April of that year he removed with his family to Washington. Here her
position was in perfect accordance with her disposition, and her house
was a radiating point for every acquaintance. The great secret of her
success lay in the innocence which dwelt in her noble nature; and this
nobleness of innocence underlaid the dignity and high-mindedness which
attested an elevated nature. She drank the wine of human existence
without the lees, and inhaled the perpetual breath of summer, even after
the snows of winter had clogged the dull course of life. She was gifted
with that which was better than Ithuriel’s spear, whose touch reveals
the beauty which existed in everything, for she was humble-hearted,
tolerant and sincere. Entirely free from malignant cavil, her
instinctive sympathy with the good and beautiful led her to seek it in
everything around her, and her life, if not devoted to the higher
cultivation of the mind, developed the sunny brightness of her heart.
The power of adaptiveness was a live-giving principle in Mrs. Madison’s
nature. With a desire to please, and a willingness to be pleased, she
was popular in society, and was to her husband a support and friend.
Washington was little more than a wilderness, when, in the spring, she
commenced life there as the wife of a cabinet officer. The elements
which combined to form the society of the Capital were various, and
difficult to harmonize, and her situation was a delicate one to fill;
yet she was loved by all parties, and embittered politicians who never
met save at her hospitable board, there forgot “the thorns of public
controversy under the roses of private cheerfulness.” In those days
steamboats were just beginning, railroads unknown, stage-coaches
extremely inconvenient, national, indeed even turnpike roads were very
rare, and the journeys were mostly performed in the saddle. The daughter
of one of the senators, who wished to enjoy the gayeties of the Capital,
accompanied her father five hundred miles on horseback. The wife of
another member not only rode fifteen hundred miles on horseback, but
passed through several Indian settlements, sleeping for many nights in a
tent in the woods. Mrs. Madison herself had travelled from her Virginia
home by easy stages, cumbered with household furniture, and stopping on
the road to visit relatives; occupying what seems to us at this day an
incredible length of time to perform such a journey. Her house, after
the President’s, was the resort of most company, and the cordial manners
of the hostess lent a peculiar charm to the frequent parties there
assembled.
Political feuds ran high, and party spirit was more virulent than ever
before experienced. Washington’s administration had been a success, and
in the eyes of the public, he was not included in any party, but was
above them all. Yet he placed himself, when the question was of a
political order, under the banner of the federal party, and was the
declared advocate of the unity and force of the central power. He
insured its triumph during his two terms, and let his mantle descend
upon one of his most attached friends. The democratic party, desiring
the rule of the majority, opposed to the preponderance of the higher
classes, and to aristocratic tendencies, overcame the successor of
Washington, who was defeated by Mr. Jefferson, the leader of the
opposition. At the commencement of this era, Mrs. Madison appeared upon
the scene, and gave to her husband that support which enhanced his
popularity as a public man, and made his house the most attractive place
of resort in the city. During his eight years’ life as Secretary of
State, she dispensed with no niggard hand the abundant wealth she
rightly prized, and the poor of the district loved her name as a
household deity.
In 1810, Mr. Madison was elected President, and after Mr. Jefferson left
the city, he removed to the White House. Under the former
administration, Mrs. Madison had, during the absences of Mr. Jefferson’s
daughters, presided at the receptions and levees, and was in every
particular fitted to adorn her position as hostess of the mansion she
was called to preside over. Every one in Washington felt that her
watchful care and friendly interest would be in nowise diminished by her
advancement to a higher position; and the magical effects of her
snuff-box were as potent in one capacity as another. The forms and
ceremonials which had rendered the drawing-rooms of Mrs. Washington and
Mrs. Adams dull and tedious, were laid aside, and no kind of stiffness
was permitted. Old friends were not forgotten, nor new ones courted; but
mild and genial to all, each person felt himself the object of special
attention, and all left her presence pleased and gratified with her
urbanity and refinement.
Possessing a most retentive memory, she never miscalled a name, or
forgot the slightest incident connected with the personal history of any
one; and therefore impressed each individual with the idea of their
importance in her esteem. Mrs. Madison’s sole aim was to be popular and
render her husband’s administration brilliant and successful. Her field
was the parlor; and with the view of reigning supreme there, she bent
the energies of her mind to the one idea of accomplishment. In her
thirty-seventh year she entered the White House. Still youthful in
appearance, denied the cares of maternity, which destroy the bloom of
beauty on the delicate faces of American women, she assumed her
agreeable position with no encumbrances, no crosses, in perfect health,
the possessor of great beauty of feature and form, and eminently happy
in the sincere regard of her husband. Contentment crowned her lot with
happiness, and the first four years of her life there must have been one
continued pleasure.
With all her appreciation of admiration, she was not extravagant; her
house, during the time of Mr. Jefferson’s term, was very plainly
furnished, and in no way elegant. Like most Virginians, she delighted in
company, and her home was the most hospitable abode in Washington. Her
table was her pride; and the multiplicity of dishes, and their size, was
a subject of ridicule to a foreign minister, who observed “that it was
more like a harvest-home supper, than the entertainment of a Secretary
of State.” She heard of this and similar remarks, and only observed with
a smile, “that she thought abundance was preferable to elegance; that
circumstances formed customs, and customs formed taste; and as the
profusion so repugnant to foreign customs arose from the happy
circumstance of the superabundance and prosperity of our country, she
did not hesitate to sacrifice the delicacy of European taste for the
less elegant, but more liberal fashion of Virginia.” But this time of
prosperity was doomed, and war insatiate was already treading upon the
shores of the Atlantic. Mr. Madison, the peace-loving, humane Executive,
was compelled to declare war with Great Britain; and after a time its
actual presence was felt at the National Capital. June, 1812, is
memorable as the second appeal of the United States to arms, to assert
once more the rights of its freemen; and for three years its fierceness
was felt from Canada to New Orleans, and over the blue waters of the
oceans of the world.
“Generous British sentiments revolted at the destruction of the American
Capital: which might not have been branded with universal infamy if
confined to navy yards, warlike implements, vessels of war, and even
private rope-walks, if the enormity had stopped there. But no warfare
can satisfy its abominable lust with impunity on libraries, public and
private, halls of legislation, residences of magistrates, buildings of
civil government, objects of art, seats of peace, and embodiments of
rational patriotic pride. The day before the fall of Washington was one
of extreme alarm: the Secretary of State wrote to the President: ‘The
enemy are advanced six miles on the road to the wood-yard, and our
troops are retreating, you had better remove the records.’ Then
commenced the panic which was destined to grow more general the coming
day. Tuesday night every clerk was busy packing and aiding in the
removal of valuables. Coarse linen bags were provided, and late in the
evening, after all the work was over, and the bags were hanging round
the room, ready at a moment’s warning to be moved, Mr. Pleasanton, one
of the clerks, procured conveyances, and crossing the Potomac, deposited
them in a mill three miles off. But fearing for their safety, he
determined to go farther into the interior, and the next night slept at
Leesburg, a small town thirty-five miles from Washington. The light that
shone against the cloudless sky revealed the fate of the city, and the
doom of his charge had they delayed. Amongst the documents were the
original Declaration of Independence, the Federal Constitution, and
General Washington’s commission as Commander-in-chief of the Army of the
Revolution, which he relinquished when he resigned it at Annapolis
(found among the rubbish of a garret). Scarcely had the wagon that bore
the papers crossed the wooden bridge of the Potomac, than crowds of
flying fugitives, men, women and children, pressed upon it in such
numbers as to render the threatened danger almost imminent. The
frightened multitude swayed to and fro, seeking means of escape till
night closed the horrible drama; then upon Capitol Hill appeared the
red-coated soldiery of the British army. The sun sank beneath the golden
sheen of fleecy clouds that floated softly over the southern horizon,
but the going down of the king of day in nowise relieved the atmosphere.
Dust and heat were intolerable, and a rumor that the water was poisoned
rendered the sufferings of the weary soldiers painful in the extreme.
For the seventh time that day a retreat was commanded, and the city
troops, mortified and enraged, refused to obey. Back from the city to
the heights of Georgetown was the order; but how could they leave their
families, their homes and property, and march by those they were sworn
to protect! Down the long, broad, and solitary avenue, past the
President’s now deserted house, through Georgetown, and some as far as
Tenlytown, the disorganized, demoralized remnant of the army strayed,
and slept on the ground, lighted up by the fiery red glare from the
burning buildings in Washington. All night they lay alarmed and
distressed, while but few could steal a moment’s repose. The bursting
shells in the navy yard were heard for miles, and each boom was a knell
to the agonizing hearts, who knew not where their helpless ones were in
this hour of horrors. When the British marched slowly into the
wilderness city, by the lurid light that shot up from the blazing
capitol, the population had dwindled down to a few stragglers and the
slaves of the absent residents. The houses, scattered over a large
space, were shut, and no sign of life was visible. The President had
crossed the Potomac early in the afternoon, and Mrs. Madison had
followed in another direction. The bayonets of the British guard gleamed
as they filed down the avenue, and the fulminations from the navy yard
saluted them as they passed. Nothing but the prayers and entreaties of
the ladies, and the expostulations of the nearest residents, deterred
the British General Ross from blowing up the Capitol; but he ordered it
to be fired at every point, and many houses near it were consumed. A
house hard by, owned by General Washington, was destroyed, which, in
justice to human nature be it said, the General regretted. Not so the
Admiral, who ordered the troops to fire a volley in the windows of the
Capitol, and then entered to plunder. I have, indeed, to this hour (said
Mr. Richard Rush, in 1855), the vivid impression upon my eye of columns
of flame and smoke ascending throughout the night of the 24th of August
from the Capitol, President’s house, and other public edifices, as the
whole were on fire, some burning slowly, others with bursts of flame and
sparks mounting high up in the dark horizon. This never can be forgotten
by me, as I accompanied out of the city, on that memorable night, in
1814, President Madison, Mr. Jones, then Secretary of the Navy, General
Mason, of Anacostia Island, Mr. Charles Carroll, of Bellevue, and Mr.
Tench Ringgold. If at intervals the dismal sight was lost to our view,
we got it again from some hill-top or eminence where we paused to look
at it.”
It was among the stories when Congress met near the ruins three weeks
afterward, that the Admiral in a strain of coarse levity, mounting the
Speaker’s chair, put the question, “Shall this harbor of Yankee
democracy be burned?” and when the mock resolution was declared
unanimous, it was carried into effect by heaping combustibles under the
furniture. The temporary wooden structure, connecting the two wings,
readily kindled. Doors, chairs, the library and its contents, in an
upper room of the Senate-wing, everything that would take fire, soon
disappeared in sheets of flame, illuminating and consternating the
environs for thirty miles around, whence the conflagration was visible.
Through “the eternal Pennsylvania Avenue,” the Admiral and General led
their elated troops, where but a few hours before the flying, scattered
Americans, dismayed, ashamed, and disgusted, had wended their sorrowing
way. The Capitol behind them was wrapt in its winding robes of flame,
and on through the darkness they passed to that other house of the
nation.
An aged lady lived in the nearest residence to the Presidential Mansion,
and here the ruffianly Cockburn and the quiet, sad General Ross halted
and ordered supper, which they ate by the light of the burning
buildings. A letter written by Mrs. Madison to her sister at Mount
Vernon, gives us an insight into her feelings, at this time of trial and
danger.
“TUESDAY, _August 23d, 1814_.
“DEAR SISTER:—My husband left me yesterday morning to join General
Winder. He inquired anxiously whether I had 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 spirit, to fight for their own
firesides!
“Three o’clock.—Will you believe it, my sister? we have had a battle or
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 come to bid me fly; but I wait for him. * * * At this
late hour a wagon has been procured; I have had it filled 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 safekeeping. And now, my 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 the removal of the seat of government to Washington, in 1800, a
magnificent portrait of General Washington, painted by Stuart partly,
and completed by Winstanley, to whom President John Adams’ son-in-law,
Colonel Smith, stood for the unfinished limbs and body, hung in the
state dining-room. Colonel Washington Parke Custis, of Arlington, a
grandson of Mrs. Washington, called at the President’s to save this
picture of his illustrious grandfather, in whose house he was reared.
Then, as now, it was one of the very few ornaments which adorned the
White House, and at the risk of capture Mrs. Madison determined to save
it. The servants of the house broke with an axe the heavy gilt frame
which protected the inner one of wood, upon which the canvas was
stretched, and removed, uninjured, the painting, leaving the broken
fragments screwed to the wall, which had held in place the valued relic.
Mrs. Madison then left the house, and the portrait was taken by Mr.
Baker beyond Georgetown and placed in a secure position.
Half a century later, when the White House was undergoing a renovation,
this portrait was sent, with many others subsequently added to this
solitary painting, to be cleaned and the frame burnished. The artist
found on examination that the canvas had never been cut, since the
rusted tacks, time-worn frame, and the size compared with the original
picture, was the most conclusive evidence that Mrs. Madison did not cut
it out with a carving-knife, as many traditions have industriously
circulated.
The frame was a large one, hanging high on the wall, and it was
impossible that a lady could by mounting a table be enabled to reach any
but the lower portion; then, too, in that moment of nervous alarm, the
constant noise of cannon filling each heart with dread, it seems
improbable that any hand, above all a woman’s, could be steady enough to
cut, without ruining the canvas.
Again, from the lips of a descendant, the assurance is given that Mrs.
Madison repeatedly asserted that she did not cut it, but only lingered
to see it safely removed before she stepped into her waiting carriage
and was driven rapidly toward Georgetown.
First to the residence of the Secretary of the Navy, then to Belleview,
and joined by the family of Mr. Jones and Mr. Carroll, she returned to
town insisting that her terrified coachman should take her back toward
the President’s house to look for Mr. Madison, whom she unexpectedly
found near the lower bridge, attended by Mr. Monroe and Mr. Rush, who
had reached the White House soon after she left it and stopped for
refreshments.
It has been related that the British found a sumptuous meal smoking on
the table when they reached there after dark, and that they enjoyed the
iced wines and cold ham, amusing themselves with the coarse assertion
that “Jemmy” ran from his bacon “to save his bacon.” The low pun found
ears ready to credit and circulate it, but the porter, who died but a
few years since, has repeatedly asserted that the occupants of the house
had been in such constant fright that but little had been cooked, and no
regular meal partaken of that day; that there was always plenty in the
larder for any emergency, and a wine-cellar kept well stored, but that
after the President’s party had eaten on their arrival, soon after Mrs.
Madison’s departure, and given the remnants of their hasty meal to the
tired, jaded soldiers of Col. Savol’s regiment, that there was nothing
left.
Water was furnished the troops in buckets, and all the wine in the house
given them. John Siousa, the French porter, after seeing the President
and his attendants off, took the parrot belonging to Mrs. Madison to the
residence of Col. Tayloe, and then returned and fastened the house
securely and took the keys with him to Philadelphia. All the afternoon,
parties of straggling soldiers, on their way to Georgetown, hung about
the house and grounds, and vagrant negroes pilfered in spite of the
efforts of the servants. Many articles were taken from the house to be
secured and returned as some were, but much was never restored. The
porter secreted the gold and silver mounted carbines and pistols of the
Algerian minister, which are now in the Patent Office, but the revolvers
belonging to the Secretary of the Treasury, which the President laid on
a table, were stolen.
Gloating with revenge, at the escape of the President and his wife,
“whom they wanted to show in England,” the enemy broke open the doors of
the White House, and ransacked it from cellar to garret, finding nothing
of value, or as objects of curiosity, save a small parcel of the pencil
notes received from her husband by Mrs. Madison, while he was with the
troops, which she had rolled up together and put in a table drawer. To
all the rest of the contents: furniture, wines, provisions, groceries,
and family stores, which cost Mr. Madison twelve thousand dollars,
together with an excellent library, the torch was applied. Fire was
procured at a small beer house opposite the Treasury to light the
buildings with, and while the commanders were eating their evening meal
at the house of Mrs. Suter, on the corner, the common soldiers, together
with the negroes and thieves of all grades, were pillaging the rapidly
burning buildings.
The White House was not so large or complete then as now; the East Room,
which had served Mrs. Adams for a drying room, was unfurnished and
unoccupied, and the front vestibule not then added, which so greatly
enhances the interior of the present mansion. The House was plain,
unfinished, and totally destitute of ornament, the grounds uninclosed,
and materials for building purposes lying scattered about the woods
which have since become the ornament of this portion of the city.
Nothing but the lateness of the hour, and the storm coming on, saved the
War Department. The squadron which was to have co-operated with them,
failing to come, filled the officers with timorous fear, and they
determined to evacuate the city the next day unless it should arrive in
the meantime. For over a week the unhappy citizens of Washington had not
slept or pursued the avocations of daily life. Constant rumors and
frights had unnerved the stoutest hearts, and families fleeing from a
foreign foe rendered the situation of those who could not leave more
distressing. Every vehicle had been pressed into service, and valuables
scattered over the country for safety. The city contained about eight
thousand inhabitants, living at great distances, of whom not more than
one-tenth remained in its limits to see the entrance and exit of the
British army. Over the Long Bridge, until it was in danger of giving
way, through the country into the interior of Maryland and beyond the
Georgetown limits, the flying, frightened people wandered, not caring
whither or how they went, so that they escaped from their remorseless
foes. It was a whole week, said the aged Mrs. Suter (at whose house the
intruders demanded supper), of great trouble, no one sleeping at night
and the day spent in fright. After the terrors of that sad week and
dreadful day, the Capitol and other buildings blazing, the ammunition in
the navy yard exploding, a rain set in which in intensity and duration
was scarcely ever witnessed, and which continued during the following
day. A British narrator states, “that the most tremendous hurricane ever
remembered by the oldest inhabitant in the place came on. Of the
prodigious force of the wind, it is impossible for you to form any
conception. Roofs of houses were torn off by it, and whisked into the
air like sheets of paper; while the rain which accompanied it resembled
the rushing of a mighty cataract, rather than the dropping of a shower.
The darkness was as great as if the sun had long set and the last
remains of twilight had come on, occasionally relieved by flashes of
vivid lightning streaming through it, which together with the noise of
the wind and the thunder, the crash of falling buildings, and the
tearing of roofs as they were stripped from the walls, produced the most
appalling effect I shall probably ever witness. This lasted for nearly
two hours without intermission; during which time many of the houses
spared by us were blown down, and thirty of our men, beside several of
the inhabitants, buried beneath their ruins. Our column was as
completely dispersed as if it had received a total defeat; some of the
men flying for shelter behind walls and buildings, and others falling
flat upon the ground to prevent themselves from being carried away by
the tempest; nay, such was the violence of the wind that two pieces of
cannon which stood upon the eminence, were fairly lifted from the ground
and borne several yards to the rear.”
This second storm, which was most terrifying to the British,
unaccustomed as they were to the grand forests and heavy rains of
America, was, if possible, more destructive than the one of the night
before. It commenced about one o’clock in the afternoon, and was so
awful to the troops that they neglected to fire the post-office, and
Congress was thereby saved the necessity of being driven to Georgetown
or Philadelphia, when it again met in three weeks. After an occupation
of twenty-nine hours, the British withdrew and Washington was evacuated.
Mrs. Madison, after meeting her husband, accompanied him to the banks of
the Potomac, where one small boat was kept ready—of the many others all
sunk or removed but that one—to transport the President, Mr. Monroe, Mr.
Rush, Mr. Mason, and Mr. Carroll to the Virginia shore. The boat was too
small to carry all at once, so that several trips were necessary; and as
the shades of night set in upon them, they looked like departing spirits
leaving the world behind, to be ferried over an inevitable Styx. Bidding
them adieu as the last one entered the frail bark, Mrs. Madison returned
to her friends at Georgetown, but agreeably to her husband’s orders, she
started on to a more secure retreat. The roads were so blocked with
wagons that their progress was very slow, and they left their carriages
and walked to relieve their anxiety. Crowds of soldiers, panic-stricken,
were retracing their steps to the remnant of troops with General Winder.
Families, with their conveyances loaded down with household goods, moved
slowly forward, amid the tumult, while the coming darkness increased the
general alarm. Long after dark, the party accompanying Mrs. Madison
reached the residence of Mr. Love, on the Virginia side of the Potomac,
where they begged the privilege of remaining all night. There was little
need of beds for that agitated band of frightened women, and the night
was passed by some in tears; by Mrs. Madison in sitting by an open
window, gazing back upon the weird and fantastic flames as they met and
lapped in the far distance.
Smothered rumbling noises started the listening ear, as ever and anon
some huge edifice or wing of a building fell. The head of the house was
away with the troops, and his wife was ill and alone with her servants,
but the sudden visit of so many strangers was no check to the
hospitality of the hostess. Every sofa and available substitute was
brought into requisition, and all rendered comfortable. Sleep was
banished from all eyes, even had any been inclined to repose. The
clanking, clattering noise of several hundred disorderly cavalrymen
around the house kept every one awake, while all felt the desolate
weariness of the night to be but a harbinger of the coming day. “What
must have been the feelings of the occupants of that house that summer
night, we of the present day cannot realize,” writes an eminent
historian in 1842; but those who had not “fallen asleep” when the summer
of 1862 came upon us, endured similar hours of anguish, which seared
their hearts forever. No scene of horror was enacted in or about
Washington in that week of excitement that was not repeatedly paralleled
in the sad years of our civil war.
Long before day, the sleepless caravan, with Mrs. Madison at the head,
started forward to the place appointed for a meeting with Mr. Madison.
Consternation was at its uttermost: the whole region filled with
frightened people, terrified scouts roaming about and spreading alarm
that the enemy were coming from Washington and Alexandria, and that
there was safety nowhere. As the day wore on, in which the British were
plundering and burning Washington, the storm that sent terror to their
superstitious bosoms overtook the tired refugees. But the elemental war,
with its bolts of thunder and zigzag lightning penetrating the darkened
recesses of the forest, caused no feeling so insupportable as the flying
rumor that the negroes were in revolt, and maddened with drink and
promised liberty, were roaming in numbers, committing every excess,
worse than those at Hampton the year before. As the day gradually drew
to a close, the faint and drenched companions of Mrs. Madison reached
the appointed place, sixteen miles from Washington. But the President
was not there, and here occurred one of those disagreeable scenes that
are a disgrace to the name of humanity, and which, be it said to the
shame of her sex, are oftener the acts of woman than of man. Crowds of
persons from Washington occupied the tavern, and the women declared that
the wife of him who had brought war upon the country, should not find
shelter with them, its innocent victims. Jaded and exhausted from
constant travel and want of sleep, the devoted band about Mrs. Madison
waited in the rain, urging the tavern-keeper to give them an apartment
until the President should arrive. The furious storm grew louder, the
sky, lowering before, was black as night now, and a tornado of tropical
fury set in which spread desolation for many miles around. Women who had
repeatedly enjoyed the hospitalities of the White House, been admitted
with kind cordiality to drawing-rooms and dinings, now vied with the
wife of the landlord in denouncing vehemently the inclination of the men
present to admit the Presidential party. Embittered by their real and
imaginary wrongs, they lost all sense of honor and refinement, and stood
in their true colors before the lady who never for one moment forgot the
dignity becoming her station. She preferred exposure to the storm to
contention; but the escort with her, indignant at the contemptible
conduct of the rude persons within, obliged the ungracious occupants to
open the doors. The old tavern stood in the midst of an apple orchard
laden with ripening fruit, and hardly had the travellers left their
carriages when the hurricane dashed the apples, in several instances the
entire trees, with fearful strength against the house. Mrs. Madison
spread the lunch she had prepared the day before at the White House, and
in silence, interrupted only by her inquiries for the welfare of her
attendants, they ate their damp food and smothered the intense disgust
they felt for families who only the day before they deemed firm friends.
The hours dragged slowly on, and the anxious wife looked in vain for her
absent husband. Did she, in that hour of grief and humiliation, think of
her illustrious predecessors who had endured like her the black
ingratitude of the women of her country? Had she forgotten that the
ladies of Philadelphia, in 1776, refused Mrs. Washington similar
attention, and treated with scorn the wife of the Commander-in-chief,
who was using every human endeavor to organize and establish a
continental army? Or did it recur to her that a time would come when,
like Mrs. Washington, she would again, through the brightening prospects
of peace, receive the flattering adulation of those very persons, and
the respect and admiration of the more cultivated throughout the land?
Did she think of that strong, resolute “Portia” of the Revolution who,
in her modest home near the sea, denied and scorned the report that her
husband had deserted to the British, yet who patiently submitted to the
averted looks, and silent reproaches of those whom she thought her
friends, and waited for the storm to blow over, and truth once more to
triumph? Philadelphia was a great distance then from the coast of
Massachusetts, and mails were brought only at rare intervals, but with
her strong faith she trusted in her husband’s honor and felt that it was
not betrayed. Time corrected the false rumor, but her heart had been
deeply wounded, and it never forgot, if it forgave, the conduct of many
who, in her hour of trial, turned against her.
Nervous and impatient, Mrs. Madison waited in her inhospitable quarters
for the President’s coming; and as night came on, her mind was relieved
by seeing him approaching, accompanied by the friends with whom she left
him the night before. He was careworn and hungry, and after devouring
the remnants of her scanty meal, sought the repose he so needed. “That
uneasy and humiliating repose, not the last of Mr. Madison’s
degradations, was, however, the turning point of his fortunes; for while
he slept, Ross hastily and clandestinely evacuated Washington, victor
and vanquished alike victims of, and fugitives from, imagined perils.”
But the terrified citizens knew not that the British were impotent, and
dismayed at the non-appearance of their fleet. Every crash of thunder
was to them a source of alarm, and its rumblings in the distant clouds
the imagined noise of approaching troops. Toward midnight, a courier,
breathless from fatigue and excitement, warned the President that the
enemy were coming, and he was compelled to pass the rest of that
miserable night in a hovel in the distant woods, with the boughs sobbing
and sighing their requiem around him, and the last efforts of the storm
expending itself in moans, while the wind swept through the tall trees.
The atmosphere was cooled by the great and prolonged storm, but all
nature seemed to weep from exhaustion, and the stillness of the closing
hours of the night were in marked contrast to the roar and din of the
preceding twenty-four hours.
Mrs. Madison was warned by her husband to use a disguise, and leaving
her carriage and companions, procure another conveyance and fly farther.
Attended by a nephew of Judge Duvall, she set out accompanied by one
soldier, and at the dawn of day left the inhospitable inn where the most
unhappy night of her life had been passed. Her carriage and four horses
were left with her friends, and a substitute obtained from a gentleman
of Georgetown. Soon tidings reached her that Washington was evacuated,
and retracing her steps, she reached, after a weary ride, the Long
Bridge, which had been burned at both ends. Here the officer in charge
positively refused to let an unknown woman cross in a carriage in his
only remaining boat. No alternative was left her but to send for him and
explain who she was, when she was driven in her carriage upon the
dangerous little raft, which bore her nearer home. Reaching Washington,
so disguised that no one knew her, in a strange carriage, she found her
former home in ruins, and the noblest buildings reduced to blackened
heaps of smoking timber. Desolation met her on every side, and the
deserted streets were as quiet as the depths of the forest through which
she had passed. Fortunately her sister, Mrs. Cutts, lived in the city,
and she repaired there to await Mr. Madison’s return. “The memory of the
burning of Washington,” says another, “cannot be obliterated. The
subject is inseparable from the great international principles and
usages. It never can be thought of by an American, and ought not to be
thought of by an enlightened Englishman, but in conjunction with the
deplorable and reprehensible scenes it recalls. It was no trophy of war
for a great nation. History cannot so record it. Our infant metropolis
at that time had the aspect of merely a straggling village, but for the
size and beauty of its public buildings. Its scattered population
scarcely numbered eight thousand; it had no fortresses or sign of any;
not a cannon was mounted.”
Late in the morning, news reached the President at his hiding-place in
the hovel, that the enemy were retreating to their shipping—and he, too,
turned his steps toward the capital, and found his wife before him. He
rented the house called the Octagon, owned by Colonel Tayloe, where his
family passed the winter, and where he signed the treaty of peace.
It was situated on the northeast corner of New York Avenue and
Eighteenth street. He afterward removed to the northwest corner of
Pennsylvania Avenue and Nineteenth street, where he resided until the
President’s House was repaired. This house had been previously occupied
by the Treasury Department. On F street, in a house between Thirteenth
and Fourteenth streets, now numbered 246, Mr. and Mrs. Madison lived
when he was Secretary of State. All three of these residences still
remain.
At the last New Year’s Reception held by President Madison, he was
dressed in a full suit of cloth of American manufacture, made of the
wool of merinoes raised in the United States.
“An old citizen has informed me,” says Mr. Gobright, in his “Men and
Things at Washington,” “that the levee of Mr. Madison, in February,
1816, was remembered for years as the most brilliant ever held up to
that date in the Executive Mansion. The Justices of the Supreme Court
were present in their gowns, at the head of whom was Chief-Justice
Marshall. The Peace Commissioners to Ghent—Gallatin, Bayard, Clay and
Russell—were in the company. Mr. Adams alone was absent. The levee was
additionally brilliant—the heroes of the war of 1812, Major-Generals
Brown, Gaines, Scott and Ripley, with their aides, all in full dress,
forming an attractive feature. The return of peace had restored the
kindest feeling at home and abroad. The Federalists and Democrats of
both Houses of Congress, party politicians, citizens and strangers were
brought together as friends, to be thankful for the present, and to look
forward with delight to the great future. The most notable feature of
the evening was the magnificent display of the Diplomatic Corps,
prominent in which was Sir Charles Bagot, special ambassador from our
late enemy, Great Britain. It was on this occasion that Mr. Bagot made
the remark, that Mrs. Madison ‘looked every inch a queen.’ The only
incident of a disagreeable character was the coolness toward the French
minister (who was very popular with the Republicans) by the
Representatives of the Holy Alliance. Mrs. Madison, like Mr. Clay, was
very fond of snuff. The lady offered him a pinch from her splendid box,
which the gentleman accepted with the grace for which he was
distinguished. Mrs. Madison put her hand into her pocket, and pulling
out a bandanna handkerchief, said, ‘Mr. Clay, this is for rough work,’
at the same time applying it at the proper place; ‘and this,’ producing
a fine lace handkerchief from another pocket, ‘is my polisher.’ She
suited the actions to the words, removing from her nose the remaining
grains of snuff.”
Mrs. Madison at this time was represented as being a very gay lady, with
much rouge on her cheeks, and always appearing in a turban. She was fond
of bright colors and the elegances of the toilet; yet she generally wore
inexpensive clothing, preserving always the neatness of a Quaker, with
the elegance of a lady of taste.
Two plain ladies from the West, passing through Washington, determined
to see Mrs. Madison; but as they reached there late at night, and were
to leave early next day, they were much puzzled to know how the feat
should be performed. Meeting in the street an old gentleman next
morning, they timidly approached and asked him to show them the way to
the President’s House. Being an old acquaintance of Mrs. Madison, he
took pleasure in conducting the strangers to the White House. The
President’s family were at breakfast when the party arrived, but Mrs.
Madison good-naturedly went in to be seen by the curious old ladies, who
were evidently much astonished to find so august a personage in a plain
dark dress, with a linen handkerchief pinned about her neck. Her
friendly welcome soon put them at ease, and rising to leave, after a
visit never to be forgotten, one of them said, “P’rhaps you wouldn’t
mind if I jest kissed you, to tell my gals about.” Mrs. Madison, not to
be outdone by her guest’s politeness, gracefully saluted each of the
delighted old ladies, who adjusted their spectacles, and, with evident
admiration, departed.
Mr. Madison was a silent, grave man, whose nature was relieved by a vein
of quiet good humor, which in his moments of relaxation gave an
inexpressible charm to his presence. A statesman of vast mind and
research, he could not always descend to the graceful little
accomplishments which were so attractive to many ladies, and hence he
was not so universally admired by the fair sex as his charming wife was
by the gentlemen; but nothing gave him more pleasant satisfaction than
to feel that Mrs. Madison could do credit to both in the drawing-room,
and he was willing to be banished to his cabinet.
When Mr. Madison was attending Congress in 1783, he became attached to
an interesting and accomplished young lady, daughter of an old friend of
Mr. Jefferson, who was a co-signer with him of the Declaration of
Independence.[7] This attachment, which promised at one time the most
auspicious result, terminated at last in disappointment. The following
extract of a letter addressed to him on the occasion by Mr. Jefferson,
is given because of its connection with an event which is never without
importance in the life of a man of virtuous sensibilities, and as
affording a touching proof of the intimate and fraternal sympathies
which united the two friends.
Footnote 7:
General William Floyd, one of the delegates of New York.
“I sincerely lament,” he said, “the misadventure which has happened,
from whatever cause it may have happened. Should it be final, however,
the world still presents the same and many other sources of happiness,
and you possess many within yourself. Firmness of mind and
unintermitting occupation will not long leave you in pain. No event has
been more contrary to my expectations, and these were founded on what I
thought a good knowledge of the ground. But of all machines, ours is the
most complicated and inexplicable.”
A curious coincidence connected with three of the four first Presidents
is, that they married widows, and each had been at a previous time
seriously interested in other ladies. It is also remarkable that neither
Washington, Jefferson, Madison, or his successor, had sons, and two of
them were childless.
Mrs. Madison was not a learned woman, but decidedly a talented one, and
her name will ever be a synonym for all that is charming and agreeable.
A warm admirer of hers was convincing a friend that she was not vain.
“But,” said the other, “you tell me she used rouge and powder.” “Yes,
yes, she did,” he replied, “but it was to please and gratify those who
were thrown with her, not because she was fond of admiration.”
Mrs. Trist, the daughter of Mrs. Randolph, in reply to my request for
her description of Mrs. Madison, sent me the following:
“My recollections of Mrs. Madison are of the most agreeable nature, and
were formed from a long, intimate acquaintance beginning in my
childhood, and ending only with her life. She had a sweet, natural
dignity of manner which attracted while it commanded respect; a proper
degree of reserve without stiffness in company with strangers; and a
stamp of frankness and sincerity which, with her intimate friends,
became gayety and even playfulness of manner. There was, too, a cordial,
genial, sunny atmosphere surrounding her, which won all hearts—I think
one of the secrets of her immense popularity. She was said to be, during
Mr. Madison’s administration, the most popular person in the United
States, and she certainly had a remarkable memory for names and faces.
No person introduced to Mrs. Madison at one of the crowded levees at the
White House required a second introduction on meeting her again, but had
the gratification of being recognized and addressed by his or her own
name. Her son, Payne Todd, was a notoriously bad character. His
misconduct was the sorrow of his mother’s life. Mr. Madison, during his
lifetime, bore with him like a father, and paid many of his debts, but
he was an incorrigible spendthrift. His heartless, unprincipled conduct
embittered the last years of his mother’s life, and no doubt shortened
it.”
An anecdote is related of Mrs. Madison, in connection with Mrs. Merry,
wife of the British Minister, and Thomas Moore, the poet. Mr. and Mrs.
Merry were invited to dine with President Jefferson; when dinner was
announced, Mrs. Madison happened to be standing and talking to the
President, at some distance from Mrs. Merry, and he offered his arm to
her and conducted her to the table, where she always presided when no
members of his family were present. This attention to the wife of the
Secretary of State was considered by Mrs. Merry as an insult. “Such a
stir was made by the angry ambassador, that Mr. Madison wrote to Mr.
Monroe (who had succeeded Mr. King as our Minister to England),
apprising him of the facts, to enable him to answer an expected call of
the British Government for official explanations. Mr. Monroe, however,
got his first information from a friendly British under-secretary, who
intimated that he would soon probably hear of the matter through a
different channel. The Minister was delighted. Within a very short
period, the wife of an English under-secretary had been accorded
precedence over his own, under analogous circumstances. He had no great
fund of humor, but the absurdity of the whole affair, and the excellent
materials in his possession for a reply to a call for explanations,
struck him in a most amusing light. Shaking with merriment, he hinted to
his informant the satisfaction the call would give him. He never
afterward heard a lisp on the subject.”
President Jefferson had abolished all etiquette in regard to official
precedence when he went in office, and Mrs. Merry knew this, but she
never forgave the occurrence, and never afterward went to the White
House. Mrs. Madison regretted being the innocent cause of such a
trouble, but she was spared further notoriety by the absence of the
British Minister or his family ever afterward at the President’s
reunions. The affair was not, however, destined to end here, for after
the first clamor had subsided, the President, through another foreign
Minister, inquired if Mr. and Mrs. Merry would accept an invitation to a
family dinner. It was understood that they would accept, and Mr.
Jefferson wrote the invitation himself. Mr. Merry addressed a note to
the Secretary of State to know if he was invited in his private or
official capacity; “if in the one, he must obtain the permission of his
sovereign; if in the other, he must receive an assurance in advance that
he would be treated as became his position.” Mr. Madison ended the
correspondence with a very dry note. Thomas Moore, who was travelling in
the United States at this time, and being a friend of Mrs. Merry’s, and
disgusted with his reception, fell to lampooning the President and
everything American, except a few attentive Federal gentlemen and
ladies.
In 1817, President Madison’s term expired, and his Secretary of State,
James Monroe, assumed the duties of President. Washington had so long
been the home of Mrs. Madison, that it was with much regret she prepared
to leave the city. Many and dear were her friends, and the society of
relatives was another strong link binding her to the city.
Always fond of agricultural pursuits, Mr. Madison joyfully returned to
his beautiful and peaceful home. Montpelier was within less than a day’s
ride of Monticello, and in the estimate of a Virginian, Mr. Jefferson
and Mr. Madison were neighbors.
The _National Republican_, of November 2d, 1831, thus speaks of Mr. and
Mrs. Madison:
[Illustration:
MONTPELIER—THE HOME OF PRESIDENT MADISON.
]
“How must they look in these days on the tempestuous sea of liberty; on
the dangers incident to the little barks now floating on its agitated
surface. Can they feel for the safety of that on which embarked the
fortunes of Henry Clay? We hope and trust they do; and at any rate we
rejoice that, safe in port, they can review with just pride and pleasure
their own safe and triumphant voyage, and can recollect the auspicious
day of their landing. One of them the rallying point, the beginning and
end of the cabinet in all of its just works, and the other the chief
ornament and glory of the drawing-room, in the purest and most
intelligent days of our Republic.”
“Embosomed among the hills which lie at the foot of the South Mountain,
is the paternal estate of Mr. Madison. A large and commodious mansion,
designed more for comfort and hospitality than ornament and display,
rises at the foot of a high wooded hill, which, while it affords shelter
from the northwest winds, adds much to the picturesque beauty of the
scene. The grounds around the house owe their ornaments more to nature
than art, as, with the exception of a fine garden behind, and a
wide-spread lawn before the house, for miles around the ever-varying and
undulating surface of the ground is covered with forest trees. The
extreme salubrity of the situation induced the proprietor to call it
Montpelier.
“One wing of the house during her lifetime was exclusively appropriated
to the venerable and venerated mother of Mr. Madison, to which were
attached offices and gardens, forming a separate establishment, where
this aged matron preserved the habits and the hours of her early life,
attended by old family slaves, and surrounded by her children and
grandchildren.
“Under the same roof, divided only by a partition-wall, were thus
exhibited the customs of the beginning and end of a century; thus
offering a strange but most interesting exhibition of the differences
between the old and the new age. By only opening a door, the observer
passed from the elegancies, refinements, and gayeties of modern life
into all that was venerable, respectable, and dignified in gone-by days;
from the airy apartments—windows opening to the ground, hung with light
silken drapery, French furniture, light fancy chairs, gay carpets, etc.,
etc., to the solid and heavy carved and polished mahogany furniture
darkened by age, the thick rich curtains, and other more comfortable
adjustments of our great-grandfathers’ times. It was considered a great
favor and distinction by the gay visitors who thronged Mrs. Madison’s
hospitable mansion, to be admitted to pay the homage of their respect to
his reverend mother.” A lady who visited Montpelier in 1836, when the
latter was in her ninety-seventh year, said of her:
“She still retained all her faculties, though not free from the bodily
infirmities of age. She was sitting, or rather reclining, on a couch;
beside her was a small table filled with large, dark, and worn quartos
and folios of most venerable appearance. She closed one as we entered,
and took up her knitting which lay beside her. Among other inquiries, I
asked her how she passed her time. ‘I am never at a loss,’ she replied;
‘this and these (touching her knitting and her books) keep me always
busy; look at my fingers, and you will perceive I have not been idle.’
In truth, her delicate fingers were polished by her knitting-needles.
‘And my eyes, thanks be to God, have not failed me yet, and I read most
part of the day; but in other respects I am feeble and helpless, and owe
everything to her,’ pointing to Mrs. Madison, who sat by us. ‘She is my
mother now, and tenderly cares for all my wants.’ My eyes were filled
with tears as I looked from the one to the other of these excellent
women, and thought of the tender ties by which they were united. Never,
in the midst of a splendid drawing-room, surrounded by all that was
courtly and brilliant, all that was admired and respected—the centre of
attraction—the object of admiration—never was Mrs. Madison so
interesting, so lovely, so estimable as in her attendance on this
venerable woman, the acknowledged object of her grateful affection.
“Much as she graced her public station, she has not been less admirable
in domestic life. Neighborly and companionable among her country
friends, as if she had never lived in a city; delighting in the society
of the young, and never better pleased than when promoting every
youthful pleasure by her participation; she still proved herself the
affectionate and devoted wife during the years of suffering health of
her excellent husband. Without neglecting the duties of a kind hostess,
a faithful friend and relative, she soothed and enlivened, occupied and
amused, the languid hours of his long confinement; he knew, appreciated,
and acknowledged the blessing which heaven had bestowed on him in giving
him such a wife.”
At about sixty-six years of age Mr. Madison retired from public life,
and ever after resided on his estate in Virginia, except about two
months while at Richmond as a member of the convention in 1829, which
sat there to remodel the constitution of that State. His farm, his
books, his friends, and his correspondence, were the sources of his
enjoyment and occupation during the twenty years of his retirement.
During most of that time his health, never robust, was as good as usual,
and he partook with pleasure of the exercise and the conviviality in
which he had always enjoyed himself.
At eighty-five years of age, though much reduced by debility, his mind
was bright, his memory retentive, and his conversation highly
instructive and delightful. Suffering with disease, he never repined.
Serene and even lively, he still loved to discuss the constitution, to
inculcate the public good, and to charge his friends with blessings for
his country. He was long one of the most interesting shrines to which
its votaries repaired: a relic of republican virtue which none could
contemplate without reverence and edification.
On the 28th of June, 1836, he died; as serene, philosophical, and calm
in the last moments of existence as he had been in all the trying
occasions of life.
In the winter of 1836, Mrs. Madison wrote to President Jackson in regard
to a manuscript left by her husband and which he intended for
publication. The copyright had been offered to several publishing
houses, but their offers had fallen so far below her expectations, that
she determined to lay the matter before the Chief Magistrate. In a
special message, the President communicated the contents of her letter
to Congress, and the manuscript was purchased as a national work, and
thirty thousand dollars paid her for it.
The novel and interesting features of the case, the venerable relict of
one of the founders of the Republic coming before the country with a
manuscript precious in its relation to its national destiny, were such
that the proposition was not to be met with a cold appreciation of
merits, or with nice questions of Congressional power. It was this
feeling also which induced Congress to pass a subsequent act, giving to
Mrs. Madison the honorary privilege of a copyright in foreign countries.
The work is a record of the Debates in the congress of the convention
during the years 1782–1787.
Congress also conferred the franking privilege upon Mrs. Madison, and
voted her a seat upon the floor of the Senate.
The last twelve years of Mrs. Madison’s life were spent in Washington,
where she mingled in the society of the young and happy, as well as the
aged and recluse. Many remember her dignified bearing, and gentle, kind
manner in her old age, and it was considered a pleasure to be a guest
where she was to be present. On New Year’s and Fourth of July, she held
public receptions, and the throng of visitors was equal to that which
assembled at the President’s house. She took up her residence in
Washington in 1837, in the house in which she died. This house on the
southeast corner of H. street North and Madison Place was built by
President Madison in 1819; after her death it was purchased by Captain
Wilkes and by him enlarged. She died on the 12th of July, 1849, at age
of eighty-two years. Her funeral, which was attended by a large
concourse of people, took place on the 16th, from St. John’s Episcopal
Church, and the interment took place at Montpelier. The grave is near by
that of her husband’s, over which latter a noble monument stands. The
old homestead has passed into other hands, but it will ever be
associated with the illustrious man who gave it name and fame, and the
fact that it is the last resting-place of the fourth President of the
United States, and of his wife, will ever hallow it in the hearts of
reverent Americans.
V.
ELIZABETH K. MONROE.
The era in which Mrs. Monroe lived was the most eventful in the history
of nations, and her record is of interest and value, in a twofold
degree. The women who stamp the influence of their virtues on a time of
public excitement and wonderful changes, bear in their natures strength
of character worthy of emulation; and they become the benefactors of
succeeding ages, as they were the blessings of their own. The memorials
of such should be familiar to the children of America, who under the
genius of Republican institutions, are the inheritors of, and successors
to, their fame and positions. No daughter of Columbia should be ignorant
of the history and experiences of their national ancestors, whose lives
were beautiful in their simplicity, and rich in varied experiences.
The rarest treasure our country possesses is the fame of her children;
and her noblest legacy to posterity should be the record of those, who
by their talents have adorned, and by their wisdom sustained, the
pioneers of liberty in their first weak efforts. Of such a class was
Mrs. Monroe, whose husband for half a century reaped the reward of his
country’s constancy, and filled in that period more important offices
than any other man in the United States.
Statesmen in this country are too often forced to give way to
politicians, and patriots to demagogues. The perpetual agitations of a
Republic carry up on the flood those who in turn are swept down with the
tide; while in the commotion many are lost to history. But this is less
the case with Virginia statesmen than with any other class of public
men. Whatever may be said of the ingratitude of other States, the “Old
Mother” has been true to her children, and the caprice and
changeableness of younger commonwealths but render her trust and
confidence the more conspicuous. And if she has trusted implicitly the
integrity of her offspring, she has been rewarded by the love and
fidelity of the noblest public men of the nation.
The inauguration of Washington at New York, in 1789, was followed by the
immediate assembling of Congress, and thither went Mr. Monroe, as
Senator from Virginia, accompanied by Mr. Jefferson, the newly-appointed
Secretary of State.
The ancient seat of the Dutch dynasty on this Continent was a place of
much wealth; and not the least of its possessions were the bright-eyed,
rosy-cheeked descendants of the rich old Patroons, whose delight knew no
bounds when their city was chosen as the capital. No less pleased were
their fathers who, in their capacities as merchants and capitalists,
hoped to achieve new honors and increased wealth.
The festivities which subsequently followed the inauguration were
attended by all the members of Congress, who, as strangers of
distinction, received the largest share of the young belles’ attention.
Prominent among these belles was Miss Elizabeth Kortright, the daughter
of Lawrence Kortright, a former captain in the British army. After the
peace of 1783, he remained with his family in New York, where his
children were reared and educated. Of this interesting family there were
one son and four daughters, two of whom, Mrs. Heyliger, of Santa Cruz,
whose husband, Mr. Heyliger, had been Grand Chamberlain to the King of
Denmark, and Mrs. Knox, were married when Congress assembled in their
adopted city. The other daughter was the wife of Nicholas Gouverneur of
New York.[8]
Footnote 8:
The only daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Knox married Colonel Alexander
Hamilton, son of the statesman, Alexander Hamilton.
Mrs. Monroe’s marriage took place in New York, in 1786, while Mr. Monroe
was attending a session of Congress. Soon after their marriage they took
up their abode in Philadelphia, whither the seat of the General
Government had been removed. In this position he remained until 1794,
when he was appointed from the Senate to be Envoy Extraordinary and
Minister Plenipotentiary to France. Thus is shadowed forth the five
years of Mrs. Monroe’s life succeeding her marriage. Nothing more
definite can be gathered. It is a matter of regret that no biographer of
her day anticipated the needs of a coming generation, and transcribed,
with all the facts and incidents fresh in his mind, an impartial account
of the every-day existence of the woman whose memory appeals now for
justice.
Very little was written of her during her life, beyond occasional
mention after her husband’s election to the Presidency, nor has any
history of his life been written from which to glean even a mention of
her name. This is a remarkable fact, that in none of the public
libraries of New York or Brooklyn, is there any history of a man who
occupied the Presidential chair eight years, and whose record should be
the inheritance of his descendants. A brief sketch, written many years
ago, is all that was to be found, and there is no mention of his wife in
it.
Of dignified and stately manners was Mrs. Monroe, and possessed of a
face upon which beauty was written in unmistakable lines. Tall and
gracefully formed, polished and elegant in society, she was one fitted
to represent her countrywomen at the court of St. Cloud. Her position,
as the wife of a wealthy Virginia Senator, surrounded by luxury and
prosperity, proud of her husband and of her country, was calculated to
enhance the pleasure of a trip to Europe, while the comparative
infrequency of a voyage across the Atlantic heightened the pleasure with
which she received the announcement of his appointment.
During their residence in Paris, the eldest daughter of Mr. and Mrs.
Monroe, who afterwards married Judge George Hay, of Richmond,
Virginia,[9] was a pupil at Madame Campan’s celebrated school, where
Hortense Beauharnais, the daughter of Josephine, and the future Queen of
Holland and mother of Napoleon III., was also a pupil, and between whom
there existed a warm friendship.
Footnote 9:
Their eldest daughter, Hortensia, a very beautiful girl, married Lord
Rogers, of Baltimore.
Young and ambitious, full of enthusiasm and admiration for the
principles of a free government, Mr. Monroe left the shores of his
native land, whose liberty he had so recently assisted in establishing.
He had entered the service of his country as a cadet in a corps under
the command of the gallant General Mercer, of Virginia. Soon afterward
he was appointed a lieutenant, and joined the army at New York.
Following the fortunes of the Chief, he was with him at Trenton,
Princeton, Brandywine, Germantown and Monmouth. Retiring from the staff
of Lord Sterling, where he had served two campaigns, after being wounded
in the shoulder at Trenton, he repaired to Virginia to raise a regiment.
From various causes he failed in this undertaking, and did not return to
the army, but entered Mr. Jefferson’s office as a student at law. A
member of the Legislature, and at the age of twenty-four elected to the
Continental Congress, from which he passed to the Congress of the United
States, we find him from his earliest boyhood devoted to the land of his
birth, and serving it in these various positions of honor and eminence.
But glowing with youthful admiration for the Republic he had left
behind, he was not careful to conceal his feelings in imperial France,
and hence made himself unpopular with those in power. He was deemed too
enthusiastically engaged in the feelings of revolutionary France to do
justice to his own country, and he was recalled by Washington.
In August, 1792, Lafayette was taken prisoner by the Austrians, and
after being thrown like a criminal in the Prussian dungeon at Wesel on
the Rhine, was transferred successively to Magdeburg, Glatz, Neisse, and
finally to Olmutz. In this Austrian dungeon he was convinced by the
rigor of his confinement and the brutal treatment of his captors that
his fate was sealed. Down in his dark cell, ten paces deep, where the
rain through the loop-holes poured, and the sun did not shine, the young
defender of American liberty lay chained, while the weary months dragged
by, and no word of hope or certainty of death came from his wife and
children left behind in Paris. Wasted by disease, deprived of light,
air, and decent food—the loathsome dampness and filth of his dungeon so
reducing him that his hair fell from him entirely by the excess of his
sufferings, his cruel tormentors cheered his gloom and oppression by no
word or look of sympathy. America knew the fate of his loved ones, and
while his estates were confiscated, his wife in the prison of La Force,
and his little children, two of whom shared the confinement of their
mother, awaiting the wrath of their oppressors, the agents of the
country whose once hopeless cause he had espoused were actively employed
in behalf of their former friend.
It is not to be wondered that Mrs. Monroe shared the feeling entertained
by her husband, or that her warmest womanly feelings were stirred by the
recital of Madame Lafayette’s woes. The Marquis de Lafayette was adored
by Americans, and the indignities heaped upon his heroic wife could
scarcely be borne by the Minister and his family, when they felt that
the death of a martyr would be the result of her cruel and protracted
confinement. The lofty position America had just assumed among the
nations of the earth, and the respect engendered by her success rendered
her Ministers in foreign countries objects of special attention and
regard. When Mr. Monroe decided to risk displeasure by sending his wife
to see Madame Lafayette, he appreciated the decided effect it would have
for good or evil. He well knew that either it would meet with signal
success, and be of benefit to his unfortunate friend, or render her
slight claim to clemency yet more desperate. Enlisted as his feelings
were, he determined to risk the die, and Mrs. Monroe was consulted in
regard to the plan. To her husband’s anxious queries, she replied
calmly, and assured him of her ability to control and sustain herself.
As the carriage of the American Minister, adorned with all the outward
emblems of rank, halted before the entrance of the prison, the keeper
advanced to know the object of the visit. Mrs. Monroe, with firm step
and steady voice, alighted and made known her business, and to her
surprise was conducted to the reception-room, while the official retired
to make known her request. Her heart beat loudly as she alone listened
to the tread of the jailer as he closed the heavy door and passed down
the long hall which separated the cells. After a lapse of time, which to
one in her nervous state seemed an age, she heard the footsteps
returning, and soon the opening of the ponderous door discovered to her
astonished view the presence of the emaciated prisoner, assisted by her
guard.
The emotion of the marchioness was touching in the extreme, and she sank
at the feet of Mrs. Monroe, unable to articulate her joy.
All day she had been expecting the summons to prepare for her execution,
and when the silence of her cell was disturbed by the approach of the
gendarmes, her last hope was fast departing. Instead of the cruel
announcement—the assurance that a visitor awaited her presence in the
receiving-room of the prison, and on finding in that visitor the
American Ambassadress, the representative of her husband’s adopted home,
her long-pent feelings found relief in sobs. The reaction was sudden,
and the shock more than her feeble frame could bear.
The presence of the sentinels precluded all efforts at conversation, and
both hesitated to peril the frail chance of life, or to abuse the
unheard-of privilege of an interview. After a painful stay of short
duration Mrs. Monroe rose to retire, assuring her friend in a voice
audible to her listeners, for whom it was intended, that she would call
the following morning, and then hastened to relieve the anxiety of her
husband.
Madame Lafayette’s long-delayed execution had been decided upon, and
that very afternoon she was to have been beheaded, but the unexpected
visit of the Minister’s wife altered the minds of the officials, and to
the surprise of all, she was liberated the next morning.
The prestige of the young Republic was appreciated by the French in
power, and they dared not, from motives of self-interest, sacrifice a
lady in whom the American Minister was so directly interested. They had
not forgotten with what admiration the people of the United States
looked upon her husband, the Marquis de Lafayette.
Deaf to all the entreaties of her friends, and firm in her determination
to carry immediate consolation to the dungeon of her persecuted husband,
Madame Lafayette left Paris accompanied by her two daughters in
disguise, and under the protection of American passports.
Passing under the name of Mrs. Motier, she landed at Altona on the ninth
of September, 1795, and after repeated difficulties eventually reached
the prison, where she was notified that if she passed its threshold, she
must remain.
The heroic woman signed her consent and determination, to share his
captivity in all its details, being “fully determined never again to
expose herself to the horrors of another separation.”
The two most conspicuous men of their age, George Washington and
Napoleon Bonaparte, effected by their co-operation the release of
Lafayette and his deeplyinjured family—the former after an imprisonment
of more than five years, the latter a period of twenty-two months.
Mr. Monroe was recalled, and after his return to America, he published a
justification of his conduct while abroad; the pamphlet settled nothing,
but justified both parties in the views which they had taken.
Thus was Mrs. Monroe’s short stay in Europe brought to a termination. In
many ways it had been pleasant and beneficial, and although she
regretted her husband’s unfortunate recall, she rather joyed in the
conduct which had produced this result. Unacquainted with diplomacy and
the line of action necessary between nations, she allowed her own
feelings to decide her movements, and honored the same spirit in her
husband. The privilege of being a succor and means of relief to Madame
Lafayette satisfied her more than ministerial honors, and she would
rather have performed this deed prompted by Mr. Monroe’s advice than
remained the wife of the Ambassador.
The friendship between Mr. Monroe and Lafayette was very strong. The
latter felt that Mr. Monroe was largely instrumental in the presentation
of the $200,000 which the United States gave him in 1824, and also for
kindness shown his son, George Washington Lafayette, when he was in
prison. The lad was about to be conscripted into the army, and Mr.
Monroe, aided by two American gentlemen, Joseph Russell and Col.
Perkins, raised the amount necessary to buy a substitute ($1,500), and
then sent him to America, where he was the guest of Washington for a
year.
When news reached Lafayette in 1828 of the pecuniary trouble which Mr.
Monroe was in, and the ill-health of his wife, he wrote him offering him
the proceeds of the sale of half of his Florida lands, which were very
valuable, as a loan, and urging Mr. Monroe not to mortify him by a
refusal, since he had accepted like favors from him in the past. The
generous offer was declined by Mr. Monroe.
Paris as now, though in a less degree, was the centre of all that was to
be enjoyed, and Mrs. Monroe did not regret her stay there, though so
abruptly ended. This first trip over the tedious waters was fraught with
interest and improvement to both. New fields of thought were explored by
them, and the expanse of their souls, under a sense of freedom and
change, gained for their ultimate happiness more than mere worldly
honors could give or take away.
Thus in the devious windings of life we are constantly reminded that
after the lesson is the application, and experience pronounces both,
though hard to bear, necessary for ultimate progression.
Mrs. Monroe returned to New York with her husband, who was looked upon
as a disgraced minister, and being the first who had been so designated,
was viewed by his friends with deep sympathy. For a time the society of
her family and friends soothed her sensitive feelings, but she soon
afterwards accompanied her husband to Virginia, where he was at once
chosen Governor.
This evidence of affection gladdened the hearts of both recipients, and
during the constitutional term of three years, through which he served,
Mrs. Monroe added to the dignity and success of his official life by her
uniform and acceptable course. The capital of the State at that time was
Williamsburg, a place of refined hospitality and sociability, and here
the fine character of the Governor’s wife was discovered under the most
delicate circumstances, as well as during the most pleasing occasions.
After President Jefferson came into power, he appointed Mr. Monroe Envoy
Extraordinary to the Court of France, to act with Mr. Livingston in
negotiating for the purchase of Louisiana. As soon as he arrived on the
French soil, Mr. Livingston wrote as follows to him:
PARIS, _10th of April, 1803_.
DEAR SIR:—I congratulate you on your safe arrival. We have long and
anxiously wished for you. God grant that your mission may answer your
and the public expectation. War may do something for us; nothing else
would. I have paved the way for you, and if you could add to my memoirs
an assurance that we were now in possession of New Orleans, we should do
well. But I detain Mr. Beutalon, who is impatient to fly to the arms of
his wife. I have apprised the minister of your arrival, and told him you
would be here on Tuesday or Wednesday. Present my compliments and Mrs.
Livingston’s to Mrs. Monroe, and believe me, dear sir, your friend and
humble servant,