Walkabout: War of the Dresses-The Van Nostrand Affair, Part 2

When last we saw the Van Nostrand party, in the summer of 1889, Fanny Van Nostrand, her cousin Nannie Marvin, and her aunt, Mrs. Horatio Dorr, had just been released by the police in Menton, France. The two young ladies, daughters of two of Brooklyn’s wealthiest families, and their aunt, who was acting as a chaperone on their Grand Tour, had been on their way from Nice, in France, to Genoa, Italy. They were going to spend much of the summer there, before heading on to the social scene in Paris and London. While in Nice, the girls had gone to a dressmaker to have some clothing made. The dressmaker only had two days to completely make these outfits, and she was not able to do so. As the Brooklyn ladies made their way to their train, at the very last minute, a delivery of the clothing was made, but it was refused by Miss Van Nostrand, who told the messenger to have the clothes sent on to Genoa, where they would be paid for. Apparently, that did not sit well with the dressmaker, and when the ladies stopped in the town of Menton overnight, the police were waiting to arrest them, and they spent the night in a cold, damp, smelly, and very downscale jail cell.

At a hearing in the magistrate’s court, the dressmaker, accompanied by her husband and English-speaking salesperson, insisted that the girls had not paid for the dresses, and were walking away from the sale, leaving the dressmaker custom clothing that was not being paid for, and therefore of no use to her. The judge gave Fanny Van Nostrand and her party two choices, pay in full for the clothes (which they did not have in their possession) and go free, or refuse to pay, and go back to the same jail cell they were in the night before. They had five minutes to decide. Fanny decided to pay. The cost of the clothing was approximately $100, which would have been the equivalent of a couple of thousand today.

After their release, the American consul had advised them to continue on to Nice, where they could better be in contact with both the American Embassy there, as well as with relatives back home, whom they immediately contacted by telegraph. The American Consul, a Mr. Albert Hathaway, was shocked that such an outrage could have been perpetrated, but he didn’t think much could be done about it. Their American representative at their hearing had urged them to sue for damages for false imprisonment, and other wealthy American tourists in Nice, whom they spoke to, were also outraged, and urged the party to go to the American press, and notify both the French authorities in Paris, and the American Embassy there. They also advised that someone contact the Secretary of State of the United States to have him look into the matter. The case was about to go international.

Back home, Fanny Van Nostrand’s older brother, Gardiner, a successful businessman living in Newburg, NY, immediately contacted the Secretary of State, James G. Blaine. Van Nostrand demanded that France issue an official apology to the ladies and the family, and that reparations be made by the officials involved. Secretary Blaine agreed, sending a telegram to his man in France, Minister Reid. The telegram was leaked to the Brooklyn Eagle, and it read: “Three American ladies of the highest social position and respectability have been arrested at Menton, France, cast into prison and grossly insulted by French officials. Summon Hathaway, consul at Nice, and Clericy, consular agent at Menton, to Paris, make thorough investigation and report to the state Department. The address of the ladies is Drexel, Hargis & Co. Paris.” The Secretary of State was investigating the Van Nostrand Affair. Surely justice would be done.

The case kept the Brooklyn Eagle busy off and on for several months. Since there was a significant time lag between getting news tips, the paper decided to see what it could dig up on Miss Fanny and her friends and family. Was this whole case a gross travesty of justice, perpetrated upon these innocents abroad, or did Fanny Van Nostrand do something wrong, or something to provoke the authorities, justifying the way they were treated? Was she a wide eyed innocent, of was she something far less sympathetic? All they could come up with was this – a story about Fanny in her spoiled and rambunctious youth. They called it “A Box Episode”.

In 1886, Fanny was characterized as being a “tall, handsome young lady of vivacious disposition”. The paper went on to say that “her lively temperament, however, at times is annoying to strangers, and on one occasion, at least, caused her father much annoyance.” It seems that Fanny and her friends were occupying the family box at the Brooklyn Academy of Music, during a performance of the opera “The Taming of the Shrew.” Suddenly, in the middle of an act, the conductor, Theodore Thomas, abruptly stopped the music. He turned to the box where Fanny and her friends were loudly carrying on, and basically told them to shut up. He then returned to the music, and finished the opera. It seems that Fanny and her posse had been talking, giggling and were loudly being teenagers from before the curtain went up, and had gotten louder and louder as the performance continued. In fact, they were louder when the curtain was up then during intermissions. Neighbors had tried to shush them, but were ignored. Maestro Thomas had been listening to the noise all evening, and during an intermission, wrote a note and had it delivered to the box, where he begged them to be quiet. He too, was ignored. When he embarrassed the entire group in front of “society”, they finally were quiet. And publically mortified.

Some of the tongue waggers in society castigated the conductor for “high handed conduct” and “public insult”, but most people were glad he had done it. The Van Nostrand’s were highly embarrassed, and months after the incident, a reporter came by the Van Nostrand house, at 441 Henry Street, to talk to a family member. Mrs. Van Nostrand was the only one home, and she had this to say, “Our daughter was frolicking more than she possibly should have done, but my husband paid full price for the box, and was entitled to some privileges. However, we do not excuse the talking. The rebuke, though severe, was probably deserved.” She then went on to say, “Mr. Thomas, I must say, acted in a very ungentlemanly manner, but it only demonstrates anew that we can learn manners sometimes from boors.” Mrs. Van Nostrand was obviously warming to the subject, because she continued, “The fact is that men who think themselves great musicians are generally great asses. If Mr. Thomas wants people to listen to him with rapt attention, he must give them better music. My family is a musical family, and Mr. Thomas’ actions were… well I think it best to say nothing further about this matter.”

Back in Europe in the summer of 1889, things were not going very well. The aggrieved party of ladies had continued on their Grand Tour, having gone to Genoa, and were headed through Germany, on their way to Paris. The case was toddling along for two reasons. The first was French law. France was rightly famous for its dressmakers and fashion. Fashion was a well-respected and profitable industry for both the dressmakers and the government. But because of the nature of dressmaking, a lot of people were commissioning clothing, with little or no down payment, and then welshing on the deal, either never showing up to collect their clothes, or claiming the clothes didn’t fit, and demanding steep discounts to take the garments off their hands, knowing the average dressmaker would rather get something over nothing.

Because of the amount of rip-offs and fraud, the fashion industry, with the backing of French law, instituted certain guidelines and guarantees to dressmakers. They were to get at least half up front, paid in cash or by a certified check, and the balance upon delivery. This was the law. Perhaps unbeknownst to the American ladies, Fanny’s refusal to pay, and blithe command for the dressmaker to collect from their accountant in Genoa, flew in the face of French tradition and French law. Technically, the French officials were not beyond their power to arrest the trio, and extract payment. The question of whether or not the dressmaker had lived up to her agreement aside, as well as the question of how the ladies were treated, also aside, French officials dug their heels in, and were not ready to issue any apologies.

The second problem was politics. The diplomat in charge of this affair, a Minister Reid, was reluctant to ruffle French feathers. He wanted to keep his job, and keep on the good side of the French. As the months passed, the Van Nostrand family found itself stymied in getting any satisfaction from either the State Department, or the French government. Minister Reid had Mrs. Dorr and the girls, who were still in Europe, write up a second set of statements to be sent to him in Paris. He assured them that this would prompt a response from the French. Well, not. In June, 1889, Mrs. Dorr’s son, back in the States, complained that the case was being forgotten and/or swept under the Aubusson rugs at the American Embassy. He had offered to go to France, an offer that was quickly squelched by Minister Reid. Gardiner Van Nostrand, told the Eagle “My opinion is that Minister Reid will try to prolong the affair, hoping to have it dropped, as it might make him unpopular with the French government. I wrote him a pretty firm, though polite letter…Perhaps he might brace up, as you might say.”

As the months passed, the ladies continued on their Tour, and eventually went to Paris, London, and finally, in August of 1889, arrived home in Brooklyn. Reporters met them at the pier, but everyone was tired and there were no interviews. Mrs. Dorr said the trip was a pleasant one, and had nothing to add to what had already been reported about their adventures in sunny, but to them, inhospitable France. As far as I can tell, they never got an apology, and they certainly didn’t get any kind of reparations. In spite of further inquiries made by male members of the family, the diplomatic corps in France was successful in encasing the entire affair in glue, and it was eventually dropped. The family moved on.

Fanny Van Nostrand, heir to a considerable fortune, but no longer an ingénue, married James A. P. Ramsdell in her brother’s home in Newburg, on May 19th, 1892. There were no bridesmaids or best man at the quiet wedding. The bride wore “white Sicilian, with a bridal veil of point lace”. It probably did not come from France. She was 32, he was 50. They had one daughter, also named Fannie. Fanny Van Nostrand Ramsdell died in 1939, at the family home called Hemlock Glen, in Newburgh. James Ramsdell was already dead, at the age of 85, back in 1926. They are both buried in St. George’s Cemetery in Newburg, under a very plain and unadorned headstone. One wonders what kind of life she had, after this summer of adventure.

Walkabout:War of the Dresses-The Van Nostrand Affair, part 1