Athenaeum frames travel in the 1800s
In the early 1800s, leisure was a concept more commonly viewed in New England as wasting God's precious time. Here we were more familiar with the practice of taking the cure at a mineral spring, or attending church camp in order to refresh the mind and body - for more work.
The idea that pleasure does not need a purpose transformed our transportation, group morality, class structure, environmental beliefs, and cultural identity. Before long we were diligently working in order to gain a respite from work.
"Always Delightfully Cool," the current exhibition at the
Painters and writers were creating interest in the area's natural splendors. New Englanders knew Nathaniel Hawthorne's 1889 tale "The Great Stone Face," Thomas Cole's 1839 painting "The Notch of the White Mountains," and Ralph Waldo Emerson's influential 1836 essay "Nature."
Included in the display are lithographs by artists such as Winslow Homer, who apprenticed in one of Boston's esteemed graphic firms; illustrations by Isaac Sprague, the former artist-assistant to John James Audubon; and the first edition of the daily newspaper Among the Clouds, which began publishing from the summit of Mount Washington in 1877.
As more people became interested in pleasure travel, hotels sprang up, steamships were commissioned, and railroads were built at breakneck speed.
John Calvin Smith's 1860s pocket map of the region displays rail lines around urban areas, with stagecoach lines still providing the final rough ride to sites such as the White Mountains and Moosehead Lake. By the end of the century, railroad lines in New England had quadrupled.
During this time the Anderson Brothers of Maine accomplished the daunting task of building a railroad through Crawford Notch to Fabyans Station at Bretton Woods. Railroad companies were numerous and owned real estate companies, resorts, and steamboats such as Lake Winnipesaukee's Lady of the Lake.
Companies vied for passengers by promising luxury experiences. Advertisements touted "Palace Steamers" decorated with oak railings and chandeliers that could carry 560 passengers, and trains with parlor-sleeping cars that could help one avoid "enforced tête-à-têtes with unpleasant traveling companions through the use of separate revolving easy chairs."
In the middle of the century, James G. Batterson sought to capitalize on the trend and resulting rail and steamship accidents by founding The Travelers Insurance Co. A large and striking advertisement reminds us of the risks of leisure travel back then.
But the risks that were making New Englanders most anxious were moral, not physical. As tourism grew, the struggle to deal with what became known as "The Amusement Problem" intensified.
The ad for the Governor Andrew steamboat, which traveled from Rowe's Wharf to the South Shore, promised "continuous delight," but stated that no "spirituous liquors" would be sold on board.
The public was learning to enjoy themselves with all forms of activity, and our moral code was in flux. The lithograph from Homer's "The Bathers," printed in Harper's Weekly, was used by the magazine to criticize the "grotesque spectacle" of how pretty ladies in bathing costumes would later emerge from the sea laughably bedraggled.
The print of the Rockland House, overlooking Nantasket Beach, displays what was the most desirable resort on the South Shore in the 1840s. By the 1870s the rail line extended to what had become a very developed beach. In the end it was so accessible to the masses that it became known as a lower-class destination.
Melville Gardens, one of the first amusement parks in the country, was also advertised. A popular place crowded with amusement-seekers, it met with disapproval from the increasingly wealthy citizens of Hingham and was shut down.
Where one said they were vacationing, and whom one might meet there, began to gain importance.
The Pemigewasset House in Plymouth, N.H., charged $4 a night at a time when a good house in Concord, Mass., might cost $3,000. Passengers disembarked as a quadrille band played. They would stay the night or tarry just long enough to dine on oyster fritters and curried lamb before continuing north.
As pleasure travel delineated social class, the appreciation of nature was also seen as projecting tasteful sensitivity. Yet the wilderness was being tamed to fit high-brow sensibilities. As the ad for Willoughby Lake House in Vermont depicted, one could go to the mountains proud of the progress shown by clear cutting, and quote poetry to chained bears or drink champagne while fishing in a stocked fountain.
The Athenaeum's unassuming exhibit chronicles a narrative of regional pride and hints at the nostalgia that was laying the groundwork for how we think of New England today.
Bethany Ericson can be reached at bethany@infinitesea.com.
