Treasures: Wedding Remarks

2011-01-26T11:10:00.003-05:00

I was scanning through some old research files and was thrilled to come across the transcript of a document written by Margaret Beekman Livingston in 1798. I have been researching "Peggy" for a talk in March and have found precious little written by this driving force of Clermont life.

The remarks were written for Margaret Maria when she married her cousin Robert L. Livingston in 1798, and they speak to both Margaret Beekman Livingston's pride of proprietership in Clermont and her earnest pride as a grandmother.

Instead of over-analizing it, I will instead let Margaret speak for herself, as I'm sure she usually did:

What a truly wonderous day! All of us Livingstons and our guests are foregoing the pleasures of political wrangling which so often usurps our Clermont hours and which I, too, I must confess--adore. For today is dedicated to the blessed happiness of one of my comely grandchildren, 15 year-old Margaret Maria. my dear, you were named for me, Margaret Beekman Livingston, and I have always called you Peggy but I shall never change. Now that you are a married lady the name is even dearer. And I welcome all of your wedding guests to my renounded home, my lovely Clermont. I have received, I have honored and I have entertained here at Clermont many notables before today--notables who, with your father, my don the Chancellor, brought independence and freedom to this great land. George Washington has walked my gardens deep in thought. Martha, his helpmate you knw, has visited me for weeks at a time, and the Marquis de Lafayette has hunted quail in my woods. But never, never have I been filled with more pride than on this day.

Mrs. Cornelia Livingston, my distant cousin and mother of the groom, you, along with my son, the Chancellor, and I have arranged a perfect match, with the blessing of the Almighty, I am certain and we have assured by this marriage that the Livingston name shall forevermore be an inseparable part of Clermont.

Moreover, lovely bride, if my hope and negotiations prove true, your sister Betsy, will follow you into matrimony within the next year directly here at Clermont and with yet another stalwart Livingston cousin. Dear margaret Maria, it is my fervent prayer that both of you lovely granddaughters will have as happy and blessed a marriage as your grandfather, Judge Robert R. Livingston and I had. (It is sad, such a pity you never knew him!) Your own devoted groom bears my beloved Judge's distinguished name. It is as though I am reliving my own cherished wedding. You do know that my father, Col. Henry Beekman of Rhinebeck and your great-grandfather, the Judge's father, also a Robert, Robert the Builder of Clermont, arranged my joyous union. May yours be as fortunate.

And, distant cousin Cornelia, 56 yeras ago when I entered into wedded bliss, I prayed that many grandchildren would someday bless my life. My 10 wonderful children--9 are rejoicing with us today--have honoured me with 21 grandchildren. Margaret Maria, you are the first to bring home a spouse. Bless you.

Remember that when the British destroyed my home during that dreadful War for Independence, I had to rebuild it. Today, I know that nothing but your ancestral home, my Clermont, could have graced your wedding so beautifully.

Dear children, these old eyes behold your true love and this weary heart is strengthened. You shall always have my eternal good wishes.

Cornelia, our family fued which has been waning for years, is finally, finally dissolved. Come, let us celebrate together. Welcome, welcome to all.

"The Cries of my Baby": the Sorrowful Tale of Nancy Shippen, Part 5

2011-01-20T13:42:00.006-05:00

May 28--I was wake'd this Morning at five o'clock with the cries of my baby... I jum'p up--frighten'd half to death--run to mammas room where the child was, & found it almost in fits with pain.

In the middle of an intensly emotional debate about custody of her only daughter, young Nancy Shippen faced one of the most frightening ordeals yet: an accident that nearly took her child's life.

Almost two weeks before, Nancy's father had instructed her to send little Peggy to live with her Grandmother Livingston several days' journay away at Clermont. The news had sent Nancy into a marked depression as she struggled to figure out a way to hold onto her beloved child after she had already fled an abusive relationship with her Livingston husband.

The weekend of May 24th, Betsy, the child's nurse maid got sick with the measles. The highly contangeous virus begins with coughing and high fevers (as high as 104 degrees!) and can include an itchy red rash. It can be fatal, and out of concern for Peggy, the maid was sent to another house to convalesce for the duration of her illness. Nevertheless, Nancy was not worried enough about it to mention it in her diary yet. In Betsy's absense Mrs. Shippen's maid would take on the extra duties of caring for the baby. Crisis seemed to have been averted.

On Tuesday night, May 27th, Nancy distracted herself by having tea with a friend. She couldn't bear to miss a moment with Peggy (and Betsy was gone anyway) so the little girl played at their feet the whole time. When old flame Louis Otto walked by the house, Nancy's heart leapt, and their eyes met for just a moment. But "prudence" reminded her that as wife (who's husband was already jealous and suspicious of this particular man), the best course of action was to let him go. An old flame wasn't going to solve her new woes. Nevertheless, she was "never more happy" than she was that night.

The next day, in the dim of early morning Nancy woke to the most frightening sound of her life: the terrified screams of her baby daughter. Peggy had awoken as usual at "daybreak," and the maid "being very sleepy" (possibly from trying to do two jobs at once for four days) could not bring herself to rise with the child. Instead, she gave the baby a snuff box (perhaps like the English one at right) to play with and went back to sleep. Peggy's tiny fingers worked at the edges until she opened the box and was almost strangled by a face full of snuff, a finely-powdered tobacco product.

Nancy immediately lost her composure and screamed for her father until she almost fainted. She had to be lead from the room so that her parents could deal with the crisis. After an hour of tears and crying, the child was quieted and went back to sleep. Thus the tense vigil of a frightened mother began.

Peggy spent the day waking and sleeping, feverish and ill. Nancy hovered anxiously beside her, leaving only for a few minutes at dinner time. Her father, a respected physician, twice administered "balm Tea & lime juice & sugar," as well as "a dose of nitre." This may have been spirits of niter (also called saltpeter), which could be administered to the skin to cool the fever. Besides this, he only hoped that sleep could cure the girl.

At midnight, exhausted, Nancy poured out her fears to her diary. After recounting the story, she wrote:

It is near Twelve oclock--every creature in the house sleeps but me--I have no inclination. I will watch my dear baby all night--I feel pleasure in doing this service.

What else could she do but wait? She sat alone in the dim of candle light, listening to her daughter's breath and the hourly call of the watchman.

For five days Peggy was so ill "her life has been depair'd off." For another six she remained ill, but improving. Nancy staid by her daughter's side, refusing to let her mother take over the vigil. Nancy wrote only one brief entry in her journal then, repeating her fears and her devotion to the baby. But on June 7, things were finally improving. Peggy was still weak: "She has lost that beautiful color that used to adorn her lovely cheeks..." but she was improved enough that the following day Nancy's mother convinced her to get out of the house and go for "a little ride to refresh me."

While on the ride, she finally had time to once again think of Margaret Beekman Livingston's request that Peggy leave Philadelphia and some to live with her at Clermont. After the events of the past eleven days, Nancy knew she could not give up her baby. "Mrs Montgomery shou'd not take it--that it--if it did go, I would carry it myself," she wrote. Staying by her daughter's side, she had decided, was worth going back into the lion's den at her husband's house.

Nancy immediately began preparations to return to New York. If need be, she would win her husband's love. She wrote him a letter, telling him that she would return to his house. She hired a new maid for Peggy (what became of Betsy? Did measles kill her or was she unable to go to New York for another reason? Nancy does not answer this question).

And Nancy had a portrait of she and Peggy completed by "Mr Wright" (probably Joseph Wright who was working in Philadelphia that year) to help win Henry's love. "She [Peggy] is dressed in White & has a peach in her dear hand...she looks like an Angel." Nancy was dressed in a white gown with a blue sash, "but what adorns me most is my Angel Child sitting in my lap & one of my arms encircling her dear waist."

On July 7th, she was ready to go. A large party gathered to see her off-including her old flame Louis. She dressed her best and baid goodbye over tea and an after-dark stroll in the gardens. Tomorrow, in the heat of summer, she was to bid goodbye once again to her home and friends--only this time she knew what awaited her.

The Mother: The Sorrowful Tale of Nancy Shippen, Part 4

2011-01-05T10:56:00.006-05:00

For a full month Nancy Shippen Livingston's return to her parents' home in Philadelphia freed her to attend to parenting her little daughter Peggy. The warm April air carried hope as the lilacs and weeping cherry trees began bloom. So what was motherhood like for Nancy?

Like most elite women, Nancy hired a nursemaid--Besty--for her child. Betsy lived with Peggy and cared for the girl whenever her mother wanted time for her own activities, much like a nanny today. Since Peggy was now about 16 months old, her mother was freed from the never-ending cycle of breast feeding. The toddler could now be safely left for hours at a time in the care of her nursemaid while Nancy attended social visits, embroidered (she embroidered most mornings, often on tambour work like that shown in the Gilbert Stuart portrait at right), wrote letters, kept her journal, read, walked, and rode horseback.

April 28--Spent this day with Mrs Bland working Tambour returned about 8 this Even[ing] Found my baby asleep.

With Betsy's assistance, Nancy had time to write in her journal all but six days betwee April 11th and June 1st. She left the house without Peggy to visit with friends seven days in the first two weeks that are recorded in journal, and she received guests without mentioning her daughter's presence twice. One day she spent "entirely alone, enjoying my own meditations..." When Peggy woke early at sunrise, it was also Betsy's duty to rise with her, take her from her mother's bedroom, and entertain her so that Nancy could continue to sleep.

But all of this time to herself did not mean that Nancy did not feel a strong attatchment to her daughter. On the contrary, Nancy valued a close relationship with her child. Sentimental relationships between parents and children are evident in contemporary literature and portraiture (like this portrait, also by Gilbert Stuart). And whatever her un-recorded ordeals had been with her abusive husband in Rhinebeck the previous year had only deepened the bond that she felt with the girl. Even with the assistance of Betsy, Nancy took time out of every day to be with Peggy.

May 6-- Spent this day at home, w[ith] Lord & Lady Worthy (her parents). We we were all alone--my sweet Child amused us all.

May 7--It being a very fine day I rode out & took betsy & the child with me

As mentioned in a previous blog, Nancy took great pleasure in dressing Peggy and repeatedly describes showing physical affection with kisses and caresses. Sometimes she mentions playing with her and introducing her to friends. Despite having a cradle, Peggy slept most nights in her mother's bed.

When Peggy was "taken sick" with fever on April 29th, Nancy also devoted herself to four anxious days of care. "She will now engross all my time & care," she wrote. Without fever-reducers or anti-biotics, illnesses in the eighteenth century--especially for children--could become serious very quickly, and this must have been a frightening few days for her mother.

Perhaps for the twenty-year-old, the responsibilities and pressures of parenthoodhood still felt daunting. In addition to enertainment and dressing, she was responsible for her daughter's health, socialization, and education. A relatively new mother, she still sought advice where it was needed. On April 21, she spent the entire day with her mother "directing & advising" about child-rearing. "I need it much," she wrote, "for sure I am a very young & inexperienced Mother." During a very serious illness later, she also sought her father's advise as a doctor for her daughter. She also sought advise in books, in keeping with the eighteenth century pension amongst the elite for self-improvement through written material.

Apart from occassional the occassional intrusion of jealous letters from her husband, Nancy, her daughter, and her parents were enjoying a world apart from the harsh realities of the past year. But on May 16th, Nancy was again plunged into despair.

Papa told me at breakfast that I must send my darling Child to its Grandmama Livingston [Margaret Beekman Livingston]; that she had desired Mrs Montgomery to request it of me, as a particular favor. I told him I could not bear the Idea of it, that I had sooner part with me life almost than my Child...When will my misfortunes end! I placed my happiness in her! She is my all--& I must part with her! cruel cruel fate...

But whatever Nancy's attachment to Peggy and the risks of returning her to her father's family, the family's concern was for the child's financial future, as it had been from the beginning when Nancy married Henry in the first place.

He told me it was for the future interest of my baby, that its fortune depended on the old Lady's pleasure in that particular--beg'd me to think of it, & to be reconciled on it.

Nancy spent the next day sealed in her room until dinner, and the following day she still would not leave the house. Her mother tentatively poked around the painful subject, and her father avoided it all together while Nancy made her decision. She had one month; in June Janet Livingston Montgomery would be returning north, expecting to take the little girl with her.

What to do? Nancy's life had already been marked by separation from the one she loved when she selected Henry Beekman Livingston as her husband, leaving behind the sentimental Louis Otto. Now she was faced with a similar choice, but with the added complexity if its effect on her daughter: love or security? Stay with her beloved child or secure her fortune with its "Grandmama." The Livingston fortune had extraordinary leverage that was now prying away at motherly attachment.

While she decided, Nancy's journal became even more filled with words about how much she loved Peggy. "I spend so much of my time with Peggy that I allmost forget I have anything else to do...in short I neglect the day." Time was short, and Nancy knew it.

Time was slipping away, and when Peggy became very ill through an accident at the end of May, the idea of separation became only more heartbreaking.

Back on Track

2011-01-04T11:50:00.005-05:00

As some of our followers may have noticed, we've been awfully silent for the past few months--two months to be exact. Well, as the primary blogger for Clermont, I have to appologize! Just when the story of Nancy Shippen Livingston was building to a crescendo with the birth of her daughter, I was sidetracked by the birth of my own child. After two months of maternity leave, I am back at Clermont with my nose in the books, and more installments in Nancy's story will be on their way soon.

In the meantime, I hope you all have had excellent holidays. For those who live nearby, I hope that you made it to see the mansion decorated for Christmas. This was one of our busiest holiday seasons in years with terrifice numbers for A Child's Christmas, the Friends of Clermont's holiday party, and the Holiday Open House.