It was made of heavy white satin which I had sent to Tokyo to have embroidered, and the people who did the work surely knew their art. A pattern of goldenrod was outlined by a silver thread and cleverly fitted into the long lines of the gown, and no other trimming had been used except some lace with which the low-cut bodice was finished. It fitted me admirably and I hoped that, in spite of all the mishaps in my preparations, I looked my best as I descended from the White House automobile at the entrance of the Pension Office.
The Pension Office was not built for balls, Inaugural or otherwise, and on the evening of March Fourth, 1909, after a day of melting sleet and snow, the entrance was not especially inviting. Neither was the dressing-room which had been assigned to me. I suppose that for years it had rung with the ceaseless click of scores of typewriters and that its walls had beheld no more elaborate costume than a business blouse and skirt since the occasion of the last Inaugural Ball which had marked the beginning of the second Roosevelt administration four years before. But as I needed to do very little “prinking” it really didn’t matter and I quickly rejoined the President and proceeded, on his arm, to the Presidential Box, this being a small round gallery above the main entrance of the great ballroom which is itself, in everyday life, the principal workroom of the Pension Office.
A brilliant, an almost kaleidoscopic scene spread before us. The hall is of tremendous proportions, pillared with red marble and with walls tinted in the same colour. Every inch of floor space seemed to be occupied. The bright colours and the gleam of women’s gowns met and clashed, or harmonised with the brighter colours of diplomatic uniforms. Officers of the Army and Navy, in full regalia, mingled with the hundreds of men in the plain black of formal evening dress. It was a wonderful glittering throng, more magnificent than any I have ever seen. It was not possible to distinguish individuals except in the space directly below the box, but there, as I looked down, I saw a great semicircle of faces—thousands, it seemed to me—smilingly upturned toward us. The din of human voices was terrific; even the loudest band procurable had difficulty in making itself heard. But the scene was so gay in colour, and the faces that gazed up at us were so friendly and happy that I felt elated and not at all overwhelmed.
The first person whom my eyes rested upon in the box was Aunt Delia, already installed in a chair near the back and drinking in the scene with visible pleasure. Aunt Delia, at that time, was eighty-three years old, but not for anything would she have missed one feature of this crowning day of her life. Having no children of her own, she had for many years given the greater part of her thought and interest to her nephews and nieces, and she followed every step in my husband’s career with an absorption, not to say an excitement, as great as my own. All day long she had travelled from ceremony to ceremony, conducted by Lieutenant Reed, one of the Naval aides. She would arrive, leaning on his arm, among the first at each appointed place, ready and eager for any new event. She didn’t miss even the late supper of birds, salads and ices which was served to us later that night, before we left the Ball. And now she sat in the President’s Box, her soft, white hair arranged by the best hairdresser, gowned in rich, old-fashioned, black velvet, adorned with all the good old lace which she had been treasuring for years for an occasion justifying its display.
The Vice-President and Mrs. Sherman arrived shortly after we did and shared the box with us. They also had with them a large family party and were both so jolly and so much in the festive spirit that formality disappeared. Many friends and officials of distinction came, in the course of the evening, to pay their respects; and members of our own family came and went at intervals as they were inclined.
I may as well say here that my husband and I both came from such large families that all Washington, at the time of the Inauguration, seemed filled with our near and dear relatives. Mr. and Mrs. Charles P. Taft took a comfortable house for ten days, while Mr. and Mrs. Henry Taft and Mr. Horace Taft were at the New Willard.
About eleven o’clock the President and I descended to the ballroom floor, followed by Vice-President and Mrs. Sherman and, as is the custom, proceeded slowly down the length of the hall and back between the closely packed rows of people who stood aside to make room for our promenade. This ceremonious parade was not as trying for me as it may sound, for not only did I have the reassurance of my husband’s arm, but the crowd was too large to seem very personal. So I was quite serene, except for frequent spasms of anxiety lest my gorgeous length of train be stepped on.
Except for this ceremony, and for a short supper which was served to us and a few invited guests in a private room, the President and I remained in the box until shortly after one o’clock when we once more descended and made our way to a waiting automobile which very quickly whisked us away to much needed rest.
However, I must still have had energy enough left to worry over domestic arrangements since the last thing I
