Poop Detail

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"Women's work is never done" goes the old saying. Women's work also, seems to me, to be heavily oriented toward cleaning up stuff that comes out of other people (or pets) in one form or another. Tina Faye told Jerry Seinfeld on a recent "coffee date" that at her house "I am in charge of feces." 

I burst out laughing when I heard that, as it's all too familiar to me, and, I'm sure, to women everywhere. At least, familiar to the kind of ordinary women who don't have servants.

Back in baby days, I was the caregiver--as the task is now called. Husband at work, Mom at home, that's the way it was for some years. I cooked, cleaned, washed dishes and clothes and wiped away spit-up and freshened adorable baby butts--which become far less adorable when they are covered in you know what and need a good wash and dry before you can begin to contemplate putting a diaper back on. In the meantime, the boys might also send a high pressure jet across the room, a hazard I (an infant care novice) learned about the hard way.

These days it's just the usual housework--babies and their cute butts are long gone from my life--but that doesn't mean my woman's work poop detail has ended. There are still bathrooms and more particularly toilets that require not-that-pleasant close up work. As I scrub, I often remember working as a waitress long ago in a little restaurant where we had to clean the bathrooms after closing. The ladies who didn't sit could make quite a mess. The gentlemen's room, though, could be extra special sometimes, despite a sign over the hopper which admonished: "We aim to please. YOU AIM TOO PLEASE." 

Long ago

Besides human clean up, there's cat clean up too, at our house. We have three cats, all indoor these days, for their safety and for the safety of the local chipmunks, squirrels, moles and birds. There are other outside cats around here devouring everything in sight, but at least my three are no longer part of the general extermination. Our newest, Tony, is a small healthy young cat, but, I swear, this guy counts as at least two cats when it comes to his box filling abilities. I may miss days at the gym, but as long as I have to lug kitty litter into the house and then back out again on a daily basis, I think I'm nevertheless keeping up with my weight lifting.

Whenever I'm inclined to feel sorry for myself, I tell myself to imagine what the "good old days" must have been like for women. Today, most of us have hot and cold running water in good supply; we have washers and dryers and laundry products galore. But in the 18th Century this was not the case. A diaper change is the kind of day-in-a-life task a middle class woman might have to regularly undertake.

So here's a little slice of A Master Passion, where Elizabeth Schuyler tends the newest Hamilton baby, James. It's already a busy day when her sister Peggy visits unexpectedly.

The whining from the next room suddenly grew to a wail. James, when his first grumbling summons hadn’t been answered, was angry now. With a sweep of skirts, Betsy marched into the room, scooped her howling son from his cradle and plumped herself down in a comfortable wing chair. Her mother would never have undertaken such a task in the good parlor. After all, with a new baby, the risks of spills from one end and leaks from the other were high, but Betsy couldn’t bring herself to walk another step. As a piece of insurance, however, she snatched up his flannel wrap.

Unbuttoning her dress, she got bellowing Jamie in place, experienced the sharp tug and the answering flesh gone-to-sleep prickle of the let-down. Then, one end of the cloth pressed to stem the flow from the neglected breast and the rest tucked strategically around James, she watched her newest son’s jaw work as he mastered the initial tide. He was round and fair, even balder than Angelica had been, but a similar halo of red fluff had begun to rise upon his pink skull. As different in some ways as the children were, there was a certain sameness in the general outline: gray eyes, long heads, a kiss of red in their hair.

Betsy leaned back, relaxing into the comforts of nursing, when she heard a knock at the door.

“Davie!” When she called out, James startled. “Una! Gussie! The door!”

In stretching for the bell on the end table, she dislodged James. He promptly set up a renewed cry at this sudden, rude interruption of his dinner.

“Temper, temper!” Betsy rubbed his open mouth—and the yell—against the nipple. She noticed, with amusement, that his bald head instantly went scarlet with rage.

She decided to ignore whoever it was. If they wanted in badly enough, they’d go around to the kitchen. Then she heard rapid footsteps in the hallway, the sound of Davie running, followed by voices. Soon, the parlor door opened and Peggy poked her head in.

“May I?”

“Of course, Peg. Heavens! I didn’t know you were in town.”

“It was spur-of-the-moment. Stephen is having trouble with Mr. Beekman and decided to come down and straighten it out face to face. I thought I’d come too and see what’s in the shops. The first of the London fashions are arriving.”

During this speech, her younger sister settled on the facing sofa. She was very much the lady of leisure, in a gown of peach satin layered over an ivory petticoat upon which hundreds of tiny birds in flight had been painted. As she removed the long pins which held her broad-brimmed straw hat, she revealed a wealth of chestnut hair.

“Davie says I just missed Colonel Hamilton.”

“Yes. Not half an hour since he rode off with John Jay and Cousin Bob Livingston. I confess I’m worried about what will happen in the legislature. There are only nineteen men who are for the new Constitution.”

“I am concerned, too, though I’ve never really understood politics. Still, we’ve all had an education in the science of government. Papa, for one, is absolutely relentless on the subject.”

“Yes, that’s all Alexander ever talks about, too, either to me or anyone else.”

“Well, thank heaven there are women to keep the day to day world going ’round.”

Peggy moved closer to get a good look at the new baby. He was now happily gulping again.

“What a big strong fellow! I swear, Sis, you’re as good at this as Mama ever was.”

Although their eighth anniversary wouldn’t come until Christmas, James made the fourth little Hamilton. Peggy, on the other hand, had carried only one, Stephen, the precious son and heir to the ancient line of van Rensselaer. There had been nothing afterward but a sad string of miscarriages.

The very elegant Angelica Schuyler Church, maid and baby

Mindful of her sister’s feelings, Betsy simply said, “Thank you, Sis.” She sat Jamie up and patted his back. As he slumped into her hand, his big eyes goggled.

“That one is going to take after Mr. Hamilton for sure. Look at those blue eyes.”

“Well, perhaps. But our babies seem to come fair and then darken up, all except for our Angelica.”

“Are she and Phil upstairs?”

“Yes.”

“Well, in a minute send one of your girls to bring the darlings down to their adoring aunt.”

Tea came in, with Una’s thoughtful addition of some fine English sweet biscuits that had recently arrived from London, sent by Angelica Church.

“Shall I take James, Missus?”

“No, he’s quiet and you’ve got enough going on. Where is Alex?”

“He be watchin’ Gussie scrub.”

“I’ll take care of Jamie,” Betsy instructed, “but if you hear Fanny squawk, let me know.”

Peggy poured tea while Betsy laid the flannel upon the upholstered sofa and then proceeded to quickly change James atop it.

“You are a lucky girl, you know.”

Betsy looked up from wiping a pasty yellow smear from Jamie’s cherub’s bottom.

Peggy giggled. “Why, I mean Alexander the Great, of course. He’s a kind of knight of the round table in our benighted modern age. Papa is quite tiresome on the subject.”

“True, but being the wife of Alexander the Great isn’t easy. I mean, look.” Betsy gestured at the little parlor with its few furnishings.

“Money isn’t everything.”

“Only to those who have enough.” Betsy wrapped the diaper up carefully before setting it on the floor. “And I don’t think I shall ever get used to living in this city. There are times when I do so envy you. Your husband is with you almost all the time instead of riding off on crusades. Even when Hamilton is at home, half the time he’s tied up in knots and might as well not be here at all. Day and night are the same to him when he’s working. This whole winter and spring it’s been nothing but those Federalist Papers..."

~~Juliet Waldron

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A Schuyler Sketch--French & Indian War to Revolution

When Albany was on the edge of the frontier...

http://amzn.to/1YQziX0  A Master Passion   ISBN: 1771456744

Catherine van Rensselaer and Philip Schuyler courted during the bloody early days of the French & Indian war. Not for the last time would the peaceful settlements of New York's frontier burn! It was, however, the last time American frontiersmen, colonial gentry, and Mohawks fought together beside the British to defeat a common foe down from Canada--French troops and their Indian allies.  

Captain Philip Schuyler played an active role in the militia and at what would come to be known as The Battle of Lake George. Here, after the near-disaster of an early morning ambush upon Americans, British, and their Mohawk allies, the tide--in northern New York --turned. In the course of a day’s hard fighting, their combined forces eventually gained a victory.

Abenaki and Caughnawaga warriors, allied to the French, had come to fight against their Mohawk cousins and against the British. Baron Dieskau, the French commander, remarked after being informed of how many men had come to oppose him, that “there were only so many more to kill.” Later, he would have to say of his foes:

“They fought in the morning like good boys, at noon like men, and in the afternoon like devils.”

Young Captain Philip Schuyler, who spoke French, would be the man entrusted to provide safe escort for the wounded French commanders to Albany, away from the vengeance of the Mohawks, whose great war chief, Hendrick Theyanoguin, had been killed during the initial part of the engagement. As William Johnson explained to the injured Dieskau: “They want to kill and eat you, and put you in their pipes and smoke you.”

Benjamin West's painting of William Johnson saving the wounded Baron from the tomahawk

Nine days later, in the midst of Albanian rejoicing for their victory and grieving for their dead, Philip was married, on September 17, 1755, to “Sweet Kitty V. R.,” also called, for her beauty, “the Morning Star.” Their first child, Angelica, was born on February 22, 1756—a mere six months later.  Their second child, Elizabeth, who would marry Alexander Hamilton, was born on August 9^th 1757 ^{– or the 7th, sources differ,}  also in the small Albany house shared with the Schuyler grandparents. 

 A “Dutch gabled house made of brick from Holland,” it stood a half mile from the Albany stockade, now the intersection of State and Pearl Streets. In those days the place was a common grazing ground, referred to as “the pastures.”   A third daughter, Peggy, arrived in September 24, 1758, and the family of five now lived in a few small rooms.  Three babies in three years must have kept Catherine busy.

Our French & Indian War--The Seven Year's War to the Europeans--involved every nation  on the continent, except the Ottoman Turks. In North America, that conflict had begun to wind down. Philip Schuyler, wanting to settle his accounts with the British army--he'd been a quartermaster, among his other duties--sailed to England to present his case. It was at this time that the building of the Schuyler's grand new home would begin, overseen by the energetic Catherine, for a brief time on a childbearing vacation.

At last it was deemed sufficiently safe to build outside of Albany's city limits, so work on what is today called the  "Schuyler Mansion" got underway, as well as the construction of a large farmhouse on family property north and east of Saratoga. As the sea lanes cleared of warships, furniture and window treatments, bed curtains and rugs of both linoleum and fine wool made their way from Europe, traveling up the Hudson.

Catherine & Philip's bedroom

Without a doubt, the three little girls' had memories of building sites and workmen--as well as their mother doing paperwork and consulting with overseers as she tended to Philip's northern plantation. Skill at balancing the books would come in handy for Elizabeth during her own adult life when her husband Hamilton was too busy with nation-building and politicking to pay close attention to his own affairs.

While in England, Philip Schuyler became fascinated by the many busy canals he observed. When he returned home, he often entertained the local farmers by demonstrating how "water could be made to run uphill." He was an early proponent of the first great engineering--and wealth-creation--project of the next century--the Erie Canal.  It was at this time too that he paid passage for skilled laborers to come settle on his lands.  One of the first flax mills in the America would be built under Schuyler's fore-sighted direction.

His wife returned to woman's business, first producing a set of short-lived (no doubt premature) twins. Ten other deliveries, including a set of triplets, would follow. The three older girls, now moved into their new home, would grow up with some small sibling continually toddling after them.

Catherine's last child, (also "Catherine,") would be born in 1781,  shortly after her eldest, party-girl Angelica--with, of course, the help of her husband, John Barker Church--had already twice made her a grandmother. George and Martha Washington came on a winter visit at the tail end of the Revolution to stand as Catherine's godparents. Daughter #2, Elizabeth, herself not far behind in the generational baby race, gave birth to her and Hamilton's first child, their beloved, ill-fated son Philip, at the Albany house early in January of 1782.

Schuyler Mansion today

I'm skipping back and forth, I know, but I'd like to end with this story. When, in 1777, during the American Revolution, General Burgoyne attacked Albany, coming down the ancient warpath, Catherine, with a few servants, made a dangerous journey in the face of an invading army to burn the wheat at their Saratoga Farm to keep it from the hungry invaders. This tale is said to be only "a tradition," but, knowing the capable, no-nonsense Mrs. Schuyler, I think I'll chose to believe it.

An 1852 re-imagining of Catherine's brave deed by Emanuel Gottlieb Leutze

~~Juliet Waldron

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A Master Passion

Angel's Flight

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Mother to a Founding Father

 

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Besides his wife, Elizabeth Schuyler, Alexander Hamilton had nother strong women in his life—one of them, his mother, Rachel. She was the daughter of a French Huguenot, John and his wife, Mary Uppington.  John was a physician and a minor planter, whose land lay high up the volcano on the island of Nevis—not the easiest ground to work. They had two daughters, Ann and Rachel.
 

Ann married James Lytton, a planter of St. Croix. In 1745 Rachel’s father died, leaving everything to her, the unmarried daughter. At sixteen, by all accounts lovely, Rachel was, in a small way, an heiress. Alexander, who didn’t reveal much about his stormy childhood, termed hers a “snug fortune.” Mary, eager to make a good match for her child, welcomed several suitors. One was an older man, James Lavien, a Dane, whose fancy clothes and reserved manner hid the fact that a.) he was a tyrant and b.) he had already lost most of the money he still pretended to have.   

Mary seems to have pressured Rachel to marry this apparently respectable, stable older man. Unfortunately, it did not take Lavien long to go through his young wife’s money. By 1750, all masks had been discarded. Although we don’t know the details of Rachel’s suffering, her husband was the kind of man who would have  her imprisoned for three months a damp cell in the dark, disease-ridden fortress of St. Croix after signing a complaint which accused her of “whoring with everyone.”

Perhaps Rachel had refused to share his bed, but, perhaps she, spirited as she was, had found a lover. As a modern woman, I say "more power to her!" We'll never know the complete story. If Lavien thought prison could break her, however, he was much mistaken. As soon as she was released, she fled the island with her mother, returning to Nevis. Having no rights in the matter, Rachel also abandoned a young son, Peter, when she escaped.  I see this as a measure of her desperation. Years later, Alexander would write: “Tis only to consult our hearts to be convinced that…individuals revolt at the idea of being guided by external compulsion.”

Still, this act would have endless consequences, first for Rachel and later for her sons by James Hamilton. As there was never a legal separation, Lavien could, some years later, under Danish law, divorce her and name her adulteress. This was a charge she could no longer defend herself against, for she was, by this time, living with James Hamilton on Nevis. Over the years, Lavien, (and, later on, Peter, too,) would continue to persecute the Hamilton children. After Rachel’s death, Lavien promptly reappeared and claimed all his ex-wife’s property for her “only legitimate son” Peter. She, clearly a better businesswoman than either of her men, had created enough wealth to make this action worthwhile.  Alexander and James, barely in their teens, were now penniless, orphaned, and labelled, courtesy of the Danish probate court, as “whore children.”

 

In a world where a woman had almost no legal standing, I believe Rachel Faucette made the best decisions she could. She fled from a brutal husband and then tried, with James Hamilton, to find a happily-ever-after.  Abandoned, again without a man to shelter her after James Hamilton—charming and feckless—abruptly decamped, she found a way to support herself and her children. She kept a small retail store and rented out the slaves, which she, like almost every other white person in the islands, owned. In her store she retailed dried beef, rice, apples, flour, fish, butter and textiles.

 

Alexander first helped his mother in her shop. After her death, he clerked for the international trading firm of Cruger and Beekman, but he no doubt had his first lessons in bookkeeping and management from her. Rachel also taught him French. These skills would serve him well when he joined George Washington's official family during the Revolutionary War. During his childhood,  Alexander also learned about power, about the darker side of human nature, and about injustice, first-hand--subjects he would ponder till the end of his life. 

For very obvious 18th Century reasons, Hamilton almost never spoke of his mother with outsiders, but "she was recollected with inexpressible fondness and (he) often spoke of her as a woman of superior intellect, highly cultivated, of elevated and generous sentiments," and an "unusual elegance of person and manner." *

* John Church Hamilton, fourth son of Alexander Hamilton, "The Life of Alexander Hamilton," published 1854.  

Sources:
Hamilton I (1757-1789) by Robert Hendrickson, ISBN: 9780884051398
Hamilton by Forrest McDonald, ISBN: 9780393300482
 Alexander Hamilton by Ron Chernow ISBN: 1594200092
The Young Hamilton by Thomas J. Flexner, ISBN: 9780823217892

~~Juliet Waldron
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ANOTHER WIFE'S STORY

 Schuyler Mansion Historic Site

Alexander Hamilton has been my hero since I was a ten year old, which means I’ve been imagining him for a long time. When I decided to finally write “his” book, I’d just finished a novel about Wolfgang A. Mozart, as told by his wife. It would be a familiar approach, I thought, to tell the Hamilton story from the same womanly angle.  Or, so I thought—until I realized I didn’t know much about Alexander’s wife, Betsy.

Was she just another Colonial Dame? Well, Not exactly. The big house in Albany where Elizabeth Schuyler had been brought up was “American with a difference.” 

Elizabeth Schuyler Hamilton by Ralph Earle

Historical fiction readers are familiar with the customs of the Scots, Irish and English immigrants. But New York school children—me among them—also learned about the Dutch, who had given place names all along the Hudson and founded NYC,  as well as inspiring Washington Irving to write his winking ghost story: “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow.” Although Betsy’s father, Major General Philip Schuyler, successfully “English-ified” himself, she probably learned Dutch at her Daddy’s knee. (During the Revolution, she and Baron von Steuben would find it their common language.) Hamilton’s wife, my novel’s heroine, had been born and raised folkways which retained some notable differences from those of her downstate predominantly English neighbors. 

Miss Schuyler’s female Dutch ancestors enjoyed rights greater than those of any other European women. They were full legal persons, a position American women would not enjoy again until the early 20^th century. They could own property and conduct business, enter into contracts and buy and sell for their own profit. Some of the richest families in old New York could trace their fortune back to the business savvy of one of these “She Merchants.” In Holland, and, briefly, in later New Amsterdam (now NYC) a woman could chose a unique form of marriage which kept her financial dealings and property separate from her husband’s.  Although these exceptional rights withered after the English took over the colony in 1664, there remained a certain independence and self-reliance in these Dutch women.

Even the wealthiest ladies were inclined to hands-on. They were taught how to cook and garden, how to spin, to keep fowl, to weave and sew—as well as keep household accounts.  An old family friend, James McHenry, wrote tellingly to Hamilton: “Your wife…has as much merit as your Treasurer as you have as Treasurer of the wealth of the United States.” It was no secret who kept afloat the daily affairs of this often-preoccupied Founding Father.

Dutch women were also not so quick to hand their babies—messy, inconvenient creatures—off to servants or slaves for nursing and day care. Despite the then commonly fatal water-borne and childhood diseases, Mrs. Hamilton bore eight children and raised every one of them to adulthood, something of a feat in those times.

The more I learned about her, the more she impressed me, this quiet, domestic woman behind the man. Betsy lived to be 97. Almost to her last breath, she performed her duties as co-founder of the first New York City orphanage, a cause dear to her heart.

She  also remained determined that ‘Justice shall be done to the memory of my Hamilton.’” In this aim, she never wavered, preserving his papers and facing down important men who had been Hamilton’s political enemies with calm dignity.  

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~Learn more about Elizabeth’s life and the “odd destiny” of her beloved Alexander--orphan, immigrant, genius, and nation builder, in A Master Passion~~

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Sources:

Jean Zimmerman’s The Women of the House, Mariner Books, 2007

David Fischer Hackett’s Albion’s Seed, Oxford University Press, 1989

Washington Irving’s Knickerbocker’s History of New York, GP Putnam & Sons, 1894

Mary Elizabeth Springer, Elizabeth Schuyler, A Story of Old New York, 1903