USA > Washington DC > Washington DC > Historic homes in Washington : its noted men and women and a century in the White House > Part 21
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A few minutes' drive, and you have passed the time- worn, tumble-down old town, a remnant of the "have beens," and enter the pretty, peaceful village of Hyatts- ville. Half a mile farther on are two small brick build- ings; between these a carriage-drive branches off from the pike, and winds through a large, undulating meadow leading to Riverdale station.
These buildings, like old Bladensburg, are time worn
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and weather-beaten; the very granite gate-posts have grown weary and lopping with age. These houses were the porters' lodges of the old Calvert estate, which for a hundred years has been the home of the descendants of Lord Baltimore, Cecil Calvert being the founder of the Maryland Colony. 1:
The very outposts of the place tell its history. They are now only a retreat for bats and owls. The railroad divides the estate, but before you reach the station, on a gently rising knoll at your left, is the old burial ground of the Calverts.
Upon the headstones we find the names of George Cal- vert, youngest son of Benedict Calvert, and grandson of Cecil Calvert, the sixth Lord Baltimore, and Rosalie Eugenia Calvert, daughter of Henry Stier, of Antwerp, Holland, and four small children, all of whom died in the early part of the century. John Custis, son of Martha Washington, married Miss Eleanor Calvert, of Mount Airy, Prince George's County, Md., a sister of George Calvert.
After passing the station and following a winding road through the meadow lands, you come to the Manor-house, quite hidden from view by the grand old oaks and elms, with their thick, dark foliage casting heavy shadows · upon the picturesque and ancient-looking place. If these grand old trees, the growth of centuries, could speak, what tales they would tell! They have been silent specta- tors of many a gay and festive scene in this historic home.
The elves in their branches have peeped in at the win- dows, taking note of many a gay cavalier in knee-breeches and powdered wig, leading the ladies, arrayed in the quaint and beautiful costumes of a century ago, through the stately minuet; but whispering leaves tell no tales, and we have only to imagine the story they have kept through the years.
We do know who were some of the friends of George Calvert. We know that Henry Clay was such a boon companion of his that a room was set apart for him, which is still known as the Clay room. When he wished for rest, or seclusion, this was his retreat. It is a large,
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square room looking out upon an idyllic view of meadow land, dotted here and there with broad old oaks surrounded by an expanse of woods as far as the eve can reach; now and then can be caught a glimpse of a silver stream, winding its way in and out; while beneath the windows is a miniature lake, in the center of which is a little island, with the remains of a rustic Summer house upon it, gone sadly to decay. And here sat Henry Clay when he drafted the famous Missouri Compromise Bill.
The room now looks bare and desolate, having been dismantled of everything that once gave it an air of com- fort. There is a picture of Henry Clay and his home, Ashland, hanging over the mantel; and one solitary piece of furniture, an ancient wardrobe, in which they say the Sage of Ashland used to hang his claw-hammer coat, nankeen vest and broadcloth breeches after a day's hard- fought battle in the Senate with Calhoun, or Benton, or some of the other great political warriors of the day.
The house was erected by Henry Stier, who was father of Mrs. George Calvert. It is built in the characteristic ' 'style of many of the homes of Southern gentlemen; large, roomy and massive, surrounded by a lawn of 50 acres stretching out to the north, giving you at a glance an intimation of the hospitality for which they are so noted. As many as 50 fair dames and chivalrous cavaliers have been entertained under this hospitable roof after a night of gay festivities.
There is a portico surrounding the front door, the roof of which is said to be supported by pillars that were orig- nally made for the dome of the Capitol, but being too short were sold to Mr. Stier. The front doors are of solid oak, and in their massiveness are in keeping with the archi- tectural grandeur of the old place.
The hall, or more properly corridor, is large and spaci- ous; one door out of this leads into the saloon and a door at either end leads into the wings of the building. The · saloon is a large, imposing room. The south side is quite taken up by high arched windows from which the eyes rest upon the same peaceful landscape as in the Clay room above.
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This room is ornamented with fine wood carving and stucco work, for which the old Colonial times were famous. A brass-mounted chandelier with the prism effects sought to-day is suspended from the ceiling. The walls are vivid green. This peculiar characteristic is found · throughout the house; one room is pink, another deep fawn-color, another blue.
The drawing-room and the dining-room, to the east and west, have each marble mantels, said to have been carved and sent from Carrara, Italy.
The stairway, over which so many of the dignitaries of the country have passed, leads from the west wing. The casing is ornamented by a beautiful arabesque pattern, The newel-post and railing are of solid mahogany and oak.
The steps are broad and low, easy of access, and when you have once made the ascent, you go on and on, past " room after room; and it can easily be imagined how so many guests could be cared for. Some of the rooms, to be sure, are very limited in space, but a night in one of them would be far preferable to a ride of 20 or 30 miles, after the small hours had closed the mazes of the dance. In those days little was thought of a horseback ride of 20 miles to attend a ball.
At the end of the west wing is the library. When I was there two sides of the room were occupied by mahogany bookcases that reached from the floor .to the ceiling. Emptied of their contents, they were but in keeping with the banquet-hall-deserted look of the whole place.
· One solitary ornament still keeps vigil; a marble bust of Robert Burns looks down from its lofty perch over the door, and you can imagine it saying:
"I bless and praise thy matchless might, That I am here afore thy sight, For gifts and grace, A burnin' and a shinin' light To a' this place."
In one of the chambers stood a solitary piece of antique furniture, an ancient wardrobe and dressing-case com-
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bined. It was made of walnut, with mahogany veneer- ing, which was cracked, twisted and blistered by the heat and dampness of years; solid and cumbersome in appear- ance, supported by the heavy, conventional legs, side pieces for wardrobe accommodations, swinging mirror and candelabra, and drawers underneath.
The family safe is built in the wall, guarded by a heavy iron plate door. There were many interesting relics laid away therein, among which was an autograph letter of George Calvert to the Federal Gazette, referring to a visit of Lafayette to Georgetown. He was also a guest at the Manor.
There was also an autograph letter from Henry Clay to Mr. Calvert, in clear and legible hand. It referred to the bronze duplicate of the gold [medal presented to Clay at the National Hotel not long before his death. The original was lost on its way to New York to be recast, the profile of the head of Clay on one side being imperfect; giving an added value to the duplicate.
The reverse side of the duplicate bronze bore this in- scription:
"Senate ISTI-Speaker 1811-War of 1812 with Great Britain-Ghent 1814-Spanish American 1822-Mis- souri Compromise 1821-American System 1824-Greece 1824-Secretary of State 1825-Panama Instructions 1826-Tariff Compromise 1833-Public Domain 1833- . 1841-Peace with France Preserved 1835-Compromise 1850."
In the surrounding outhouses you see the fading foot- prints of a slave oligarchy. The negro quarters are in a dilapidated, tumble-down condition. A large tower rises from the midst of thein, in which still hangs the old bell that called the slaves to duty; it has grown green and rusty with age and idleness, and its tongue is palsied and silent forever.
Following a beautiful winding road a half mile to the east, underneath a network of osage orange, which forms a hedge on either side and a canopy overhead, you pass what was once the overseer's house, and come to the barn, a large, octagon-shaped structure with stalls arranged
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around the outer circle, each bearing the inscription of "her ladyship's" name. We find that of Corinne, Alberta, Jessie, Columbia, and a hundred and fifty others who have chewed their cud of contentment in this palatial home. Change and desolation are written every step of the way. The old barn is but an index of the Manor- house itself, which is slowly crumbling and going to de- cay. The disintegrating touch of time and change has left its mark in this home of the Calverts.
CHAPTER XXV.
THE HOME OF JOEL BARLOW.
BEAUTIFUL KALORAMA-ROBERT FULTON AND THOMAS PAINE WELCOME THERE-ITS FAMOUS OWNER-OLD CAPITOL PRISON. HIS MISSION TO FRANCE-THE FRANZONIS.
A little more than a mile from the President's House' directly north from 2Ist street, used to be one of the most beautiful of Washington's suburban residences, Kalo- rama. The house was built early in the century (1805) by Joel Barlow, the well-known author of the "Columbiad."
After you entered the gate and passed the porter's lodge, every turn in the winding roadway brought to your eyes visions of beauty, and when you reached the plateau upon which the house stood, you fully comprehended the name Kalorama-"beautiful view." To your right was seen silent, restful Arlington; to your left the graceful lines of the Capitol were clean cut against the eastern sky. At your feet the Potomac stretched and wound its way through the undulating hills, until it seemed a silver thread woven in the landscape.
Mr. Barlow, who owned Kalorama, was born in Con- necticut in 1751. He was a graduate of Yale College. His biographer, Todd, ranks him first as a philanthropist, second as a statesman, third as a philosopher, and fourth / as a poet. His philanthropy creeps out in every line of his writings, in every act of his life. His letters to Wash- ington, to the citizens of the United States, to Monroe while abroad on the French mission, and his Fourth of July oration at Washington, give evidence of broad and liberal statesmanship. His philosophical turn was most apparent in his private letters and intercourse with fa- miliar friends.
A charming mock pastoral, written in Savoy at a time when he was called to go there with the Commissioners of the National Association, gives his claim to true poetic genius. In a little inn in Chamberg the poem "Hasty Pudding" had its birth.
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He was sent to France as the agent for the Scioto Land Company, and his home was in Paris many years. It was during this time that Robert Fulton. then a young man, made Mr. Barlow's acquaintance. A warm friendship sprang up between him and the young inventor, and for seven years there was a room in the poet's house and a seat at his fireside always reserved for Fulton. It is said the relation between them was like father and son.
It seems, from private letters, that Mr. Barlow fur- nished the funds for Fulton's experiments with his tor- pedoes, steam and navigation projects while abroad, . also after he came back to America, as the following letter will show. ("Toot" was the pet name for Fulton):
"Toot: Your reasoning is perfectly right about inven- tions and the spirit of the patent laws, and I have no doubt it may be secured in America. My project would be that you should pass directly over to England; silent and steady, make . Chapman construct an engine 12 inches, while you are building a boat of a proportionate size; make the experiments on that scale, all quiet and quick. If it answers, put the machinery on board a vessel and go directly to New York, ordering another engine as large as you please, to follow you. Then secure your patent and begin your operations, first small and then large. I think I will find you the funds without any noise for the first operation in England, and if it promises well, you will get as many funds and friends in America as you want."
Mr. Barlow lived in Paris 18 years. In all this time, with all his cares, his love for his native land did not diminish. The completion of his "Columbiad," the prepa- ration for its illustration, in which Fulton was of great assistance, and a partnership in Fulton's inventive enter- prises, left him few leisure moments.
But to return to his beloved America was his dream. At length, in 1801,'he wrote home that he was in England on his way to America, where he arrived in the following May. But he found great changes had taken place. Ohio, Tennessee, Vermont, and Kentucky had been ad- mitted into the Union. Politics had changed. The
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Constitution had been adopted and had been tried as by fire. Washington was dead.
Federalism had succeeded to the more powerful Re- publicanism. The Republicans rejoiced at Barlow's return, and the Federalists mourned. They could see nothing good in his Republicanism, or in the man who in his Algerian mission alone had won laurels for himself in doing such service for his suffering countrymen.
Soon after his return he purchased the old mansion on the hill, between Georgetown and the Capitol, with 30 acres of land. He soon transformed it into one of the most beautiful country seats of the time, and called it Kalorama.
Mr. Barlow had a cultivated taste, and wealth to in- dulge it. Mr. Latrobe, the architect of the Capitol, gave him assistance, and Robert Fulton lent his genius to the embellishment of the house and grounds.
The park, covered with forest trees, was left in its natural state; walks, drives, flowers, fountains, Summer houses were added to enhance the beauty of the grounds. The house was furnished, it is said, with republican simplicity, yet an air of elegance pervaded the rooms. In the years spent abroad, they had made a rare collection of paintings, curios and bric-a-brac, which were distributed with taste throughout the house. His library, especially, was rich in rare and valuable books.
This charming retreat became the Holland House of America. The President, Jefferson, and afterward Madi- son, were often there in conversation with Mr. Barlow, and it is well understood that he helped largely to mold the policy of this Government towards France through two Administrations.
Congressmen, foreigners, authors, poets, inventors and men of genius in every calling have been entertained beneath this roof. Robert Fulton is said to have con- structed his model of the Clermont at Kalorama, and it was on Rock Creek the first experimental steamer was made to ply the waters. This was a short time before the public trial and successful sail up the Hudson. It was
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here also that he tested his torpedoes, and tried to per- suade Congress to consider his navigation projects.
Thomas Paine was also a visitor at Kalorama. It was at Kalorama that Mr. Barlow finished his epic poem, the "Columbiad." It was a National patriotic epic, great in expectations, but not a great pcem.
It is well known that in the year 1811 America's rela- tions with France and England were of the gravest char- acter. Madison and his advisers at last resolved to make · one more effort at negotiations, and it was clearly to be seen that the failure or success of the plan would depend entirely upon the man chosen to carry it out.
As Napoleon was France, he alone was the man to be influenced. In casting about, Madison and his Cabinet chose Mr. Barlow as the man eminently fitted for the Embassadorship. Mr. Barlow well understood the diffi- culties in the way of successfully carrying out such a mission, and it took a great deal of persuasion to induce him to accept. He had reached an age when home and home comforts were more to him than all the allurements of high position; he was also deeply engrossed in literary pursuits; but, at last, for his country's sake, he accepted.
Kalorama was leased, and he hoped to come back to it and enjoy the fruits of its well-earned comforts. His wife and nephew, Thomas Barlow, and Miss Clara Baldwin, Mrs. Barlow's half-sister, accompanied them. They arrived in France in September. It was not an opportune time for his arrival; Napoleon had been foiled by Russia in his designs upon Germany, and with an army of a million men was making preparations for the invasion of Russia. The business which might have been brought to a conclusion in a few days took years.
".Napoleon requested Mr. Barlow to meet him at Wilna. A year of anxious and wearisome labor had already been spent upon the treaty thus far. He reached Wilna in time to learn of Napoleon's defeat and of the evacuation of Moscow.
After waiting six days, hoping Napoleon would fall back to Wilna, he was at length heard from. The army was in disgraceful flight. Napoleon had abandoned it,
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and, in disguise, was hastening to Paris. It was very evident the treaty was lost. The party immediately left by way of Cracow, Vienna and Munich for Paris.
Mr. Barlow was taken violently ill on the road, and was compelled to stop at Zamowitch. Everything was done for his comfort, but it was too late; his malady developed into pneumonia, and he survived but a few days. His nephew had his body embalmed, with the hope of having it transported to America.
But the Cossacks were ravaging the country with fire and sword; none were exempt. It was impossible to bring his body away, and it was with danger and difficulty that Thomas Barlow escaped. His biographer says:
"Late in the Autumn of 1813 Mrs. Barlow and her sister, accompanied by Thomas Barlow and the young French lady he had married, returned to America and took up their residence at Kalorama. Here, in quiet and seclu- sion, the bereaved lady spent the remaining years of her eventful life, and died in 1818, greatly revered for her amiable character and deeds of charity."
Mr. Barlow had a niece who married an Army officer, whose moral status was not sufficient to even secure his name for posterity. While on the frontier his wife was carried off by the Indians. He did not deem it important to go in pursuit of her, but Lieut. Bomford organized a force and prosecuted the search. He found her, and, after she had procured a divorce from her husband, married her.
Mr. Barlow, while on a mission to Algiers, drew up his will, bequeathing everything he owned to his wife, to dis- pose of between the relatives on both sides. Kalorama was bequeathed to Mrs. Bomford, who lived there many years. Previous to this, Commodore Decatur, after he was appointed Navy Commissioner, made his residence at Kalorama.
In 1820, after the duel of Decatur and Barron, the re- mains of the Commodore were first deposited in the family vault at Kalorama by invitation of Col. Bomford. After- wards Decatur's remains were removed to Philadelphia. In after years Mrs. Decatur lived again at Kalorama and
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made it famous for the elegant entertainments given there. She survived her husband about 40 years, and died in Georgetown in 1860.
Mr. Barlow loved his country and gave his life for her good. His verse first gave American poetry a standing abroad, and his prose writing contributed largely to the triumph of Republicanism in 1800. The steamboat had him for a godfather; and, it is very probable, could he have carried out his scheme of a National University, that art, science and literature would stand on a different footing from that occupied by them to-day.
But no historian has touched upon or recognized the talent and public services of Joel Barlow. He was a sturdy Republican, with a strong hatred for everything that would degrade man. His interest in the industrial progress of his country was unbounded. In private life he was highly esteemed; in his family he was always the loving, kind and thoughtful husband.
But his country accepted his services and left his bones to moulder unmarked on the bleak Polish wastes where he fell, and took no action toward perpetuating his memory. Wifely love supplied the omission, and erected a monu- ment over his grave.
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During the war, beautiful Kalorama was used as a smallpox hospital .. This historic home was afterward owned by a family by the name of Lovett, and the mansion has been much improved. The vicissitudes of time have wrought many changes in this old home, and now we hear it is for sale. I suppose some fine morning we shall look for Kalorama and find it not. Civilization makes rapid strides. In place of undulating hills and dales, grateful forest shade and winding drives, we shall find the woodman's ax has felled the trees, the pick and shovel have levelled the hills, the shaded driveway that calls to memory the names of heroes and men famous in our country's history who have passed under those his- toric trees, will have to give way to broad avenues and architectural monstrosities which are an abomination to
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the sight and to the sense; and this is-civilization. Will there come a time in this country when the very stones of these old buildings will be held sacred because other hands laid them; when men will say, "Touch not; our fathers built this"; when the glory of a building will be its age, and a deep sense of reverence and sympathy and mysterious adoration will possess us; because the walls have long been washed by the passing waves of humanity? *
Many historic houses have been razed to the ground to make room for the new National Library Building, east of the Capitol.
Among these was a row of houses on First street east, and facing the Capitol, called Duff Green Row. After the war the houses were remodeled and were known as Carroll Row, taking the name from Daniel Carroll, to whom the property originally belonged.
This row of five houses was originally a hotel. It was erected early during the present century, and was then called Nick Queen's Hotel; all except one house, at the corner, in which lived for many years Dr. James Ewell. It was afterward occupied by Duff Green as a printing establishment.
Ex-Senator Simon Cameron, when a young man, worked there as a printer, and from there was issued the United States Telegraph. This must not be mistaken for the Indian Queen Hotel that was kept by Jesse Brown on Pennsylvania avenue where the Metropolitan now . stands. There was a day when Queen's Hotel was one of the finest in the city. At that time Capitol Hill was the fashionable part of Washington; most of the members lived there. Those who did not found quarters in George- town.
The aristocratic West End was a swamp, where frogs held their matinees and owls kept nightly vigils.
During the War of 1812, when the Capitol was burned by the British, they brought their wounded soldiers from Bladensburg and occupied the house of Dr. Ewell as a hospital, Dr. Ewell and the British surgeons attending the wounded.
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Another house of historic interest, which has vanished in the march of improvements, is that of the old artist, Guiseppe Franzoni, which stood on Pennsylvania avenue east, and came into the Library Square.
This house was unpretending in size and architectural beauty, but as the home of Franzoni there circles around it an interest which many more imposing structures do not possess.
When the seat of Government was removed from Phila- delphia to Washington, it was desirable that the new Capitol should be adorned with works of art. This new child of the world had no artists of her own, and Congress sent to Italy for the best sculptor there known, to come to this country and undertake the work. Franzoni was considered equal to the great Canova, and was then em- ployed in the palace of the Grand Duke of Tuscany, whose near relative he was.
It took long and earnest persuasion to get his consent to come to America; but with the promise of a large salary, the expenses of himself and family paid, no matter how large, whenever he wished to return to his native land, he consented to accept the proposition. He arrived in this country in the year 1806 or 1807, accompanied by his wife, a beautiful Italian girl, only 15 years old.
Imagine the transition from beautiful Florence, with its balmy air and cloudless skies; from the shadows of the grand old duomo St. Michael and Donnetallois, St. Guigo, which his master said needed only speech; from an atmo- sphere in which was reared a Michael Angelo, a Raphael, a Leonardo da Vinci, or a Ghiberti-we say, imagine the change to this city, which was nearly a wilderness; the houses few and scattering, not one between the "Queen's Hotel," on Pennsylvania avenue, and the Capitol; muddy streets, no sidewalks. But-we had an artist.
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