The Real "Reluctant Revolutionary": Bigadier General Richard Montgomery

January 20, 2015, 1:37 pm

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We at Clermont have been on a quest to dispel the myth that Chancellor Robert R. Livingston Jr. was "the Reluctant Revolutionary," as he has been branded by historians.  Between giving his fiery commencement speech at King's College, which hinted at rebellion 10 years before the Battle of Bunker Hill, and the recent discovery that he was the bold author behind the "Address to the People of Great Britain," I think it's safe to say that the Chancellor was into the Revolution heart and soul.

But perhaps it was this virulent commitment that gave his sister's brother Richard Montgomery the final nudge he needed to help build and lead the army of the rebellious colonists.  

Richard had met the Livingston family (and his future wife Janet) during the French and Indian War, when he served as a Captain in the 17th Regiment of His Majesty's Army.  According to an 1876 biography, he was on his way "to a distant post and had come ashore with the officers of his company at Clermont..." (possbily Ticonderoga).  Happening sometime during the later 1750s or as late as 1760, this would have been just as Janet was reaching marriageable age, and what eligible young lady doesn't like a dashing company of well-dressed officers at her doorstep?

That was just a blip in time though.  Richard went on with the war, went back to Ireland, and tried to pursue his military career.  It was a bust.  His sympathies for the Colonies and rejection of the Stamp Act were too well known.  He was passed over for promotion to Major, got mad, and resigned to go back to the fertile promises New York.  He purchased a farm in what is now the Bronx and renewed his conversations with Janet Livingston.  

It had been more than 10 years since their first meeting, but she was still single.  Not that she couldn't get a good marriage proposal.  The New York Public Library is in possession of a letter from Janet turning down a proposal from Horatio Gates (yet another officer in the English army).  Janet was now 30 years old and apparently waiting for just the right proposal.  

After checking with her father in May (and Janet's father checked with her mother first--because nobody messes with Margaret Beekman Livingston), Richard finally got to marry Janet in July of 1773.  

Life seemed complete.  In addition to the land in Kingsbridge to the south, he bought a farm in Rhinebeck, where Janet would be close to her family.  He built a mill (what kind I do not know), and began laying the foundation for their future love nest.  In the meantime they stayed in a nice little house in the village.  

But within two years, the political climate in the colony was getting more unstable.  According to his wife, Richard was "surprised" with a nomination to the Committee of Fifty that met in April 1775 in New York to organize protests against the increasingly-strict and punitive legislation coming out of England.  The Committee (whose size swelled rapidly) included his brother-in-law Robert, several other Livingston family members and another close friend of Robert's by the name of John Jay.  

Richard went out of a sense of duty.  Duty to his new homeland?  Duty to his good friend Robert?  He balked at the idea of violent rebellion against Britain but believed that the Empire's treatment of the colony was wrong.  Either way, he apparently didn't think much of his contribution on the committee. He was cynical and frustrated by all the talking that politics required of him.  Later when the rebellious colonists then began raising an army lead by French & Indian war vets (like George Washington), his experience proved proved more applicable.  

He mulled his decision over, and finally, being unable to find the words to tell his wife, he did it with a gesture.  He went to her with the black black ribbon cockade for his soldier's hat and asked her to sew it on for him.  Her reaction was to be expected; she began to cry.  In her memoirs she remembered his explanation this way:

"Our country is in danger.  Unsolicited, in two instances, I have been distinguished by two honorable appointments.  As a politician I could not serve them.  As a soldier I think I can...My honor is engaged." 

He was so torn by the force of duty and the desire to remain home with his wife and farm that he refused to even look back at his house when he left it in June of 1775.  His brother-in-law Edward (then 11 years old) remembered him musing sadly "'Tis a mad world, my masters, once I thought so, now I know it."   Richard's words carried extra weight as he not only summed up the chaos of the oncoming war and breakdown of civil order, but cited an English proverb with at least a century of history behind it.

It's no surprise that Richard's previous years in "the Greatest Army in the World"--as the English forces were known--left him lacking faith in the abilities of the inexperienced and unprofessional Colonists that signed up to be in his brigade.  He certainly wasn't alone in this, and it was only the Battle of Bunker Hill on June 17th that gave them the encouragement they needed to trust the farmers, mechanics, and workers who signed up.  

Nevertheless, he still scoffed at their courage, saying that they "ran at the shake of a leaf" or were all bravado until some real conflict threatened their lives.  He once wrote to Janet, "I am ... so exceedingly out of spirits and so chagrined with the behavior of the troops, that I most heartily repent undertaking to lead them." Another time he worried that "the lower class of people...have been intimidated much by our weakness." 

He needed more men.  He needed more powder.  They were cold and wet in Canada in October.  His wife's grandfather died.  He found out after the fact that his wife had been sick.  Now her parents were sick.  Things were not going well. 

Richard wanted desperately to just go home to his wife and his farm.  He tried to resign twice, but it was not accepted.  The stresses of dealing with people and personalities weighed heavily on him.  "I am unfit to deal with mankind in the bulk, for which reason I wish for retirement," he wrote only a few days later on October 9.  Their "rascality, ignorance, and selfishness" were too hard to deal with "and keep my temper." That day he was feeling particularly low, and trying to find a way to get home and leave the American Cause behind him, but he was "yoked" to it.  A month later on November 13th, he promised Janet again that he would get home as soon as he could find a way to leave.  

In late November he found a way to return to Rhinebeck in the winter, planning to be there in January, and it raised his spirits to see his wife in their "new house" (Grasmere, I assume).  "I live in hopes to see you in six weeks," he wrote.  "Gentle" weather made the following weeks more bearable, and in his final letter to Janet on December 5th he mused "may I finally have the pleasure of seeing you in it [the new house] soon!"

After a hard journey north through Canada, the capture of Quebec was to signal his return home.  His spirits lifted as he could finally see the light at the end of the tunnel, he even managed a little levity in his letters.  As the Christmas holidays approached, he mused to his friends that only his sense of duty kept him going, that his only ambition was a safe and happy farm.  The thought of returning to it warmed his spirit as he roused his fatigued troops to attack Quebec, personally leading the charge up the hills--and he was almost immediately cut down by cannon ball.  The attack fell apart.  He would never return to his farm and beloved Janet.

For his wife, that year must have been an impossible one: at 32 years old she had lost her Livingston grandfather in July, and her Beekman grandfather followed in December.  Only a few days later, her father died suddenly at Clermont on December 8th.  And while she waited for the comfort of her husband's return in the new year, her brother the Chancellor was busy writing the letter that would tell her the worst news of all; her beloved husband was dead.

So of all the Revolutionaries out there, it seems that Montgomery most deserves the title of "Reluctant." While in the Chancellor's case (however misapplied) it has been used to almost diminish his considerable contribution, in Richard's case it seems rather to contribute both a sense of tragedy and honor to his sacrifice.  In spite of a considerable desire to remain at his own hearth, Richard's sense of duty to propelled him to protect his new country (thus forsaking the King and country for whom he had previously fought) and lead him far from home.  With few supplies and men in whom he had little faith, he continued to long for his wife and his plow, but he wouldn't desert his post without first ensuring that the cause could continue without him.  

Of course, the real twist of the knife is that he was only days or weeks away from going home.  

Like her mother, Janet never remarried.  As a wealthy widow, she most likely had the opportunity, but instead she filled her life with family and friends.  She wrote sometimes that she felt like her widow status made her an outsider or fifth wheel but there was no replacing a relationship that had taken her until age 32 to find in the first place.  

Richard Montgomery was buried in Quebec, and everything he had with him was either sold to other officers, given away, or returned to Janet.  Interestingly, Benedict Arnold bought many of his friend's belongings.  A pair of wool socks was given to "Dick, the negro boy," A gold watch was returned all the way to Janet.

Forty-three years later Governor Clinton sent Janet a copy of the act that described the planned removal of Montgomery's remains from Canada to New York.  Overcome by emotion as she watched the boat pass by her new house at Chateau de Montgomery (Montgomery Place), Janet fainted dead away.  It was the closest she had been to her husband since the day he left her, promising "You shall never have cause to blush for your Montgomery." 

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“Salleys of his turbulent temper”: Henry Beekman Livingston, Black Sheep of the Livingston Clan

December 27, 2013, 7:57 am

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By Geoff Benton

Geoff Benton is the Historic Site Assistant at Crailo State Historic Site and the Deputy Town Historian for the town of Livingston.  He is the author of several articles on the Revolutionary War as well as a history of the Kinderhook Reformed Church.  The quote in the title of this article comes from a passage in Margaret Beekman Livingston’s journal about her son.  

This article is reprinted from the most recent edition of the Columbia County History & Heritage Magazine, a publication of the Columbia County Historical Society.  Select back issues of this magazine are available online or for purchase directly from the historical society.

            Henry Beekman Livingston should be remembered as one of the great American combat leaders of the Revolutionary War.  He should have risen beyond the rank of colonel and retired to the comfortable life that being an heir to Livingston Manor and the Beekman Patent would have afforded him.  Instead, an ungovernable temper, surpassed only by a repugnant attitude, left him with an abbreviated military career, a spectacularly failed marriage and completely cut off from the rest of the Livingstons.

            Henry, or Harry as he was more commonly known, was born on November 9, 1750.  He was a son of Judge Robert Livingston and his wife Margaret Beekman Livingston.  Harry was the namesake of Margaret’s father Colonel Henry Beekman.  As a child Henry was prone to uncontrolled fits of rage.  As he matured to adulthood he also gained a less than healthy dislike for anyone he considered his social inferior, which being a Livingston, consisted of almost everyone in the region.[i]

            With his quarrelsome nature, it is not surprising that Harry became a patriot.  Prior to the Revolution, Harry was seen wearing his court uniform while plowing a field at Clermont.  This was to show his disdain for King George III.  When fighting broke out in Massachusetts, Harry raised a company of his own which he drilled on the lawn of what is now the Beekman Arms in Rhinebeck, New York.  He was appointed to the rank of captain and his company was placed into the 4^th New York Regiment.  He complained bitterly about being appointed a captain, as he had held the rank of major in the colonial militia.[ii]

            Harry’s first campaign would be the invasion of Canada in 1775.  When General Philip Schuyler, the campaign’s commander, was taken ill, command fell to General Richard Montgomery.  Montgomery was married to Harry’s sister Janet.  Before the army departed Albany for the north a group of Livingstons which included Judge Robert and some of his children came to the city to say their goodbyes.  Montgomery promised the Judge he would try to keep Harry safe.

            The 4^th New York was trailing behind the rest of the army and by the time they arrived at Fort Ticonderoga Harry had become very frustrated.  Leaving a junior officer in charge, he marched North without his company to join the main army on his own.  He volunteered to serve as the aide de camp for Colonel Ritzeman of the 1^stNew York, in order to be a part of the first assault on the city of St. John’s.[iii]

            Montgomery realized early on in the campaign that Harry was brave to the point of recklessness in battle but chaffed under military discipline, especially if an officer perceived as socially inferior was involved.  Montgomery wrote to his wife that she should not worry about Harry, “he has by no means given any offense though some uneasiness by some little inprudence.”[iv]  He also felt that Harry would do better to leave the 4^th New York and join a more genteel regiment.[v]  

            When the city of Montreal fell to Montgomery he took the opportunity to send Harry away.  Harry was charged with delivering reports of the victory to Schuyler in Albany and then to the Continental Congress in Philadelphia.  Congress awarded him a sword worth one hundred dollars and promised to promote him at the first opportunity.[vi]

            Harry returned to Albany and briefly served as aid de camp to General Schuyler before he was promoted to Lieutenant Colonel of the 2^nd New York Regiment.  On May 8, 1776 General George Washington ordered Harry to take command of and finish the fortifications at Fort Montgomery and Fort Constitution in the Hudson Highlands.  Fort Montgomery was manned by three companies of the 2^nd New York Regiment.  Fort Constitution had two companies of the 2^nd New York and a company of militia under the command of a Captain Wisner.  The colonel of Wisner’s regiment, Colonel Nicoll, was still present despite having been relieved when the bulk of his regiment was replaced by the 2^nd New York.  Nicoll refused to give up command of the forts but, rather than react violently as one would expect, Harry simply got on with building the fortifications.  He essentially ignored Nicoll until he finally departed on June 8.  Major General William Alexander, Lord Stirling wrote to Washington that Harry had “very prudently avoided any dispute with Col. Nicoll about command.”[vii]

            In late June of 1776, Colonel James Clinton was ordered to take command of the Highland forts and Harry was sent to take command of the remaining companies of the 2^nd New York on Long Island.  Washington sent him money to buy entrenching tools and a supply of gun powder.  Harry was to make himself a strong position on the eastern end of the Island.[viii]

           When the British army landed west of Harry’s position and drove Washington off of Long Island in the battles of Long Island and Brooklyn Heights, Harry found himself trapped behind enemy lines with only his small group of men.  He wrote to Washington seeking advice.  Washington responded that he could offer no specific advice but suggested that Harry do what he could to “annoy and harass and prevent foraging.”[ix]  According to a letter that Harry wrote to his brother Robert, he and the 2^nd New York excelled at that.  Writing on September 24, 1776 he stated that his men had carried off 3,129 sheep, 400 cattle and made themselves such a nuisance that Oliver DeLancey, a political foe of the Livingstons and loyalist general, placed a £500 reward on Harry’s head.[x]

            Harry and his men escaped across Long Island Sound to Connecticut by the end of September.  There, in addition to investing in the privateer vessel Revenge, Harry was ordered by Washington to begin planning a counter invasion of Long Island, along with Generals George Clinton and Benjamin Lincoln.  Harry wrote that he was prepared to cross the Sound again, with four hundred men, but the day before the force was scheduled to depart Washington cancelled the whole plan.  Harry and his men were sent to Peekskill where Harry’s career almost came to a premature end.[xi]

            Promoted to Colonel of the 4^thNew York Harry was placed under the command of General Alexander McDougall.  McDougall was everything that Harry hated in his fellow Continental Army officers, low born, of higher rank and with little respect for the Livingston name.  Harry hoped that one day McDougall would be demoted so that he could “cain”[xii]him.  Needless to say relations between the men were never good, but following a scouting mission by the British during which McDougall retreated rather than face the enemy things came to a head.  Harry was very vocal in the army camp in his criticism of McDougall, to the point where McDougall had him court martialed.  The court martial reprimanded Harry saying that his language was indiscreet but not unbecoming of an officer.[xiii]        

            Shortly thereafter Washington ordered Harry to take the 4^th New York and join the Northern army in northern New York facing the British invasion under General John Burgoyne.  At the Battles of Saratoga, where Burgoyne’s invasion was defeated, Harry once again excelled.  On October 7, 1777 Harry and the 4^thfought under General Enoch Poor in the wheat field.  Harry then disobeyed orders when Poor and his forces stalled, by joining Benedict Arnold on his flank attack on Breymann’s redoubt.  In a letter to Chancellor Livingston written a week after the battle, Harry wrote that his regiment was the first in the enemy line and that he could “safely affirm that I was the first man in there next to Gen’l Arnold who was on horseback.”[xiv]

            That winter Harry lead the 4^thNew York into their winter quarters at Valley Forge.  He was very concerned for his men; writing to his brother; “How can we hang men for desertion when we starve them with cold?”[xv]  On Christmas Eve 1777 he wrote again; “the soldiers and officers are lousy.”[xvi]  There was no liquor, tea, sugar, or vegetables.  On Christmas Day he wrote to Governor George Clinton of New York; wholly destitute of clothing his men and officers were perishing in the fields.  Before the army broke camp the 4^th New York would be moved out of their small wooden huts and into open fields due to illness.[xvii]

            The training that the Continental Army received at Valley Forge under Baron Frederick Von Steuben, who Harry called “an agreeable man”, was put to the test on June 28, 1778 at the Battle of Monmouth.[xviii]  Harry and the 4^th New York were in the vanguard of the American army under General Charles Lee who were chasing the British Army back to New York City.  When the Americans caught up to the British rear Lee, who had no faith in the American soldiers, tried to retreat rather than fight.  Washington riding up, very loudly and profanely removed Lee from command and began to rally the soldiers himself.  The 4^th New York and another regiment were placed in front of the army with two canons to cover the reorganization.  Harry and the 4^thperformed “with great spirit and considerable loss.”[xix]  Washington had the time he needed to reform the troops and the American Army won the field.  A report of the battle reached Janet Montgomery on the manor, in which she was told that a third of Harry’s regiment had been killed.[xx] 

           Following Monmouth Harry took a furlough from the army but couldn’t stay out of the fight.  While traveling in Rhode Island he volunteered to command a body of light infantry during the Battle of Rhode Island.  He was seen fighting bravely during the Battle of Quaker Hill and was mentioned by General Nathaniel Greene in his report on the action.[xxi] 

            Harry resigned his commission shortly thereafter.  He was angry about not being promoted while his inferiors had been.  His resignation was accepted by congress in January of 1779.   Harry returned briefly to the army in 1780 to command a levee on a march to Fort Herkimer in western New York, but his military career was essentially over.[xxii]

            Harry returned to Livingston Manor with a solid reputation as a soldier.  He had inherited his grandfather’s house in Rhinebeck when Col. Beekman had died in 1775.  Harry’s dislike of social inferiors seems to have pertained mainly to the male of the species, as very shortly there were many children in the Hudson Valley who came from many classes and races but who all bore a striking similarity to Harry.  In 1781 that was all put on hold while he wed the woman he would be married to the rest of his life in Philadelphia.[xxiii]

            Anne Hume Shippen, known as Nancy (at right), was just eighteen when she married Harry.  On her father’s side she was a cousin to Peggy Shippen, Benedict Arnold’s treacherous wife.  Her mother was a Lee of Virginia.  Her uncles included Arthur Lee, Richard Henry Lee, and Francis Lightfoot Lee.  Before meeting Harry she was courted and proposed to by a member of the French diplomatic mission to the Continental Congress, Louis Otto.  Once she had caught Harry’s eye though, her father quickly arranged a marriage, seeing more advantage in marriage to a Livingston then to a penniless minor French diplomat.[xxiv]

            The couple returned to Rhinebeck shortly after the marriage and Nancy was soon with child.  Harry went back to his various indiscretions.  He soon became paranoid and frequently accused Nancy of infidelity.  Nancy became desperate to return to Philadelphia before the baby was born.  Harry initially refused flying into one of the blind rages that he was prone to.  Eventually he relented and in October of 1781 they returned to Philadelphia.  Margaret Livingston was born on December 26, 1781.  She would be called Peggy.[xxv]

            The family soon returned to the Manor.  Nancy’s journal is blank and no letters of her’s survive from the next year.  Perhaps it had something to do with finding out about Harry’s plan to take her and Peggy and move them to Georgia with all of his illegitimate children and raise them under one roof.  Unable to cope with this Nancy, fled back to Philadelphia.[xxvi] 

            In May of 1783 Margaret Beekman Livingston requested to see her granddaughter.  Nancy agreed in June to travel north with the child.  She hoped that Harry would be a different man when he saw his daughter again.  He was not.

            Staying overnight in Poughkeepsie on her way to the Manor, Nancy learned that Harry had recently beat a slave nearly to death in one of his rages.  When she arrived at Clermont Harry would neither see the child nor acknowledge any letters from her. 

            During this time of drama, George Washington paid a visit to the Manor on his way to inspect the Northern Department.  On his way back to Newburgh Washington made sure to stop and visit with Harry at his home in Rhinebeck.

            In August Nancy returned to Philadelphia without Peggy who stayed with her grandmother.  In September Nancy wrote hoping to hear that Harry was acting as a father to his daughter.  He was not.  In fact Margaret Beekman Livingston replied that Peggy was calling the Chancellor, papa and his wife Mary Stevens Livingston, mama. 

            In November Harry was seen in disguise lurking around Nancy’s house in Philadelphia.  He was later seen wearing a similar disguise in New York City.  Nancy wrote; “I really think my life will be in danger from his jealousy & unmanaged passions.”[xxvii]

            In January 1785 Harry asked for a meeting with Nancy in Philadelphia.  No record of the meeting exists but on February 24, 1785 she wrote “Thank God I am reconciled with him.”[xxviii]  She began to prepare to return to New York with him.  The day before they were to depart in March though, she received a note from Harry saying that he was leaving the next day without her by ship and that he hoped the vessel would sink.[xxix]

            Harry was soon back on the Manor blowing money and selling land to pay his debts.  He approached his brother for an order to get custody of Peggy.  Robert refused.  He also warned his mother and Nancy that he had no legal standing in New York to deny Harry full custody of the child.  Harry was also heard to threaten Nancy with the publication of her affair with the French diplomat Otto and to call her “hard names”[xxx]

           One day while everyone was away from Clermont (at right) and Robert was off the Manor, Harry strode into Clermont where his daughter was guarded only by servants and snatched the child.  Two of his sisters tried to negotiate with Harry for her release but were rebuffed.  Finally his brother in law Colonel Morgan Lewis was able to free the child with a promise that she would never be returned to her mother. 

            Margaret Beekman Livingston quickly made plans to get the child back to Philadelphia.  Bundling her up she put her in a guarded coach at night and sent her south.  The next day she let information leak that the child was at Col. Lewis’s house.  Harry stormed in demanding to know where Peggy was.  No one would respond.  He rode off to the Chancellor’s house where he was again met with silence.  Finally he stormed into Clermont where not even the servants would talk to him, even with the offer of money and threats.  He retired to his house where he wrote a threatening letter to both his mother and the Chancellor.  Robert seems to have ignored the threat while Margaret was heard to reply “I fear God, I have no other fears.”[xxxi]

            Meanwhile Nancy’s friends in Philadelphia rallied around her to protect her and Peggy should Harry become violent.  These friends included Otto, who Nancy planned to marry when she could obtain a divorce from Harry.  When Harry found this out he offered to divorce Nancy, on the condition that she give up all rights to Peggy.  Unable to do this Nancy and Harry would stay married for the rest of their lives though it seems that they never spoke again.  Otto married an unattached woman and moved back to France.  He also never spoke to Nancy again.[xxxii]

            Peggy continued to spend time at Clermont until she was sixteen at which point she moved back to Philadelphia with her mother.  They became increasingly reclusive until Nancy died in 1841.  Peggy remained a recluse.  When she died, unmarried, in 1864 she was buried in the same grave as her mother. [xxxiii]

            Following this affair Harry was effectively cut off from the rest of the tight knit Livingston Clan.  Margaret Beekman Livingston was even heard to talk about her three sons, meaning Robert, John, and Edward, and six daughters.  Harry was of course her fourth son but she could not even bear to mention him.  Harry died November 5, 1831 alone and unmourned.

            There is one coda to this story that shows how completely Harry’s extreme behavior had cut him off from the rest of the Livingstons.  In 1824 the Marquis de Lafayette was steaming up the Hudson River during his return tour of America.  Asthe ship approached Esopus an old man in a small boat was rowed out into the river.  The captain of the ship stopped and brought the old man aboard.  The captain presented the old man to Lafayette, the two old men stared at each other for over a minute before Lafayette recognized his old comrade, Harry Livingston.  The two chatted briefly about the old days, hardships endured and battles survived.  Then Harry was rowed back to shore and Lafayette continued on to his next stop; Clermont.  Harry was not invited.[xxxiv]

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[i]Livingston, Edwin Brockholst The Livingstons of Livingston Manor Knickerbocker Press, 1910 p. 515, Armes, Ethel Nancy Shippen Her Journal Book, J.B. Lippincott Company, Philadelphia 1935 p. 116, Brandt, Clare An American Aristocracy: The Livingstons Doubleday and Company Inc. New York, 1986 p118.

[ii]Brandt American Aristocracy 118, Kelly, Nancy A Brief History of Rhinebeck The Wise Family Trust, New York 2001 p 25, Livingston, The Livingstons 233.

[iii]Livingston, The Livingstons 235

[iv]Armes Nancy Shippen 117

[v]Kierner, Cynthia A. Traders and Gentlefolk: The Livingstons of New York, 1675-1790 Cornell University Press, Ithaca 1992 p. 214, Dangerfield, George Chancellor Robert R. Livingston of New York, 1746-1813 Harcourt Brace and Company, New York 1960 p 64-65.

[vi]Livingston The Livingstons p 239, Ford, Worthington Chauncey Journals of the Continental Congress, 1774-1789 Volume III Government Printing Office, Washington 1905, p 424-425.

[vii]Clinton, George “The Public Papers of George Clinton Wynkoop Hallenbeck Crawford Co. Albany, 1899 Volume I p137, Letter from General Schuyler to the President of Congress American Archives Series 4, Volume 4, p 0990, Livingston the Livingstons 241-242.

[viii]Henry Beekman Livingston’s Account Book Collection of the Columbia County Historical Society, Fitzpatrick, John C. Ed. The Writings of George Washington Government Printing Office, Washington, 1932 Volume 5 p 138-139, 181.

[ix]Fitzpatrick Washington Volume 6 p 14

[x]Dangerfield Livingston 111, 469

[xi]Henry Beekman Livingston’s account Book, Mather, Frederic Gregory The Refugees of 1776 from Long Island to Connecticut JB Lyon Company Printers, Albany 1932 p 173-174, 220; Fitzpatrick Washington Volume 6 p 142,148,210,219-220 Volume 7 p .120

[xii]Brandt, American Aristocracy p 119

[xiii]Fitzpatrick, Washington Volume 7 p 292, Livingston The Livingstons p24, Clinton Papers Volume 2 p37-38

[xiv]Dangerfield Chancellor 467

[xv]Dangerfield Chancellor 469

[xvi]Dangerfield Chancellor 469

[xvii]Fitzpatrick Washington Volume 11 p 387

[xviii]Dangerfield Chancellor 470

[xix]Moore, Frank The Diary of the Revolution: A Centennial Volume The J.B. Burr Publishing Company, Hartford 1875 p 593.

[xx]Sabine, William Historical Memoirs from 16 March 1763 to 35 July 1778 of William Smith Volume 1 The New York Times and Arno Press, New York 1956, p 415.

[xxi]Dangerfield Chancellor 111, Fitzpatrick Washington Volume 12 p. 397,

[xxii]Clinton, Papers Volume 6 p 317-322

[xxiii]Brandt American Aristocracy 139

[xxiv]Armes Nancy Shippen p 21-25, 102

[xxv]Armes Nancy Shippen 125.

[xxvi]Armes Nancy Shippen 125-129, Brandt American Aristocracy 140

[xxvii]Armes Nancy Shippen 165-168

[xxviii]Armes Nancy Shippen 226

[xxix]Armes Nancy Shippen 227

[xxx]Armes Nancy Shippen 271

[xxxi]Armes Nancy Shippen 286-288, Brandt American Aristocracy 141

[xxxii]Brandt American Aristocracy 142, Armes Nancy Shippen 291-292

[xxxiii]Brandt American Aristocracy 142, Armes Nancy Shippen 295-300

[xxxiv]Brandt American Aristocracy 167-168

A Little Palatine History from Our Fellow Bloggers

January 28, 2015, 6:35 am

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I happened across a little blog entry about some of the Palatine residents of our area today.  Knowing how many of our visitors are genealogists (and knowing how little I can help them with anything but Livingston family members), I thought I would share.  Births, children, and deaths are all that is listed, but with amusement, I did notice that one of the children married a Lasher, a family that was particularly important in Germantown and Clermont.

Hendrick Mescik from Descent by Sea

The Reluctant Revolutionary, Part 2.: The Chancellor Refuses Montgomery

February 1, 2015, 9:09 am

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We know that Brigadier General Richard Montgomery wanted out of the American Revolution.  Like George Washington, he had not asked for a military post, but he had been selected by committee for his experience in the French and Indian War years before.  His letters to his wife are clear in expressing his frustration with his troops and his desire to quit his commission as soon as he could find a replacement.

In November he requested to leave the military again, but the responses were bleak.  John Hancock, at Congress in Philadelphia on November 30th wrote to Richard that he hoped the officer would stay at his post and that "the Loss of so brave and experienced an officer will be universally regretted as a Misfortune to all America."

His own brother-in-law and good friend Robert R. Livingston Jr (the Chancellor) was struggling north to Canada that month.  On November 28th, they arrived at Ticonderoga, freezing and exhausted from the trip (perhaps they would have done better if they had brought more than "but one blanket" for the two of them), and Robert had heard of Richard's desire to resign as well.  He wanted Montgomery to stay too.

"I do not know how to approve or blame your Desire of quitting the service," Robert wrote, "Your country still wants you...& yet the sacrifice you must make is such as can hardly be borne by a man of any sensibility or feeling, heaven direct you to what is best."

This paragraph must have either made Montgomery's heart sink or his blood boil.  It's heard to know.  Either way, not knowing where to find a replacement, Robert pushed his brother-in-law to stay at his post--even while the troops were deserting and returning their families wherever possible.

Long story short, Livingston and Franklin turned back south just a few days later, and Montgomery made plans to visit his wife at home during the winter, when the army would wait out the season, but he pushed on for now at the head of an army bound for Quebec.  Only a month later, he was killed in battle.

Did the Chancellor feel any guilt for his brother-in-law's death?  I don't know.  Despite the obvious dangers of war, he could not have predicted Richard's death in Quebec.  His own exertions and those of his brothers (Henry and John) put everyone at risk--not just his sister's husband.

It was all part of a dreadful fall and winter for Robert.  While he was returning south from this horrible journey with Franklin, first his grandfather and then his father passed away at Clermont on December 9th.  He felt the loss of his father very deeply, and wrote back and forth with his friend John Jay about it many times.  Richard's death was just a few weeks later on New Year's Eve.

Did Janet fault her younger brother's role in encouraging Montgomery to stay in the army?  If she did, it has not surfaced in any writings.  Instead, she was with the often in the coming years, perhaps taking comfort in a shared loss.

For Montgomery it was too late.  Remorse or blame could not bring him back.  His farm and mill were out of his reach forever, and in spite of his reservations, he went down in history as a hero--the first officer to die in the American Revolution.

Adventures in 18th Century Teenagers with a Young Janet Livingston

February 12, 2015, 1:33 pm

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References for the following are all taken from Janet Livingston Montgomery's Reminiscences, transcribed in the Dutchess County Year Book, 1930.  The Reminiscences were intended for her favorite, and youngest, brother Edward Livingston.

Janet Livingston Montgomery (1743-1828) is best known as the builder of Montgomery Place, or perhaps as the widow of Brigadier General Montgomery, who died in the Battle of Quebec in 1775.  But before Janet was a widow, she was teenager looking for a husband.

Janet was the first of her parents' many children.  I don't know why for sure, but she spent most of her first 12 years growing up with her paternal grandmother and grandfather.  It wasn't an uncommon arrangement to divide up child rearing among several households.  They were happy and indulgent years apparently, but when her grandmother died, she was sent to the care of her paternal grandfather--and his wife Gertrude.

Janet, who much later in life declared "I don't like stupid people.  I have never been accustomed to them," felt stifled under Gertrude, who was her grandfather's second wife.  In a rather cutting description of the woman, Janet once said that she had "all the cunning and intrigue that her weak intellect would allow."

Life with Gertrude and Col. Beekman (the grandfather) was strict, and freshly-turned-teen Janet was dismayed at her life there, listening to the old dame prattle on about her fashionable youth (now long past).  Janet didn't care and found the conversations thoroughly "intolerable." She needed some space to herself, and you should never underestimate the powers of a determined teenager.

Desperately seeking privacy for visiting with friends, Janet enlisted the help of the family servants in renovating an old, mostly forgotten room in the house.  Apparently "a little hump-back wasp of a steward" had been using it for 50 years, but never mind him--teenage Janet needed some space!

She and the servants cleared out some "large guns, and two large pictures of Indian pheasants," washed the room, and soon thereafter she began receiving her own friends there.

The steward did his best to hang onto a corner of the space.  Once he dared to get off his stool and try to talk to her though, haughty Janet had her grandfather throw him out of the room for good.

Once she had an inch, Janet took a mile.  She wanted a fashionable space to receive her friends.  You know, with wallpaper.  And curtains.  Working with the servants at night--since she was sure she would be denied permission by her financially-concious grandparents--Janet tried to scrape decades of whitewash from the walls, but only wound up completely wrecking the plaster (thankfully the half-deaf grandparents never heard the crash).  She somehow repaired it, purchased wallpaper, borrowed furniture from her parents, and even got her hands on a little stash of Beekman liquor that was so old and bad her grandfather wouldn't touch it (but she loved).  Now she was all set up at home.

But young Janet wanted more than a cozy fireside parlor with her "newspaper and the pipe." She wanted to go out.  She wanted to meet boys.  It was the 60s now (the 1760s, that is), and she was old enough to "go into company."

The winter social season in New York offered many temptations for an energetic young lady like her.  But her grandfather would have none of it.  He "detested the word engagements," she wrote.  As far as he was concerned "girls knit stockings and spun and learned to make good wives." Apparently learning to be a good wife wasn't on Janet's to-do list, but going to a few parties and engagements was.  One night she even enlisted the help of several servants (including the coachman and at least one woman) to sneak out in someone else's carriage--a classic technique of getting picked up in front of someone else's house.

Nevertheless, later in life she was proud of her male conquests.  "I had many idle scenes," she wrote.  Knowing that 18th century dating could get a little handsy, I do wonder what those "idle scenes" entailed.

The first young man who called on her was a "Yael" College graduate with a "little bobbed wig and a switch in his hand..." She turned him away in "disgust." When telling the story, she felt the need to add "After some years he married and in a fox chase broke his neck."

Another suitor, a "modest Scot" in the military promised to return to her after going to home to get a better commission.  She wasn't quite ready to promise herself to him, but was ready to wait and see if he came back.  "He set sail and was lost at sea." Suitor number two was dead.  Janet was thinking herself cursed.

So she wasn't completely cloistered.  She got permission to receive guests and even go out from time to time--provided she was home by 10pm, which was just the height of indignity since all her friends "kept late hours." At least once we know that she and "the three ladies in our house" got permission to go to a play, where she started a little romance with the rather dashing man in the seat next to her.  He was a real socialite, the life of the party, and always raising a toast to Janet when he was out and about.  But when her mother got wind of the romance, Janet was afraid of the outcome.

There wasn't time to worry.  The young man's friends convinced him to go out drinking one night.  They drank until the morning and then decided to go riding (can you see where this is going?).  The man fell and broke his neck, and Janet's little dalliance was over with.; suitor number three was dead too.  "What was surprising, I was prepared for this event by a dream," she said.

Later she fell desperately in love with a handsome officer with "a beautiful coat and cockade" but no money or family connections to speak of.  Her parents put a stop to that, but it was hard for Janet and the "struggle between love and duty was very painful." Janet's parents weren't going to arrange her marriage, but they certainly weren't going to let her throw in her lot with any old soldier who might not be able to provide for her in the way she was used to.  At least this one didn't die like the last two.

Janet was getting older now and still stuck living under the care of her parents and grandparents.  Her younger brother had already gotten married.  She needed to get focused on her future.

Men in uniform apparently were something of an attraction for her.  When she was 23 she met another soldier who was polite but also shared her general impatience with the human race.  The meeting came and went, but when he returned ten years later, he found her still single, and he struck up conversations again.  The romance went quickly, and they were married that summer.  Janet had long since left her teen years behind, but at least she'd finally accomplished the all-important goal of finding a mate.

Janet's teen years sound remarkably familiar: borrowing the carriage, sneaking out, moderate rebellion (though nothing too wild), a sprinkling of booze and smoking, and several failed romances.  All of this was written when she was 77, and many details in her writings get confused about who was who or when.  This section of the Reminiscences has a lot of clarity and detail though, which just goes to show you that even if you don't go to a conventional modern high school, your teen years make a life-long mark on you.

Is it Really Necessary? Of Corset is!

February 19, 2015, 7:29 am

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Corsetry often proves to be a problem for museums that do costumed interpretation.  Volunteers and museum staff who are eager to teach history to the public may or may not be eager to lace up a garment that's been demonized for centuries.  It can be a little unnerving, and it can take some getting used to!

At Clermont, we do our share of costumed interpretation, and we have been lucky to be able to cajole our staff into the appropriate corsets and stays.  Actually, quite a number of our staff have been curious or even downright excited to try on their first steel-boned undergarment.  And on the opposite end of the spectrum, one or two have presented some pretty good reasons why they need to go without.  We are grateful to our skilled volunteers and staff so we try to find the best solution for each person.

So is it really necessary?  Is corsetry really worth all this effort?

Of course it is!

Presenting the most accurate costumes we are capable of means a long process of learning and replicating each detail--from the right corset to the right ruffle.  It's an ongoing process, and it's part of our commitment (and a museum's purpose) to interpret history accurately.

That means not just putting our staff in any old corset, but making sure they have the right one for their time period.  Just as the shape of the skirts changed the silhouette every decade or so throughout the past two centuries, the shape of the torso (and the foundations underneath) changed too.

Just like most women today have given up the iconic "bullet bra" of the 1950s, women of the past were conscious that an out-of-date corset would make them look out of date too, as shown in the 1901 corset ad below at left.  Much more important than just compressing the waist, corsets "corrected" the figure, pushing bust, waist, and hips into a fashionable configuration.

So for each era of costume that Clermont interprets, we have purchased or made the right gowns and the right corsets.

It's taken us 10 years to get where we are, and we've decided to share what we've learned so far.  To that end, we'll be hosting a lecture entitled Corsets: Building Fashion from the Inside Out on March 14, 2015 at the beautiful and historic Hudson Opera House at 2:30pm.  Three live models will demonstrate what a different a corset can make--even without tight lacing--in the look of an historical costume, and Clermont's costume historian Kjirsten Gustavson will give an illustrated talk about the changes corsets underwent during the two centuries that Clermont was the home of the Livingston family.

Please call early.  Clermont's costume lectures often sell out!  (518) 537-4240

Margaret Howarden Livingston: A Long-Lost Livingston Wife

February 27, 2015, 7:01 am

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It is a sad fact of seventeenth and eighteenth history that women's lives all-too-often lost behind the identity of their husbands.  In rare cases, where letters or diaries may have been preserved, you can get to know some of the women of history--one of the most famous being Abigail Adams.

Well the Livingstons lost the human identities of many of their women too.  So often I can find nothing but their birth, death, and how many children they had.  This is probably most true of Margaret Howarden Livingston, who's husband built Clermont in the 1740s.  I never even knew her birth and death dates until today!

So today I got my first peak into the first Mistress of Clermont while I was reading a section in the Dutchess County Yearbook for 1930.  Her granddaughter Janet Livingston Montgomery remembered her with great affection and with the only account I have yet found.

This portrait may depict Margaret Howarden Livingston or possibly her daughter-in-law Margaret Beekman Livingston.  See here for more information.

Apparently the reason Janet remembered her grandmother so fondly was because Margaret was Janet's primary care taker while she was growing up.  "From infancy I became a favourite with my father's mother," Janet wrote in 1820.  Janet was born in 1843, when her grandmother was 50, and apparently the older woman saw to it that the girl was "spoiled by indulgence." Until the age of 12, Janet considered Margaret her "tender parent," and she hints at the cuddling and intimacy one would expect to share with a beloved guardian.

Janet also recalls her grandmother as "a melancholy" woman.  "The first thing that strikes my memory was her tears." What made Margaret so sad?!  "Often she has lulled me to sleep on her bosom by her tales of sorrow taken from the Bible, or perhaps the incidents of her own life..." Whatever it was, Janet's impressionable youth was spent learning about Margaret's family and history, which apparently were at least partially the source of her sadness.

First of all Margaret was baptized on July 13, 1693 so probably born not terribly long before that.  Her father died when she was young, and she "treasured" several letters he had written all her life as her only connection to him.  Somehow (the Reminiscences confuse generations frequently, making the stories difficult t sort out), the family's significant wealth was lost, and Margaret spent her own childhood "in very moderate circumstances" imagining what her life should be "having the fortune of a princess."

She once told Janet a story about going to a fortune teller when she was young--her friends convinced her, she swore.  And what do 18th century girls want to know about the future?  Their husbands, of course!  When the friends had all had their turns, and Margaret's turn came, the fortune teller told her she would wed a "Dutch-Scotsman," and offered to show his face in a mirror (a common divining technique).  But Margaret ran away out of fear.

Whether the story is true or not, when she was about 24 years old she married Robert Livingston in November of 1717, a Dutch-Scotsman with a bit of a wild reputation.  Nevertheless he was from a good family, and he got along with her mother very well.  Together they had only one child (Robert R. Livingston, "the Judge" was Janet's father), and there is no record why there were not more.  Were lost pregnancies part of her sadness?  Or did she just not get pregnant?  Even though Janet is quick to report a bad marriage in another part of the family, her portrait of life with her Livingston grandparents appears harmonious so I don't think that incompatibility played a role in the couple's limited fertility.

So by 1743 Margaret's husband was either building or planning to build a good mansion on his country estate, now called Clermont.  Her only son gave her the first grandchild (Janet), and her Howarden mother died three months later.

For twelve years she appears to have been Janet's primary care taker, comforting herself by sharing her life story with the little girl who soaked it all up like a sponge.  More grandchildren followed at a rate of about one every other year.  She welcomed a total of six into the world.

And then in 1755 Margaret died suddenly at age 62.

And that's all I have, but it's more than I'd previously been able to gather in 10 years here at Clermont.  I've often wondered about Margaret, and hopefully I will learn more.  This is just one more step in our effort to learn about the Livingstons as people and try to make their history more than just a recounting of names and dates.

Sorry we remember you as primarily "melancholy" Margaret, but hopefully we will be able to fill in some more details in the future.

It was NOT Alice's Wedding Dress: or Just Because it's White, Don't Make Assumptions

March 9, 2015, 7:26 am

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Nobody likes to be wrong in public, but I've done it this time!  Quite some time ago, I posted this blog, wondering if the creamy Parisian designer dress in our collections was Alice's wedding dress.  I was a little over-excited because--quite honestly--it's a pretty fabulous gown.

Aaand today history shot me down.

To be fair, I'm only partially to blame.  Some curator or even conservator before me labeled it a "wedding dress" on the box, and I just went with it.  But when I was researching pictures of Alice Livingston today, I found rather indisputable evidence.

Written on the back of a pretty, but kind of unassuming little photo of Alice was the following (see left):

Alice Delafield Clarkson/ Wife of John Henry Livingston/ Taken in her Wedding dress on honey moon in Florence 1907-8/ The hat was one got in Florence

Well there goes that theory.  So here is Alice's wedding dress, and it's a lot less glamorous than previously advertised--hopefully my disappointment wouldn't make Alice feel badly about her rather smart-looking tailor-made suit here.

It actually makes sense.  At the time I was wondering about the silhouette of this gown in comparison with other 1906 contemporaries; it was a little ahead of its time.  But this other dress fits right in.

It all goes along with something museums hear all the time. White dresses frequently show up at historical societies and other locations with the family legend being that it was Great So-and-So's wedding dress.

White is kind of a pitfall.  Today, the color has largely fallen out of fashion with the exception of wedding gowns so we tend to jump to that conclusion pretty quickly.  But historically, wedding gowns didn't start being consistently white until sometime around the middle or even end of the 19th century.  Even then, colors persisted into the 20th century.

Also, white was a popular color for pretty day dresses, as seen on Alice in this 1890s photo.  That means that a lot of everyday dresses (which to us look more formal anyway because they are full-length) get re-labeled as wedding gowns.

White was also a perfectly nice color for formal occasions, which just further confuses the matter.  Just a few days ago, a very nice Clermont board member brought in three 19th century gowns, all in white, and none of them wedding dresses.

So what does all this mean for this designer gown in our collections?  It means that Alice was still stylin' after she got married to John Henry.  Just because she was 35-ish and about to be the mother of two little girls didn't mean she was going to stop going to fancy parties.

That makes perfect sense since we have at least one other amazing silk gown (though this one was made in New York City) in our collections.  You'll have to excuse my wretched photos of it and instead use your imagination to conjure up the buttery-smooth feeling of silk charmeuse, the ethereal lace, and the gentle clack-clack of beading as Alice socialized at some really great dinner party, like a page out of the first season of "Downton Abbey."

Amusingly enough, this yellow gown also has a confusing label since Honoria seemed to remember wearing it to her her coming out party in 1928.  Unless she was deliberately wearing a gown at least 15 years out of style, I think perhaps that 50 years later Honoria's memory was a little fuzzy on who wore what, when.  That's okay; we can forgive her, I don't remember exactly what I've worn to every party over the past 10 years either.

I love having these two gowns side-by-side since the yellow one is most definitely made after Honoria and Janet were born (in 1909 and 1910), which supports an oral history interview done with Honoria in the 1980s.  "Oh yes," she said, "Mother and Father would have dinner parties--going way back, the early days."

And what does this comely dress (pictured in full at right) say about Alice's wedding?  That's a harder one to pick out since wedding dress customs have changed so dramatically over the past century. At the very least, it's good that we've put aside the Parisian dress, which was so dramatically different, and finally been put on the right track.  

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6 Livingston Babies We'd Like to Sqeeze

March 17, 2015, 8:33 am

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A big part of our interpretation at Clermont is home life.  The Livingstons were, by definition, a family.  Their lives were filled with the giggles, cackles, and cries of babies--especially when many generations had large families.  Here are just a few of the Livingston children who can help put a face on that aspect of daily life around here.

Honoria Livingston, 1909: Eventually growing up into the grand dame of Clermont the Museum, Honoria was part of the last generation to be born at Clermont.  Her mother Alice had the help of nannies to care for her, but she was not a distant figure by any means.  Alice's letters show that she worried over Honoria's first solid foods, played with her, and put her down to nap, making Honoria a central feature of Alice's day-to-day life.

Catherine Livingston, 1873-4:  Catherine was Honoria's half-sister, but was older than her by some 36 years.  She was their father John Henry's first child, but her mother passed away only shortly after she was born.  Catherine (named after her mother) spent years living with her Hammersley aunts until her father finally remarried, creating a household suitable for raising children in again (the guidance of only a father may not have been considered enough for so small a child).

Catherine eventually grew up and moved to England, where she changed the spelling of her name to Katherine to avoid the Irish associations and prejudice that apparently went along with the "C."

My kudos to the photographer for catching a beguiling twinkle in baby Catherine's eyes.







Eddie, 1872:  Alright, I have to admit, I don't know anything about "Eddie" except his name and the date of the photo, but that thick mass of hair and more twinkling eyes made him too endearing to leave out.

Don't miss his pretty white dress: baby boys and even boys up the age of 6 or 7 wore dresses (often white) for centuries--reaching into the late 1920s in some families.  Instead of suggesting femininity, dresses were indicating childhood in this case.

From a practical standpoint, keeping very young boys in dresses made it easier to change diapers in an age before snaps and elastic made clothing easy to put on an take off.  Before ultrasounds let us know the gender of a baby before it ever escaped the womb, selecting a gender-neutral  style (or just making dresses gender-neutral) also meant that you didn't have to have two complete sets of clothing waiting for your baby's birth.

Robert Clermont, 1908:  Katherine (also pictured above) grew up and got married and had her own kids in the first decade of the 20th century.  Here's Robert, her third baby doing his very best to wriggle out of her arms while she tries to get a formal portrait taken.

Robert was the inheritor of the most weighty boys' name in the Livingston family.  In the tradition of the founder of Livingston Manor, the Judge, the Chancellor, and plenty more, Robert had big shoes to fill.  Thankfully, the many distant cousins who also inherited the name Robert were all across the Atlantic Ocean in America, eliminating the inevitable confusion of never knowing who was actually being called when someone yelled out his name.

The best touch in this historic image is undoubtedly Robert's bare toes and just a hint of his baby belly hanging out.

Unknown, circa 1900-1905:  Alice Livingston loved photography, and she liked to experiment with her own studio set-ups.  This unknown baby way tucked into a photo album next to pictures of her father and her sisters so there is a chance that this pudgy little child is her niece or nephew (back to the problem of gender neutral baby clothes).

The photograph's clarity gives us a chance to get a really good look at the fine lace insertions and trim along the dress's hem--and of course, more chubby, bare baby feet.

But the inclusion of the toy drum is also helpful in recreating the noise of having a baby in the house.  The a-rhythmic tap, tap of a baby playing with a drum would have also been accompanied by the crashing noise of it being repeatedly dropped as it was carried around the house.

Eliot Hawkins, 1934:  

Eliot Hawkins was Alice Livingston's grand nephew, and he really is bordering on a toddler here.  Nevertheless, he has escaped the clutches of dresses and is instead clad in the other early 20th century uniform of boyhood--shorts.  His cute--or maybe mischievous--smile, pudgy fingers, and arms full of stuffed toys were captured by Alice Livingston as he visited her at Clermont one day.

Like Honoria, Eliot grew up and became an important part of turning Clermont from a home into a museum.  Not only did his memories flush out our interpretation of his family heritage, but he has continued to commit countless hours to the Friends of Clermont, who support us every day at Clermont.

Button it Up!

March 26, 2015, 11:42 am

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Aaahh buttons.  They can be nostalgic.  My grandmother used to cut the buttons off old clothes and save them in a jar.  They can be showy.  Amongst other reasons, the Amish do not wear buttons on their clothes because they are to proud.  And Laura Ingalls Wilder remembered some buttons from her earliest childhood, describing gold buttons with "a little castle and a tree carved" on them or "black buttons which looked so exactly like juicy big blackberries" that she wanted to eat them.

We've kind of forgotten all the fancy buttons that once ornamented wardrobes (especially men's wardrobes) of the eighteenth century.  The standard pressed pewter, silver, gold, and brass that you can purchase through various reproduction suppliers (as seen at right) are only the tip of the iceberg.

I started on this whole line of thought today when I bumped into this picture at right.

These spherical little buttons are purported to have been witness to the swearing in of George Washington as the US's first president.  According to the Livingston family, they came from the coat worn by Chancellor Livingston that day.  Whether or not the story is true, their age suggests that they do come from that era, and they are a great example of the wide variety of decorative buttons available at the time.

Yet another button at Clermont was discovered in the 1970s as part of an archaeological dig at the site of the museum's HVAC bunker.  The dig produced thousands of artifacts, but this little guy stands out more than some of the rest.

The George Washington inaugural button was found in a layer of trash in the archaeological dig, just on top of the ash and rubble left behind when the mansion was burned in 1777.  It's a nice compliment to the Chancellor's buttons up above, since both are linked to the same event.

Buttons like this were bought as souvenirs or worn in support of America's new president at the event of the swearing in.  A number of different designs can be found in different collections these days, and some are quite fancy.  It is quite possible that Chancellor Livingston wore a full set of these buttons as he swore Washington into office.  Perhaps the glass buttons were on his waistcoat and the copper button shown here was on his frock coat?  A curious side question is: How did it come to be discarded in a waste heap near the Chancellor's mother's house not long afterwards?

Chancellor Livingston's clothes reflect a full range of buttons, including a set of very fancy-pants ones on a waistcoat and coat at the New York Historical Society.  To make this kind of button, a circle of silk was carefully hand-embroidered, cut out, and set over a button form.  They generally complimented the embroidery motif on the coat or waistcoat and were made at the same time.

Even though they are less ornate than the embroidered buttons above, thread buttons are my personal favorite. Death's Head Buttons (as seen at left) are some of the more common, and they can be spotted on a couple of Livingston portraits in the house.  Most readily, you can spot them on Philip the Signer's brown coat and black waistcoat in his portrait in the Drawing Room (below center).  They're easy to recognize since they look like a quartered circle.

I couldn't seem to find any examples of Dorset buttons (as seen at right) here at Clermont, but they were also a common thread button.  In the 19th century particularly, thread buttons became quite a fancy affair, often matching extensive passementerie on women's clothing.  

Finally, a pair of Chancellor Livingston's breeches (also in the collections of the New York Historical Society) offers a last look at common bone buttons.  Neatly rounded and finished, they give no suggestion of being rustic, as you might expect for something carved out of animal bone.  

Mostly today, buttons are a forgotten fastener on our jeans and coats and shirts.  Fancy buttons are the realm of children's clothing, scrapbookers, or novelty clothing.  

A century or two ago however, buttons were essential markers of style and taste, graced with extraordinary variety and often quite costly. In the eighteenth century, buttons were not wasted on underwear like petticoats or chemises.  Those things tied or pinned closed (straight pins, mind you.  The safety pin was a much later invention).  Buttons were proudly displayed on waistcoats, jackets, and some fine gowns.  Some (like the Chancellor's purple glass buttons) were even worth saving even when the garment they were originally attached to had long since worn out.  Others found their way into trash piles and are now battered archaeological finds.  Either way, they came in a wide variety of shapes and colors and styles--and they still do if you ever take a moment to look at them while you are getting dressed.

2015 Sheep & Wool Showcase

April 8, 2015, 10:13 am

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Clermont's Arryl North field is usually a quiet place, the first spreading field you see at Clermont when you park your car and get out to stretch your legs.  But not next weekend.  On April 18th, it'll come to life with with 24 small businesses, sheep, ducks, dogs, kids, the savory smells of fresh food cooking, and the lively sounds of traditional, acoustic music.  That's because it's time for the Chancellor's Sheep & Wool Showcase.

The event runs from 11am-4pm, and tickets are only $8 per car (car pooling is welcome).

You'll be serenaded with live traditional music by Tamarack and the Acoustic Medicine Show while you explore a vendor concourse filled with two dozen small businesses.  This year’s concourse includes fine yarns, hand-knitted and hand-felted goods, local pottery, and soaps. Our vendors are jury-selected, and  most sell one-of-a-kind items.  It’s a great place to find unique treasures for Mother’s Day, which is right around the corner.

Children are also welcome at the festival, and some programming has been developed just for them.  Kids can paint their own tee shirts and make sheep-themed cootie catchers.  A special “Sheep to Shawl” lesson for children 3-5 years old will be given at 12:30 and 2:00 with songs and illustrations to help little ones learn how fabric is made, and sheep-themed stories will be read at 11:15, 1:00, and 2:15. 

The Showcase’s centerpiece is a selection of demonstrations that depict the processes for taking wool from sheep to shawl, including shearing, herding, spinning, weaving, and felting.  Two local 4-H clubs, the Wilderness Workers and Merry Sprites & Knights, will be onsite as well.  That's because we think that in this day and age of mass-produced clothing, it's a good idea to remember how your clothing gets made (think the farm-to-table movement, but for fabric). 

5 Things You Should Know About the Livingston Family

April 16, 2015, 12:01 pm

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The Livingstons were an extremely prominent family in early American history, but lots of people today have never heard of them.  Here are seven facts you can whip out at a party to show that you know your American history:

1.  Robert R. Livingston did not sign the Declaration of Independence
(But he did help to write it)

Unless you follow Clermont's blog, (which we think you should!) Robert R. Livingston is probably the only Livingston you might have heard of.  We often get inquireies about him as "The Livingston who signed the Declaration of Independence," but in reality he never did.

He was a valued member of the 2nd Continental Congress, and he was one of John Jay's best friends.  He was part of the Committee of Five that drafted the Declaration of Independence (also including Thomas Jefferson, John Adams, Ben Franklin, and Roger Sherman), and some think that the Declaration's striking similarity to the Dutch Plakkaat van Verlatinge--which declared the Netherlands independent from Spain in 1581--may be due to Livingston's New York upbringing.

Robert's family were greatly influenced by their Dutch heritage: his great grandfather had emigrated from the Netherlands, he spoke Dutch fluently, and New York itself held onto many important Dutch traditions.  The Plakkaat van Verlantinge was still being published in many Dutch publications while Robert was growing up, making it quite likely that he would have been familiar with it.  Did his input shape the structure of Jefferson's now-hallowed document?

Unfortunately for posterity, Robert left Congress before the Declaration was officially signed.  Torn between the need for strong federal government and the needs of New York State, Robert returned to Kingston, where he was just as active in trying to keep local order in the midst of a chaotic rebellion.

So which Livingston signed the Declaration of Independence?  It was Robert's cousin Philip who got immortalized on this national treasure.


2.  It wasn't just Robert R. Livingston who joined the American Revolution

It wasn't just Robert R. and Philip who were busy during the Revolution.  Quite a bit of the family found one way or another to get involved.  Robert's brother Henry Beekman Livingston was a Lieutenant Colonel in the Continental Army.  Another brother John (at left) sold supplies to the army.

But it didn't just stop with Robert's immediate family.  William Livingston, who came from the manor side of the family, represented New Jersey in the Continental Congress and was the state's first governor.  A different Henry Livingston was also a Colonel in the Continental Army (which makes things really confusing when you're researching), as was William Livingston's son Brokholst Livingston, who was even imprisoned by the British in 1782.  Still another, John Henry Livingston from Poughkeepsie (who became a Reverend later on) is noted for drawing a confession out of a prisoner with no more than a deadpan apology that that the man would be killed in the morning.

The Livingstons were numerous and prominent in a time of upheaval so their descendants were eager to track their activities.  While his might have been the most public and possibly the largest leadership role Robert R.'s contributions were part of a much wider family involvement.



3.  A Livingston Exhibited with the Hudson River School Painters

While many members of Livingston family were artistic, only one Montgomery Livingston was totally obsessed with art.  He was classically trained in Europe and returned to America in the late 1830s, eventually inheriting Chancellor Livingston's old mansion, New Clermont.  He quickly filled the house with canvases, a printing press, and other art supplies.

While Montgomery may not have achieved the rockstar notoriety of Thomas Cole or Frederick Church (who had residences nearby his own Hudson River home), he exhibited his paintings at the National Academy of Design, and a catalog of those works shows that he was traveling to many of the same places to generate his art: Mount Desert Island, the White Mountains, and a variety of Hudson River and Catskill destinations (Moore's Bridge above is one of those and is currently on exhibit in the NY state capital), as well as some Swiss scenes from his early travels.


His death at age 39 limited his overall output, and possibly played a part in limiting his fame as well.  Nevertheless Montgomery's work is still collected, and his White Mountains and Catskill Mountains scenes in particular seem to have generated a lasting legacy.



4.  The Livingstons constructed dozens of Hudson River Valley mansions

Clermont my have been the heart and soul of the Livingston clan, but it was certainly not the only mansion they called home.  Between both branches of the Livingstons, they owned some 900,000 acres of land at their peak, and over the generations, they divided that land up among their many children.  Livingston family members can claim links to about three dozen mansions in the area, once leading to the nickname "Livingston Valley."

From the 18th century through the late 19th, romantic names like Rokeby, Oak Hill, Edgewater, and Wildercliff cropped up as each child inherited their piece of Livingston land to start their family on.

Even with all these other mansions around, Clermont remained the center of the Livingston family as the oldest mansion that anyone really liked.  Sure Robert the First Lord built the first Livingston house where the Roeliff Jansen Kill flowed into the Hudson River.  That house was little more than a trading post however.  It was agreed that it was uncomfortable and unsuited to the life of a country gentleman, and it was torn down in the 18th century.  An heir tried to build a newer, grander manor house, but his inheritance was not what he expected, and he had to stop after completing just the basement and first floor (that house was called "The Hermitage").

Clermont was loved and honored by it's heirs, and they preserved it as a tribute to their family prowess, even while they updated it to sit their modern needs.


5.  There are many Livingstons still alive today (and they're all over the world)

 We get the question frequently--"Are there any Livingston left alive today?" Yes!  The Livingston family is widespread, and many of them maintain relationships with Clermont and our Friends group.

Clermont's last residents Honoria and Janet never had children, which might give the impression that this was the end of the Livingstons.  But there are as many as three hundred that come to the Livingston Family Reunions every five years (at left).

Janet and Honoria may have been the last Livingstons to reside at Clermont, but the generations in the 18th and early 19th centuries had many families of 7-10 children, and Honoria had many, many cousins, second cousins, and so on.  Have you ever heard me reference the family genealogy?  It is no less than two inches thick, and must weight about seven or eight pounds.

Still other family members contact us periodically to clear up questions about their lineage or even to donate objects that relate to Clermont's history.  In fall of 2014 we were visited by Katherine Livingston Timpson's great-grandson, who generously donated a small cache of photos and portraits.  This gift gave us new insight into a portion of the family we knew little about after their 1905 move to England.

Yet another branch of the family contacted us long-distance from India, rekindling a relationship more than two hundred years after their Livingston ancestor fled New York because of Tory sentiments.

The prolific Livingston family left ancestors in many places all over the world, and almost all them carry some part of the pride that lead Alice Livingston to designate Clermont a museum in the 1960s.

A Summer Retreat: The Livingstons and Bar Harbor

April 29, 2015, 1:17 pm

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While she was paging through some files, Clermont's Education Assistant Emily discovered a little photocopy of Alice Livingston's 1964 obituary.

Let me just explain the "files." People have done a lot of research here over the years, and it's all kept in 4 drawer filing cabinet full of photocopies and hand-written transcripts.  Or sometimes it's buried in someone's computer files.  Or sometimes it didn't get put into a file folder, and I find it floating around my office a few years later.

Actually, that was the case with the obituary.  I put it in Alice's file folder now so it won't be such a "discovery" the next time.

The obituary contained the usual:

"Mrs John Henry Livingston, 92, died April 20 in Tivoli-on-Hudson at her home 'Clermont Cottage."

Yup, that's right, she died in the cottage.  Ghosts, anyone?

But it also included a brief run-down of the places she'd lived with her husband John Henry:

"For two years after their marriage, the couple lived in Europe.  In addition to the estate 'Clermont,' they owned homes in Aiken, S.C., and Bar Harbor, Maine..."

Wait a minute!  As a native Mainer, I couldn't let the Maine residence slide by unnoticed.  This little reference was also interesting seeing as John Henry's older daughter Katherine Livingston had charged two trips to Bar Harbor against her trust fund in 1887 and 1890.

Just a few minutes on Google gave me a fuller picture of the Livingstons' relationship with Mount Desert Island.  At various times, the Livingstons owned at least 9 cottages in the popular resort town.

For those of you who aren't familiar with Bar Harbor's "cottages," they were serious business.  They were given exotic and romantic sounding names like "Blair Eyrie" (at left), "Witch Cliff," and "Casa Far Niente." The most extravagant cottages could sport as many as 80 rooms, plus 30 more for servants (Wingwood House, built 1925).  They were crowned with towers and wrapped in broad porches and balconies.  The gardens were elegant; the rooms were refined.  In short, it was the fashionable "anti-Newport."

Chatwold is best known as belonging to Joseph Pulitzer, but it was first constructed for a Livingston bride.

The town's reputation as a summer playground for the wealthy had begun some decades earlier with the arrival of artists like Frederic Church.  By the end of the century members of the Vanderbilt family and Joseph Pulitzer were traveling there every summer.  In 1888 "Chilsholm's Mount Desert Guide Book" called the town, "the unchallengeable queen of eastern summer resorts."

Still another called Bar Harbor and Mount Desert Island  by W.D. Lapham and published the same year described the summer season thus:

"From June to early September, its streets are thronged by the gayly dressed, migratory butterflies of the world of fashion, airing their silken wings in the cool sunshine of the Maine coast..."

The Livingstons evidently enjoyed "the queen" of resort towns as well.  Chisholm's explained:

"Beyond St Sylvia's stands the cottage of Morris K. Jessup, the New-York banker; opposite which is the handsome new place of Col. E. W. Bass, a professor at West Point.  Beyond (on the right) is Marigold, built in 1888 for Clermont Livingston; and The Bowlder, the new house of [his grandson] Clermont DePeyster."

Clermont Livingston, 1880

So Clermont, Alice's father-in-law, was something more than just the homebody gentleman farmer we remember him as from his farm journals.  In 1888 he built a brand new place for himself in one of the most fashionable (and relatively remote) watering holes of the era.  Hmmmm.  One has to expect that if he built a house there--instead of just staying in one of the many grand hotels--he was expecting to visit on an almost annual basis and stay for an extended period of time.

St. Sylvia's Catholic church was just down the road from Clermont Livingston's house on Kebo St.

These two residences also informed Katherine's 1887 and 1890 trips.  Clermont DePeyster grew up in the the same household as Katherine under her father's care.  He was her first cousin (and thus the grandson of Clermont Livingston), but the two seemed to have had more of a brother-sister relationship.  He was about 20 when he built his Bar Harbor house around 1888 so perhaps Katherine was staying with her cousin, if not her grandfather on some of those trips.

"Rocklyn" was Philip Livingston's second Bar Harbor cottage and dates back to 1881-2

In addition to the two Clermonts' homes, other Livingstons owned Bar Harbor cottages as well. When Louise Bowler married into the Livingston family in the late 1880s, she brought the celebrated "Chatwold" with her.  "Callendar House"--an "imposing" brick Colonial Revival house on Schooner Head Rd.--was built, burned and rebuilt in 1901-1904 by Mrs. John C. Livingston. Philip Livingston built "Far View" in 1909 on Eden St., only one year after his wife had died in another Bar Harbor residence--possibly "Rocklyn"on Eden St (at left).  Johnston Livingston owned the predictably-named "Livingstone" cottage on Kebo Street, not far from Clermont Livingston's house Marigold.  It appears that unlike some, Johnston Livingston was in Bar Harbor for the long haul, appearing not only in an 1888 guidebook, but also a 1905 social register.

Herbert Livingston Satterlee had some sort of house on Great Head, but I can't find a reference to its name or appearance.  My only clues were photos showing the view from the house, which turned up on the Library of Congress website.

When it comes to John Henry and Alice Livingston and the mystery of the house mentioned in the obituary, things get more confusing.

According to the Mount Desert Island Historical Society, John Henry appears to have inherited his nephew's house "The Boulder" on Kebo St.  There is no word on "Marigold," as Chisholm's Guide called Clermont Livingston's house, but it does say that in 1904 John Henry owned "Teviot," also on the west side of Kebo St.  It is possible that he inherited his father's cottage and renamed it. ("Teviot" appears to have been sold by 1905 to another New York family named Auchincloss.)

The MDI Historical Society also lists John Henry Livingston as owner of "The Triangle" at the intersection of Eden St. and Mount Desert St.  So at various times he owned three different Bar Harbor cottages?  Well, la-di-dah!

You might be wondering what on earth did people do in Bar Harbor, and from my research it turns out they did pretty much the same thing that people do there today:  they road around on the pretty back roads and bridle paths.  They hiked.  They rented canoes and paddled around the harbor, as Edith Warton recalled doing in her youth.  They went yachting.  "The bay throughout the season is crowded with yachts," wrote the Lapham guide.  The water was deemed too cold for swimming, but still they played along the water's edge, exploring the tide pools or dipping their toes into the water at sandy spots.  They shopped, mingled at balls, and parties, and dances, and flirted with one another on the broad porches of the hotels.

The Lapham guide wrote:

"The cottages vie with each other all summer, in afternoon and evening parties in all varieties known and these, with formal calling, make the social burden almost as heavy as in town."

Shopping was as much a part of vacationing then as now.  Chilholm's guide wrote:

"Main Street ...is lined by the chief shops of the village, and several of its hotels.  It is a busy, crowded street, with plank sidewalks, and borders of irregular and huddled buildings.  In the Oriental stores are treasures of Banares brass and India silks; at Huyler's delicious ice-cream soda and confections, Jacqueminot roses and pink pond-lilies;...at Bee's the novels and newspapers of the day; at the Indian stores odd baskets and carvings; at Koopman's and Clothier's rare antiques and old English furniture, Norwegian silverware, and other precious bric-a-brac." 

Main St. 1888

The list goes on and on.

Men gathered at the Mount Desert Reading Room, a palatial new building that housed "a spacious hall, billiard-room, smoking-room, reception-room, parlors, library, and reading-rooms, each with a great fireplace and beautiful architectural details."

It was this brilliant and bubbly world that Alice and her husband, or Katherine before that, would travel to in the summers.  After arriving by steamer (or later by train), they would breath in the the renowned Bar Harbor air, flag down some sort of cart, buckboard, or carriage, and ride up the hill to whichever quiet cottage was waiting for them, windows open, curtains blowing in the breeze.

What happened to all of these glamorous and beautiful cottages?  Can you go on a tour of Livingston homes in Bar Harbor?

Sadly no.  In 1947, a devastating fire wreaked havoc on most of the island, destroying a large part of the island's architectural treasures, particularly in the town of Bar Harbor.  While some of the cottages survived, many were torn down in the decades to come as they became too onerous to keep up, or needed to make way for more fashionable and lucrative accommodations.

Today Bar Harbor still has a number of the structures that made it famous.  Others are built on the magnificent terraces that remain from the gardens of the late 19th and early 20th centuries.  Ghosts of the past linger there, like this overgrown gate on Kebo St., just across from St. Silvia's church, where perhaps John Henry and Alice once heaved a sigh of relief to begin their Bar Harbor season.

Like Mother, Like Daughter: Looking for a Livingston Family Resemblance

May 4, 2015, 8:18 am

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 One of the first questions people want to know about a baby is "Who does it look like: the mother or the father?" With babies, this can be a hard call.  How do you compare a baby's face to a grown-up's?  But photography gives us a great tool for comparing people at the same age, and who doesn't love pulling out their old baby photos for comparison?

A while ago, I got into a debate with my mother about who was in a photograph: her or my sister?  (I finally won when I pointed out my sister as a baby in the background of the photo).  And thinking of this made me wonder if the Livingston family resemblance--which has often been heralded as being pretty intense--would show up as well in photos.

So below I have assembled three Livingston mothers and daughters for comparison.  See what you think:

1.  Alice Delafield Clarkson (1840s-1910s) and Alice Delafield Clarkson Livingston (1872-1964)

Our Alice (Honoria and Janet's mom) was, in fact, named after her mother, and--lucky for us--the two were both photographed around the same age.  Alice the Younger is 8 years old in her photo on the right, a little girl with knee-length skirts and loose wavy hair, which were markers of childhood in the late 19th century.  I like the fact that the large, regular waves suggest that she wore her hair in braids when she went to bed.

Her mother appears to be about the same age when her photograph was taken, maybe a year or two older, although the caption in our archives has her labeled as 16.  She is wearing a large coat with sloped shoulders in a popular silhouette for the 1850s, and her shorter skirt (just ankle length) is held out by a nicely rounded hoop.  Her big sausage curls suggest that instead of braids, she slept last night in rag curls.

Finding a likeness in the two girls means zooming in for a closer look, but their similarities aren't necessarily as easy to express as the details of their clothes.  Is it the nose?  Is it the chin?  The clothing is distracting, but nevertheless it's not unbelievable that the girls are related.

Alice Livingston and her mother seemed to have had a pretty close relationship when she grew up.  Her parents might have begun to despair of ever seeing grandchildren by the time Alice finally had children at 36, but once she did they did their best to be part of the girls' lives with regular visits.  Alice also kept her mother abreast of the day-to-day details of her babies' lives by writing letters.  Everything from overall behavior to diet and digestive function were worth sharing.  Alice also sought comfort from her mother when Arryl House burned down and talked to her about her distress over her husband's reaction to the loss.  It's the sort of relationship that many of us might recognize today, only with less texting.



2.  Catherine Hammersly Livingston (?-1873) and Katherine Livingston Timpson (1873-1933)

If working from two photographs was hard, it's a little harder working from a photograph (right) and a photograph of a painted portrait (left).  But that is all we have for Catherine.  Nevertheless, seeing the women as adults makes it a little easier to identify their similarities.  Maybe it's just easier having a fully-developed facial structure that helps.

Katherine was not lucky enough to have her mother's advice about children when she grew up.  Her mother had died shortly after Katherine's birth, and instead the little girl was raised first by her aunts and later by her step mother.

Instead, Catherine's only way to directly ensure her daughter's future was through a sizable trust fund.  This money helped Katherine throughout her life, paying for swimming and tennis lessons, trips to Bar Harbor, and traveling in England and all over the world as a young woman.  Years later, when Katherine's marriage grew rocky, that money also helped her to purchase her own house and live financially secure away from her husband, something that not all women in her situation could hope for.



3.  Alice Delafield Clarkson Livingston (1782-1964) and Honoria Livingston McVitty (1909-2000)  

Alice Livingston (from above) grew up and eventually had two children of her own: Honoria (at right) and Janet.  Honoria was a glamorous girl who definitely got her mother's large, dark eyes.  Beyond that, though, the two look very different.  Photographed somewhere around their mid 20s, it's not easy for me to pick out the similarities.

Like Alice and her mother, Honoria and Alice also remained fairly close as the years went on.  In fact, after Honoria married, the newlyweds moved into Sylvan Cottage, about 1/2 a mile away just inside Clermont's gate.  A few years later, her mother moved into the property's other cottage, and the two women lived down the road from one another for the next 20 years, until Alice's death at 92 years old.

I was kind of interested to notice that Honoria looks even more like her sisters: Janet and her half-sister Katherine.  I guess there really is a family resemblance after all.

Get Set: A Set of Girls' Petticoats in Clermont Collections

June 1, 2015, 11:55 am

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Part of our pursuit as a museum is to recapture the day-to-day of people's lives, and one of the most common experiences for parents is getting their children dressed every morning.

Dressing children throughout history has been fraught with  issues practical, moral, emotional, and financial.  What is appropriate for their age and gender?  How well does it fit current fashions?  How well can it be cleaned?  How long will it last before the child outgrows it, and a new one must take its place?  How on earth do you convince a young child to hurry up and put their clothes on!? (okay so the last one is one from my own experience)

In 1830, Lydia Child devoted a seven-page chapter in "The Mother's Book" to "Beauty - Dress - Gentility," in which she warned

"Extravagance in dress does great mischief both to fortune and character; but want of neatness and want of taste are peculiarly disgusting."

Even then, the fear of placing to great an emphasis on physical beauty was being balanced with the concern that the opposite extreme would leave children looking like sloppy urchins.  Louisa May Alcott balanced the same concerns in her books, first admonishing Jo in "Little Women" to wear a corset lest she look unseemly, and then gently scolding Meg for borrowing a French corset that pinched her sides for the sake of vanity.

Clermont's costume collection houses a good selection of children's costumes, especially from Honoria and Janet (above, at right): baby gowns and caps, children's dresses, and even dress-up costumes lovingly folded up and stored as reminders for the future.

But the box that caught my this time was a collection of things that appears to have been from their mother's generation.  Alice Delafield Clarkson (at left) was born in 1872 and grew up largely at nearby Holcroft.  She was a well-dressed young lady and fairly representative of what you might expect a well-to-do girl of the late 19th century to look like.  It is likely the little trove I found belonged to her since on quick inspection, the shape is more consistent with torso-hugging late-nineteenth century modes than the broader ones of Honoria and Janet's childhoods.

The big gray garment box contained exactly nine items: a light-as-air cotton slip or petticoat and 8 matching flannel petticoats.  These plain clothes were finely-made without being showy-- practical without being dull.  They were just the thing for little Alice.

The petticoats are cream wool flannel, surprisingly soft and light if you haven't handled a lot of historic wool products.  Wool could be woven in many weights and textures--a lot of which have been abandoned today.

Growth tucks have been let out.

At 29" long, the petticoats likely fell somewhere below the knee for their original wearer.  Little girls wore short skirts until somewhere in their early or mid teens.  It allowed them the physical freedom to run and climb and play.

In spite of their almost utilitarian look, they are finely constructed, with neat little flat-felled seems, and pretty hand-embroidery along the scalloped hem.

Button holes in waistband.

You can see in the picture at right that there is a long fold along the bottom.  That was a growth tuck: a little fold of fabric stitched in place that could be released as the child got taller (see below at left).  These tucks have all been let out, but the wool was pressed in that fold for so long, it was apparently hard to convince it to stay down flat.

The waistbands all have button holes in them. The could then be attached to a vest or corset waist like the Ferris Good Sense waist shown above.  This popular technique kept the petticoats from slipping down a child's straight-waisted body and falling off all the time.  

These petticoats address many of the problems that mother faced when dressing their children: balancing beauty with economy and practicality.

Embroidered hem is constructed by folding the fabric under, embroidering the scalloped edge, and trimming away the excess fabric.

The repetition of eight matching petticoats gives a sense of the repetition of the morning routine, and perhaps that is what I like best about them.  Eight matching petticoats would have eliminated the need to do much thinking in the morning when dressing a child. They could be piled on top of each other for extra warmth.  They could be relied upon as one easy step among all the challenges of parenting.

While Alice was most likely dressed by a nanny in the morning, just like her own children thirty years later, the job of selecting and purchasing her clothing still would have fallen to her mother.  It was just one of the many way wealthy mothers supervised their children's health and upbringing while delegating the mundane activities of dressing, feeding, and basic instruction to servants, while reserving an hour or so each day for their version of today's "quality time."

So these petticoats were most likely worn by Alice, chosen and purchased by her mother, and put on the girl by her nursemaid.  That's a little piece of three different people's "every day," all from one set of undergarments!

---

Palace of the Livingstons: A Tale About Staatsburg from Our Fellow Bloggers

June 9, 2015, 7:17 am

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This sharp little tale of neighboring Staatsburgh State Historic Site is one of the livelier retellings of this old story that we've read yet.  It was written by Conrad Hanson, executive director of the Friends of Clermont, a Woods Road resident, and author of the Schoolfield Country House Blog.

Staatsburgh: A Palace for a Pretender to the Throne

The Things He Carried: Richard Montgomery’s Equipage

July 7, 2015, 8:55 am

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 On December 31, 1775 General Richard Montgomery, husband of Janet Livingston, led a desperate attack on the British held city of Quebec.  Leading one of three wings of the attack Montgomery found the first barrier he and his men faced undefended.  He crossed with many of his sections officers and waited while a detachment of soldiers began tearing down the barrier to allow the main body of troops through.  Suddenly at the end of the street Montgomery noticed movement in a fortified blockhouse.  He knew well that the narrow street his men were using to enter the city would become a slaughterhouse if the defenders were able to fire a canon down the street from the blockhouse.  He drew his sword and charged the house with his officers hoping to catch the defenders off guard.  Unfortunately, the defending British and Canadians were not asleep and their canon spat grapeshot at the advancing Americans.  Most of the officers fell, Montgomery had been hit by three balls, in the leg, groin and head.  He died instantly.

            The attack on Quebec fell apart but the American army would stay around the city under the command of Benedict Arnold for several more months before a fighting retreat down Lake Champlain.  Montgomery was a wealthy man, an experienced campaigner and had plenty of time to prepare for the campaign in New York, Livingston Manor and Albany so he was well equipped. So what happened to his stuff?

            His money, in various denominations was inventoried on January 2, 1776 to be sent back to New York.  It amounted to a little over £ 347.  In addition his watch and seal were recovered from his body and sent to the Americans and then back to Mrs. Montgomery.  The General himself was buried in Quebec with full military honors.  In 1818 his body was returned to New York.

            The next day January 3, 1776 his personal effects were inventoried and, as was the custom of the time, they were auctioned off with the money being sent to his widow.  This custom may seem morbid but it allowed the other officers a way to resupply themselves on campaign and in many cases the money would be far more useful to the widow than her deceased husband’s shirts.  The officers who performed the inventory of Montgomery’s goods were Colonel Donald Campbell, Major John Brown, Major Fred Weisenfelts and Aide-de-Camp Aaron Burr. 

            The single largest buyer at the auction was Benedict Arnold.  His purchases included 3 ruffled shirts and six plain shirts, six cambric stocks, a silk neck cloth and three linen handkerchiefs.  Arnold also purchased a pair of “casimere” (perhaps cashmere) breeches and matching waistcoat which were probably quite comfortable in the cold Canadian winter.  Interestingly Arnold also purchased a pair of moccasins and “elegant Indian leggins”.  Because they are described as “Indian” the leggings were most likely leather, worn to protect one’s stockings from being destroyed when walking through the woods.

            Arnold (at right) also purchased a dozen knives and forks, six silver table spoons, six silver tea spoons and a pair of tea tongs.  He also purchased five table cloths and an old trunk for storage.  Silver spoons and table ware may seem fancy for a military campaign but it was important for Montgomery’s reputation that he be able to entertain his officers and if necessary enemy officers in high style.

            Among the other items sold from Montgomery’s possessions were two blankets and a counterpane (bed spread) sold to Colonel Seth Warner.  Aaron Burr bought a clothes brush, which was used for keeping his uniform looking clean and presentable.  In addition a pair of woolen stockings was given to Dick, described in the inventory simply as “the negro boy”, most likely a slave.  His sheets were sent to the hospital to be used for the wounded.

            There was a surprising amount of stuff not sold at the auction, especially considering that Arnold and his men had lost almost all their possessions on their march into Canada.  Among the unsold items were three more ruffled shirts, six muslin neck cloths, fifteen pairs of stockings of various materials, five pairs of breeches, two waistcoats and two cotton caps, shoes, gloves, a watch coat, his mattress and pillows. 

            Montgomery also had a small library with him which was not sold.  The titles included; Reveries on the Art of War by Maurice De Saxe, two volumes by Polybius, a Greek historian, L'Ingenieur de Campagne by Clarac (a book on military engineering),  four volumes of La Science Militaire and Johnson’s English Dictionary.  These books show Montgomery to be a serious student of military tactics and not someone who was willing to rest simply on the knowledge he had already gained.

            One thing that is not listed on the inventory are any personal letters. He did correspond with Janet Montgomery during the campaign and his letters to her have survived, at least in transcribed form but none of hers to him survive.  It is believed that Montgomery took the prudent step of burning the letters after he had read them.  This would prevent the enemy from gaining any intelligence from them should he be captured.

            All in all the inventory of Montgomery’s personal goods gives us a good idea of the type of man the Montgomery was.  He was a man fully dedicated to the cause; nothing in the inventory obviously indicated his life with Janet.  Everything he carried was what was viewed as necessary for an eighteenth century military officer on campaign.  Nothing more to remember his life at home and nothing less, which could have lowered other opinions of him.

Setting the Record Straight: Rediscoveries About Katherine's Family

July 16, 2015, 6:04 am

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It was five years ago that I first started exploring John Henry's oldest daughter Katherine Livingston Timpson.  Katherine was born to John Henry's first wife in 1873.  When Katherine's mother died, she was raised by her Hammersly aunts, rejoined John Henry when he married his second wife Emily.  Eventually Katherine too married, and she moved to England in 1905. 

And it was complete luck when, late last summer, the doorbell rang and one of Katherine's great grandsons appeared in Clermont's basement with a bag full of goodies and a head full of history about Katherine's life.  The donation was a treasure trove of snippets from Katherine's life (including the miniature portrait of Katherine's oldest son Theodore "Theo" at left and the miniature of Katherine herself above), and the stories that I've only just begun to catalog have been painting in rich new details on Katherine's life. 

One of the most important things that comes out of this for me is a correction of my history!  When I wrote my first blog about Katherine back in 2010, my records seemed to stop with Katherine's first three children.  Pictured at right are Theo (1901), Kay (1903), and Bob (1908).  But I failed to check the genealogy, and I missed the births of Katherine's last two children: twins Alastair and Rosamund (1915).

Upon going to check my Big Red Book of Livingston Genealogy, I found them there today, not lost at all but neatly recorded on the pages.  Well don't I feel silly!

Since that first visit, I've been receiving periodic emails as my new friend painstakingly photographs and scans the nearly-lost record of his branch of the Livingston family.  First of all, there's Alastair and Rosamund, who were nearly painted out of the Livingston family through my own accident.  About them, I received this tidbit, "Zelly was their governess and was also my mum's (Kay's) governess. She was flemish, French speaking. When Alastair was 11 he spoke French and English equally well. Whilst Appleton was being renovated Zelly was asked to take the twins to their house in Coq Sur Mer, Belgium. When Katherine died in 1933, she left the house to Zelly. My mum consequently loved it and got to know that part of the word very well."

The emails land in my box in little groups of 4 or 5 or 6.  And each one is loaded with more images of the family that Katherine built.  Here are Kay and Theo, the first two children.

Then there are even a few pictures of Clermont, which show the mansion with its extravagant veranda on the front.  The walnut tree on the right will have its own blog entry coming up!

Since this donor is descendant of Kay Timpson, many of the best photos are of her of course. Kay as young teen: 

Kay at a London wedding:

Even Kay presented at court:

There are so many beautiful pictures to share, I believe it will take me good bit more time to sort them all out--and I haven't even shared any of the Appleton Manor photos yet!

Cutest Historical Document Ever? From Katherine Livingston Timpson and Her Babies

July 23, 2015, 10:12 am

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In my spare time this summer I've been pouring over the delightful finds sent to me by Katherine Livingston Timpson's great grandson.  They are amazing glimpses into a history I wasn't even fully aware of.  And part of what makes them amazing is the way they tie into a history I am familiar with.

Much like this photo at right, which shows Clermont with the great veranda still intact (possibly the best photo of it that I've ever seen), the photos that have been sent to my email box every few days ring with familiarity while filling me with excitement at the new angles, moments, and faces.

So here's Katherine Livingston Timpson, John Henry's oldest daughter.  She spent part of her childhood at Clermont, and when she married Red Hook resident Lawrence Timpson in 1901, she threw her bridal breakfast here in the dining room (this photo was taken to the mansion's south.  The doors to the milk shed are in the background).

Katherine and Lawrence continued to live in the Hudson Valley for another four years, during which time they had their first two children: Theodore "Theo" and Katherine "Kay."

It was entirely by luck that I was scanning through Clermont's registry of visitors from 1900 to the 1930s that I came across the page below:

There at the top of the page on June 12th, 1903 is a visit from Katherine Livingston, Theodore Livingston, and the new baby Katherine Livingston.  The most charming part of the page of course is the addition of "his mark" and "her mark" where Katherine handed the pen in turn, first to her toddler, and then to her baby and gave them each a chance to "sign" the book.  Theo had signed the book twice before, but this was the first time his sister earned the honor.  

Perhaps it is the young mother in me, but it certainly gave me an "awwwww" moment.  Was it right around the time this photo was taken? (Perhaps not, Katherine looks to be quite a big baby) Can you imagine John Henry bouncing the new children on his knee?  What rhymes did he recite to them?  Did he pinch their cheeks?

This little moment of family life was rife with tradition as the children each took the pen and signed the book in a sort of ceremonial gesture, but also with familial love that identified the them as worthy of being recorded for all of history in the household register.  

It reminds me of all the little things we do with babies even today that they may not understand, but that confirm their identity as being part of our families.  They sign birthday cards.  They open presents at their first birthday (often long after they've gotten bored with it).  They are present at the Thanksgiving dinner table even though they'd much rather be under it chasing the family dog.  With a stroke of the pen, Katherine and John Henry were bringing little Kay and Theo into the Livingston fold.

Something Old; Something New: When a Colonial Revival Drawing Catches You Off Guard

July 26, 2015, 7:30 am

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It's no secret that Clermont was renovated about half a dozen times over the course of its existence.  Who can blame them Livingstons?  They honored their family's ancestral home, but by no means felt the need to live in outdated spaces.  They added wings, porches, bathrooms, and decorative elements that met new standards of grandeur.  In short, Clermont has done a lot of evolving.  And sometimes that results in a little confusion.

While I was writing about Clermont's South Wing last winter, I cited this image as being from the 1830s:

You can see it's already got both the north and south wings added on (1817 and 1831, respectively), and it looks pretty similar to this drawing from that period: 

The porch and pediment over the front door are different, and the railings and roof lines of the wings show some differences too, but those could feasibly be excused as artistic issues.

So oh!--wasn't I embarrassed when our Friends of Clermont Executive Director Conrad pointed out a critical, critical piece of information on the first image: 

Please excuse the fact that it's blurry, and forget the fact that the date is obscured by an unfortunate blot of some sort.  The important information is the architect's name, and it's why Conrad caught this, not me.  

Mott B. Schmidt was an architect who first became known in New York City for his Colonial Revival town houses in the 1920s and later for the country houses that served as summer dwellings for the wealthy.  Born in 1889, his signature marks this drawing not as an image of Clermont in the 1830s, but as possibility for what Clermont could have looked like now, had things just gone a little differently.  

In the 1920s, Clermont was a big amalgamation of Victorian aesthetics , plastered over a Georgian core, and John Henry was ready to make some changes.  He wanted to make the house more reflective of its hallowed post-American Revolution rebuild.  Be gone, louvered shutters!  Be gone giant porch!  

So apparently at some point, the family consulted Mott B. Schmidt for his opinion.  

There's no doubt about it; Schmidt had a stellar grasp over early American architecture.  Many of his contemporary homes could easily be taken by a casual observer for something much older, and he proposed this same treatment for Clermont.  

By removing the Chateautesque roof and even the second story on the south wing, he could bring the house from its peaky, twentieth century look back to something Chancellor Livingston may not quite have recognized, but at least would have understood.  

Whether it was because of the likely very-great expense, some sort of reverence or pride in the work that John Henry had done, or because of the simple loss of floor space that this renovation would cause, the Livingston family turned down Mr. Schmidt's proposal.  Instead, the family removed the veranda, put up our current shutters, and basically called it good.  Apparently some Victorianisms were here to stay at Clermont.

Interestingly enough, this New York State face the same decision 40 years later in the 1960s and 70s when they determined how the house would be interpreted to the public.  They had inherited a fast-deteriorating relic that had not been lived in since 1942.  After a year of being shown to the public in 1965, the house was again closed for extensive renovation.  

Choosing its current interpretive date of 1930 was a tough decision.  New York was trying to get the house ready for opening during the Bicentennial celebrations of 1976.  Returning the house to its 18th century appearance, when it would have showcased Margaret Beekman Livingston's proud post-war rebuild, would have been most relative to the sentiments of the celebrations, and it would have showcased the Livingstons at their most prominent.  But that would have meant tearing off not only the big roof and the second floor of the South Wing, but the entire wing itself and it's mirror on the north side.  

Still, leaving the mansion as it looked in 1930 (the decision that was eventually made), meant restoring the house to a period still within living memory.  After all, in 1970, that was only 40 years ago!

There was at some point a plan to interpret the mansion to an early 19th century date--the 1830s or 40s (this comes from stories I've heard bandied about the break room by old-time staff so please excuse me if I'm vague).  Even that would have meant even-more-massive restoration projects and removal of some beautiful historic architecture.  What would Clermont be without that big, pointy roof line?

So in the end, New York State made the same decision that the Livingstons did when they were handed Mott B. Schmidt's beautiful architectural drawing.  Probably something to the effect of, "Wow that's beautiful, but we can't just throw big pieces of Clermont into the trash."

And Clermont was left with this beautiful Mott B. Schmidt drawing reinterpreting its history circa 1831.  Well, I learned something new today.