I forgot to tell of Mrs. Pickens's reception for General
Hampton. My Mem dear, described it all. “The Governess “ (“Tut, Mem! that is
not the right name for her — she is not a teacher.” “Never mind, it is the
easier to say than the Governor's wife.” “Madame
la Gouvernante” was suggested. “Why? That is worse than the other!”)
“met him at the door, took his crutch away, putting his hand upon her shoulder
instead. “That is the way to greet heroes,” she said. Her blue eyes were
aflame, and in response poor Wade smiled, and smiled until his face hardened
into a fixed grin of embarrassment and annoyance. He is a simple-mannered man,
you know, and does not want to be made much of by women.
The butler was not in plain clothes, but wore, as the other
servants did, magnificent livery brought from the Court of St. Petersburg, one
mass of gold embroidery, etc. They had champagne and Russian tea, the latter
from a samovar made in Russia. Little Moses was there. Now for us, they have
never put their servants into Russian livery, nor paraded Little Moses under
our noses, but I must confess the Russian tea and champagne set before us left
nothing to be desired. “How did General Hampton bear his honors?” “Well, to the
last he looked as if he wished they would let him alone.”
Met Mr. Ashmore fresh from Richmond. He says Stonewall is
coming up behind McClellan. And here comes the tug of war. He thinks we have so
many spies in Richmond, they may have found out our strategic movements and so
may circumvent them.
Mrs. Bartow's story of a clever Miss Toombs. So many men
were in love with her, and the courtship, while it lasted, of each one was as
exciting and bewildering as a fox-chase. She liked the fun of the run, but she
wanted something more than to know a man was in mad pursuit of her; that he
should love her, she agreed, but she must love him, too. How was she to tell?
Yet she must be certain of it before she said “Yes.” So, as they sat by the
lamp she would look at him and inwardly ask herself, “Would I be willing to
spend the long winter evenings forever after sitting here darning your old
stockings?” Never, echo answered. No, no, a thousand times no. So, each had to
make way for another.
SOURCE: Mary Boykin Chesnut, Edited by Isabella D. Martin
and Myrta Lockett Avary, A Diary From Dixie, p. 192-3
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