A Secret Fiancee

A Secret Fiancee
Nan Moale Smith

Friday, March 4, 2011

Fanny Gibbon’s Campaign for Women’s Rights


Foreword: Mainly out of curiosity and with trickles of unexpressed creativity, I like to design and make Victorian and Edwardian bonnets. They often reflect the handmade traits and fashions I’ve seen in illustrations from Harper’s Bazaar or The Century Magazine, and I try to use authentic fabrics and trims. Researching women of that century is challenging -- they slipped away to become the wife of someone else and quickly lost their self-identity.  I try to imagine what an individual’s personality and tastes may have been when writing about them. It is good to think about fashion and their lifestyles, too -- women in long, full dresses -- crossing muddy streets in silk slippers, riding horses sidesaddle, attending dances in drafty ballrooms, and changing several times each day to suit the various occasions.  

Each bonnet is dedicated to someone who may not have been famous but who acted on her private beliefs. One of the first bonnets I made was dedicated to Fanny Gibbon. Fanny was the maternal aunt of Nan Moale Smith, and her daughter Fannie was particularly close to Nan as a cousin and as a friend. Nan was "summering" with the Gibbon family at West Point in 1872, and it was likely Fannie who introduced her to Cadet C.E.S. Wood. She harbored a secret crush on the handsome cadet that created more than a few ruffled feelings between the two cousins.

Fanny Gibbon’s Campaign for Women’s Rights

      Frances North Moale of Baltimore married 1st Lt. John Gibbon, September 25, 1854. The happy newlyweds spent their first years together at West Point Military Academy where their two little daughters were born, Frances (also “Fannie”) and Katharine (“Katie”). Their daughters were an endless source of joy to the somber officer and his beautiful wife. Fanny and the girls first journeyed west with Captain Gibbon in June 1860 in a mule-drawn army ambulance across the Plains to command Fort Floyd, UT. They travelled on the Oregon Trail, retracing some of Lewis & Clark’s travels, too. A prolific writer and illustrator, Gibbon recorded his family trip for posterity in Adventures on the Western Frontier (Indiana University Press, 1994) He marveled at little Katie’s artwork and her interest in his journals. He noticed that Fanny was becoming a real trooper, too, cooking over a wood fire. She was raised at the Moale family country home “Atamasco” near Owings Mills, MD. There, servants and former slaves cooked all of the meals and tended to the housekeeping, but an Army wife was expected to be adaptable and charming, and above all she should make the best of any situation.

    When the nation and the army were torn apart with the surrender of Fort Sumter, the newly promoted Captain Gibbon and Fanny were forced, like many, to choose between families of loyal Democrats in North Carolina & Maryland and his oath to the Union. To fellow officers he was the “most American of Americans.” Fanny Gibbon’s sentiments are unknown.  Gibbon was promoted to brevet General during the Civil War and Fanny followed him to some of the camps. Throughout most of the war, Fanny and her children remained in Maryland. Present for the surrender at Appomattox, General Gibbon, as a highly decorated soldier was offered his choice of future commands on the Western Frontier.

The Gibbon family now included a little son John, and they would cross the nation many times in the next 30 years as the general’s career flourished.  Officers’ housing improved over the years, too, until at the apex of Gibbon’s career, the General and his family moved as the first residents into an 8,000-square foot Victorian mansion built for the Commander of the Department of the Columbia, headquartered at Vancouver Barracks, in Washington Territory.[1] Fanny entertained to her heart’s delight as important visitors frequented the General’s home for teas, hops, balls and masquerades. U.S. Presidents, Senators, & business magnates travelling West called on John and Fanny Gibbon.

    A general’s wife held influential sway over social, ethical and political matters within the Department.  Fanny Gibbon and her two daughters supported the women’s right to vote. Upon retirement, John wrote an article for Harper’s Weekly “In Defense of Women’s Right to Vote.” Rumored that his wife and daughter Fannie wrote it, it was common for women to use their famous husband’s name when seeking broad exposure for a hotly debated subject. Like Fanny, John believed in Women’s Rights and but he did not join in his wife’s voting marches and campaigns. While living in Washington Territory (1886-1889), Fanny and all women of majority age enjoyed equal voting rights with registered male voters within the county and local elections. Women shared positions on school boards and paid taxes. They lost this right when Washington Territory became a state but since the state was one of three in the nation to extend community property rights to all men and women, they continued to enjoy independent legal status.

Fanny and John enjoyed a remarkably close companionship throughout their married lives. John passed away February 6, 1896. Fanny died a few years later, and like many 19th century wives the date has not been found.

Bibliography

Gibbon, John. Adventures on the Western Frontier (Indiana University Press, 1994)
___________. Personal Recollections of the Civil War. New York: G.P. Putnam's Sons, 1928.




[1] The house remains open yet today as the grande dame of Officers’ Row in Vancouver, WA, where 21 historic homes have been restored and refurbished for continued use. The Gibbons’ home is known as the “Marshall House.” General George C. Marshall and his wife Katherine lived there after his promotion to general and throughout his first command as department commander.

Sunday, February 20, 2011

Victorian Birthday Celebrations

Research bumps into dark corners at times, often filled with attitude and guess work. One such corner beckoned early on in the transcription of these letters when the birth date of Nan Smith could not be found. Six years of exchanged mail prompted numerous references to holidays like Easter and Christmas (celebrated in grand style by Nan’s family) but seemingly nothing was shared about birthdays. These were two lovers who cared deeply for one another, and Wood spoke often of age and of losing their youth to separation and longing, but not once did he wish Nan “Happy Birthday” nor did he acknowledge his own (February 20, 1852 and its subsequent years). Miss Smith was a generous “perfect woman” as Wood often described her, she made blue sashes and cambric shirts for her secret fiancĂ©, and shopped for buttons and ornaments to complete Wood’s uniform when his orders carried him a continent away to the untamed and under-supplied West Coast in 1874.
          I began to think that speaking of birthdays was unpleasant for a socialite of Baltimore and Washington, D.C. and maybe just as uncomfortable in the thoughts of a young army officer who theoretically (at least) faced hardships and death every day. Apparently, the birthdays of the 1870’s were not the grand festive occasions of a Victorian Christmas – YET.
          Famous people like monarchs received praise all around, with much flag waving and religious ceremony. Others like Susan B. Anthony were publicly lauded with poetry on February 15, 1872. (It seems that not only great American presidents were born in February but women’s leaders, too.) On the occasion of Anthony’s fiftieth birthday in 1870, Phoebe Cary dedicated her poem “Revolution” to Anthony. (http://ecssba.rutgers.edu/docs/cary.html).

“Because her motto grand hath been
    The right of every human,
And first and last, and right or wrong
    She takes the side of woman.

“’A perfect woman, nobly planned,’
    To aid, not to amuse one,
Take her for all we ne’er
    Shall see the match for Susan!”

Wood later chose a woman’s rights activist to share his closing years, but it was Nannie who he so beautifully complimented as “the Perfect Woman.”
          It was not until 1905; on the occasion of Samuel Clemens's seventieth birthday that that famous writer’s birth date was widely celebrated. He wrote, “Life would be infinitely happier if we could only be born at the age of eighty and gradually approach eighteen.” Wood met Clemens at West Point when he returned to the Military Academy as General O.O. Howard’s aide-de-camp in the early 1880s. Clemens stayed in the Wood home for several days and the two collaborated in printing a naughty little essay on the West Point printing press, titled 1609. (Unfortunately, no original copies remain in the Wood Collection at Lewis & Clark College.)
         
          Nan Smith and C.E.S. Wood were raised in the serious years of Civil War when frivolities were unforgiveable and socially unacceptable in the midst of widespread mourning. Neither lover seemed to recall birthday parties or fetes given in their honor as children. Out of habit and out of mind.
          As seen throughout the letters, and even in the discussions of germans and balls, the 1870’s were an awakening of the Golden Age. Industrial fortunes were on the verge of funding widespread European travel, magnificent mansions, and art collections deserving acclaim. Lavish weddings and grand balls were expected by the rich and the not-so-rich but famous, but birthdays were greatly ignored.
          Charles Dickens recalled attending the anniversary tea of a young friend as her only guest. Seed-cakes and sweet wine were served with a flourish and this unexpected indulgence led to the administration of “powder” the next morning. [All the Year Round, June 6, 1863, p.348] Dickens associated school time birthdays with sudden, newly-found friends full of ingratiating remarks in the days just preceding the school boy’s birthday when a hamper smelling of “oranges, brown paper, and straw” [Stet, p.349] was sent along to pass among the birthday child’s closest friends.
          The twenty-first birthday for gentlemen (Wood – 1873) and for young ladies who turned eighteen (Smith – 1873) were significant as they gained majority or “came of age” as it was familiarly known. For all practical reasons of 1870’s adulthood, this birthday signified the right to vote (for white males only), the right to wed without parental consent (mainly for women), the expectation of self-sufficiency and maturity (both sexes and a delusion continued through today), and the right of inheritance. Wood had nothing to gain but familial responsibility on that count; Nan inherited a few properties in Maryland, adjoining Moale estates, which two uncles eagerly sought to manage “for her.” The inheritance eventually required an attorney for Nan’s interests and a threatened lawsuit to sort out the matter satisfactorily for Miss Smith.
          It is unlikely that candles burned brightly on the little seed cakes baked for Victorian birthdays. Theories abound tracing the ritual to the ancient Greeks who frightened evil spirits away with open flames or to the more contemporary 19th Century Germans and their Christmas trees that glowed with candles or even sparklers (of Chinese origin). The cakes of the 1870’s were barren of glimmer or frosting, filled with the richness of real butter, caraway or poppy seeds, and candied citrus peel. By the early 20th century, however, no holds barred, and the birthday cake, triple-layered and all aglow came into its own.
          And so, having rummaged through a wide collection of research topics about Victorian birthdays and their significance in the decade of the 1870s, this researcher came to the conclusion that fetes and gifts for nativity anniversaries were not commonplace in the world of Nan Smith and C.E.S. Wood. Apparently, acknowledging their birthdays was unnecessary, but just in case you need a convenient excuse to try the nutritious but caloric seed cake recipe I’ve posted here, C.E.S. Wood’s birth date was February 20, 1852, and Nan Smith was born January 12, 1855. (Philip Leon, Nanny Wood, Heritage Books: 2003, p.153.)
          I’m on my way to the kitchen to bake a cake today …
         

Monday, February 7, 2011

The Valentine composed by C.E.S. Wood for Nan Smith in 1875



The Valentine 
A Legend

You have heard the quaint old fable
Of how youths and maids were able,
In the days when dream and token
Wove a charm but barely broken,
To foretell by sign and omen
Future spouse of man or woman.
Those were days when elves and fairies
Rode on moon beams, danced on prairies,
Bathed in rainbow mist of fountains,
Delved the gems from out the mountains,
Slept in flowers, and hid in crannies
To torment poor half-blind grannies.





But of late they’ve grown more wary
Rarely can you find a fairy.
I have caught one; but you never,
With a life long strong endeavor,
Will espy one like unto her
I have found her – I shall woo her.
         In those days of fond believing
When there was no sad deceiving;
Thus the fable ran in numbers
This the power it wrought in slumbers.
         The first form to sight disclosing
By the eyes from sleep unclosing
On the morn the sun did shine
Sacred to Saint Valentine,
Would invade the heart and feeling
Like the spring its first course stealing
Turning, wavering and delaying,
Sluggish oft’, but never staying
Ever swelling – growing ever
Till it rolls a mighty river.
So the form the sight possessing
Soon the soul heard love’s confessing.




Love. The strangest thing in mortal.
Half concealed in heaven’s portal,
Full of earth yet, self-denying,
All the powers of earth defying.
Purely good and blindly evil.
Half a god and half a devil.
         If the new-born glance of maiden,
On that morn with wonders laden,
Could by watchful love be captured
Then love’s heart with bliss was raptured,
For the charm knew no escaping
Fate itself hung on the waking.
              From that time of dreamy glory
Comes this oft’ repeated story.
         X         X         X         X         X
         Fair she was – Oh none was fairer!
Rare her beauty and still rarer
Was the beauty of her nature
Lighting sweetly every feature.
Laughing grace did did ‘round her hover
Wit and Virtue hung above her.
Most divine of all things human
Blushing maid and virtuous woman.
As a suitor, low before her
Many a prince knelt to adore her.
But their suing sounded dreary,
And their wooing made her weary.
For not yet had love caressed her
So their sighing but distressed her
Like the wind-sprite’s ceaseless moaning
O’er the land wastes, in the gloaming.
         Once when summer skies were brighter
And the amorous air was lightest,
With her train of damsels fair
Rode this maiden to the where
In a grove a spring lay sleeping:
O’er its banks the flowers were peeping
At their faces – plainly showing
On the limpid pool below them,
Till the maidens – timorous, doubting,
Broke the mirro of the fountain.
Then it wove its crystal meshes
’Round about their soft embraces“
Forms that glowed with wondrous graces.












2.

Clung the loving water to them
And the wavelets seemed to woo them.
         Soon with laughter and with singing
Loud they set the grove a-ringing.
Rousing from his slumbers light,
A young, gallant errant – Knight,
Who, with cautious steps advancing,
Saw the dashing waters glancing
And a maze of white limbs shining
Snowy arms with arms entwining.
Scarce could he believe the seeming,
Scarce could think he was not dreaming.
         One there who seemed the queen.
Sure such beauty ne’er was seen!
Fair she was – Oh none was fairer
Was the beauty of her nature
Lighting sweetly every feature
Laughing grace did ‘round her hover
Wit and Virtue hung above her.

Slow he turned him from the sight
Filled for her, with love’s delight.
         Straight into the town he rode
To the bustling inn he strode.
To the host’s obsequious homage
Bowed his helmet’s nodding plumage,
Begged a stall for his tired charger
For himself, a space scarce larger.
And not waiting for replying
Turned into the hall for dining.
         Here a burly, huge mechanic
Seemed to’ve spread a sort of panic.
For each one forgot his beaker
As he listened to the speaker.
         “_______ and the king, our sovereign saying
He was tired of much delaying
Bade her think, before refusing,
Always she could not be choosing,
And that if – ’Tis thus the lines say—
If before Saint Valentine’s day
She a spouse had not selected
She should spouse whom he directed.
For the throne must be provided
With an heir – Thus he decided.
         So Sirs, tho‘ ye are not kings
Ye are free in little things.
Tho‘ your daughters not princesses,
They may wait till love addresses.
Tho‘ ye hold the lowly stations
Every place holds compensations.“
Here the stalwart speaker ended
To his tankard he attended,
While a sundden buzz and humming
On the ear took up its strumming.
And the knight, amidst this clatter,
Asked the landlord of the matter.
“What like, is this princess fair;
Turning lovers to despair?“
Then he learned their sovereign’s
         daughter
Was his nymph-queen – of the water.
And he murmurred – “poor and friendless
Scarce a name – The toil seems endless.
But in spite of fates that hover,
I shall win her, for – I love her.
In the fight, that arm is strongest
That the crushing blows plys longest.
Vain may be the assault eager
Rarely fails the patient leaguer.“
         So he waited – hoped and waited
Till the eve with import freighted,
Then with true sword by his side
Set he forth to win his bride.
         Silvered by the falling starlight
All the city slept in quiet,
And the palace with its turrets
Seemed the filmy work of spirits,
Here and there, a light was winking.
Up the marble staircase stole he,
Going cautiously and slowly
Through a shade and silence solemn
That enwrapped each stately column.
With breath bated and brows knitted
On from hall to hall he flitted,
Past the corridors and entries
Past the careless, drowsy sentries,
Till through all the various danger
Safe he stood before her chamber.










3.

Ghostly was the heavy turning
Of the door. And fierce the burning
Of the love that now devoured him
And the doubt that overpowered him.
         On a bed – ivory and golden
Fairest vision e’er beholden
Lay the princess sleeping calmly
While her sweetest lips and balmy
From each others kiss had started,
Yet regretful to have parted.
And her breath – her bosom heaving,
By this coral portal leaving
Lingered wanton, with caresses.
Lovinglyamong her tresses;
That in many a silken billow
Rushed rebellious o’er the pillow,
Veiling half, with careless duty,
One white arm of matchless beauty
Thrown with careless grace above her,
Twining gladly with the other.
Beauty shed its light around her
Purity with gems had crowned her.
         There she slept – his peerless treasure
Scarce his heart could beat for pleasure.
Low he knelt and bowed before her,
Heart and mind and soul adored her.
Low he knelt and humbly waited
For what bliss to him was fated.
On the tide of slumber drifting,
Slow her modest eyelids lifting,
Showed into her ’wildered sight
Vision of the kneeling knight
With his upturned face, imploring
Filled for her with love’s adoring,
Framed in clustering curls of yellow
Each one twining with its fellow.
         Faintly stole a smile upon her,
He had sought her – He had won her
Outstretched were the white arms glowing
In her soft eyes love was showing,
Growing deeper still, and deeper
While the smiles played sweet and sweeter.

And there floated to the listener
Love’s empassioned, thrilling whisper
“Oh my lover! – Oh I love thee!
None on earth is there above thee“
And the warm arms tightly pressed him
And the balmy lips caressed him.
         Then the knight in mournful
         Fashion
Told the story of his passion.
How that he was poor and fameless,
All unknown and almost nameless.
But she lovingly reproved him
Saying ’twas enough, she loved him
And that she him had selected
As the kingly word directed.
Thou art poor! – I’ll be thy treasure.
Thou art humble! Love’s my measure.
All thy woes,with thee I’ll bear them
All my joys, with thee I’ll share them.
Love shall bind us and sustain us,
Love the bliss of life will gain us,
Love will turn away all trouble,
Love the good and joy will double.



There will be no doubt nor grieving
Naught but loving and believing.
All my love --- Lo! Thou hast taken.
With thy love my heart awakened:
For while thou thy watch wast keeping
’Twas my heart – not I – was sleeping.
         X            X            X              X
         Such the ancient tale, or legend
Of how patient love succeeded
Passed thro‘ waiting – thro’ all danger
And knelt in the sacred chamber
Where it’s [sic] idol lay a-dreaming.
         Read, who will, the bidden
         meaning. --------------------------

                  And so – my little valentine
good-night.
                      E.W.

Camp Bidwell
     California
                        Feb. 14th 1875




Thanks to the Lewis & Clark College in Portland, OR -- Special Collections See also http://digitalcollections.lclark.edu/