Association Newsletter
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7 |
Volume III,
Issue 12, December, 2003
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Association Newsletter |
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Volume III, Issue 12, December, 2003 |
A Face At The Theater
It was a coalition that Washington “High Life” could not resist; so Adele Cutts became the elegant Mrs. Senator Douglas, the Douglas, the queen regnante of society, the glass of fashion into which the polite world looked for its manners. Douglas and Breckinridge, who quarreled during their last days in the Senate, were Damon and Pythias then and built side by side for their residences the splendid row of buildings in this city, since more famous for the residence of Grant, and now Sherman. Mrs. Douglas gave her receptions there. To be admitted to them was to be in company; to be excluded was not to be known. A wave of her dainty fan in those days might have condemned you from the ton as effectually as the patrician Roman ladies turned the gladiator to death with their thumbs. The queen of “Douglas Row” made no pretension to wisdom or brilliancy, but Senators and foreign ministers have scarcely found since in the gay Capital a reception room so graceful and attractive as hers. She received everybody there, and never a breath of scandal blew over her fair reputation. She was enviable. When she lay sick in her luxurious home, the town was in commotion as over a stricken empress, and Franklin Row, the Capitol and hotels vied with each other in sending condolences and kind inquiries for her health.
She was not less the centre of society in her Western home. Everybody gave her receptions when she came to Chicago, Douglas’ bride. Some one has described her to me standing, one of the first nights, among the ladies of the dressing-room, a head taller than any, nonchalantly drawing on her kids, preparatory to the parlors, her magnificence admired by all. Her fine taste moluated everything. From a poor girl she went into enjoyment of the rich Senator’s wealth step by step, nothing sudden or bizarre. All this was a romantic episode of five years. Then she became the widow of Douglas, in proper mourning, with the episode behind her. But widowhood, De la Ramee tells us, is the best cosmetic, and she emerged, two or three years later, from her weeds, upon the arm of her second choice of husband, a quiet, soldierly gentleman, from a quiet Department Bureau here in Washington, and stoll off with him and her heart—they say—into a quiet, beautiful home, and we catch glimpses of her nowadays faintly and rarely.
Her home is an elegant one, petite and cosey, a gift of Douglas
to her mother, and not far away from the palatial one she entered so often,
long years ago, with her more lordly, but perhaps not more loved companion.
Passing it sometimes in the evening you catch the glimmer of soft lamps
through closely-drawn curtains. We will not tear them aside, though
they say that behind them are beautiful children playing and more happiness
than ever the stately, courted Mrs. Mrs. Douglas knew.