surrounded by a common set of men and women, who,
through her susceptibility to even the most barefaced
flattery, easily gained a controlling influence over her.
Among the persons who thus won access to her graces
was the so-called “Chevalier” Wikoff, whose name figured
as much as any other in the press in those days, who
made pretension to the rôle of a sort of cosmopolitan
knight-errant, and had the entrée of society, but was, in
fact, only a salaried social spy or informer of the New
York Herald. Wikoff was of middle age, an accomplished
man of the world, a fine linguist, with graceful presence,
elegant manners, and a conscious, condescending way —
altogether, just such a man as would be looked upon as a
superior being by a woman accustomed only to Western
society. Wikoff showed the utmost assurance in his
appeals to the vanity of the mistress of the White House.
I myself heard him compliment her upon her looks and
dress in so fulsome a way that she ought to have blushed
and banished the impertinent fellow from her presence.
She accepted Wikoff as a majordomo in general and in
special, as a guide in matters of social etiquette, domestic
arrangements, and personal requirements, including her
toilette, and as always welcome company for visitors in
her salon and on her drives.
Great efforts were made to render the inauguration an imposing occasion. The city itself indicated, by the scantiness of festive array, that the mass of the inhabitants were hostile to the new rule. But many thousands, including militia and political organizations, had come from the North and helped to give imposing proportions to the traditional procession from the White House to the farther end of Pennsylvania Avenue. The morning was cloudy and raw; nevertheless, at least thirty thousand people listened to the reading of the message from the historical corner of the Capitol. Probably two-thirds of the immense audience caught every word of the clear utterance of the new President, Not the faintest disturbance oc-
