Nella Fontaine Binckley: "Odds and Ends from an Artist's Life," Chapter VI, Part 3

[Nella Fontaine Binckley, "Odds and Ends from an Artist's Life," Chapter VI, part 3. From a transcription annotated by Patricia D'Arcy Binckley of typewritten original, February 25, 2005. Original "written some time after 1941 by Nellie F. Binckley, 1860-1950 or 51." Notes in brackets are mine, unless followed by the initials "P.D.B." Occasionally, additional paragraph breaks inserted for easier reading. 

Many thanks to William Myers, Mary Davy, Sally Young and Sue Davis for their ongoing research collaboration; specifically to William for providing a scan of the original document, and in turn many thanks to Peter Binckley and Patricia D'Arcy "Trish" Binckley (1951-2007), at the source.]

Some of the musical people of Lynchburg got up a sort of musical club, and we gave several of the Gilbert and Sullivan operas. It was no end of fun. For the actual performance we imported professionals from New York for the leading parts, and hired what costumes we needed. But we did the rest. 

I was only in the chorus. I did have an infinitesimal role as Lady Saphir in Patience [italics added] [1881]. Our Bunthorne, Patience and Grosvenor were professionals. However, we did have some local talent. Dave Gregory had a splendid bass voice, and Otway Owen's voice was very good. They were two of the three dragoons. I have forgotten the third. Their uniforms were hired from New York. During the performance, with a large audience filling the Opera House, a considerable rip appeared in one of Dave's trouser legs, to his agonized apprehension and the smothered giggles of the rest of us.

Patience [italics added], as everyone knows, was a satire on the aesthetic movement started by Oscar Wilde, and which was then sweeping England. One aesthete had his home done over in the Queen Anne style, and would not allow a daily newspapers in the house, declaring it an anachronism. Oscar Wilde made a trip to the United States, but didn't seem to have made much of a hit. His manner was rather lofty and condescending. Of course he was entertained by the smart set. He remarked to one hostess, "Your country is so very new. No ruins, no curiosities." She replied, "Our ruins we shall have in time. As for our curiosities," -- she looked at him -- "we import them."

Our aesthetic gowns were long and slinky, high girdled, our hair loose and flowing. I made my dress of white cheesecloth and painted a tall sunflower -- life size -- along up the front. The curtain rises on the first act showing the twenty lovesick maidens. Those were the days of Delsarte, another aesthete, and his maxim was "Never stand when you can sit, and never sit when you can lie down."

So all twenty of us were lying on the floor. Some held musical instruments. They gave me a tambourine. And for some reason, perhaps because my hair was longer than most, put me in the middle of the front row. Next day a lady calling on us asked me which one I was. I replied, "The one with the tambourine." She exclaimed, "Was that you? Why, you looked perfectly beautiful! I never would [have] known you!" In the other acts I carried in my hand a single long peacock feather.

When we were dressing before the performance, being amateurs, none of us had any rouge. In those days rouge was considered the hallmark of ladies who were no better that [than?] they should be. It must be admitted however that some ladies of unquestioned respectability owned rouge. But they applied it very delicately and it was all very sub rosa. We realized that the footlights made rouge necessary, and of course on the stage it was all right. 

One of the girls announced that she had found by rubbing a damp coth over an artificial rose, she could get the dye to come off. So the red rose and the damp cloth were passed around, and soon we all had blooming cheeks which we toned down with plenty of face powder. After the performance, when we got into our street clothes, we made the alarming discovery that the red rose dye was indelible! We couldn't wash it off. Water only made it brighter. We went home with it on. And Mother wouldn't let me out of the house for several days till it finally wore off. For the other operas -- [T]he Mikado [1885] and [H.M.S.] Pinafore [Italics added] [1878] -- we used it very gingerly, and remained in retirement afterwards for as long as necessary. 

Our operas were pronounced very successful, and our group was invited to sing in chorus at a music festival in Petersburg some time after. The Hahrs invited me to stay with them. I remember seeing there the old Bolling place with big grounds and lots of trees. President Wilson's second wife was a Bolling of Petersburg. The Bollings and several other Virginian families claimed to be descended fro Pacahontas. But I never could see how they managed it, as Pocahontas had only one child[,] who died in infancy.

After we came back to Lynchburg, we got up to Mrs. Jarley's Waxworks which everyone found very amusing. They made me the Maid With the Golden Locks. My hair was loose and covered me completely. My left hand protruded, holding a bottle. Every now and then my right hand, making jerky movements as if worked by machinery, would come out, reach over to the bottle tipped over by the left hand and rub imaginary hair tonic on the top of my head. Another time we had Bluebeard. When Sister Anne opened the forbidden door and looked in she saw a horrific sight. The wives' heads hung on a wall by their hair in a ghastly row. We cut holes in a burlap screen, our heads were in the holes and our hair was pulled up and fastened to big hooks above. It was horribly convincing, they told me.

We had shadow pictures, too. That was lots of fun. We had a large sheet stretched tight on a framework. Curtains on each side of the sheet blocked off the stage. A single very bright lamp stood on the floor inside, opposite the middle off the sheet. The audience was in darkness. The performers went through a pantomime, their shadows showing sharply on the sheet. For the exits the performer walked toward the lamp and his shadow shot upward and disappeared, giving a startling effect.    

[Ellen/Nellie/Nella Fontaine Binckley (September 1, 1860-April 27, 1951). Family names and dates were whimsically tweaked by their owners during their lifetime, adding mystery and sometimes causing confusion. For Binckley's "Artist's Life," I'm opting for the full artist's signature name, Nella Fontaine Binckley.

Grandmother = Jane Johnston Mitchell/Michel (1811-1892).
Aunt Sue = Sue Henry Mitchell/Michel Taliferro (1845-1940).
Mother = Mary Louisa Mitchell/Michel Binckley (1838-1930).

Dave Gregory = probably David P. Gregory, Sr. (1854-1911) of Lynchburg.
Otway Owen = probably William Otway Owen (1820-1892) of Lynchburg.
Oscar Wilde (1854-1900).
President Wilson's second wife = Edith Bolling Galt Wilson (1872-1961).]

Nella Fontaine Binckley: "Odds and Ends from an Artist's Life," Chapter VI, Part 2

Lynchburg, Virginia. Courtesy of the Lynchburg Museum System. 

[Nella Fontaine Binckley, "Odds and Ends from an Artist's Life," Chapter VI, part 2. From a transcription annotated by Patricia D'Arcy Binckley of typewritten original, February 25, 2005. Original "written some time after 1941 by Nellie F. Binckley, 1860-1950 or 51." Notes in brackets are mine, unless followed by the initials "P.D.B." Occasionally, additional paragraph breaks inserted for easier reading. 

Many thanks to William Myers, Mary Davy, Sally Young and Sue Davis for their ongoing research collaboration; specifically to William for providing a scan of the original document, and in turn many thanks to Peter Binckley and Patricia D'Arcy "Trish" Binckley (1951-2007), at the source.]

That summer I danced my first cotillion with a young fellow who belonged to an old and distinguished Philadelphia family. His name was Bert Smith and he was there with his mother and her sister, Miss Zell. He was always immaculately dressed and more soigne [soigné] than the Southern men, who considered that sort of thing rather sissy. They called him a dude. He was a very intelligent youngster, but affected some little mannerisms for the fun of it. One of the slang expressions of the day was to use the word tumble to signify understanding. For instance they'd ask, "Do you tumble?" Bert always said "Tumblez-vous?" He parted his hair in the middle. Sometimes a lock would fall over his forehead. He'd look up at it with great concern and anxiously inquire, "Which side does it belong on?" as if the fate of nations hung in the balance. When informed, he'd put it back in place with relief. The easygoing young Southern men, paying much less attention to dress than the elegant Philadelphian, used to regard him with wonder. In later years I heard he had become a distinguished University professor.

I never cared for red, though I admit it is a beautiful color. I've had but three red dresses in my life, and two of those were given to me. But I did have a red evening dress that summer. One of my friends there, Howard Morton, a brilliant young lawyer from Richmond, hated red. He didn't dare dance, but we were together a good deal during the day. He told me he'd never come near me when I had on that dress. Naturally that did not deter me from putting it on whenever I felt like it. Then he would stand at the ballroom door glowering in. I had never heard then of the psychology of color. But another man, who never took any special notice of me at any other time, always made a beeline for me if I had on that red dress.

The proprietor of the Springs liked my work so much that he commissioned me to paint a picture of the hotel. So when we left I had not only paid my own expenses for the summer but had money left over. I felt like a real professional.

Grandmother took a house just across a side street from a tobacco factory [in Lynchburg, Virginia]. And it was a delight to hear the darkies sing all day. [They] sung [sang] only their own music -- what are called spirituals today. Not one of them knew a note of music, everything by ear. Much of it they made up as they went along. A single voice would ring out, "Goin' up to glory," and the whole magnificent chorus, soprano, alto, tenor and voice would answer "Early in de mornin'," then a single voice again "Goin' up to glory," and the chorus, "Oh, we're goin' up to glory early in the mornin,' and we'll cross de river of death." 

One could not ask to hear finer music -- a glorious flood of harmonized voices, every tone true. It is no wonder that I writhe when I hear people murder these appealing spirituals today, for I have heard them sung as they should be sung. On the radio I have heard the beautiful simplicity of "Swing Low, Sweet Chariot" so smothered with frills and furbelows (mostly out of tune) that one can barely recognize it. One can turn off one's radio, but not a neighbor's. One can only suffer.

I got up a class myself, in drawing and painting, oils and water color. Cousin Sam Wingfield was mayor of Lynchburg at that time and extremely popular. Everybody loved him. He was well over six feet, and stout. He used to say that it was his ambition to weigh a ton.    

[Ellen/Nellie/Nella Fontaine Binckley (September 1, 1860-April 27, 1951). Family names and dates were whimsically tweaked by their owners during their lifetime, adding mystery and sometimes causing confusion. For Binckley's "Artist's Life," I'm opting for the full artist's signature name, Nella Fontaine Binckley.

Grandmother = Jane Johnston Mitchell/Michel (1811-1892).
Aunt Sue = Sue Henry Mitchell/Michel Taliferro (1845-1940).

Cousin Sam Wingfield = Samuel Griffin Wingfield (1846-1901).]

Nella Fontaine Binckley: "Odds and Ends from an Artist's Life," Chapter VI, Part 1

Alleghany Springs, Virginia, National Register of Historic Places. Photos by Skye Marthaler, 2013. (Wiki Commons)

[Nella Fontaine Binckley, "Odds and Ends from an Artist's Life," Chapter VI, part 1. From a transcription annotated by Patricia D'Arcy Binckley of typewritten original, February 25, 2005. Original "written some time after 1941 by Nellie F. Binckley, 1860-1950 or 51." Notes in brackets are mine, unless followed by the initials "P.D.B." Occasionally, additional paragraph breaks inserted for easier reading. 

Many thanks to William Myers, Mary Davy, Sally Young and Sue Davis for their ongoing research collaboration; specifically to William for providing a scan of the original document, and in turn many thanks to Peter Binckley and Patricia D'Arcy "Trish" Binckley (1951-2007), at the source.]

That [circa 1880] summer [Grandmother] and Aunt Sue took me to Alleghany Springs [Montgomery County, Virginia]. I was still in my teens and it was my first visit to a watering place. I enjoyed the hotel life immensely. The scenery was lovely and I made sketches.

I had not had my art education which Dad had planned. But I had worked hard by myself, studied good pictures, and learned to paint. 

When the proprietor of the Springs saw some of my sketches, he told me I could use a small room over one end of the bowling alley on the grounds for a studio. An outside stairway led up to it. That was delightful! My very first studio! And the guests began buying my little pictures.

It was hot and everybody used palm leaf fans. I painted some goldenrod on mine, and a lady asked me to paint one like it for her. Then I had a lot of orders for fans. A  gentleman wanted me to paint a portrait of his dog. I love dogs, and understand them, so it was a success. Another man wanted his beautiful pointer painted. And so it went. I was a professional artist after all. I never taught school again.

Meantime I was having a glorious time socially. Dancing in the ballroom every night (except Sundays, of course) and walks and talks with various gentlemen during the days. I always liked older men best. Dad had spoiled me for commonplace men. But I loved to dance, and as the dancing men were mostly youngsters I had to put up with them, but seldom wasted time on them in daylight.

General Jubal Early was there and was with Grandmother a great deal. He and Grandfather had been intimate friends. And he was also very fond of my great uncle, General Johnston. There were a great many Richmond people at the Springs, and among them were John S. Wise and his wife. They were almost ostracized as Mr. Wise was a Readjuster. I knew nothing of politics, and cared less.  So I had only a dim impression that there were some people -- mostly Republicans it seemed -- who wanted to readjust the State debt, whatever that meant. We were all Democrats, of course. Loosely speaking, most nice people in the South are Democrats, while most nice people in the North are Republicans. Six of one, and half dozen of the other.

One day Mr. Wise came up to my studio saying he had seen my portraits of the dogs and liked them very much. He was a great dog fancier, judge at dog shows, etc. He picked up a sketching board and on it drew a setter and showed me all the points. I remember he said the tail should have the curve of Saladin's scimitar. He was so nice and interesting that I forgot he was a Readjuster.

When I told Grandmother and Aunt Sue about it, they were shocked that "Johnny Wise" had come to see me. Bit I reminded them that a studio was really a public place. Anybody could come. I was desperately afraid, however, that if he came again and old General Early, who climbed up to my studio now and then should find him there, the fiery old general would probably throw him down the steps. But luckily Mr. Wise returned to Richmond [the] next day. The dog he sketched I named Readjuster.

One day I was out on a road near the Springs with my sketch box, looking for something to paint when along the road came a half grown darkey boy in the raggedest rags I had ever seen on any human creature. I showed him a quarter and told him I'd give it to him if he'd let me paint him. [He] looked longingly at the quarter but hesitated. Finally he say doubtfully, "What color you gwine paint me?" I hastened to assure him that I had no intention of whitewashing him or anything like that. When I made this clear, he joyfully consented.

There was a family at the hotel named Lamar, from Georgia. The two pretty daughters, one blonde, one brunette, had the most extraordinarily long hair down to the hem of their skirts -- which in those days meant down to the ground. We had a costume ball and they wore their hair loose, and were the sensation of the evening. I painted a small portrait of the blonde one with her hair down for Mrs. Lamar. They had peculiar names -- Elmira Edwita and Alberta Isolene. A married daughter was named Vallie Valeria. 

One of the guests was a cattle king from Texas named Colonel Spaight. He was said to own a million head of cattle. He had been coming to the Springs for years, and he was seventy but a very spry old gentleman, and even waltzed quite frequently and very well too, though there was a slight hitch now and then. Stiffness of the joints, I suppose. When we had the big ball of the season the General invited me to lead the Grand March with him. 

[Ellen/Nellie/Nella Fontaine Binckley (September 1, 1860-April 27, 1951). Family names and dates were whimsically tweaked by their owners during their lifetime, adding mystery and sometimes causing confusion. For Binckley's "Artist's Life," I'm opting for the full artist's signature name, Nella Fontaine Binckley.

Grandmother = Jane Johnston Mitchell/Michel (1811-1892).
Aunt Sue = Sue Henry Mitchell/Michel Taliaferro (1845-1940).
Dad = John Milton Binckley (circa 1831-1878).
Jubal Early (1816-1904) = hyper-racist proponent of "Lost Cause" mythology.   
Great Uncle Joe = Joseph Eggleston Johnston (1807-1891).
John S. Wise = John Sergeant Wise (1846-1913).
Lamar = most likely the family of Henry James Lamar (1925-1896) and Valeria Bethsheba Jones Lamar (1832-1895), which included daughters Valerie Lamar (1855-1916), Alberta Lamar (1865-1887) and Wileyna Lamar (1861-1927).
Colonel Spaight = probably Colonel Joseph Warren Speight (1825-1888).]