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In he was elected Governor of Georgia, and in became Secretary of the Treasury in Buchanan's Administration. In he was a delegate from Georgia to the Provisional Congress which adopted the Constitution of the Confederacy, and presided over each of its four sessions.

Andrew Bary Moore, elected Governor of Alabama in In , before Alabama seceded, he directed the seizure of United States forts and arsenals and was active afterward in the equipment of State troops. Page 7 there. The wheel of the car in which it was carried took fire. There was an escape for you! We are packing a hamper of eatables for them. I am despondent once more. If I thought them in earnest because at first they put their best in front, what now?

We have to meet tremendous odds by pluck, activity, zeal, dash, endurance of the toughest, military instinct. We have had to choose born leaders of men who could attract love and secure trust. Everywhere political intrigue is as rife as in Washington. Cecil's saying of Sir Walter Raleigh that he could "toil terribly" was an electric touch.

Above all, let the men who are to save South Carolina be young and vigorous. While I was reflecting on what kind of men we ought to choose, I fell on Clarendon, and it was easy to construct my man out of his portraits. What has been may be again, so the men need not be purely ideal types. Toombs 1 told us a story of General Scott and himself. He said he was dining in Washington with Scott, who seasoned every dish and every glass of wine with the eternal refrain, "Save the Union; the Union must be preserved.

While the passengers were struggling in the water a woman ran up and down the bank crying, "Oh, save the red-headed 1. Robert Toombs, a native of Georgia, who early acquired fame as a lawyer, served in the Creek War under General Scott, became known in as a "State Rights Whig," being elected to Congress, where he was active in the Compromise measures of He served in the United States Senate from to , where he was a pronounced advocate of the sovereignty of States, the extension of slavery, and secession.

He was a member of the Confederate Congress at its first session and, by a single vote, failed of election as President of the Confederacy. After the war, he was conspicuous for his hostility to the Union. Page 8 man! He asked her "Why did you make that pathetic outcry? February 25th - Find every one working very hard here.

As I dozed on the sofa last night, could hear the scratch, scratch of my husband's pen as he wrote at the table until midnight. After church to-day, Captain Ingraham called. He left me so uncomfortable. He dared to express regrets that he had to leave the United States Navy. Ha had been stationed in the Mediterranean, where he liked to be , and expected to be these two years, and to take those lovely daughters of his to Florence.

Then came Abraham Lincoln, and rampant black Republicanism, and he must lay down his life for South Carolina. He, however, does not make any moan. He says we lack everything necessary in naval gear to retake Fort Sumter. Of course, he only expects the navy to take it. He is a fish out of water here. He is one of the finest sea-captains; so I suppose they will soon give him a ship and send him back to his own element. At dinner Judge - was loudly abusive of Congress. He said: "They have trampled the Constitution underfoot.

They have provided President Davis with a house. Then some one said Mrs. Fitzpatrick was the only lady who sat with the Congress. After the inaugural she poked Jeff Davis in the back with her parasol that he might turn and speak to her.

Governor Moore came in with the latest news - a telegram Page 9 from Governor Pickens to the President, " that a war steamer is lying off the Charleston bar laden with reenforcements for Fort Sumter, and what must we do?

It is believed there is still some discretion left in South Carolina fit for use. Everybody who comes here wants an office, and the many who, of course, are disappointed raise a cry of corruption against the few who are successful. I thought we had left all that in Washington. Nobody is willing to be out of sight, and all will take office. I mean to send by him to Mary Garnett for a bonnet ribbon. If they take him up as a traitor, he may cause a civil war. War is now our dread. Chesnut told him not to make himself a bone of contention.

Everybody means to go into the army. If Sumter is attacked, then Jeff Davis's troubles will begin. The Judge says a military despotism would be best for us - anything to prevent a triumph of the Yankees. All right, but every man objects to any despot but himself. Chesnut, in high spirits, dines to-day with the Louisiana delegation. Breakfasted with "Constitution" Browne, who is appointed Assistant Secretary of State, and so does not go to Washington. There was at table the man who advertised for a wife, with the wife so obtained.

She was not pretty. We dine at Mr. Pollard's and go to a ball afterward at Judge Bibb's. The New York Herald says Lincoln stood before Washington's picture at his inauguration, which was taken by the country as a good sign. We are always frantic for a good sign. That would be our best sign of success. But they still say, "No war. De Leon called, fresh from Washington, and says Page 10 General Scott is using all his power and influence to prevent officers from the South resigning their commissions, among other things promising that they shall never be sent against us in case of war.

Captain Ingraham, in his short, curt way, said: "That will never do. If they take their government's pay they must do its fighting. A brilliant dinner at the Pollards's. Barnwell 1 took me down. Came home and found the Judge and Governor Moore waiting to go with me to the Bibbs's. And they say it is dull in Montgomery! Clayton, fresh from Washington, was at the party and told us "there was to be peace.

February 28th. She told me she was a successful writer in the magazines of the day, but when I found she used "incredible" for "incredulous," I said not a word in defense of my native land. I left her "incredible. Then she gracefully reversed her engine, and took the other tack, sounding our praise, but I left her incredible and I remained incredulous, too. Brewster says the war specks are growing in size. Nobody at the North, or in Virginia, believes we are in earnest.

They think we are sulking and that Jeff Davis and Stephens 2 are getting up a very pretty little comedy. The 1. In , after the passage of the Ordinance of Secession, he was one of the Commissioners who went to Washington to treat with the National Government for its property within the State. He was a member of the Convention at Montgomery and gave the casting vote which made Jefferson Davis President of the Confederacy. Alexander H. Stephens, the eminent statesman of Georgia, who before the war had been conspicuous in all the political movements of his time and in became Vice-President of the Confederacy.

After the war he again became conspicuous in Congress and wrote a history entitled "The War between the States. Chesnut persuaded the Judge to forego his private wrong for the public good, and so he voted for him, but now his old grudge has come back with an increased venomousness.

What a pity to bring the spites of the old Union into this new one! It seems to me already men are willing to risk an injury to our cause, if they may in so doing hurt Jeff Davis. March 1st. Hill 1 from Georgia, and his wife. After he left us she told me he was the celebrated individual who, for Christian scruples, refused to fight a duel with Stephens. Ignoramus that I am, I had not heard of it. I am having all kinds of experiences.

Drove to-day with a lady who fervently wished her husband would go down to Pensacola and be shot. I was dumb with amazement, of course. Telling my story to one who knew the parties, was informed, "Don't you know he beats her? Brewster says Lincoln passed through Baltimore disguised, and at night, and that he did well, for just now Baltimore is dangerous ground. He says that he hears from all quarters that the vulgarity of Lincoln, his wife, and his son is beyond credence, a thing you must see before you can believe it.

Senator Stephen A. Douglas told Mr. Chesnut that "Lincoln is awfully clever, and that he had found him a heavy handful. Went to pay my respects to Mrs. Jefferson Davis. She met me with open arms. We did not allude to anything by which we are surrounded. We eschewed politics and our changed relations.

March 3d. They have one and all spoken in the Congress 1 to their own perfect satisfaction. To my amazement the Judge took me aside, and, after delivering a panegyric upon himself but here, later, comes in the amazement , he praised my husband to the skies, and said he was the fittest man of all for a foreign mission. Aye; and the farther away they send us from this Congress the better I will like it.

Saw Jere Clemens and Nick Davis, social curiosities. The Georges are of opinion that it is folly to try to take back Fort Sumter from Anderson and the United States; that is, before we are ready. They saw in Charleston the devoted band prepared for the sacrifice; I mean, ready to run their heads against a stone wall.

Dare devils they are. They have dash and courage enough, but science only could take that fort. They shook their heads. March 4th. Stephens Vice-President of the Confederacy. The Congress continued to meet in Montgomery until its removal to Richmond, in July, Page 13 measures. Glory be to God as my Irish Margaret used to preface every remark, both great and small. At last, according to his wish, I was able to introduce Mr.

Hill, of Georgia, to Mr. Mallory, 1 and also Governor Moore and Brewster, the latter the only man without a title of some sort that I know in this democratic subdivided republic. I have seen a negro woman sold on the block at auction. She overtopped the crowd. I was walking and felt faint, seasick. The creature looked so like my good little Nancy, a bright mulatto with a pleasant face. She was magnificently gotten up in silks and satins.

She seemed delighted with it all, sometimes ogling the bidders, sometimes looking quiet, coy, and modest, but her mouth never relaxed from its expanded grin of excitement. I dare say the poor thing knew who would buy her. I sat down on a stool in a shop and disciplined my wild thoughts. I tried it Sterne fashion. You know how women sell themselves and are sold in marriage from queens downward, eh?

You know what the Bible says about slavery and marriage; poor women! Sterne, with his starling - what did he know? He only thought, he did not feel. In Evan Harrington I read: "Like a true English female, she believed in her own inflexible virtue, but never trusted her husband out of sight. The New York Herald says: "Lincoln's carriage is not bomb-proof; so he does not drive out. The sticks are to break our heads with.

The English are gushingly unhappy as to our family quarrel. Magnanimous of them, for it is their opportunity. March 5th. Roars of cannon, etc. Miss Sanders complained so said Captain Ingraham of the deadness of the mob.

It is uncomfortable that the idea has gone abroad that we have no joy, no pride, in this thing. The band was playing "Massa in the cold, cold ground. Captain Ingraham pulled out of his pocket some verses sent to him by a Boston girl.

They were well rhymed and amounted to this: she held a rope ready to hang him, though she shed tears when she remembered his heroic rescue of Koszta. Koszta, the rebel! She calls us rebels, too. So it depends upon whom one rebels against - whether to save or not shall be heroic.

I must read Lincoln's inaugural. Oh, "comes he in peace, or comes he in war, or to tread but one measure as Young Lochinvar? The people, the natives, I mean, are astounded that I calmly affirm, in all truth and candor, that if there were awful things in society in Washington, I did not see or hear of them. One must have been hard to please who did not like the people I knew in Washington. They are taking a walk, I see. I hope there will be good places in the army for our list.

March 8th. Before he resigned, he exerted all his influence to prevent Civil War and opposed secession, although he believed that States had a right to secede. Page 15 Supreme Court, has resigned. How other men who are resigning high positions must hate to do it. Now we may be sure the bridge is broken.

And yet in the Alabama Convention they say Reconstructionists abound and are busy. Met a distinguished gentleman that I knew when he was in more affluent circumstances. I was willing enough to speak to him, but when he saw me advancing for that purpose, to avoid me, he suddenly dodged around a corner - William, Mrs. I remember him on his box, driving a handsome pair of bays, dressed sumptuously in blue broadcloth and brass buttons; a stout, respectable, fine-looking, middle-aged mulatto.

He was very high and mighty. Night after night we used to meet him as fiddler-in-chief of all our parties. He sat in solemn dignity, making faces over his bow, and patting his foot with an emphasis that shook the floor. We gave him five dollars a night; that was his price.

His mistress never refused to let him play for any party. He had stable-boys in abundance. He was far above any physical fear for his sleek and well-fed person. How majestically he scraped his foot as a sign that he was tuned up and ready to begin!

Now he is a shabby creature indeed. He must have felt his fallen fortunes when he met me - one who knew him in his prosperity. He ran away, this stately yellow gentleman, from wife and children, home and comfort. My Molly asked him "Why? Miss Liza was good to you, I know. Governor Moore brought in, to be presented to me, the President of the Alabama Convention. It seems I had Page 16 known him before he had danced with me at a dancing-school ball when I was in short frocks, with sash, flounces, and a wreath of roses.

He was one of those clever boys of our neighborhood, in whom my father 1 saw promise of better things, and so helped him in every way to rise, with books, counsel, sympathy. I was enjoying his conversation immensely, for he was praising my father I without stint, when the Judge came in, breathing fire and fury. Congress has incurred his displeasure. We are abusing one another as fiercely as ever we have abased Yankees.

It is disheartening. March 10th. Childs was here to-night Mary Anderson, from Statesburg , with several children. She is lovely. Her hair is piled up on the top of her head oddly. Fashions from France still creep into Texas across Mexican borders. Childs is fresh from Texas. Her husband is an artillery officer, or was. They will be glad to promote him here. Childs had the sweetest Southern voice, absolute music. But then, she has all of the high spirit of those sweet-voiced Carolina women, too.

Then Mr. Browne came in with his fine English accent, so pleasant to the ear. Lincoln means to economize. She at once informed the majordomo that they were poor and hoped to save twelve thousand dollars every year from their salary of twenty thousand. Browne said Mr. Buchanan's farewell was far more imposing than Lincoln's inauguration.

The people were so amusing, so full of Western stories. He favored Nullification, and in was elected United States Senator from South Carolina, but resigned three years afterward in consequence of ill health. In he removed to Mississippi and engaged in cotton growing. Page 17 Dr.

Boykin behaved strangely. All day he had been gaily driving about with us, and never was man in finer spirits. To-night, in this brilliant company, he sat dead still as if in a trance. Once, he waked somewhat - when a high public functionary came in with a present for me, a miniature gondola, "A perfect Venetian specimen," he assured me again and again.

In an undertone Dr. Boykin muttered: "That fellow has been drinking. Some of these great statesmen always tell me the same thing - and have been telling me the same thing ever since we came here. A man came in and some one said in an undertone, "The age of chivalry is not past, O ye Americans!

After that the Senate would have none of him; his chance was gone forever. March 11th. They were exalting John C. Calhoun's hospitality. He allowed everybody to stay all night who chose to stop at his house. An ill-mannered person, on one occasion, refused to attend family prayers. Calhoun said to the servant, "Saddle that man's horse and let him go. Calhoun's hospitality, but not in his family prayers. Calhoun's piety was of the most philosophical type, from all accounts.

The latest news is counted good news; that is, the last man who left Washington tells us that Seward is in the ascendancy. He is thought to be the friend of peace. John C. Calhoun had died in March, Page 18 The man did say, however that "that serpent Seward is in the ascendancy just now. Harriet Lane has eleven suitors. One is described as likely to win, or he would be likely to win, except that he is too heavily weighted. He has been married before and goes about with children and two mothers.

There are limits beyond which! Two mothers-in-law! Ledyard spoke to Mrs. Lincoln in behalf of a doorkeeper who almost felt he had a vested right, having been there since Jackson's time; but met with the same answer; she had brought her own girl and must economize. Ledyard thought the twenty thousand and little enough it is was given to the President of these United States to enable him to live in proper style, and to maintain an establishment of such dignity as befits the head of a great nation.

It is an infamy to economize with the public money and to put it into one's private purse. Browne was walking with me when we were airing our indignation against Mrs. Lincoln and her shabby economy. The Judge has just come in and said: "Last night, after Dr.

Boykin left on the cars, there came a telegram that his little daughter, Amanda, had died suddenly. He changed so suddenly yesterday, and seemed so careworn and unhappy. He believes in clairvoyance, magnetism, and all that. Certainly, there was some terrible foreboding of this kind on his part. Browne told us that, at one of the peace intervals I mean intervals in the interest of peace , Lincoln flew through Baltimore, locked up in an express car. He wore a Scotch cap. We went to the Congress.

Governor Cobb, who presides Page 19 over that august body, put James Chesnut in the chair, and came down to talk to us. He told us why the pay of Congressmen was fixed in secret session, and why the amount of it was never divulged - to prevent the lodginghouse and hotel people from making their bills of a size to cover it all.

In the hotel parlor we had a scene. Scott was describing Lincoln, who is of the cleverest Yankee type. She said: "Awfully ugly, even grotesque in appearance, the kind who are always at the corner stores, sitting on boxes, whittling sticks, and telling stories as funny as they are vulgar. Douglas said one day to Mr. Chesnut, 'Lincoln is the hardest fellow to handle I have ever encountered yet. Scott is from California, and said Lincoln is "an utter American specimen, coarse, rouge, and strong; a good-natured, kind creature; as pleasant-tempered as he is clever, and if this country can be joked and laughed out of its rights he is the kind-hearted fellow to do it.

Now if there is a war and it pinches the Yankee pocket instead of filling it - ". Here a shrill voice came from the next room which opened upon the one we were in by folding doors thrown wide open and said: "Yankees are no more mean and stingy than you are. People at the North are just as good as people at the South. Scott apologized and made some smooth, polite remark, though evidently much embarrassed.

But the vinegar face and curly pate refused to receive any concessions, and replied: "That comes with a very bad grace after what you were saying," and she harangued us loudly for several minutes. Some one in the other room giggled outright, but we were quiet as mice.

Nobody wanted to hurt her feelings. She was one against so many. If I were at the Page 20 North, I should expect them to belabor us, and should hold my tongue. We separated North from South because of incompatibility of temper. We are divorced because we have hated each other so. The poor exile had already been insulted, she said. She was playing "Yankee Doodle" on the piano before breakfast to soothe her wounded spirit, and the Judge came in and calmly requested her to "leave out the Yankee while she played the Doodle.

A man said aloud: "This war talk is nothing. It will soon blow over. Only a fuss gotten up by that Charleston clique. Toombs asked him to show his passports, for a man who uses such language is a suspicious character. Even the climate, like everything else, is upside down. But after that den of dirt and horror, Montgomery Hall, how white the sheets looked, luxurious bed linen once more, delicious fresh cream with my coffee! I breakfasted in bed. Dueling was rife in Camden.

William M. Shannon challenged Leitner. My husband was riding hard all day to stop the foolish people. Chesnut finally arranged the difficulty. There was a court of honor and no duel. Leitner had struck Mr. Shannon at a negro trial. That's the way the row began.

Everybody knows of it. We suggested that Judge Withers should arrest the belligerents. Boykin and Joe Kershaw 1 aided Mr. Chesnut to put an end to the useless risk of life. John Chesnut is a pretty soft-hearted slave-owner. He had two negroes arrested for selling whisky to his people on his plantation, and buying stolen corn from them.

The culprits in jail sent for him. He found them this snowy 1. Joseph B. Kershaw, a native of Camden, S. Page 22 weather lying in the cold on a bare floor, and he thought that punishment enough; they having had weeks of it. But they were not satisfied to be allowed to evade justice and slip away. They begged of him and got five dollars to buy shoes to run away in.

I said: "Why, this is flat compounding a felony. Reynolds stopped the carriage one day to tell me Kitty Boykin was to be married to Savage Heyward. He has only ten children already. These people take the old Hebrew pride in the number of children they have. This is the true colonizing spirit. There is no danger of crowding here and inhabitants are wanted. Old Colonel Chesnut 1 said one day: "Wife, you must feel that you have not been useless in your day and generation.

You have now twenty-seven great-grandchildren. Some of them are at the plantation, some hired out at the Camden hotel, some are at Mulberry. They agreed to come in a body and beg me to stay at home to keep my own house once more, "as I ought not to have them scattered and distributed every which way.

So a house there would be for their benefit solely, not mine. I asked my cook if she lacked anything on the plantation at the Hermitage. What are corn-meal, bacon, milk, and molasses? Would that be 1. Colonel Chesnut, the author's father-in-law, was born about He was a prominent South Carolina planter and a public-spirited man. The family had originally settled in Virginia, where the farm had been overrun by the French and Indians at the time of Braddock's campaign, the head of the family being killed at Fort Duquesne.

Colonel Chesnut, of Mulberry, had been educated at Princeton, and his wife was a Philadelphia woman. In the final chapter of this Diary, the author gives a charming sketch of Colonel Chesnut. Ain't I been living and eating exactly as you does all these years?

When I cook for you, didn't I have some of all? Dere, now! They all shouted, "Missis, we is crazy for you to stay home. Armsted, my butler, said he hated the hotel. Besides, he heard a man there abusing Marster, but Mr.

Clyburne took it up and made him stop short. Armsted said he wanted Marster to know Mr. Clyburne was his friend and would let nobody say a word behind his back against him, etc. Stay in Camden? Not if I can help it. Such a crowd of Convention men on board. John Manning 1 flew in to beg me to reserve a seat by me for a young lady under his charge.

As soon as we were fairly under way, Governor Manning came back and threw himself cheerily down into the vacant place. After arranging his umbrella and overcoat to his satisfaction, he coolly remarked: "I am the young lady. He does not always please. He seemed to have made his little maneuver principally to warn me of impending danger to my husband's political career. New cliques are not formed yet. The old ones are principally bent upon displacing one another.

John Lawrence Manning was a son of Richard I. Manning, a former Governor of South Carolina. He was himself elected Governor of that State in , was a delegate to the convention that nominated Buchanan, and during the War of Secession served on the staff of General Beauregard. In he was chosen United States Senator from South Carolina, but was not allowed to take his seat. Page 24 never mind, we are going to take care of home folks first!

How will you like to rusticate? Our round table consists of the Judge, Langdon Cheves, 1 Trescott, 2 and ourselves. Here are four of the cleverest men that we have, but such very different people, as opposite in every characteristic as the four points of the compass. Langdon Cheves and my husband have feelings and ideas in common.

Petigru, 3 said of the brilliant Trescott: "He is a man without indignation. The Judge, from his life as solicitor, and then on the bench, has learned to look for the darkest motives for every action. His judgment on men and things is always so harsh, it shocks and repels even his best friends. To-day he said: "Your conversation reminds me of a flashy second-rate novel. Do you wish to prevent us from understanding you? We know the black waiters are all ears now, and we want to keep what we have to say dark.

Son of Langdon Cheves, an eminent lawyer of South Carolina, who served in Congress from to ; he was elected Speaker of the House of Representatives, and from to was President of the United States Bank; he favored Secession, but died before it was accomplished - in After the war he had a successful career as a lawyer and diplomatist.

James Louis Petigru before the war had reached great distinction as a lawyer and stood almost alone in his State as an opponent of the Nullification movement of In he strongly opposed disunion, although he was then an old man of His reputation has survived among lawyers because of the fine work he did in codifying the laws of South Carolina. Page 25 We can't afford to take them into our confidence, you know. This explanation Trescott gave with great rapidity and many gestures toward the men standing behind us.

Still speaking the French language, his apology was exasperating, so the Judge glared at him, and, in unabated rage, turned to talk with Mr. Cheves, who found it hard to keep a calm countenance. On the Battery with the Rutledges, Captain Hartstein was introduced to me. He has done some heroic things - brought home some ships and is a man of mark. Afterward he sent me a beautiful bouquet, not half so beautiful, however, as Mr.

Robert Gourdin's, which already occupied the place of honor on my center table. What a dear, delightful place is Charleston! A lady who shall be nameless because of her story came to see me to-day. Her husband has been on the Island with the troops for months. She has just been down to see him. She meant only to call on him, but he persuaded her to stay two days. She carried him some clothes made from his old measure.

Now they are a mile too wide. He has trained down; says it is good for him, and he likes the life. She had taken no clothes down there - pushed, as she was, in that manner under Achilles's tent. But she managed things; she tied her petticoat around her neck for a nightgown.

April 2d. The others had breakfasted hours before. I looked at him in amazement, as he was in full dress, ready for a ball, swallow-tail and all, and at that hour. I am only going to the photographer. My wife wants me taken thus. Chesnut and Governor Means.

Doctor Gibbes says the Convention is in a snarl. It was called as a Secession Convention. A secession of places seems to be what it calls for first of all. It has not stretched its eyes out to the Yankees yet; it has them turned inward; introspection is its occupation still. Last night, as I turned down the gas, I said to myself: "Certainly this has been one of the pleasantest days of my life. And yet the day began rather dismally. Capers and Mrs.

Tom Middleton came for me and we drove to Magnolia Cemetery. I saw William Taber's broken column. It was hard to shake off the blues after this graveyard business. The others were off at a dinner party. There never was a pleasanter person, or a better man than he. They broke up our deeply interesting conversation, for I was hearing what an honest and brave man feared for his country, and then the Rutledges dislodged the newcomers and bore me off to drive on the Battery.

On the staircase met Mrs. Izard, who came for the same purpose. On the Battery Governor Adams 2 stopped us. He had heard of my saying he looked like Marshal Pelissier, and he came to say 1. John Hugh Means was elected Governor of South Carolina in , and had long been an advocate of secession. He was a delegate to the Convention of and affixed his name to the Ordinance of Secession.

He was killed at the second battle of Bull Run in August, James H. Adams was a graduate of Yale, who in strongly opposed Nullification, and in was elected Governor of South Carolina. Page 27 that at last I had made a personal remark which pleased him, for once in my life.

When we came home Mrs. Isaac Hayne and Chancellor Carroll called to ask us to join their excursion to the Island Forts to-morrow. With them was William Haskell. Last summer at the White Sulphur he was a pale, slim student from the university. To-day he is a soldier, stout and robust. A few months in camp, with soldiering in the open air, has worked this wonder. Camping out proves a wholesome life after all. Then came those nice, sweet, fresh, pure-looking Pringle girls.

We had a charming topic in common - their clever brother Edward. A letter from Eliza B. Mallory got a letter from a lady in Washington a few days ago, who said that there had recently been several attempts to be gay in Washington, but they proved dismal failures. The Black Republicans were invited and came, and stared at their entertainers and their new Republican companions looked unhappy while they said they were enchanted showed no ill-temper at the hardly stifled grumbling and growling of our friends, who thus found themselves condemned to meet their despised enemy.

I had a letter from the Gwinns to-day. They say Washington offers a perfect realization of Goldsmith's Deserted Village. Celebrated my 38th birthday, but I am too old now to dwell in public on that unimportant anniversary. A long, dusty day ahead on those windy islands; never for me, so I was up early to write a note of excuse to Chancellor Carroll.

My husband went. I hope Anderson will not pay them the compliment of a salute with shotted guns, as they pass Fort Sumter, as pass they must. Here I am interrupted by an exquisite bouquet from the Rutledges. Are there such roses anywhere else in the world? Now a loud banging at my door. I get up in a pet and throw it wide open. I mistook the number; I thought it was Rice's room; that is my excuse.

Now that I am here, come, go with us to Quinby's. Everybody will be there who are not at the Island. To be photographed is the rage just now. We had a nice open carriage, and we made a number of calls, Mrs. Izard, the Pringles, and the Tradd Street Rutledges, the handsome ex-Governor doing the honors gallantly. He had ordered dinner at six, and we dined tete-a-tete.

If he should prove as great a captain in ordering his line of battle as he is in ordering a dinner, it will be as well for the country as it was for me to-day. Fortunately for the men, the beautiful Mrs. Joe Heyward sits at the next table, so they take her beauty as one of the goods the gods provide. And it helps to make life pleasant with English grouse and venison from the West. Not to speak of the salmon from the lakes which began the feast.

They have me to listen, an appreciative audience, while they talk, and Mrs. Joe Heyward to look at. Beauregard 1 called. He is the hero of the hour. That is, he is believed to be capable of great things. A hero worshiper was struck dumb because I said: "So far, he has only been a captain of artillery, or engineers, or something.

Wigfall did and reproached my laziness in not coming out. Last Sunday at church beheld one of the peculiar local sights, old negro maumas going up to the communion, in their white turbans and kneeling devoutly around the chancel rail. The morning papers say Mr. Chesnut made the best shot on the Island at target practice. No war yet, thank God. Likewise they tell me Mr. Chesnut has made a capital speech in the Convention.

Not one word of what is going on now. Not so here. Our hearts are in doleful dumps, but we are as gay, as madly jolly, as sailors who break into the strong-room when the ship is going down. At first in our great agony we were out alone. We longed for some of our big brothers to come out and help us. Well, they are out, too, and now it is Fort Sumter and that ill-advised Anderson. There stands Fort Sumter, en evidence , and thereby hangs peace or war. Wigfall 1 says before he left Washington, Pickens, our Governor, and Trescott were openly against secession; Trescott does not pretend to like it now.

He grumbles all the time, but Governor Pickens is fire-eater down to the ground. Davis wore a badge. Jeff Davis is no seceder," says Mrs. Captain Ingraham comments in his rapid way, words tumbling over each other out of his mouth: "Now, Charlotte Wigfall meant that as a fling at those people.

I think better of men who stop to think; it is too rash to rush on as some do. Wigfall, "the eleventh-hour men are rewarded; the half-hearted are traitors in this row. April 3d. Governor Pickens, last night at Isaac Hayne's. I saw Miles now begging in dumb show for three violets she had in her 1. Louis Trezevant Wigfall was a native of South Carolina, but removed to Texas after being admitted to the bar, and from that State was elected United States Senator, becoming an uncompromising defender of the South on the slave question.

After the war he lived in England, but in settled in Baltimore. He had a wide Southern reputation as a forcible and impassioned speaker. Page 30 breastpin. She is a consummate actress and he well up in the part of male flirt. So it was well done. To-day at the breakfast table there was a tragic bestowal of heartsease on the well-known inquirer who, once more says in austere tones: "Who is the flirt now?

And after heartsease cometh rue. April 4th. Hayne said his wife moaned over the hardness of the chaperones' seats at St. Andrew's Hall at a Cecilia Ball. What are your feelings to those of the poor old fellows leaning there, with, their beautiful young wives waltzing as if they could never tire and in the arms of every man in the room. Watch their haggard, weary faces, the old boys, you know. At church I had to move my pew.

The lovely Laura was too much for my boys. They all made eyes at her, and nudged each other and quarreled so, for she gave them glance for glance. Wink, blink, and snicker as they would, she liked it. I say, my dear, the old husbands have not exactly a bed of roses; their wives twirling in the arms of young men, they hugging the wall. While we were at supper at the Haynes's, Wigfall was sent for to address a crowd before the Mills House piazza.

So let Washington beware. We were sad that we could not hear the speaking. But the 1. The annual balls of the St. Cecilia Society in Charleston are still the social events of the season. To become a member of the St. Cecilia Society is a sort of presentation at court in the sense of giving social recognition to one who was without the pale.

A ship was fired into yesterday, and went back to sea. Is that the first shot? How can one settle down to anything; one's heart is in one's mouth all the time. Any moment the cannon may open on us, the fleet come in. The two leaning towers , the Torre Asinelli and the Torre Garisenda? No, no, and no. What about San Michele in Bosco, with its panoramic terrace overlooking the city? Surely, someone will disembark there to appreciate the view.

No, indeed. Everyone stays resolutely on the bus, craning their necks and taking pictures. No one ever does get off. I reach into my purse for something to eat and find that my scarf—the one I keep on hand for covering my shoulders when visiting churches in Italy—has gotten caught in the zipper. Instead, the zipper breaks. The buses are taking a long break for lunch, and so do I. In an alleyway just off the square, I find a place called Al Voltone and it seems reasonable enough. Nonetheless, the chance to sit and rest in the cool shade does me good.

I buy a ticket for the next train to Florence and settle in for the ride. Still, he says I should remind him never to make me angry. Who knows what it may accomplish, even if it does mean sacrificing a perfectly good purse. Over breakfast, I unfold a map and consider my options. The Hotel Davanzati has a sister company called I Just Drive , which offers a number of small group tours.

I had hoped to go on their outing to Pienza, Montalcino, and Montepulciano, but as in Venice my timing as a solo traveler is bad. I consider Fiesole for a moment, or maybe Pistoia, but I decide to roll the dice and lay my bet on the surest thing I know. I spent the afternoon instead wandering the hilly streets in a happy stupor induced by some truly excellent food.

It was a memorable day. Only later did it occur to me that I had missed the finest view of all, which is reached from the top of an unfinished wall of the Duomo, abandoned in the 14th century when the Black Plague swept through the city. My return today is all about unfinished business. I walk to the SITA terminal near Santa Maria Novella and board a corse rapide bus that offers little in terms of scenery, but gets to Siena via the autostrada in little more than an hour. I stand on the sloping pavement for a few minutes, soaking in the surroundings and the grandeur of the Palazzo Pubblico.

There are pigeons bathing in the Fonte Gaia , children playing tag, and people lounging with their backs upon the warm bricks. The owner, Anna, is sunny and gregarious, and justifiably proud of her food. Everything is delicious, especially the balsamic and when I tell her so, she beams. With fuel in my stomach and energy in my legs, I decide to tackle the most trying item on my itinerary first—the narrow, corkscrew stairway that leads to the Panorama del Facciatone.

Between the height of the unfinished nave wall and the topography of the land, I am high above the fan of Piazza del Campo, as if floating on air. It would be difficult to imagine a more sublime view. Once outside again, I round the corner to get a better view of the cathedral itself. The pink and green marble reminds me of the basilica of Santa Maria del Fiore in Florence, but the Gothic spires and the gold mosaics have me thinking of Orvieto instead, which makes sense since the architects there were Sienese as well.

Inside, the nave is lined with bold striped columns of black and white stone, and the floor is paved with intricate mosaics and inlaid marble panels. There is a Nicola Pisano pulpit depicting the life of Christ that was completed in , and an adjacent library that houses a collection of illuminated manuscripts with a series of stunning wall frescoes devoted to Pius II. In many ways, Italy is still a conservative country, and a devoutly Catholic one, too.

While in America, someone might attend mass on a Sunday morning wearing shorts and a halter top, there are standards of modesty here—shoulders at least, and often knees, must be covered. I carry a scarf in my purse for such occasions, although today it is a looking a bit tattered and worse for wear after that wrestling match with the zipper on my purse in Bologna. But at least I come prepared. If only they could ban flip flops , too, I would be well satisfied.

I stop for some raspberry and lemon gelato at Grom , window shop for ceramics that display the coats of arms of the seventeen contrade of Siena that compete in the Palio each year, and buy a few ricciarelli cookies from Nannini to eat later. By half past four, my legs have given out on the hilly terrain and I decide to catch the next SITA bus back to Florence. Back at the hotel, I lay down to rest for a bit in my room and once again crank up the air conditioning.

A while later, I come out for one final Happy Hour. He leans over and peers into my glass. The woman behind the counter recognizes me and she introduces herself. Her name is Tiziana. She is kind and she enjoys practicing her English, which encourages us to talk. At that, she wraps it carefully, first in bubble wrap, but then in paper, and ties it with a brightly colored ribbon, treating it with the care of a special present.

Tonight, Luca Sciortino has joined him and the mood on the Ponte Vecchio is as mellow as the setting sun. As I sit on the edge of the curb, I think about Tiziana and about Giovanni Turchi and the young man in the workshop of the Scuola del Cuoio , about Claudio who sings his heart out every night, and about Tommaso and Fabrizio back at the Davanzati.

When I pass the Mercato Nuovo, I make sure to drop a coin in the mouth of Il Porcellino and to rub his well-worn snout. We talk pleasantly for a few minutes as he runs my credit card through and prints the receipt, and when I ask for a small favor, he says he would be happy to store my luggage in the corner behind the desk to allow me a few more hours to sightsee before moving on.

That object is the fundamental starting point of the Early Renaissance, along with the bronze panels Brunelleschi and Lorenzo Ghiberti completed for a competition to determine which would be commissioned for the doors of the Baptistery. There are nine large rooms in all to digest, with major works by Donatello, Lippi, Masaccio, and Della Robbia, among others.

Coming here has been an afterthought, of sorts, but a welcome one. I return to the Hotel Davanzati and walk up the flight of stairs one last time to claim my bags. I need to clear my head after an intense five days in Florence.

I have another week in Italy ahead of me and I want to enjoy it. The rest of today is my own, and I feel no need to rush. I combined it then with a day trip to Pisa to see the Leaning Tower , the cathedral, and the Camposanto. It had started out with unseasonably cool temperatures, a driving wind, and torrential rain, but by the time I arrived in Lucca in mid-afternoon, the sun was splitting the clouds and the air was warm and breezy and fresh, as it so often is after a storm.

And for me it was there, captured in a moment now five years gone. It became one of my fondest memories from that trip, and I always knew I would come back. The shops have reopened following their afternoon slumber and the town is gradually crawling back to life. It appears dark and nearly empty inside, but the waitress leads me out through the dining room to a shaded courtyard in back where there are a dozen or more people dining merrily under a canopy of umbrellas.

There are white and aqua tablecloths and potted flowers on the tables, and there is a warm glow coming from the lamps that line the edge of the stone patio. Within minutes, she leans over to ask if she can join me. I nod readily, and she carries a glass of wine over to the seat across from mine. She has a cheerful disposition and a lovely lilting accent, which reminds me of another Australian woman I once met on a train between Assisi and Arezzo.

Solo travel has its rewards to be sure, but it can be a hard and lonely business sometimes, which is what makes sharing an unexpected meal with a sociable stranger so comforting. I bought a pair of Italian paintings that day that hang on the opposite sides of my living room window at home in Vermont.

When I tell him of my plans for the day, he says that the antique dealers and their wares are spread out along a chain of piazzas, and he circles the map to get me started—Piazza Napoleone, Piazza del Giglio, Piazza San Martino, and Piazza San Giovanni. It depicts a group of boaters on the Arno, with the imposing tower of the Palazzo Vecchio and the red dome of Santa Maria del Fiore dominating the city skyline in the background.

I ponder this for a bit and ask for advice from a helpful Brit who owns a gallery in town. Moreover, it would be difficult to find a local shipping company before I leave for Pisa in the morning. It is the weekend, after all. There are art dealers who handle such things, of course, but that would require the formality of Italian export laws , which treat antiques as cultural assets.

He says that it could both time consuming and costly to acquire approval. Inasmuch as I like the painting, I decide not to risk it in the end. And, of course, I walk along the city walls, alongside joggers, and bicyclists, and families with strollers. One of the great composers of Italian opera, Giacomo Puccini was born in Lucca in and has remained a favorite son ever since. The daily concerts that are offered during the Puccini e la sua Lucca festival appeal unapologetically to the tourist crowd.

Lasting just an hour, they are the perfect pre-dinner recital, and the musical selections are largely arias and duets from accessible and well-known operas, including Tosca, Madame Butterfly, and Turnadot. Still, the soloists are first rate and I enjoy it immensely, with one exception.

There is a woman in the row in front of me who insists on videotaping the entire event on her cell phone, probably for bragging rights back home to impress friends and family with her cultured taste. The night air has grown chilly and I wish I had thought to bring a jacket. Tonight, in a tradition that dates back more than years, over , candles will be lit along the banks of the Arno.

With plenty of time to get there, I decide to linger on in Lucca for nearly half the day. There are street vendors selling balloons and candy and roasted nuts. There are also platforms in the river itself, from which fireworks will be launched at the end of the night. At the insistence of an old woman behind the counter at Catherine di Rofrano Patrizio, who speaks no English but communicates exceedingly well in gestures, I buy an aqua wrap dress with a low V-neck because she thinks it brings out the color of my eyes.

I also pick out a simple coral sun dress from Vuerre, since it matches the Murano glass necklace I bought in Venice. I follow Corso Italia all the way down to the train station and back before stopping for a casual dinner in Piazza Chiara Gambacorti.

I order a caprese salad and a plate of ravioli in a walnut cream sauce, and while neither are particularly good, the lively atmosphere more than makes up for the food. There is a flag with a Pisan cross hanging from an open window, a man on stilts walking about in red and black polka dot pants, and a cluster of balloons representing an odd mix of pop culture icons—from Smurfs and Barbies and Winnie the Poohs, to Spongebob Squarepants and Tweety Bird.

I head back to the hotel for a fresh camera battery, a new storage card, and a small tripod. By PM, the sky has deepened into a rich cobalt blue and the candles on the palazzos are twinkling like a thousand strands of Christmas lights. It says a lot about a people to watch them celebrate. There is more celebrating to do in Pisa today, but things will have to go on without me. Teams of oarsmen representing each of the four neighborhoods will row against the current, down to the Palazzo Medici, and climb a rope to grab a flag at the top of a ten meter pole mounted at the finish line.

I decide to walk down to the Jewish Ghetto —one of my very favorite neighborhoods in Rome—to grab a sandwich from a take-out counter instead. I continue on, through Piazza Margana and along Via dei Delfini. I move out of the open square and seek out the shade of narrow streets on a pilgrimage to the Pantheon. Even centuries after its construction in the first century AD, it was such an impressive feat of engineering that Filippo Brunelleschi studied it before drafting his own plans for the dome of Santa Maria del Fiore in Florence.

Nearby, I pause to watch a pair of street performers. They are cross-legged and silent, holding prayer beads. One is mysteriously levitating above the other with no means of visible support, aside from a single raised hand holding a pole. No one seems able to figure it out , and that for me merits an easy Euro tip. I circle back, past the shop window of Ghezzi Luciano , where there are ornate monstrances and chasubles and mitres on display—a reminder that Vatican City and the Holy See are just across the Tiber.

When I emerge onto Corso Vittorio Emanuele, the street is throbbing with the noise of rush hour traffic. I cross over at the light and stop at Largo di Torre Argentina to visit the feral cats who sprawl across the ruins at the sanctuary there, clearly enjoying the heat of day far more than I. By now, the air conditioning back in my room at the hotel is beckoning. When I venture out again for dinner at eight, the air feels thick, but the sun has fallen behind the roofline and the atmosphere is more pleasant.

I walk across the Ponte Palatino to Trastevere, where I settle into a table on the patio of Il Ponentino , under the shade of an umbrella. The waiter comes by and I order a bruschetta to start, and then a plate of cacio e pepe , a simple pasta dish made with cheese and pepper that I had once enjoyed in Arezzo. Tonight, however, my pronunciation reduces the man to peels of laughter, and he warns me, in English, that I should be careful how I say that. Tommaso, at the Hotel Davanzati in Florence, was fond of correcting my pitiful Italian.

If he were here, undoubtedly he would find that very funny, indeed. I walk along the Tiber after dinner, through the stalls of the Lungo il Tevere Roma festival, where temporary bars and restaurants have sprung up for the summer. There is live music here and there, and scores of vendors selling clothing and jewelry.

By the time I reach the Ponte Palatino, the bridge is quiet and there is a dusky peach sky behind the dome of St. I stop to take a picture, to capture a fleeting moment in time. Some of my fondest memories of the Hotel Hosianum Palace are of having breakfast on the rooftop terrace, high among the church spires and the winged chariots that perch on top of the Vittorio Emanuele monument.

That was on my first trip to Italy in Alas, this morning, there is a sign yet again directing guests to the breakfast room in the basement. Surely, with temperatures soaring into the 90s, it is no longer too frigid to sit outdoors—even by sensitive Italian standards—so I ask the manager for an explanation, pointing to the envelope that holds my key card.

Why, exactly, is the terrace closed in the middle of June, I ask? Now, things are getting perfectly ridiculous. The last measureable precipitation Rome had was on June 4, the day I flew to Venice, and even that was just a tenth of an inch. I need to top up the minutes on my SIM card.

When I see a Uomo Nuovo demonstration spilling out of Piazza Colonna, it inspires me to protest an injustice of my own. Perhaps I should rally the guests back at the hotel to storm the barricades tomorrow morning, to fight for our right to dine al fresco. There is a fine collection of Roman sculptures, including a marble copy of the original bronze discus thrower, his torso twisted and his muscles flexed.

For me, though, the most impressive artifacts by far are the frescoes and mosaics. There are thousands of individually cut pieces of stone—called tesserae —most no larger than a centimeter across. There are also a number of stunning room frescoes, including one from an underground triclinium at the Villa of Livia.

Discovered in , but dating back to the 1st century B. There are quince and pomegranate and boxwood trees, as well as poppies, ferns, violets, and irises. As I walk toward Piazza della Reppublica afterwards, the oppressive heat that has descended on the city makes me wish I had lingered longer in the painted garden inside.

But there are a number of sites I am determined to see, and my map looks like a game of connect the dots, with a long zig-zag line that stops at the Spanish Steps. Across the street, I can see the crumbling brick wall that is the entrance to the basilica of Santa Maria degli Angeli. If I can find a pleasant oasis like this every hour or so, I just might be able to get through the day. On my first trip to Italy in , I visited the Catacombs of San Callisto along the old Appian Way, but nothing has prepared me for this, not even the catacombs beneath the streets of Paris.

There are alcoves of human bones, sectioned into parts—skulls in one, thigh bones in another, pelvises in a third, and so on—like a grandiose Halloween display. But the bones are not merely in neat stacks, as they are in Paris, with an occasional decorative flourish. They are woven into elaborate designs, including a skeletal grim reaper, holding scales and a scythe made of vertebrae. I leave grateful, though, because at least it was cool inside. Yes, I suppose they would. My final stop for the day is a social one.

A colleague of mine from work is in Rome for a few days attending a conference. It has a stunning terrace overlooking the city, and he wants me to see it. Originally, I had hoped to go to the Papal Audience in St. The website also advises visitors to arrive two hours early for a security screening and to expect the Audience itself to last at least an hour. I decide to scrap Plan A. I devise Plan B over breakfast—which is, incidentally, still in the godforsaken basement of the Hotel Hosianum Palace , and not on the rooftop terrace.

At least that would have allowed me to escape the burning pavement of the city and retreat to a greener locale. My bad luck with bus tours has continued, however. The phone line keeps patching me through to a call center in the United States, where the difference in time zones makes it much too early to reach anyone during business hours.

Outside of hotel rooms, air conditioning is a rarity in Rome, especially in museums. When I was first there in , I was on an organized tour that careened through the galleries at breakneck speed. At least something has gone according to plan today. In their only gesture toward crowd control, the Vatican Museums are arranged into a one-way street, with large black arrows printed on the gallery map. I devote the rest of the afternoon to inquisitive exploration.

I visit the Pinacoteca for the first time, which the tour guide had bypassed entirely on my previous trip, and also the Padiglione delle Carrozze , which has an historic collection of cars and carriages, including the white jeep John Paul II was riding in when he was shot on May 13, In Florence, the dome of Santa Maria del Fiore is clearly visible, as is the octagonal baptistery in front.

And today in Venice, all a time traveler would have to do is pull up a chair in Piazza San Marco to feel perfectly at home in familiar surroundings. There are vendors selling colorful paper parasols to shade the sun, and people are buying them in droves. Combined with shorts and T-shirts, it makes the average tourist look like an out of place extra in a production of Madame Butterfly.

Despite showing him the address of the Hotel Hosianum Palace on a business card, he takes me somewhere else entirely, a Via dei Prefetti instead of Via dei Polacchi, and then insists on running the meter all the back to the proper destination.

When we get there, I refuse to pay him in full and we settle on a smaller amount, but the experience still leaves me steamed. Feeling as much refreshed by the meal as by the cool descent of night, afterwards I decide to stroll down Via dei Fori Imperiali to take some pictures. An impressive silence broods over the monstrous structure where such multitudes of men and women were wont to assemble in other days.

The butterflies have taken the places of queens of fashion and beauty of eighteen centuries ago, and the lizards sun themselves in the sacred seat of the Emperor. Clustered around the brooding statue of Giordano Bruno, a Dominican monk who was burned at the stake here in , there are scores of umbrellas shading vendors from the sun. There are fruit and vegetable stands and dried pastas for sale, as well as bottles of olive oil and balsamic vinegar. And of course, there are flowers—big bunches of roses and chrysanthemums and daisies that burst with the vibrant colors of summer.

It was by necessity at first, but then—ever so gradually—by choice. There is also a series of intricate still lifes of butterflies, insects, and shells by Jan van Kessel, another descendent in a complex and talented family tree. The sculptures I see are extraordinary. Then there are the rows of heads in the Sala degli Imperatori , or Hall of the Emperors , including the famous Fonseca Bust, with her mound of intricately carved curls piled high upon her head.

I relax for a while in my air conditioned room at the Hotel Hosianum Palace , where my bags are already packed and stowed in the corner. Earlier in the day, I had liked the quiet streets near the Chiostro del Bramante, so later I head back to Piazza Navona and veer off onto Via di Tor Millina, to a little osteria and wine bar called Cybo for dinner.

I stop to listen, and then continue on, back up the long stairs that lead to the Capitoline Hill, the lone statue of Marcus Aurelius on horseback, and the piazza designed by Michelangelo. What does it mean to have returned time and again, through sheer will and force of habit, to the same cities, the same hotels, and many of the same museums and streets? There is always more to discover, and new faces to meet. In standing here, looking out across the vast remnants of Roman history, it occurs to me that time is more like layers of debris.

Some memories we bury, but there are those we excavate purely for the joy of seeing them again, all the while building new walls and windows at the surface through which to see the world anew. You may have the universe if I may have Italy. Like this: Like Loading Perhaps an explanation is in order. It seems I am going back to Italy after all.

Of course it is. As in Venice, some things never change, and for that I am grateful. I might just keep walking. I know it works, though, because I always come back.

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Andrej B Carpi, Italia 15 contributi. Bella statua equestre. Bella piazza del centro, vicina a via Pietro Micca ed al Duomo. Bellissima la statua equestre di Ferdinando di Savoia al centro della piazza con il cavallo colpito a morte mentre sta stramazzando.

Su un lato della piazza vi sono 4 grandi statue che richiamano le 4 stagioni e costituiscono la Fontana Angelica. Rubemperor Vezzano Ligure, Italia 1. Sono stato in questa piazza con la mia ragazza in occasione di un fine settimana a Torino. La piazza si estende in lunghezza nel centro storico del capoluogo piemontese e comprende al proprio interno giardini, sculture e fontane. Lungo il perimetro sono disponibili posti auto a pagamento.

Daniele F Parma, Italia contributi. Al centro si trova il monumento al generale Alessandro Lamarmora. Nessuna domanda su questa esperienza. Fai una domanda. Altre opzioni preferite dai viaggiatori. Cappella dei Banchieri e dei Mercanti. Santuario Basilica La Consolata.

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