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

[Nella Fontaine Binckley, "Odds and Ends from an Artist's Life," Chapter VIII, 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." or "M.J.B." (Milton Johnston Binckley, 1902-1991). 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.]

Things being unsatisfactory, I got a room at Miss Kate Langhorne's on Diamond Hill and took all my meals across the street at Mrs. Ambler's. She was a widow with some little children. Her husband, Dr. Ambler, was surgeon on an ill-fated ship lost on an Arctic expedition with all on board. Everyone was so sorry for her. 

I was very comfortable in a room all to myself with delightful neigbors. Miss Kate and Miss Nannie Langhorne were sisters, perhaps -- as the darkies would put it -- "pushin'" forty, handsome and as nice as they could be. They were cousins of the famous Langhorne sisters, of whom Lady Astor and Mrs. Charles Dana Gibson are the best known. 

Miss Nannie owned a house just across the street from her sister's. And Colonel Maurice Langhorne, a cousin and distinguished looking elderly gentleman, owned a charming house just across from Miss Nannie's and incidentally was engaged to her. I was told that they had been engaged for years, but that Miss Nannie somehow seemed to balk at matrimony.

Miss Kate wanted some painting done in her house, so we were all shifted over to Miss Nannie's, which was already full. I was put in a big first floor room with a charming old lady whose name I've forgotten. We were wakened in the night by Miss Kate running into our room shrieking, "Get up, Nannie's house is on fire!" 

She ran out again, leaving the door open. We saw flames. It turned out to be the outside kitchen, near, but a separate building.  

I jumped into a kimono and slippers and went outside to the front porch. Anna Langhorne, a niece, was frantically dashing around in her nightgown, calling for her brother Armistead whom she had not found in his room. As a mater of fact, he had very sensibly gone to give the alarm. The Colonel was on the front porch trying to reassure his terrified fiancee [fiancée]. Just then the fire department clanged up the hill and the fire was soon out. It developed that a lady upstairs had in her panic thrown a mirror out of her window and carried a pair of shoes downstairs in her hand.

Nearby was Dr. Strother's house. He had married [one] of Uncle Robert's daughters years before and she had died young, leaving two little boys, Will and Bob. He had married again, Miss Jennie Langhorne, and their son Syd was now a young man. She had been a devoted stepmother and Syd was twelve years old before he learned -- from an outsider -- that Will and Bob were not his own brothers. I was very fond of Cousin Jennie and she used to have me over there for dinner every Sunday. Sometimes she would invite me for a weekend. Though I enjoyed the rest of it very much, I hated to go to bed. Linen sheets in the guest room! Like going to bed in a snowbank. I would have preferred less elegance and warm cotton sheets.

Dr. Strother had two beautiful English setters and he got me to paint them. Frost was a lovely creature, orange and white and getting along in years, who had won lots of ribbons at dog shows. She was very fond of ice cream, and as we sat in the drawing room, was usually given a plate full. She'd get to shivering and would go to the fireplace and lie down before the blazing logs till she warmed up, then go back to her ice cream. The other dog was a Gordon setter, black and white. He was away at a trainer's, being a young dog, but came back in the spring. I painted him out in the back yard. Dr. Strother put a pigeon on a box and tied its leg there, then brought the dog out. When he saw the pigeon he pointed. It was easy to paint him. He stood there motionless, quivering with excitement and wondering no doubt why the Doctor didn't shoot the pigeon.

One day a visitor came to my studio -- a very unusual visitor. A tall, handsome, distinguished looking man of perhaps forty. He told me he was an [officer] in the Austrian army. He said he had always been much interested in art and knew many artists abroad. He liked my work but deplored my being in Lynchburg, urging me to go to a large city where my work would gain recognition. He suggested my going to Boston. He knew artists there [and] wrote their names and addresses for me, saying to mention his name, [Captain] von Bendeleben, and they would welcome me. But I knew my family would not hear of such a thing. As it happens, I've never been to Boston to this day. I abominate codfish, and whiile I like beans, I don't care for them baked with molasses.  

[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 artist's full signature name, Nella Fontaine Binckley.

Diamond Hill Historic District = link here. They lived in a cluster by Church and 14th Street.
Miss Kate Langhorne = Mary Catherine Langhorne (1845-1924).
Mrs. Ambler's = not sure who this is. Possibly conflated with another relative of Dr. Ambler's.
Dr. Ambler = Dr. James Markham Ambler (1848-1881).
Miss Nannie Langhorne = Anne Scott Langhorne (1841-1920).
Famous Langhorne sisters = Lizzie, Irene, Nancy, Phyllis and Nora. See James Fox, Five Sisters: The Langhornes of Virginia (New York: Simon & Schuster, 2000).
Colonel Maurice Langhorne = Maurice Scarsbrook Langhorne (1823-1908). 
Anna Langhorne = not sure of full name.
Armistead Langhorne (1860-1951).
Dr. Strother = William Alexander Strother (1832-1892).
One of Uncle Robert's daughters = Sally Ann Mitchell (1835-1860), daughter of Robert Crump Mitchell (1807-1872) and Ann Lucy Phillips (1809-1880). 
Will = William Mitchell Strother (1857-1899).
Bob = Robert Strother (1858-1917).
Jennie Langhorne (1837-?).
Syd = Sidney Strother (circa 1863-?).
Captain von Bendeleben = strangely enough, an Ottfried von Bendeleben (1836-1908) lived in Santa Rosa, California, from about 1879 until his death.]
  

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

Roanoke College (formerly Virginia Institute) in late 1800s. Wiki Commons. 

[Nella Fontaine Binckley, "Odds and Ends from an Artist's Life," Chapter VII, 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.]

There was a large garden at the back, already flourishing under Grandmother's green thumb. We had fresh vegetables galore. Their cook was named Mollie and I went into the kitchen one morning to get acquainted with her. Her baby was playing on the floor, a little pickaninny as black as the ace of spades with eyes like shoe buttons. I asked its name. "Her name's Hope, Miss Nellie, but we calls her Hopy for short."

Mollie was a genial soul and I often went in and talked with her. She told me she had a sister who was a cook to a fine family in Washington. They were Episcopalians, it seemed, and her sister begged Mollie to join that church, as she had done herself. Mollie had visited her once in Washington and had been much impressed. "She tuk me with her to the 'Piscolopian Chu'ch and we set in de gallery. It sho' was de biggest an' mos' splendiforous chu'ch I ever seen in my life. I reckon dey has chu'ches like dat in Heaven. I didn't know what it was all about, but I riz an' fell with 'em."

In spite of all this elegance, however, Mollie remained a Baptist. She told me of a friend of hers who appeared to have solved the religious problem very neatly. "When I last sees Sally, she says to me, she says, 'I'm a Catholic now,' says she. Oh, is you says I. 'Yes,' says she. 'I was a Methodist at my las' place, de folks dere was Methodists, you know. An' de place befo' dat I was a Baptis'. I always tries to suit de folks,' says she."

We were often at the Griffin homestead, and I loved them and called them cousin. Em, the daughter of the house, was a few years older than I and we were great friends. She was small and dark and a great belle. Strings of admirers. One was an Englishman who asked her to marry him every time he saw her. Eligible, too. Her brother Tom was an ensign in the Navy and used to send her wonderful silk stockings -- rare outside of the cities in those days -- and other pretty things to wear from various countries. 

He had brought them a parrot, an African one, gray with a red tail. It usually perched on top of its cage in the dining room, observing all that went on, but with little to say. They told a story of one disconcerting occurrence, however. They were Episcopalians and a convocation was being held in Salem. As their house was very large, they were entertaining a group of clergymen. On the last day of their stay, at breakfast, one of the ministers spoke of the parrot, remarking that he seemed a very moral one, as most of them swore. At which the parrot replied, "Go to Hell!" (You can't make me believe parrots don't know what the say.)

When Cousin Tom was home on leave, he used to groan over peacetime, as promotion was so slow. He remarked bitterly that he supposed he'd die an ensign. As a matter of fact, he died an admiral a good many years later. I heard his mother Cousin Sarah say to him, "Oh, Tom, whenever there's a storm, I pray that your ship may be near the shore." And he replied in alarm, "For Heaven's sake, Mother, pray that it may not be near the shore." 

There was a big college in Salem and one of the young men told me about a new president they had. The preceding one had been a fossil. And the students had done as they pleased. But this one was a younger man and was managing them very deftly. On Halloween night the students had always been outrageous, and Salem dreaded it. Last Halloween they had found an old tin roof somewhere, and a crowd of them had hold of it and were racing along main street rattling it and yelling. The President, unobserved in the darkness, grasped a corner and ran with them, yelling as loud as any of them. Under a street lamp, the youngster next to him recognized him and, in consternation, dropped off. The President moved up a little closer and ran on. Again his neighbor recognized him, dropped the tin and disappeared. This went on till the last boy had precipately [precipitously] run away. The President went quietly back to the college and Salem was surprised to be left in peace. 

[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 artist's full signature name, Nella Fontaine Binckley. 

Grandmother = Jane Johnston Mitchell/Michel (1811-1892).
Aunt Charlotte = Charlotte Elizabeth Griffin Mitchell/Michel (1829-1921).
Aunt Sue = Sue Henry Mitchell/Michel Taliaferro (1845-1940); William Meade Taliaferro (1840-1913), had married Sue on October 16, 1867. He was apparently lost to "nostalgia," shell shock, post traumatic stress, war wounds, alcohol and other comorbidities, eventually committing suicide at the Camp Lee Soldier's Home in Richmond.

Mollie and Hope = not sure who they are yet.

Griffin homestead = Thomas "Tom" Dillon Griffin (1854-1938); Emeline/Emmeline "Em" Griffin (circa 1856/57-1926); "Cousin Sarah" = Sarah Jane McClanahan Griffin (1812-1903), widow of John Hook Griffin (1808-1878).

Big college = Roanoke College, formerly the Virginia Institute. The younger president was undoubtedly Julius Daniel Dreher (1846-1937).]

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

[Nella Fontaine Binckley, "Odds and Ends from an Artist's Life," Chapter VII, 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 summer [1883, Harvey Michel had died by now -- M.J.B.] Mother decided to go to California. Harvey had gone to Cuba with a surveying party, as he was learning to be a civil engineer. I was extremely anxious to go to New York to study art and was saving every cent I could for that, so I was staying in New York[?] They went to Bellevue for a farewell visit and I went with them. It was good to see them all again. Aunt Charlotte and the beloved Wingfields. And the blessed Peaks, as beautiful as I remembered them. I recall Aunt Charlotte saying once that during the Civil War there had been a great comet and that it stood right between the Peaks like a flaming sword.

One day, old Uncle Harrison, Grandfather's body servant, appeared at the house. He had heard that Mother was going to California and had come all the way from Wheatley [Wheatly] to sat goodbye to Miss Lou. He was now ninety-six and said he knew he would never see her again. He was a striking looking old man. His skin was a pale yellow and his features straight and regular. He was the grandson of an African king, of a different tribe from the ones from which the slave traders usually took their victims. 

He had a mass of straight hair, now snowy white. I made a small sketch of him in oils as he sat on the porch. He stayed all day, of course, and then one from his family took him home. None of his various descendants had ever been able to get him to admit that he was free. Before the Civil War slaves were occasionally freed as a reward for some outstanding service. But the freed slave usually lost caste among the others. He no longer had a "family" to be proud of and boast about. The other darkies looked down on him. Darkies loved aristocrats, and regarded with contempt what they called "po' white trash." They were inordinately proud of their "families" -- their wealth, their social position -- the latter considered far more important than money. When any of Uncle Harrison's  kin reminded him he was really free, he'd retort scornfully that it'd take more'n a passel of Yankees to make a free nigger out'n him!

Apropos of that word, we children had been brought up to never use the word nigger. That was vulgar; that was for poor whites. We should say darkies. In their presence we should always say colored people. [T]he word negro was used only in very formal speech.

The day after Uncle Harrison's visit, some of the darkies about the place brought in a possum they had caught the night before and showed it to us. They'd put it on the rail of the porch and it sat there with its smooth tail wrapped tightly around the rail. I made a sketch of it. I never saw an opossum before. It made no effort to run away, knowing (poor little beast) that it was hopeless. I am afraid the darkies had him for supper that night.

Among Mother's goodbye trips was one to Cousin Ned Dillon in Rockbridge County. There has been a lot in the newspapers not long before about an English earl (or maybe it was a Scottish earl, I don't remember now) who had died, and those in succession had died before him, he being very old. His solicitors had found the next of kin in the United States, as a branch of the family had settled there years before. But the American heir had no desire to become a belted earl. His name had not been given. Mother happened to mention this in conversation with Cousin Ned. He remarked "The fact is, Lou, I'm the earl of so and so (I've forgotten the name). But I don't want to leave Virginia and go over there to live. Hang the earldom."

Aunt Charlotte had bought a small house in Salem, a little town not far from Bedford, for Grandmother [Charlotte' stepmother -- M.J.B.] to live in and wanted her to settle down. Aunt Charlotte had lived in one place -- in face one house -- all her life. It was hard for her to understand Grandmother's easy mobility, her facile flitting from one city to another with complete nonchalance. Aunt Sue's sister-in-law, Mrs. Deyerly and her husband lived there, and the Griffins, the family of Aunt Charlotte's mother. We all knew the town well. So Grandmother and Aunt Sue had gone there to live. Of course Mother and the rest of us had gone there to visit.  

[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).
Mother = Mary Louisa Mitchell/Michel Binckley (1838-1930).
Harvey Mitchell/Michel (1799-1866).
Harvey Mitchell Binckley (1864-1928).

Uncle Harrison = former slave, freed by Harvey Mitchell/Michel before the American Civil War. In the 1870 Federal Census, there is a Harrison Mitchell (aka Coles) residing in Bedford/Liberty, born circa 1790, listed as "black."

Aunt Charlotte = Charlotte Elizabeth Griffin Mitchell/Michel (1829-1921).
Ned Dillon = Colonel Edward Dillon (1835-1897), a son of Mary Morris Johnston Dillon Cunningham (1810-1884) and grandson of Charles Johnston (1769-1833) and Elizabeth "Eliza" Prentiss "Betsey" Steptoe Johnston (1783-1820). 

Aunt Sue = Sue Henry Mitchell/Michel Taliaferro (1845-1940); William Meade Taliaferro (1840-1913), had married Sue on October 16, 1867. He was apparently lost to "nostalgia," shell shock, post traumatic stress, war wounds, alcohol and other comorbidities, eventually committing suicide at the Camp Lee Soldier's Home in Richmond. 

Mrs. Deyerly [Dyerly] = not sure who this is.]

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).]

Mary Louisa Mitchell Binckley, Artist in Santa Rosa, California, August 1883

Santa Rosa Press Democrat, August 1, 4, 6, 8, 15+, 1883:

 

MRS. BINCKLEY,

ARTIST

WILL TAKE CLASSES IN DRAWING FROM

Nature, Mechanical Drawing, Crayon and

Charcoal Sketches, Oil. Water Color and China

Painting. China fired at New York prices.

 Terms—$1.00 per Lesson, in Class.

Two Lessons per Week.

 Orders taken in Painting on Silk, Satin and Velvet,

in the new Embroidery Painting.  jy30-dtf 

 

Santa Rosa Press Democrat, Number 307, August 4, 1883: 

We have been frequently asked where Mrs. Binckley, whose advertisement appears in another column, resides. It is on Seventh street near B. —

[Mary Louisa Mitchell/Mitchell Binckley (1838-1930)

Santa Rosa, Sonoma County, California, had a population nearing 5,000 at the time; in 2016, it is closer to 175,000]

Many thanks to Katherine J. Rinehart, M.A., Manager, History & Genealogy, Sonoma County Library, 211 E Street, Santa Rosa, CA 95404 for help with initial local research, the California Digital Newspaper Collection project, and also William Myers, Mary Davy and Sally Young for their assistance.