CHAPTER XXI.

WIVES OF THE PRESIDENTS—LIFE AT THE WHITE HOUSE.

A Social Queen—“The Most Popular Person in the United States”—“Dolly Madison’s” Reign—The Slow Days of Old—A Young Lady Rides Five Hundred Miles on Horseback—Travelling Under Difficulties—Political Pugnacity—A Peaceful Policy—Formality _versus_ Hospitality—Big Dishes Laughed at—A Foreign Minister Criticises—Advantages of a Good Memory—Funny Adventure of a Rustic Youth—A Strange Pocketful—Putting Him at his Ease—Doleful Visage of a New President—Getting Rid of a Burden—A Brave Lady—She Writes to Her Sister—Waiting in Suspense—Taking Care of Cabinet Papers—“Disaffection Stalks Around Us”—“Col. C.” very Prudently “Skedaddles”—One Hundred “Braves” Skedaddle with Him—“French John” Makes a Proposition—He Desires to “Blow up the British”—John “Doesn’t See It”—Watching and Waiting—Flight—Unscrewing the Picture—After the War—Brilliant Receptions—Mrs. Madison’s Snuff Box—Clay Takes a Pinch—“This is My Polisher!”—“_Tempora Mutantur_”—Two Plain Old Ladies from the West—“If I Jest Kissed you”—They Depart in Peace—Days of Trouble and Care—Manuscripts Purchased by Congress—The “Franking Privilege” Conferred upon Mrs. Madison—Honored by Congress—Last Days of a Good Woman—Mrs. Monroe—A Serene and Aristocratic Woman—“_La Belle Americaine_”—Madame Lafayette in Prison—Fennimore Cooper Expresses an Opinion—Grotesque Anomalies at a Reception—The Crown and the Eagle.

President Jefferson showed his personal appreciation as well as his official recognition of Mrs. Madison, both in his letters to his daughters and in the fact that Mrs. Madison, when the wife of the Secretary of State, presided at Jefferson’s table during the absence of his own family. But it was as the wife of the fourth President of the United States that she inaugurated the golden reign of the President’s house.

She was the only woman of absolute social genius, who ever presided in this house. Thus the beneficence and brilliancy of her reign was never approached before her time, and has never been equalled since.

It is a rare combination of gifts and graces which produces the pre-eminent social queen, in any era or in any sphere. Mrs. Madison seemed to possess them all. During the administration of her husband she was openly declared to be “the most popular person in the United States;” and now, after the lapse of generations, after hosts of women, bright, beautiful and admired, have lived, reigned, died, and are forgotten, “Dolly Madison” seems to abide to-day in Washington, a living and beloved presence. The house in which her old age was spent, and from which she passed to heaven, is every day pointed out to the stranger as her abode. Her face abides with us as the face of a friend, while her words and deeds are constantly recalled as authority, unquestioned and benign.

When she began her reign in Washington, steamboats were the wonder of the world; railroads undreamed of; turnpike roads scarcely begun; the stagecoach slow, inconvenient, and cumbersome. The daughter of one senator, who wished to enjoy the delights of the new capital, came five hundred miles on horseback by her father’s side. The wife of a member rode fifteen hundred miles on horseback, passed through several Indian settlements, and spent nights without seeing a house in which she could lodge. Under such difficulties did lovely women come to Washington, and out of such material were blended the society of that conspicuous era.

When Mrs. Madison entered the President’s house, the strife between the democratic and republican parties was at its highest. Washington, above all party, had yet declared himself the advocate of the unity and force of the central power. Jefferson had been the President of the opposition, who wished the supremacy of the masses to overrule that of the higher classes. On these contending factions Mrs. Madison shed equally the balm of her benign nature. Not because she was without opinions, but because she was without malignity or rancor of spirit. Born and reared a “Friend,” she brought the troubled elements of political society together in the bonds of peace. She possessed, in pre-eminent degree, the power of intuitive adaptation to individuals, however diversified in character, and the exquisite tact in dealing with them, which always characterizes the true social queen. She loved human beings and delighted in their fellowship. She never forgot an old friend, and never neglected the opportunity of making a new one. She banished from her drawing-room the stately forms and ceremonials which had made the receptions of Mrs. Washington and Mrs. Adams very elegant and rather dreadful affairs. She was very hospitable, and a table bountifully loaded was her delight and pride. The abundance and size of her dishes were objects of ridicule to a Foreign Minister, even when she entertained as the wife of the Secretary of State, he declaring that her entertainments were more like “a harvest home supper than the entertainment of a Cabinet Minister.”

Mrs. Madison never forgot the name of any person to whom she had been introduced, nor any incident connected with any person whom she knew. Able to summon these at an instant’s notice, she instinctively made each individual, who entered her presence, feel that he or she was an object of especial interest. Nor was this mere society-manners. Genial and warm-hearted, it was her happiness to make everybody feel as much at ease as possible. This gentle kindness, the unknown and lowly shared equally with the highest in worldly station. At one of her receptions her attention was called to a rustic youth whose back was set against the wall. Here he stood as if nailed to it, till he ventured to stretch forth his hand and take a proffered cup of coffee. Mrs. Madison, according to her wont, wishing to relieve his embarrassment, and put him at his ease, walked up and spoke to him. The youth, astonished and overpowered, dropped the saucer, and unconsciously thrust the cup into his breeches pocket. “The crowd is so great, no one can avoid being jostled,” said the gentle woman. “The servant will bring you another cup of coffee. Pray, how did you leave your excellent mother? I had once the honor of knowing her, but I have not seen her for some years.” Thus she talked, till she made him feel that she was his friend, as well as his mother’s. In time, he found it possible to dislodge the coffee cup from his pocket, and to converse with the Juno-like lady in a crimson turban, as if she were an old acquaintance.

Like Amelia Opie, and other beautiful “Friends,” who have shone amid “the world’s people,” Mrs. Madison delighted in deep warm colors, the very opposite of the silver grays of a demure Quakeress. At the inauguration ball, when Jefferson, the outgoing President, came to receive Madison, his successor, Mrs. Madison wore a robe of buff-colored velvet, a Paris turban with a bird of paradise plume, with pearls on her neck and arms. A chronicler of the event says that she “looked and moved a queen.” Jefferson was all life and animation, while the new President looked care-worn and pale. “Can you wonder at it?” said Jefferson. “My shoulders have just been freed from a heavy burden—his just laden with it.”

When a manager brought Mrs. Madison the first number in the dance, she said, smiling: “I never dance; what shall I do with it?”

“Give it to the lady next to you,” was the answer.

“No, that would look like partiality.”

“Then I will,” said the manager, and presented it to her sister.

This lady, who filled every hour of prosperity with the rare sunshine of her nature, in the hour of trial was not found wanting, and in the face of danger rose to the dignity of heroism. Her gallant stay in the White House, while her husband had gone to hold a council of war, and in spite of every entreaty to leave it, is a proud fact of our history. In vain friends brought a carriage to the door. She refused to enter it. The following well-known letter to her sister, proves how bravely, womanly was this heroine of the President’s house.

TUESDAY, August 23, 1814.

DEAR SISTER:—My husband left me yesterday to join General Winder. He enquired anxiously whether I had the courage or firmness to remain in the President’s house until his return, on the morrow, or succeeding day, and on my assurance that I had no fear but for him and the success of our army, he left me, beseeching me to take care of myself and of the Cabinet papers, public and private.

I have since received two dispatches from him, written with a pencil; the last is alarming, because he desires that I should be ready at a moment’s warning, to enter my carriage and leave the city; that the enemy seemed stronger than had been reported, and that it might happen that they would reach the city with intention to destroy it.... I am accordingly ready; I have pressed as many Cabinet papers into trunks as to fill one carriage; our private property must be sacrificed, as it is impossible to procure wagons for its transportation. I am determined not to go myself, until I see Mr. Madison safe, and he can accompany me—as I hear of much hostility toward him.... Disaffection stalks around us. My friends and acquaintances are all gone, even Colonel C. with his hundred men, who were stationed as a guard in this enclosure.... French John (a faithful domestic) with his usual activity and resolution offers to spike the cannon at the gate, and lay a train of powder which would blow up the British, should they enter the house. To the last proposition, I positively object, without being able, however, to make him understand why all advantages in war may not be taken.

_Wednesday morning, twelve o’clock._—Since sunrise, I have been turning my spy-glass in every direction and watching with unwearied anxiety, hoping to discover the approach of my dear husband and his friends; but, alas, I can descry only groups of military wandering in all directions, as if there was a lack of arms, or of spirits, to fight for their own firesides.

_Three o’clock._—Will you believe it, my sister? we have had a battle, or a skirmish, near Bladensburg, and I am still here within sound of the cannon! Mr. Madison comes not; may God protect him! Two messengers, covered with dust, came to bid me fly; but I wait for him.... At this late hour a wagon has been procured; I have filled it with the plate and most valuable portable articles belonging to the house; whether it will reach its destination, the Bank of Maryland, or fall into the hands of British soldiery, events must determine. Our kind friend, Mr. Carroll, has come to hasten my departure, and is in a very bad humor with me because I insist on waiting until the large picture of General Washington is secured; and it requires to be unscrewed from the wall. This process was found too tedious for these perilous moments; I have ordered the frame to be broken and the canvas taken out; it is done, and the precious portrait placed in the hands of two gentlemen of New York for safe-keeping. And now, dear sister, I must leave this house or the retreating army will make me a prisoner in it, by filling up the road I am directed to take. When I shall again write to you, or where I shall be to-morrow, I cannot tell!

On their return, the President and Mrs. Madison occupied a private house on Pennsylvania avenue till the White House was repaired. After it was rebuilt and the treaty of peace signed, the _levées_ given in the East Room, in the winter of 1816, are said to have been the most resplendent ever witnessed in Washington. At these, congregated the Justices of the Supreme Court in their gowns, the Diplomatic Corps in glittering regalia, the Peace Commissioners and the officers of the late war in full dress, and the queen of the occasion in gorgeous robes and turban and bird of paradise plumes.

At one of these Presidential banquets Mrs. Madison offered Mr. Clay a pinch of snuff from her beautiful box, taking one herself. She then put her hand in her pocket, took out a bandanna handkerchief, applied it to her nose and said: “Mr. Clay, this is for rough work,” and this, touching the few remaining grains of snuff with a fine lace handkerchief, “is my polisher.” This anecdote is an emphatic comment on the change of customs, even in the most polished society. If Mrs. Grant, to-day, were to perpetrate such an act at one of her _levées_, the fact that it stands recorded against the graceful, gracious and glorious Dolly Madison would not save her from the taunt of being “underbred” and suggestive of the land of “snuff dippers.”

Another story of Mrs. Madison illustrates the real kindness of her heart. Two plain old ladies from the West, halting in Washington for a single night, yet most anxious to behold the President’s famous and popular wife before their departure, meeting an old gentleman on the street, timidly asked him to show them the way to the President’s house. Happening to be an acquaintance of Mrs. Madison, he conducted them to the White House. The President’s family were at breakfast, but Mrs. Madison good-naturedly came out to them wearing a dark gray dress with a white apron, and a linen handkerchief pinned around her neck. Not overcome by her plumage, and set at ease by her welcome, when they rose to depart one said: “P’rhaps you wouldn’t mind if I jest kissed you, to tell my gals about.”

Mrs. Madison, not to be outdone, kissed each of her guests, who planted their spectacles on their noses with delight, and then departed.

Poverty compelled Martha Jefferson to part with Monticello after her father’s death, and the same cruel foe forced Mrs. Madison to sell Montpelier in her widowhood.

A special message of President Jackson to Congress, concerning the contents of a letter from Mrs. Madison, offering to the government her husband’s manuscript record of the debates in Congress of the convention during the years 1782-1787, caused Congress to purchase it of her, as a national work, for the sum of thirty thousand dollars. In a subsequent act Congress gave to Mrs. Madison the honorary privilege of copyright in foreign countries. The degree of veneration in which she was held may be judged by the fact that Congress conferred upon Mrs. Madison the franking privilege and unanimously voted her a seat upon the Senate floor whenever she honored it with her presence; two privileges never conferred upon any other American woman.

The last twelve years of her life were spent in Washington, in a house still standing on Lafayette square. Here, on New Year’s day and Fourth of July, she held public receptions, the dignitaries of the nation, after paying their respects at the White House, passing directly to the abode of the venerable widow of the fourth President of the United States—a woman who had honored her high station by her high qualities more than it could possibly honor her.

She died at her home, Lafayette square, Washington, July, 1849, holding her mental faculties unimpaired to the last. In her later days, while suffering from great debility, she took extreme delight in having old letters read to her, whose associations were so remote that they were unknown to all about, but yet which brought back to her her own beloved past. She delighted, also, in listening to the reading of the Bible—and it was while hearing a portion of the gospel of St. John that she passed in peace into her last sleep.

Mrs. Madison was not the last President’s wife whom the dangers of war exalted to heroism. Yet, with a few exceptions, she has been followed by a line of ladies of average gifts and graces, whose domestic virtues and negative characters are seen but dimly through the reflected glory of their President husbands’ administrations. The faint outline which we catch of Mrs. Monroe is that of a serene and aristocratic woman, too well bred ever to be visibly moved by anything—at least in public. She was Elizabeth Kortright, of New York—an ex-British officer’s daughter, a _belle_ who was ridiculed by her gay friends for having refused more brilliant adorers to accept a plain member of Congress.

During Mr. Monroe’s ministry to Paris, she was called “_la belle Americaine_,” and entertained the most stately society of the old _régime_ with great elegance. The only individual act which has survived her career, as the wife of the American minister to France, is her visit to Madame Lafayette in prison. The indignities heaped on this grand and truly great woman, were hard to be borne by an American, to whom the very name of Lafayette was endeared. The carriage of the American minister appeared at the jail. Mrs. Monroe was at last conducted to the cell of the emaciated prisoner. The Marchioness, beholding the stranger sister woman, sank at her feet, too weak to utter her joy. That very afternoon she was to have been beheaded. Instead of the messenger commanding her to prepare for the guillotine, she beheld a woman and a friend! From the first moment of its existence the American Republic had _prestige_ in France. The visit of the American ambassadress changed the minds of the blood-thirsty tyrants. Madame Lafayette was liberated the next morning,—she gladly accepted her own freedom, that she might go and share the dungeon of her husband.

The same quiet splendor of spirit and bearing reigned through Mrs. Monroe in the unfinished “White House.” Mrs. Madison maintained the courtly forms copied from foreign courts—but the richness of her temperament and the warmth of her heart pervaded all the atmosphere around her with a genial glow. Mrs. Monroe mingled very little in the society of Washington, and secluded herself from the public gaze, except when the duties of her position compelled her to appear. Her love was for silence, obscurity, peace, not for bustle, confusion, or glare. Yet, even in her courtly reign, “the dear people” were many and strong enough to arise and push on to their rights in the “people’s house.”

James Fennimore Cooper has left on record a letter describing a state dinner and _levée_, during Mr. Monroe’s time, and any one who has survived a latter-day jam at the President’s house, will say it was precisely what a Presidential reception was in the stately Monroe day. Says Mr. Cooper:

The evening at the White House, or drawing-room, as it is sometimes pleasantly called, is in fact, a collection of all classes of people who choose to go to the trouble and expense of appearing in dresses suited to an evening party. I am not sure that even dress is very much regarded, for I certainly saw a good many there in boots....Squeezing through a crowd, we achieved a passage to a part of the room where Mrs. Monroe was standing, surrounded by a bevy of female friends. After making our bow here, we sought the President. The latter had posted himself at the top of the room, where he remained most of the evening, shaking hands with all who approached. Near him stood the Secretaries and a great number of the most distinguished men of the nation. Besides these, one meets here a great variety of people in other conditions of life. I have known a cartman to leave his horse in the street, and go into the reception room, to shake hands with the President. He offended the good taste of all present, because it was not thought decent that a laborer should come in a dirty dress on such an occasion; but while he made a mistake in this particular, he proved how well he understood the difference between government and society.

It is very doubtful, however, if a cartman would have found it possible to have paid his respects to the government in the person of Washington, in such a plight. Such a visitor in the Blue Room, to-day, would make a sensation. In spite of the “cartman,” we read that at Mrs. Monroe’s drawing-rooms “elegance of dress was absolutely required.” On one occasion, Mr. Monroe refused admission to a near relative, who happened not to have a suit of small-clothes and silk hose, in which to present himself at a public reception. He was driven to the necessity of borrowing.

When the Monroes entered the White House, it had been partly rebuilt from its burning in 1814, but it could boast of few comforts, and no elegance. The ruins of the former building lay in heaps about the mansion; the grounds were not fenced, and the street before it in such a condition that it was an hourly sight to see several four-horse wagons “stalled” before the house. In the early part of the administration, the East Room was the play-room of Mrs. Monroe’s daughters. It was during her reign here that the stately furniture, which now stands in the East Room, was bought by the government in Paris. Each article was surmounted by the royal crown of Louis XVIII. This was removed, and the American Eagle took its place. These chairs and sofas have more than once been “made over, good as new,” but the original eagles remain, more brightly burnished than ever. May they gleam forever, and let no “modern furniture,” with surface gilding and thin veneering, take the place of this historic furniture, in the Nation’s house, fraught, as it is, with so many memories of the illustrious dead.