Yellow Parlor

After the formal entertainment of the Best Parlor, friends and family would gather in the more intimate Yellow Parlor for conversation and relaxation. They may have played cards, viewed detailed prints through the perspective glass on the desk, read, served afternoon tea, and even dined in this chamber.

It was a space used daily during the winter months, when the Schuylers would condense their activities to only a few rooms, avoiding the cold in the rest of the unheated home. Every morning before sunrise at this time of year, enslaved servants would close doors, shutter the windows inside and outside, and stoke a fire to prepare the room for the family's use. With its colorful flocked wallpaper, Brussels carpet, and painted woodwork, this room was bright and cheerful in the summer, and comfortably warm in the winter. [Read about: the wallpaper  -  the carpeting  - and the comparative cost of such items. You can also see the receipts for these furnishings, purchased by Philip Schuyler, on the table in the Center Hall]. The textiles and furniture that make this room so welcoming would have required frequent attention to remain at their most vibrant; work performed by enslaved women.

A portrait of youngest daughter Caty, an adult with one of her own children, adorns the far wall [see Best Parlor for a portrait of young Caty]. 

A page from the back of the Schuyler family bible shows birth
and death records recorded in Philip Schuyler's hand.

To the left of the fireplace is displayed the Schuyler family's 1719 Dutch-print bible, passed down from Philip Schuyler's father and grandfather. In addition to illuminated scripture, it also contains Philip’s handwritten record of his marriage to Catharine in 1755, the births of the fifteen children born to Catharine over the years, and the unfortunate, but all too common, deaths of 7 of those children, including a set of twins and a set of triplets, in infancy [read about mortality and life span in the 18th century]. These family records are also written in Dutch, both Philip's and Catharine's first language.

As You Exit :

You will pass through the Central Hall

Straight ahead, you will find the Best Parlor

Right will bring you to the Back Hall

Other Rooms:

Library

Dining Room

Salon (Upstairs Hall)

Blue Chamber (Upstairs)

Yellow Chamber (Upstairs)

Green Chamber (Upstairs)

Best Parlor

Receipts and visitor descriptions for the Best Parlor

suggest that wallpaper and carpeting for the space

incorporated blue designs. Recent grants from 

Governor Cuomo and Parks & Trails New York will

allow us to reproduce the 18th century carpet shown

 here for future display in this room.

The Southeast chamber served as a room for formal entertainment and important family functions. In its day, it was a showpiece of refined furnishing. While today the walls and floor are bare, this room would have displayed bright silk wall-coverings and an ornamental carpet, as well as a papier-mâché ceiling [read more about papier-mâché and the future restoration] and rich upholstery. The shield-back chairs and sofa are original to the family [read about the fabric on these family pieces, and see them deconstructed]. The furniture positioned against the wall would have been rearranged by enslaved servants to accommodate whatever function the parlor was serving at the time, whether it be military meetings, musical entertainment, or festive dinners.

This parlor served as the venue for important family events, including musical performances by the Schuyler children, baptisms, the funeral of oldest son John Bradstreet Schuyler, and the famous wedding between
Alexander Hamilton and Elizabeth Schuyler (both depicted on the South wall) on December 14th, 1780. This wedding was a small affair by modern standards, but typical of the time. The Schuylers family members present at the home that winter, and Captain James McHenry, who accompanied Hamilton on his military leave, were likely the only guests. The winter setting of the wedding necessitated the use of the parlor, as the larger hallways had no fireplace openings and could not be heated.

Caroline McIntosh (née Carmichael) was living as a widow
in the Schuyler Mansion in the 1850s. Her meeting with
Millard Fillmore is speculated to have been arranged by
Elizabeth Schuyler Hamilton, who grew up and married
in the home more than 70 years prior.

In 1858, former-president Millard Fillmore also married - to then owner Caroline McIntosh - in this room. There are usually pamphlets, "A Century of Change" available at the rear door of the mansion which can tell you more about the 19th century history of the home, or ask a staff member.

Portraits of eldest daughter Angelica (left, with her son and a servant) and youngest daughter Caty (right, sitting in front of a piano forté) flank the doorway. Angelica became an infamous part of this family's history when she became the first of the Schuyler children to elope, marrying the dashing, young Englishman, John "Carter" in 1777. "Carter" turned out to be an alias for John Barker Church, and his hidden identity was likely the reason the couple did not seek parental permission, instead marrying in Greenbush and staying with Angelica's maternal grandparents at Crailo. At least 3 more of the Schuyler children- Philip Jeremiah, Cornelia, and Caty - followed in Angelica's footsteps by eloping.

John Barker Church was a rakish figure who came
to the Colonies under the assumed name "Carter"
in 1774. He was sent to the mansion to audit Philip
Schuyler's accounts on behalf of Congress in 1777.

As You Exit :

You will pass through the Central Hall

Straight ahead, you will find the Yellow Parlor

Left will bring you to the Back Hall

Other Rooms:

Library

Dining Room

Salon (Upstairs Hall)

Blue Chamber (Upstairs)

Yellow Chamber (Upstairs)

Green Chamber (Upstairs)

Central Hall - Introduction

Welcome to Schuyler Mansion's Digital Self-Guided Tour! 

After this introduction, you can explore the Mansion in any direction you want. Please refer to the map to find the correct information for each room. You will find links for each room at the bottom of the post. Links interspersed throughout the text of this article will take you to further reading material on the topic from within Schuyler Mansion's Blog (unless otherwise noted). If you have any questions, please ask a staff member or volunteer.

An Introduction to the Home and Family:

Built between 1761 and 1765, this English-style Georgian Mansion was the centerpiece of a more than 80-acre estate belonging to Philip John Schuyler and Catharine van Rensselaer Schuyler. This elegant and spacious Georgian-style mansion, originally situated in a rural setting just outside of the 18^th century city of Albany, was a powerful symbol of the family’s status and affluence, and of the important role Philip Schuyler played in the politics and military affairs of his time. Over the course of his life, Philip Schuyler would serve as a Major General in the Continental Army, Delegate to the Continental Congress, Senator at both a State and Federal level, Surveyor General for New York, and Superintendent of Indian Affairs. He also operated an extensive military intelligence and espionage network, incorporated the Western and Northern Inland Lock Navigation Companies, and was a major landholder and land-speculator in the early American republic.

This 1805 James Eights painting shows Albany as it would have looked when Schuyler begins construction of Schuyler Mansion  in 1761. Philip grew up in a Dutch home similar to the brick structures, shown here, on the corner of modern S. Pearl & State Streets. Though Philip and Catharine are both Dutch, they built an English Georgian home, which would have been a novelty in contrast with Dutch Albany.

The Schuylers raised eight children to adulthood in this home, and hosted such notable guests as George Washington, Benjamin Franklin, John Jay, Madame de la Tour du Pin, Talleyrand, and British General John Burgoyne. The family and their guests would have enjoyed a refined lifestyle, surrounded by elegant textiles and the most tasteful furniture available. Entertainment included sumptuous meals, enlightened conversation, strolls in the garden, music and dancing; all of the trappings of an aristocratic 18^th century lifestyle.

This house was also home to approximately thirty people of African descent over the years, enslaved by the Schuyler family. This included eight to fourteen men, women, and children held in bondage at any one time. Some of these individuals worked in the house itself, waiting on the Schuylers and their guests and attending to household chores. Others labored in the courtyard originally located behind the house, cooking, making and repairing necessary goods, driving carts and wagons, and tending to livestock.

Today the home has been decorated to represent the family’s interests, as well as the tastes and styles of the period. The house is also undergoing long-term efforts to restore it as nearly as possible to the period of the Schuylers’ residence.

This is a portrait of Catharine Schuyler's cousin,
Catharine van Cordtland van Rensselaer. The dress shown
in both images did not belong to either woman, but instead
was copied from painting to painting, by multiple artists,
as these wealthy ladies tried to emulate one-another.
[Read about what was and wasn't appropriate in 
18th-Century Women's Fashion]

The Central Hall:

The wide center space you are standing in now was used to receive guests, hold small gatherings, and sometimes served as a dining chamber.  The wallpaper, The Ruins of Rome, was an English import and a clear symbol of the family’s wealth and refinement [learn more about this wallpaper and the 2016/17 restoration effort to display it on the walls once more]. Prominent guests arriving at the home may have been greeted personally by Philip Schuyler. For others, the first person to greet them often would have been one of the enslaved members of the household, possibly a man named Prince, who served as Philip’s personal attendant [read our brief overview of slavery in NY/Albany]. Due to the volume of guests that came through the home, a floor cloth, like the one you are standing on, was the perfect material for a hallway [read more]. The arch in the center of the space reinforced social protocol and class distinctions, serving as a buffer between the more public chambers at the front of the house, and the more exclusive areas beyond. Portraits of Philip and Catharine Schuyler hang either side of the arch.

With the Front Entrance at Your Back:

Left will bring you to the Best Parlor

Right will bring you to the Yellow Parlor

Straight ahead, you will find the Back Hall

Other Rooms:

Library

Dining Room

Salon (Upstairs Hall)

Blue Chamber (Upstairs)

Yellow Chamber (Upstairs)

Green Chamber (Upstairs)

Discomfort and Discourse: Myths of 18th Century Women’s Fashion Part 2

by Danielle Funiciello

In March, we dove into some myths about women’s fashion with an article about what was and wasn’t considered scandalous dress in the 18^th-century. Today we will be continuing that thread with some myths about the ‘corset’ or, more accurately, ‘stays’. I will not be covering the terminology shifts in this article, but within the 18^th-century, ‘corsets’ were actually a soft garment quite the opposite of the rigid stays that we have come to think of as corsets (if you want more on the distinctions and history of the terminology this fascinating blog by The Dreamstress should do the trick). For the rest of the article, we will be using the 18^th-century terms; ‘stays’, ‘pair of stays’, or ‘pair of bodies’. Whatever the terminology, I have never done a program in historic clothing where someone has not wanted to know about my underthings. The questions and assumptions about these garments are almost always the same, so without further ado;

The Myths: Stays are uncomfortable torture devices that make it impractical to do work or breathe properly and caused women to faint frequently. Women needed to be laced into their stays by a servant or their husband. Historically, men used stays to subjugate women, as a way to keep women as the fragile, weaker sex by limiting their movement and preventing them from doing work.

For Disney fans, the arguments may sound familiar. Emma Watson had strong feelings about wearing ‘corsets’ as Belle in the March-released live-action remake of Beauty and the Beast. Her concerns were based in feminism and the idea that stays restricted women and made them incapable of action (if you are not a Disney fan, just Google ‘Emma Watson corset’ to see the dozens of articles surrounding her decision not to wear structure garments). The film is slated as a fantasy setting, so delving too deep into the “accuracy” of various costume pieces would be unproductive, but it is worth pointing out that the majority of costuming fits into the late 18^th-century and, as we shall discuss today, stays had different fits, purpose, and societal meaning within the 18^th-century than they do today.

The author in full 18th-
century kit, with stays
underneath.

Let us first address something from personal experiences (my own and those of other female reenactors I have spoken to); worn properly, stays are not uncomfortable. Or, more accurately, stays are not much less comfortable than modern support garments. Like modern support garments, the intent was two-fold – as the name suggests, they offer support, and they create the ideal female shape as prescribed by the culture of their time. That shape was much different from what we consider attractive today – a stiff, conically shaped torso which gave contrast to the soft swell of the bosom and tapered down to jut out at the hips with the help of wide skirts, padding, or paniers.

Also like modern support garments, there are trade-offs to the structure offered. Stays support the lower back and create good posture. However, they can cause chafing depending on the fit and the quality of the shift - the linen underdress worn beneath the stays. For us modern folk who are not used to wearing stays, the posture created also uses muscles we are not accustomed to using, which can ache on new or infrequent wearers.

Talk to many female reenactors and they will tell you; sitting for long periods of time is more problematic than standing, dancing, or performing labor. With these latter actions, properly worn stays can act as a back brace and make labor or movement more comfortable over the course of a day. Few describe breathing problems or fainting spells, even amongst reenactors who wear stays on a daily basis.

As for getting into stays? Believe it or not, getting out of stays by yourself is typically more difficult than getting into them (think getting stuck with an XXS t-shirt halfway over your head!). No servants or husbands required here - at least, with 18^th-century stays. There are two key factors that make this a one-woman job in the 18^th-century. The first is that stays did not exclusively lace up the back. In the mid-1700s in particular, many stays laced front and back to accommodate a fashion called a stomacher. This would allow a woman to easily lace herself up from the front. The second factor is the way the lacing was done – cross-lacing, as is commonly seen on modern corsets, was not the preferred style of the time and as this lacing how-to on the Hand Bound blog says: “seems to be reserved for lace-up bodices only, as you often see it in images of working class girls”. In other words, cross-lacing was only used, if at all, when it was at the front of a garment where a woman could see what she was doing. For most stays, straight-lacing, also called spiral-lacing, was used. 

Corset lacing, or cross-lacing, shown left, is what you may be familiar with from corsets after the mid 19th-century. Spiral or straight-lacing, much more common in the 18th-century is shown on the right.*

Compared to cross-lacing, straight-lacing does not create a lot of friction when pulled, and so can pulled from the tail of the lacing, rather than from the hard-to-reach center of the back as one would have to in order to properly cross-lace. Straight-lacing also has the benefit of lying flatter under garments and allowing for more flexibility. In the later 19^th-century, cross-lacing was adopted because the friction created prevented the lacing from loosening during tight-lacing (see below) – a particular problem with upperclass garments which used silk lacing.

Children's stays in the collections of
The Metropolitan Museum

Within the 18^th-century, many physicians praised stays for their support and the posture they created. There were arguments for the ‘beauty of the human form’ that this created as well, but people within the 18^th-century seemed to consider stays, worn properly, to be first a boon to health, and second a fashion item. While the whalebone used in upper-class stays could be cost prohibitive for some, materials like thick reeds could be substituted, which allowed women from all walks of life to wear them for support. They were considered so healthful, that even children – male and female – in wealthier households grew up wearing stays. We’ll come back to this later.

You may have noticed a key mantra in the preceding text; “worn properly”. NOT tight-laced.

Tight-lacing, waist-cinching, or waist-training, as it has become known in modern times, has been practiced as long as these stiff, laced undergarments have existed (since at least the late 1500s). It became particularly popular during the Regency Era (1795-1820), again in the late Victorian Era (1837-1901), and has had a rebirth with celebrities like Kim Kardashian who advertise their use of spanxs and waist-cinchers (often no longer laced) as a way for women to look thinner by wearing their undergarments too tightly.

Rather than allowing a woman the bracing effects intended by stays, tight-laced stays can create all of the issues in our myth – they cut off circulation, make it difficult to move and breath, and create the unrealistic Barbie-doll-like figures oft’ criticized in the modern era.

"A cutting wind" shows the perils associated with tight-lacing c. 1820

Within the Schuyler’s lifetime, tight-lacing was practiced by both men and women to create a fashionable figure, but it was also heavily criticized by physicians, satirists and other contemporaries. It was denounced as vain, unhealthy, and dishonest, much as some consider similar practices today. It should therefore be thought of as an extreme fashion, rather than typical use of the garment within the 18^th-century. The wealthier one was within that century, the more likely one was to practice tight-lacing. After all, the negative symptoms, particularly the difficulty of movement, were not as much of a strain if one did not have to perform any labor. As one might today wear Spanx™, or even stiletto heels to a party - but not on a walking tour or around one’s house - tight-lacing and other uncomfortable fashions were often reserved for formal and public occasions.

Men's stays from the Bard Graduate Center.

As far as feminist concerns about stays go – while stays were a standard part of women’s dress during the 18^th-century, as alluded to earlier in this article, many male children in wealthy families wore stays as well. George Washington, for example, wore stays until he was around 5 years old. These stays were designed to alter the male form into the preferred shape, à la binding practiced by other cultures. In this case, the ideal male form included low sloped shoulders, which gave the illusion of a longer neck, and which was created by lightly binding the ribcage. This in turn pulled the ribs, and thereby the shoulder sockets, down and inward. One can extrapolate that if stays were, to any degree, forced on women because they were known to be unhealthful and cause weakness at

the time, the Washingtons, and other wealthy families, would not have applied such practices to their sons.

"Lacing a Dandy" shows the numerous padding
and garments that could go into sculpting the
fashionable male form, 1819.

As the 1790s progressed into the 1800s, young men of the fashionable set began wearing a male version of stays more regularly. We might now refer to such a garment as a girdle, but the express purpose for these garments was to create the slender wasp-waist that was popular with both men and women. As waists got artificially thinner, criticism of tight-lacing became more prevalent. Health concerns caused by the fashion trend were broadcast by more and more physicians in the 19^th-century. In order to discourage men from practicing the trend in the late Regency Period, tight-lacing was often shown as feminine and emasculating. While criticism was also pointed at women, the narrative of it being feminine led to more of a “girls-will-be-girls” attitude when it came to tight-lacing, which in turn led to the stereotypes we forged about stays/corsets throughout the Victorian Era.

"A Dandy fainting or_ An Exquisite in Fits" simultaneously criticizes the negative health consequences of tight-laced garments, and begins to feminize "dandy" fashion trends, including tight-lacing.

Want to learn more about women in the 18^th-century, the Schuyler Sisters, and even handle a pair of stays yourself? Check out our Women of Schuyler Mansion Focus Tours. Reservations are required by calling the site. See Facebook for more information.

*Image sources:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B4Y_V5L_wAw

https://passionalcorsets.wordpress.com/lacing-corsets/

Larkin and Smith Patterns

C.F. Griffith

The Corner Chair: Stylish Seating in a Roundabout Way

By Ian Mumpton

The Corner chair displayed in the Study at Schuyler Mansion
Walnut or Mahogany, Green Velvet Upholstery, circa 1765-1775

Touring Schuyler Mansion, visitors have the opportunity to view an impressive collection of 18^th century objects and furniture, including a number of items original to the family. One piece that always garners attention is the Corner chair (also referred to as a Roundabout chair) in the Study. Unlike other chairs in the home, the Corner chair has its seat turned 45 degrees to the usual position, coming to a point at the “front”, with the rail and back wrapping around two sides of the square seat. It occupies a central position in the room as soon as you enter, and its unusual shape makes it the frequent object of conversation and questions: “Why does that chair look like that?”, “How would you sit in a chair of that sort?”

What makes this chair so cool is that there is no single answer to these questions. Instead, to explain a Corner chair, you have to look at who is using it when, how they end up using it, and why they are doing so.

Many early-18th century examples of these chairs either feature rounded fronts or indented sides. According to Jenny Pynt and Joy Higgs, authors of A History of Seating,3000 BC to 2000 AD: Function Versus Aesthetics, early Roundabout chairs were designed to encourage good posture while reading and writing. The sitter would sit inclined forward over their reading or writing surface, straddling the forward leg of the chair. This was not possible for women with their long gowns, but for men it allowed them to put their legs slightly back with their knees falling just a little below the level of the chair seat. This resulted in a sitting position that both inclined the sitter forward but maintained a straight back at a roughly 90 degree angle to the lap. According to Pynt and Higgs, less ornate version of these chairs could be found in working homes in the early century as well, especially those of weavers, further indicating the intention to encourage comfortable posture.

Portrait of John Bours in the Worcester Art
Museum. Bours is seated sideways in a corner chair,
accentuating his refinement

By the mid-to-late 18^th century, more angular versions of the chair grew in popularity. Rather than coming to a rounded front over the forward leg, this style of Corner chair, like the one in the Schuyler Mansion study, comes to a right angle with straight edges. This change in style accompanied a change in use, though it is debated whether form followed function or vice versa. Attempting to straddle the forward leg on an angular chair of this sort can be far less comfortable than with its rounded cousins. Instead, by mid-century, it became increasingly common to sit sideways in the chair, reclining along one arms of the chair in a dashing style.

To understand the importance of this change, it is necessary to explore personal display and proper sitting culture of the time. The 18^th century concept of refinement held that, just as a genteel person beautified their home with elegant furnishings and filled their lives with intellectual and gentlemanly activities, the way that one presented the body reflected a cultured lifestyle. Proper posture was considered essential to attaining this intangible goal, not only while standing, but while sitting as well.  The easiest way to explore this is through images.

The Wrapping Landlady, reflecting rustic, working-class seating.

The first image, The Wrapping Landlady, dates to the 1750’s. It depicts two people whom, from their clothing alone, we can easily tell occupy a relatively low station in society. To the 18^th century eye, posture would be just as clear an indicator of their status. While the landlady herself sits with an upright posture, her folded arms hint at a working-class status. The man is another case altogether. He is leaning back on a bench, his elbow on the table and one leg stretched out along his seat. This is not at all the posture of a gentleman.

The Thistlethwayte Family c.1758 by Thomas Hudson,
in the collection of the Yale Center for British Art

We can contrast this with the Thistlethwayte family portrait, circa 1758. Note the perfectly straight backs of the mother and her daughters, as well as the careful placement of their arms. While the father is not sitting, he is very specifically leaning on the back of the seat occupied by his wife, his feet neatly crossed with his weight on his back leg. While, like the man in the other image, he is leaning, the environment and situation in which he leans indicates a deliberate comfort in the refined atmosphere of the portrait. 

It is important to note that refinement wasn’t entirely synonymous with wealth (though wealth certainly made it easier to achieve a refined lifestyle!), as William Wilkie’s painting of Nathan Hawley and his family illustrates. While Hawley is certainly not poor, the visible floorboards and relatively unadorned walls tells us that this is a family of significantly more humble means that the Schuylers. However, certain touches, including the presence of a floor cloth and the good posture of the family, indicate a aspiration to refined gentility.

Nathan Hawley and Family, in the collection of

the Albany Institute of History and Art

If good posture was considered refined, then breaking with that conformity could either mar or enhance one’s social standing. The rusticity of the working man in The Wrapping Landlady is marked by his relaxed, informal sitting habits, whereas the father of the Thistlethwayte family’s refined lean marks him as a gentleman. Of course, in order to achieve the desired effect, the poor posture had to be deliberate. Gentlemanly status alone could not bestow the laurels of refinement upon a sloucher. William Hogarth’s A Midnight Modern Conversation lampoons the idea of inherent refinement with its depiction of a group of gentlemen who, full of too much wine and punch, have turned their parlor into a scene of drunken revelry and contented foolishness. They are neither seated properly nor do they lean in a dignified manner. Instead, the whole party is slouched in their chairs or, most heinous of all, tilting their seats back on back on two legs.

William Hogarth, A Midnight Modern Conversation. Note the man tilting his chair on the left.

Corner chairs become the ultimate example of this deliberately casual symbol of refinement. Unlike the working man’s bench in The Wrapping Landlady, Corner chairs, with their elaborate woodwork and expensive upholstery material, are themselves refined. When gentlemen began to sit in the sideways, the inherent refinement of the chair served to bring an element of relaxed gentility to their reclined posture. It seems that this is how the chair in the Study at Schuyler Mansion was used. There is much heavier evidence of wear on the left arm of the chair. Further, the legs on the left side of the piece are much more heavily worn than those on the right. In fact, these legs are worn at a nearly 45 degree angle with the floor. Was someone tilting their chair? It is a definite possibility.

Despite the change in use, Rondabaouts retained their masculine characteristics. Angled chairs and deeply carved rails posed a tearing risk to the fine silk gowns of ladies. Just as importantly, the “art of the lean”, as Dr. Robin Campbell has referred to it, was a masculine form of body presentation. In formal company, ladies were expected to maintain a much more upright posture (for example, while Mr. Thistlethwayte may demonstrate his refinement by leaning, his wife and daughters all maintain perfect posture in their family portrait).

A number of myths and half-myths have formed around these chairs over the years. One favorite is that they were designed for men because men could slide their sword through the carved back of the chair, thereby allowing them to sit comfortably. This is because it is supposedly impossible to sit in a corner chair with a sword on otherwise. In their original use as writing chairs, the number of scholars needing to arm themselves for their studies is presumably rare by the 18^th century, but those gentlemen using them to lean back with their feet up would have found them much more comfortable for sitting with a sword on their belt. (Wondering how common swords might have been by the 18^th century? Click here to read one of our earlier articles on the topic).

With their unusual appearance, Corner chairs raise all sorts of questions for modern audiences, but as strange as they may be, they are a fascinating opportunity to think about just how important body language and personal display has been, and continues to be, to human society.

New Exhibits Tell a More Complete Story of Life at Schuyler Mansion

 by Danielle Funiciello

From the outside, the Visitor's Center at Schuyler Mansion might not look very different, but inside renovations and new exhibits greet guests as we head towards the site's 100 Year Anniversary in October 2017.

You may remember an article on the site's front desk,
installed in 2015.

If you have come to Schuyler Mansion in the last decade, you may have perused our Visitor’s Center exhibits while waiting for a tour. Perhaps you noticed that it was dark? Or that none of the audio buttons worked? Or that, while there was plenty information about Philip Schuyler, you found yourself wondering about the rest of his household and his broader connections? After years of planning, our Visitor’s Center has finally received exciting updates both in content and technology!

The new exhibit, Son of Albany, opened with the 2017 season on May 17^th. Thanks to the hard work of the Peebles Island Resource Center and the amazing support of members of the Friends of Schuyler Mansion and our visitors, the Visitors Center has received fresh paint to brighten the space, overhauled bathrooms, new signage and informational panels, and interactive exhibits bringing us into the 21^st-Century.

Son of Albany gives insight into Schuyler's life through a number
of new view-points, giving visitors a broader perspective.

Visitor favorites remain - like a comparative timeline of events in the Schuyler’s lifetime, an overlay map of historic and modern Albany, and a model of the original structures surrounding the 18^th-Century home. Our timeline has been improved by the addition of a touchscreen display which allows visitors to explore events in further detail and see more images than could be displayed in a traditional format.

"Madam de la Tour du Pin" stands in front of a green screen to
record a monologue for Schuyler Mansion's new touch-screen
exhibit, February 2015.

Sure to become a new favorite; visitors can now “interview” figures who lived and worked with Philip Schuyler through a series of touch-screen video monologues. Subjects of the “interviews” are diverse, allowing visitors to get a broader understanding of 18^th-Century life at the home. The six historic figures available are: Philip’s wife Catharine Van Rensselaer Schuyler, enslaved servant Prince, military aid Richard Varrick, tenant farmer Abner Fuller, canal partner turned critic Elkanah Watson, and emigre Madam de la Tour du Pin – a refugee escaping the French Revolution.

Space has also been set aside to temporarily exhibit items from our New York State Parks collections or temporary loans. We hope that short-term displays will offer more variety for our repeat visitors and allow us to display less seen items from the collections.

A statuette of Alexander Hamilton stands as a placeholder for
a new temporary exhibit case, opposite a digital timeline.

Whether or not you can make a tour this summer season (through October 31^st), you can stop by during open hours, Wednesday-Sunday 11:00AM to 5:00PM, to take a look at the new exhibits!


Special thanks for work on the Visitor's Center and Son of Albany Exhibit go to:

Peebles Island including:
Travis Bowman, Anna Curtis, Lindsay Dingman, Amy Facca, Chris Flagg, Kjirsten Gustafson, Paul Huey, Amanda Massie, Heidi Miksch, Audrey Nieson, Michele Phillips, Cordell Reaves, John Shultz, Greg Smith, Paul Witkowski, Edward Yetto.

Regional Support and Workers including: 
Gerry Corsetti, Rich Domine, Dwight Flanders, Brian Strasavich, Justin Thomas, Tony Valentine, Daryl Wohlfarth

Peter Argentine of Argentine Productions, Pittsburgh, PA

And of course, staff members past and present who prepared content for the exhibit including: 
Alysan Bowers, Heidi Hill, Michelle Mavigliano, Ian Mumpton, Debbie Perez, Bill von Atzingen

Profiles of the Northern Department: Dr. Samuel Stringer

by Ian Mumpton

Dr. Samuel Stringer by Ezra Ames

On July 2nd, 1775, Dr. Samuel Stringer wrote to Philip Schuyler from Albany to congratulate him on his recent appointment to the rank of Major General and commander of the Northern Department. As a physician, he also made reference to Philip’s chronically poor health:

…permit me to offer you, among your Welwishers[sic], my most hearty Congratulations on your Appointment, and to assure I am… rejoiced to find you called ypon[sic] by your Congress to fill the important Post of a General in the American Army, in whose abilities, your Country will undoubtably[sic] place the greatest Confidence. I wish I could say so much for your Constitution, and that it may equal to the arduorus[sic] Task you have to engage, is my sincere prayer.

Shortly after this letter was sent, Schuyler approached Stringer about applying his medical services to the support of the Northern Department, a position confirmed by the Continental Congress on September 14th of that year:

• Resolved, That Samuel Stringer, esq; be appointed director of the hospital and chief physician and surgeon for the army in the Northern Department.
• That the pay of the said Samuel Stringer, as director, physician and surgeon, be four dollars per day.
• That he be authorized and have power to appoint a number of surgeons mates under him not exceeding four.
• That the pay of said mates be two thirds of a dollar per day.
• That the number be not kept in constant pay, unless the sick and wounded be so numerous as to require the constant attendance of four, and to be diminished as circumstances will admit, for which reason the pay is fixed by the day, that they may only receive pay for actual service.
• That the deputy commissary general be directed to pay Dr. Stringer for the medicines he has purchased for the use of the army, and that he purchase and forward such other medicines as General Schuyler shall, by his warrant, direct, for the use of the said army.

Stringer was a Marylander by birth, but had received his medical education in Philadelphia. Like Philip, Stringer had been involved in the French and Indian war - in Stringer’s case as a surgeon – and in the years leading up to the Revolutionary War, became a member of the Albany Committee of Correspondence. His connection to the Schuylers was also professional, tending to the medical needs of the family as one of the most prominent physicians in Albany. His appointment to the position of chief medical officer for the Northern Department was official recognition of a role he had already been performing since August. Problematically however, the wording of the resolution failed to explicitly denote his place in the chain of command relative to Dr. John Morgan, who already held the title of chief physician and head of the General Hospital of the Continental Army. This led to repeated clashes between the two men and their associates.

One of Stringer’s first and most pressing concerns was acquiring the actual medicine needed to care for the sick and wounded soldiers of the army. In the Summer of 1775, the future availability of medicine was uncertain. Stocks were high in cities like Philadelphia, New York, and Boston, but the specter of shortages loomed ever larger as the war progressed and regular shipments from England slowed to a trickle. Even before his official appointment, Stringer had been purchasing drugs for the army; purchases for which he was to be compensated by order of the Congress. Once acquired, Stringer also saw to the dispersal of the department’s medicinal supply to the various units of the army. On November 16th of 1775, he wrote to Schuyler to inform him that medicine was being sent to supply Revolutionary troops participating in the invasion of Canada:

Mr. Wimple & Mr. Williams are now packing up Medicines viz: will go off according to your Order, as soon as possible, with whom I shall send two thirds of all our Stock.

While medicine is an obvious concern to a medical officer, Stringer was also tasked with establishing the infrastructure and bureaucratic systems needed to keep the Northern Department Hospital corps effective. This included sourcing and acquiring the supplies needed to feed, clothe, and house the sick and injured. Many of his letters to Schuyler immediately after Stringer’s appointment deal with the minutia of constructing adequate shelter to provide for those in the care of the hospital. On October 6th, Stringer wrote from Fort George to report that:

…the want of Carpenters, Boards, Masons and Carpenters tools, will occasion such a delay, that I fear I shall be overpowered with Numbers before I can be in a situation to dispose of them—I shall have two Waggons[sic] Loads of Boards over to day, when I hope to have the last side of the wooden Barrick[sic] closed, which was entirely open—Mr. Yates tells me he has Tools for no more than four Carpenters… He is chiefly in want of Handsaws, and hammers…

With the impending winter, Stringer was also concerned with the abysmal state of the fireplaces at the fort.

The Iron which supported the Arches of the Chimneys having been all taken away, the Arches have fallen, & the Chimnies[sic] open to near the upper floor; the Backs are also burnt thro’, of each, & no bricks to repair either defect, nor Iron to replace what has been robed[sic] from the Arches, or to make a Grate under the large kettle.

Four days later he reiterated the request for masons and tools, as well as ever-in-demand medical supplies:

If there is such a thing as a mason to be spared from your Garrison, and Tools for him, beg you would order him (or more than one) over; otherwise the Sick will enevitably [sic] suffer much from the Cold… also a [book] or two of White Cartridge Paper for wraping[sic] medicines—I sent for Wraping[sic] Paper,  they have sent me the blue kind, that will not bare[sic] ink; & it will be necessary that every Mans Medicines are distinguished as they are made up, by his names on each, & directions.

Equally pressing, to Stringer’s mind, was the lack of support staff that he had to work with. The assistance of only four “as needed” mates in addition to himself left the hospital corps woefully understaffed, as Stringer well knew from his military experience in the French and Indian war. Moreover, recruiting capable medical officers at the poor rate of two thirds of a dollar for every day of service was proving nigh on impossible. Stringer wrote to Schuyler on this topic in several letters, laying out his recommendations at length on the 25th of October:

Sir…in my last [letter]…I took the liberty to point out a material deficiency of officers who are indispensably necessary in that Department, Viz: Senior Surgeons & Apothecaries; a Clerk & Steward… Two Seniors & Four mates (exclusive of myself) are as small a Hospital as the Army under your Command should take the Field with; & should there be an engagement, it would scarcely be sufficient---In the Resolution of Congress, I am limited to four mates only; I suppose the necessity for more ever so great, I cannot employ them; & even those four are to be dissatisfied [ie: discharged], and the numbers of Sick & Wounded decrease so as not to require the attendance of the whole; founded probably on the supposition that the Hospital was to be confined to Albany, where mates of an inferior class might be more readily procured in an emergency; for no Gentleman of Merit would on such Conditions enter into the Service--- We had Supernumerary Mates in the Kings Hospital during the late[sic?] War, but they were for the most part continued… because they were capable Mates, and already acquainted with the Hospital Service… I must further add, that the Pay being so small, will not be an encouragement for Gentlemen qualified to go out in the Service, & unless they can support themselves as such, they certainly will not enter into it.

In addition to these difficulties, Stringer repeatedly clashed with officers of the Northern Department and other branches. The Northern Department was frequently the cockpit for bitter disputes over the chain of command. Philip Schuyler and Horatio Gates battled for command with each other as Continental and Militia forces squabbled over levels of authority, civilian and military bodies parsed out their spheres of responsibility, and officers wrangled at length over seniority of commissions. On the 7th of November, Stringer wrote to Schuyler to air his complaints about the officers at Fort George.

Dear General!However loth[sic] I am to trouble you with Complaints (ever disagreeable) yet my Duty compels me to it, or the Hospital must great suffer, & myself be treated with Insults that I cannot possibly bear—I cannot say the Sick have been sufficiently supplied with Fuel since I returned from the other side of the Lake… [owing to the] Wood not being cut, and at other times, a neglect in detaining the Waggons[sic]… which I informed the Col: of…  His answer was, that I should give my Orders to the Officer of the Day… & HE would see they were executed. [I] wrote & sent [the Officer of the Day] as follows, “The Officer of the Day will be pleased to furnish a Party to cut Wood for use of the Hosp. and that he will please to see that the Hospital Guard remain at the Guard-Room”…The next morning I understood that the Col:, in presence of Lieut. Brazier… had expressed great displeasure at my presuming to give Orders, saying that my Orders were not to be obeyed—[I] let him know (very civily) what I had heard; upon which he showed great warmth, & repeated that I had no right to give Orders. I told him that it was what he himself had desired of me the evening before… He (with heat) denied it… I had the impudence enough to affront that what I said was true, & confirmed it with an Oath—He immediately desired me (with an air of importance) not to swear there… I replied that I thought myself at Liberty to swear there, & should do it—

Dr. John Morgan by Angelica Kauffman

The bigger dispute came, however, in Stringer’s clash with the Director of the General Hospital, James Morgan. Morgan was another prominent, Philadelphia-trained physician serving with the Revolutionary forces. His position was intended by Congress to supervise the General Hospital and other departmental hospitals. This meant that he understood that Stringer, as head of the Northern Department Hospital, would report to him and pass requests for supplies through the General Hospital. Stringer disagreed, citing that his position had been created a month before Morgan’s, and that nothing in the resolution appointing him to his position indicated that he was answerable to Morgan. Morgan himself seems to have been uncertain of how to address the situation, telling Stringer, “It has never been announced to me in what light I am to consider you.”

Stringer’s frustration grew when Congress confirmed the superior status of Morgan’s authority on July 17th, 1776, delineating Stringer’s authority “in the Northern Department only”. When their conflict continued, with Stringer asserting that Morgan was withholding key medicinal supplies, Congress finally resolved to divest themselves of both parties, dismissing both Stringer and Morgan without warning on January 9th, 1777. Philip Schuyler, frustrated and surprised by the dismissal of someone whom he considered a trusted officer and ally, and feeling the breath of a New England faction desirous of seeing Horatio Gates in command of the Northern Department on his neck, wrote a passionate letter to Congress. All he received in reply was a sternly worded censure.

Stringer’s dismissal was not the end of his and Schuyler’s association. He continued to provide expert medical care to the family, as he had even during his time with the Northern Department. In the 1790’s he would develop an early form of oxygen machine (based on English patterns developed by Joseph Priestley) for Philip’s use. A year younger than Philip, he outlived his general by thirteen years, dying at the age of 83 on July 11th, 1817.