Telegrams of sympathy reached his bedside from all parts of the earth,
and wherever the news had gone in other lands there came back gratifying
evidences of world-wide sorrow.
As the days passed the alternations of hope and despair kept the feeling
of the people at its highest tension, and during this time of anxious
waiting, Mrs. Garfield was the recipient of countless messages, letters
and assurances of every kind of the sentiment of her countrymen and
women. She appreciated all that was felt and said; and on one occasion,
when some unusual incident had received her attention, she said in a
voice broken with emotion and with tears in her eyes: “If it were
possible for my husband and me to go around and see all those dear
people who have been so grateful in their remembrance for us here of
late days, I would be so happy; and I know he would, too. I want to
thank them—to tell them all how kindly I feel toward them for what they
have said to me. I never could understand anything about politics, and
if I liked a person it made no difference whether they were Republicans
or Democrats; and now I have grown to think that there is not much
difference between the two great parties, for one says just as kind
words in our present affliction as the other. It makes me feel like
forming an opinion as to what I would do were women permitted to vote as
well as men. I believe I would get two tickets, fold them together so as
to look like one, and drop both in the ballot-box.”
The love and respect for her womanly attributes and fine self-government
increased as time passed; and it was evident that her conduct under the
most trying circumstances that could come to a woman had aroused the
enthusiasm of the entire country. From the various organizations,
without respect to their nature or object, were received at the White
House kind wishes for the President and earnest assurances to him that
his family was not forgotten in his time of helplessness and suffering.
The practical spirit of the people was aroused, and the question was
repeatedly asked: “What can we do to make it easier for the President?”
Presents of all descriptions, from the rich and the poor, the great and
the humble, patriarchs and little children, were sent to the White House
in great numbers. Everybody wanted to do something, and it was painful
that so little could be offered that would be of use. Sick-room
appliances reached the physicians in such quantities that the basement
of the mansion was crowded, and the slightest intimation of a change in
the nourishment or treatment of the distinguished sufferer sent
numberless articles for trial. That he might have the richest Alderney
milk, an eager owner of an imported cow quickly forwarded the animal,
and he was repaid many times over with the knowledge that the patient
saw from the window the fine creature that had been sent to minister to
his comfort, and spoke of it. Little children sent their tributes, and
the gift of a pet squirrel from two little people who had learned that
the President had expressed a desire for such food, brought tears to the
eyes of all who knew of the circumstance. The tender, constant and ever
deepening feeling of the people for their sick President must have
helped him immeasurably, for he was borne up and cheered daily by the
affection that went out from all human hearts toward him. It seemed to
the people that he must get well, that the prayers of a nation would be
answered; that the assassin’s work would fail; that love would conquer
death, and that into the weary pain-worn body of the sufferer would be
renewed the strong life-currents. Who can ever forget, though long years
may dim other memories, the daily and nightly watch over that
sick-chamber! When the relapse came weeks after the crisis was thought
to be passed, the excitement and interest grew terrible in its
intensity. Those who had the dissemination of the news aged under it as
the bulletins that came from their hands banished hope. The day of
saddest gloom, Saturday, August 27, was given up to prayer, and when
Sunday came, and word went forth that the President was better, the
people called it resurrection, and said in their joy that God had given
back to them in answer to their petitions him who was thought to be
dead.
Through it all stood Mrs. Garfield, eager and watchful, but steady and
strong in heart. When the doctors told her of their fears she did not
sink down or show dismay. She bade them do their best, and never to give
up, and leaving them she went back with a cheerful face to her husband
and resumed her place at his bedside. Too weak and weary to give thought
to others, the heroic sufferer watched her face and was understood by
her when to others his wishes were unintelligible. If he held on to life
with a tenacity that surprised every one, his strength in large measure
was drawn from her. She was more to him than all else, and she furnished
the strongest motive he felt for his recovery. The thought that was
agitating many minds, that he be given assurance that his family would
be taken care of in case he died, was voiced by Mr. Cyrus W. Field, of
New York, who proposed that a fund of $250,000 be raised for Mrs.
Garfield and her children, and settled upon her. He started the fund
with a large subscription, and the amount subscribed before and after
the death of the President reached nearly $350,000. Though no public
acknowledgment was made of the gift, it is a fact that the President’s
mind was greatly relieved by this considerate act, and his last days
were not troubled with dread of the future for his wife and children.
When the sultry August days had tried his strength beyond endurance, and
it was apparent that a removal from the malarial atmosphere of the
capital was imperative, the journey to Long Branch was undertaken. Many
plans had been suggested and the practicability of all considered; but
Mrs. Garfield, who knew of her husband’s love for the sea, and of the
benefit that she had derived from her stay there, insisted upon this
trip. The journey was undertaken after careful preparation, and the
details of the trip from Washington to Elberon were read with thrilling
interest at the time. At every station and wayside crossing the people
gathered, and stood with uncovered heads as the train with its precious
freight passed by. The sympathy with which every heart was overflowing
was deep but voiceless; all felt the need the sufferer had of silence
and repose. Bulletins were thrown off the cars at different points, and
it was with unspeakable relief that the arrival at the Francklyn Cottage
was announced. For days before, workmen had been busy preparing a
roadbed for a track from the Elberon station to the cottage, and four
hundred men spent the night before his arrival in laying the track. In
this work the hundreds of guests at the various hotels and cottages of
Long Branch took great interest, an interest touchingly expressed in the
request of a little boy, who with his father was watching the progress
of the workmen. He desired to do something for the President, and
leaving his father’s side he approached a man who was driving a pile and
asked to be permitted to help. The man carelessly said to him that he
was too small, and could not lift the maul. “Let me try,” he urged; the
heavy weight was given him, and with the workman’s assistance the pile
was put down in place. The task completed, the child returned with a
radiant face, saying, “There, papa, I have done something for the
President.” Happy child, to have relieved his feelings by striking a
blow in the service of the sufferer! How many thousands upon thousands
of people would have accomplished herculean tasks, if by so doing they
could have been of service to the President! Mr. Francklyn, whose
beautiful summer home was tendered Mrs. Garfield, and accepted, was
kindly envied by the public whose houses would gladly have been given up
for a like purpose.
The room into which the President was taken was Mrs. Francklyn’s own
boudoir, on the southeast corner of the second story, overlooking the
sea; and his pleasure in beholding the broad Atlantic from his bed gave
hope that he would get well. It was expected that he would revive
rapidly under the combined influences of a cooler atmosphere, the sight
of the sea, and the change of scene. That he did not mend rapidly
troubled the people, and they murmured. Then remembering Mrs. Garfield’s
remark, made in reply to the physician who told her at the time of the
relapse in Washington that only a miracle could save her husband—“Then
that miracle will be performed: he will live”—they redoubled their
earnestness in prayer, and believed that the bitter cup would be taken
from unwilling lips.
The gloom of the September days deepened and the reluctant warning was
sent out—“Hope no more, hope is dead.” Still the people hoped, relying
upon the faith of Mrs. Garfield, the wonderful vitality and heroic
demeanor of the invalid. They believed in the impossible, and prayed yet
more fervently. Never in the world’s history was any one so universally
prayed for. It seemed like doubting God’s goodness to despair of the
President’s life. Still the same anxious waiting was continued, and with
each telegram that was sent came a knell to the hopes of millions. He
must die, they said, and that last Monday was like the funeral day of a
race. People sought their homes that night oppressed with sad
forebodings, and their petitions were for strength to meet the impending
calamity.
He died September 19th, 1881, the first news reaching the people in the
cities through the tolling of the bells. When the strokes commenced,
those who listened thought it was the striking of the hour, but soon
they realized the meaning of the slow tolling, and as the church bells
began to give out their dissonance on the night wind, the hearts of the
listeners sank within them. “’Tis he,” they said, and their eyes
overflowed with tears as they thought of the stricken mourner who would
now watch no more at his bedside. From out their homes the people
hurried, and the streets of the cities were crowded with a restless
throng surging aimlessly along, seemingly panic-stricken and unnerved.
All that day the watchers at the bedside counted the hours with feverish
dread, for the physicians had foretold the end and the brave wife had
gathered her strength to meet the inevitable. Much of the time she had
watched at his bedside, and at intervals when she could be spared had
sat alone at a window overlooking the water, white and still, making no
complaint, causing no unnecessary anxiety on her account. At last,
utterly weary, and believing that her husband was resting quietly, she
retired to her room, leaving him without a thought of immediate death. A
summons to come quickly was made shortly after ten o’clock, and when she
hurried into the room, seeing the change that had come over the beloved
face, she exclaimed, “What does this mean?” and then, realizing the
situation, cried, “Oh, why am I made to suffer this cruel wrong!” That
was all the outburst made by her then or after. The death-damp was on
her husband’s brow, and the end had come. She sat upon the bed beside
him, holding his hand in hers and gazing into the eyes no longer able to
return her look.
The history of the dying scene can be told in a few words. General Swaim
was watching, when the President, who had been sleeping, suddenly awoke
and said, “Oh, Swaim! this terrible pain!” indicating its locality by
placing his hand on his breast over the region of the heart. “Oh,
Swaim!” he exclaimed again later, “this terrible pain! Press your hand
on it! Oh, Swaim!” The eyes were set in death a moment later, and no
other words were spoken. “Dan,” the colored man, came into the room at
that moment and was hurriedly despatched for Dr. Bliss. The latter was
sitting at a table over his letters. Colonel Rockwell had just left the
room and joined his wife and daughter on the piazza. The moment Dr.
Bliss glanced at the face of the President, before he had touched his
pulse he said, “Swaim, he is dying. Call Drs. Agnew and Hamilton, and
send for his wife.”
When Mrs. Garfield entered the room, the President was quite
unconscious. There was no sound except the occasional heavy breathing of
the President, and an occasional whisper between the doctors. The light
which had been burning behind the screen was carried nearer the bed, and
the group, which comprised Dr. Bliss, who stood at the head of the bed
noting the pulse of the patient, Mrs. Garfield, who sat on the bed, Drs.
Agnew, Hamilton and Boynton, Col. Rockwell, Gen. Swaim, and Dan, waited
in silence. Mollie Garfield, who was by her mother’s side, put her arms
about her neck and asked, “Is it death?” The mother clasped her to her
heart, saying convulsively, “My daughter.” Soon the President’s
breathing ceased, his head fell back on the arm of Dr. Bliss, and the
latter whispered, “It is all over.” Mrs. Garfield arose and went from
the room, the fixed lines about her face showing the effort she was
making to control herself. At the door of her room she broke quite down
and sobbed aloud. She was alone but a few minutes and then returned to
the bed where her dead husband lay. The eyelids had been closed and the
seal of death was set upon the rigid limbs. She sat by the bed for three
hours, the tears raining down her face and her form shaking violently.
The cold hand she held returned no answering pressure, and she stroked
the arm mechanically as she looked upon the face of her dead.
When it was necessary for the last service that the living could ever
pay to the departed to be performed, she was led to her room, where Dr.
Bliss from an adjoining apartment heard her pacing the floor all night
long. She did not forget the broken-hearted mother in her distant home,
and General Swaim was commissioned to telegraph her.
When the aged woman came from her room early in the morning, she asked
for the telegram that was expected every day, but was induced to have
her breakfast first and then read the news.
“Grandma,” said her granddaughter, in reply to a request that she be
given the telegram that she knew must be there, “would you be surprised
to get bad news this morning?”
“Well, I don’t know,” she answered slowly.
“Grandma,” she said, “there is bad news.”
“Is he dead?” asked the old lady tremulously.
“He is.”
The tears started as she asked, “Is it true? Then the Lord help me, for
if he is dead what shall I do? I have no further wish to live, and I
cannot live if it is so.”
The tolling of the bells had not wakened her in the night, and every
care was taken to keep her from excitement; but she was rendered nervous
and weak, and those about greatly feared the result of the shock.
Several times she retired to her room, and later in the day it was
evident that she had brought herself into a composed state. Alone in her
grief she had found strength to meet the blow, and she read the telegram
which said, “James died this evening at 10.35. He calmly breathed his
life away.” Then after a long silence she slowly said, “I can firmly
believe that God knows best, and I must not murmur.”
At Mentor the two younger sons were staying with Mrs. Garfield’s
brother, and in the early morning they were told of their loss. At
Williams College were Harry and James, the latter ill of malaria
contracted in Washington. The eldest son reached his mother’s side the
next day, leaving his brother behind.
At Elberon preparations were making for the removal of the body to
Washington, and Mrs. Garfield was surrounded by the ladies of the
Cabinet and others. After the autopsy, which revealed the nature of the
wound and showed that the President could not have recovered, and that
had he lived he would have been a hopeless invalid, the brave, suffering
woman grew calmer, and with unfailing courage met the demands made upon
her. She saw President Arthur, who called with General Grant, and
refused herself to none whose presence was warranted by right of
official rank or personal friendship.
It was Mrs. Garfield’s wish that there should be a religious service
held at the cottage before the start was made for Washington. At
half-past nine on Wednesday morning the doors were closed to the public,
and the Rev. Charles J. Young, of Long Branch, stepped to the head of
the bier to begin the service. The audience gathered about him comprised
the highest officials of the land and their wives, together with all who
had been in attendance upon the President. At the moment when all was in
readiness, Mrs. Garfield leaned towards Colonel Rockwell, who stood near
her, and spoke in a whisper to him. He raised his hand to bid the
minister wait, and said in a low tone that Mrs. Garfield wished to look
into the coffin before the service. Immediately she arose and taking her
daughter by the hand went to the side of it. Both stood hand in hand,
the daughter weeping violently, the mother looking down into the coffin,
showing no emotion beyond a face like marble. She stood motionless for
what seemed a very long time to the anxious friends about her. There was
not a dry eye in the room, and strong men wept as they gazed upon the
touching scene.
The mournful procession that moved out of the cottage was led by Mrs.
Garfield, who leaned upon the arm of her son Harry. She was clad in
heavy mourning, her veil almost entirely concealing her face from view.
As the train moved slowly away, a passing glimpse of her face was seen
as she gazed upon the windows of the room where her husband had died.
Loving hearts were all about her, but she was thinking of him: there was
no panacea for her pain. Had there been, the touching demonstrations of
sorrow at every point along the road to Washington would have brought
it. The school-children gathered in groups at the various stations,
weeping as they stood with uncovered heads; the country people gathered
in groups, with bared heads; the tolling of bells and emblems of
mourning everywhere moved the observers to tears. At Princeton Junction
the College students scattered flowers along the track. At Washington,
where the feeling was intense, and where every possible expression had
been given to the grief of the people, the funeral train was received by
the army and navy officials and thousands of citizens.
Mrs. Garfield and her children became the guests of Attorney-General
MacVeagh, and remained there during her stay in Washington. She went to
the White House the day preceding her departure to remove her husband’s
papers, her friends having packed her possessions for her the preceding
day. Upon entering the room in which her husband so long lay ill she
grew deathly pale, but maintained her self-composure, and gratefully
noticed the flowers with which some kind soul had decorated the bed in
anticipation of her coming.
The body of the President lay in state in the Capitol from Wednesday
morning until the following Friday afternoon. Mrs. Garfield visited it
there on Thursday, and viewed the face for the last time. When the
throngs of people pressing about the entrances from every side
understood the reason for which the doors had been closed, they waited
in silence and patiently until they were opened again.
Leaning on General Swaim’s arm, and followed by her son and daughter,
Mr. MacVeagh and others, Mrs. Garfield entered the building, the guards
concealing themselves behind the columns and draperies or standing with
their faces to the wall. When the rotunda was reached she entered it
alone, those with her waiting outside until she returned. For twenty
minutes she remained with her dead, and when she came out she carried in
her hand a flower she had taken from the coffin. On the casket rested
the magnificent wreath presented by Queen Victoria through the British
Legation, and about it on all sides were countless designs. The wreath
from the Queen was composed of white and Marshal Niel roses, on a base
of smilax, and the inscription was, “Queen Victoria to the memory of the
late President Garfield; an expression of her sorrow and sympathy with
Mrs. Garfield and the American nation.”
Tributes were there from old friends, from organizations and municipal
authorities, and all were taken at Mrs. Garfield’s request to Mentor to
be preserved for her children, for whom she desired to keep them. Some
of the devices were of great beauty and fine workmanship, but none
seemed to touch the emotions of the people so deeply as the offering of
England’s Queen to America’s widow.
The start to Cleveland was made Friday afternoon, after the funeral in
the Capitol. President Arthur, the two ex-Presidents Grant and Hayes,
and the Cabinet of President Garfield, together with former members of
Cabinets, General Hancock, who accompanied the remains to Cleveland, as
did General Sherman and thousands of the residents of Washington,
followed the hearse to the depot. The Capitol gave up all that was
mortal of President Garfield with manifestations of sorrow that showed
how deeply he had been loved and honored during his life there.
Through every town and hamlet that the mourning train passed, the
beautiful affection of the people was shown. Mrs. Garfield, more
composed than on the journey from Long Branch, looked out upon the
crowds and the sable draperies, and expressed herself as thankful for
the sympathy manifested. At one town, where the train stopped, some one
offered to pull down the curtain, but she declined the service, saying
she loved to look at the dear people.
The scenes at Cleveland on the arrival of the train, during Sunday, and
on Monday, the 21st, the day of the funeral, can never be pictured by
pen. The mother of the dead President, his sisters and brother, and the
relatives and old neighbors, were waiting for the coming of the cortege,
and Mrs. Garfield was reunited to her three sons, James having reached
Cleveland from Williams College previous to her arrival. The reception
procession through the streets to the pavilion catafalque erected upon
Monument Square was an imposing one. Thousands of people viewed the
coffin as it rested upon the structure appropriately draped from base to
dome with black and white crape. The two carloads of flowers that
decorated the interior of the pavilion were sent from Cincinnati, and
this temple for the dead was an honor to the willing hands and loving
hearts that had fashioned it. No more beautiful structure ever held the
body of the revered dead.
Mrs. Garfield, who had not attended the funeral at the Capitol in
Washington, had expressed her desire to take part in the last honors
paid to her husband, and the committee having in charge the arrangements
had assigned to her use the interior of the temple beside the coffin,
and well screened by the flowers from the public gaze. She rode in the
procession to the catafalque and was seated there between the only
brother of the President and his aged mother. Her children were about
her, and the members of the Cabinet and their wives, General Swaim and
wife, Colonel Rockwell and wife, Secretary Brown, ex-President and Mrs.
Hayes and others. After all had been given seats, the mother, supported
by a lady friend, walked up to the coffin, and laid her face upon the
fastened lid. She stood there for a short time weeping and praying
softly, while the people about stood in silence, uncovered, and with
sympathy in every heart. After the funeral services, performed by Dr.
Errett, Bishop Bedell, and Dr. Houghton, Dr. Errett preaching the
funeral oration at the request of Mrs. Garfield, in accordance with an
old compact made between himself and General Garfield, the long
procession moved to the cemetery. The streets were filled with people;
the crossings were decorated with mourning emblems of all descriptions;
superb flowers, the offerings of various towns and cities, outlining
many beautiful designs. At the cemetery the troops formed in a half
diamond in front of the vault, and into the space between them and the
vault, the funeral car, drawn by twelve coal-black horses, was driven.
The ground was covered with flowers and evergreens. Mrs. Garfield’s
carriage was driven into the centre of the court formed by the troops,
and in it were seated the widow and mother of the President, Harry,
James and little Abe Garfield. The two eldest sons alighted and stood at
either end of the vehicle. Miss Mollie Garfield and her brother Irwin
were in the next carriage, and Secretary Blaine’s came next and took up
a position near Mrs. Garfield’s carriage. A number of prominent
gentlemen, Secretary Blaine, ex-President Hayes, ex-Secretary Evarts,
General Swaim, Colonel Corbin, and others, and the officiating
clergymen, were grouped about the vault door. The marines bore upon
their shoulders the coffin, and as they passed in front of the carriage,
a stifled sob broke from Mrs. Garfield. Rev. J. H. Jones made an
address; President Garfield’s favorite ode, the 22d ode of Horace, was
sung; a prayer was offered, and General Swaim and Colonel Rockwell
escorted Harry and James into the vault to look for the last time upon
the casket containing all that was earthly of their father. The door was
closed and all was over.
The day succeeding the funeral, Mrs. Garfield, accompanied by Mother
Garfield, her children, Colonel Rockwell, General Swaim and their wives,
and Private Secretary Brown, went to Mentor in the mourning car that
conveyed her from Long Branch.
Through all the trying scenes of the drama, now closed forever, Mrs.
Garfield had so conducted herself that the nation was proud of her as
the wife of its President, and the grief of the people was mitigated by
their admiration of her bravery and heroism under circumstances that
would have crushed the majority of women. And looking back at the
tragedy from the day the President was shot, through the eighty-two days
of his sufferings, through the death-scene, and even to the end, the
country saw no act, heard no remark of Mrs. Garfield’s that was not
ennobling and beautiful. On every occasion, through every crisis, and
for a week after the death, while she was constantly passing from one
painful interview or scene to another, she was the same quiet,
self-controlled woman. Her husband had said of her that he never knew
her to be stampeded; that she could not be thrown into a panic, and
right nobly she vindicated the truth of his saying. Her courage was
indomitable, and her composure so great that she was an enigma to many
of her own sex. Much of her self-control was due to her unselfishness.
She thought of others when she was the greatest sufferer, and met the
requirements made upon her with a self-possession that led many to
believe she would break down utterly when the excitement was over.
At Long Branch the evening after the President’s death she sent for all
the wives of the members of the Cabinet, and in her own room she thanked
them for their presence and active sympathy during the trying weeks
since her husband was stricken. She told them that their kind words of
encouragement had helped to sustain her own fortitude which was so
necessary to the sufferer, and spoke of conversations with her husband
before the fatal relapse in August, in which he had expressed himself in
the tenderest terms regarding the members of his official family and
their wives. He loved them as brothers and sisters, and was sure they
loved him. Then with a sweet tenderness of manner she assured them that
one of the sharp sorrows she was suffering was the knowledge that the
ties so pleasant were to be severed, and that she was to see them about
her no more.
All the beautiful memories that people treasure of her to-day were
created by her in like acts. When she got to Cleveland, where the sight
of so many familiar faces brought anew the realizing sense of her loss,
she forgot herself in thinking of others. Her first act was to visit
Mother Garfield, and comfort her as only she could, and to offer her
sympathy to the sorrowing sisters and brother of her husband. She
visited the cemetery and viewed the spot selected for the grave of the
President, and made the people of Cleveland proud that they had given it
to her, by her satisfaction with it. The spirit of peace and love seemed
to be with her and sustain her, even back to the home she had left under
such different circumstances. Into it followed the affection of a nation
of people, and across the water came tokens of tenderness from many
sources.
The Queen, whose womanly sympathy for Mrs. Garfield made her dear to the
American people, sent her at her home a message which, with its reply,
was as follows. The message was sent to Minister Lowell, who transmitted
it to Secretary Blaine.
“I have received the following telegram from the Queen: ‘Would you
express my sincere condolence to the late President’s mother, and
inquire after her health, as well as after that of Mrs. Garfield.’ Her
Majesty adds: ‘I should be thankful if you would procure me a good
photograph of General Garfield.’”
Acting Secretary Hitt returned the following reply, with the request
that a fitting communication should be made to Her Majesty:
“Your telegram expressing the compassion of the Queen for the mother of
the late President was duly forwarded to Mrs. Garfield, at Mentor, Ohio.
Have just received the following reply: ‘Please request Mr. Lowell to
express to Her Majesty, the Queen, the grateful acknowledgments of the
mother of General Garfield, and my own for the tender, womanly sympathy
she has been pleased to send; also that Her Majesty’s wish will be
complied with at an early day.’
“LUCRETIA R. GARFIELD.”
Mrs. Garfield returned to Cleveland to be present at the arrangements
made for the final interment, and when the monument, to be erected in
Lakeview Cemetery by the people, is completed, she will take part in the
ceremonies then.
When she went into the White House she was asked for some particulars of
her life for publication. Her reply was, “I have done nothing that can
be written about. Wait until I have, and then it will be time enough to
write.” The time came sooner than she anticipated, and in a way that not
the wildest imagination would have fancied, seeing her in the fulness of
life, at the top round of worldly honors, and happy in all relations. It
came, and from the fiery furnace of suffering, disappointed hopes and
loss, she emerged to shed bright lustre on her sex, and to elevate the
world’s judgment of women in all the relations of life. She was given
the opportunity to “do something,” and so well was her duty performed,
that the world will never cease to do homage, to the character and
virtues of the widow of the Twentieth President of the Republic,
Lucretia Garfield.
XXVIII.
“THE WHITE HOUSE.”
The corner-stone of the Presidents’ House was laid on the 13th of
October, 1792, and the building was constructed after the designs and
under the directions of Captain James Hobon, Architect. After its
destruction by the British, in 1814, the interior was rebuilt by Captain
Hobon. It is located at the intersection of Pennsylvania, New York,
Connecticut, and Vermont Avenues, which radiate from this point as
centre.
The house is constructed of Virginia free-stone, which is excessively
porous, and consequently would cause great dampness in the interior,
were it not for a thick coat of white lead, which is applied about once
in ten years at an enormous expense. The rock used in the construction
of the foundation was quarried by Captain Samuel Smallwood (afterward
mayor of Washington), on the banks of Rock creek, from the lower or
K-street bridge, as far as Lyonshouse wharf. The grounds were formerly
enclosed with a high stone wall. The old sycamore trees which stand in
the sidewalk on Pennsylvania Avenue, in front of the mansion, occupy a
line running parallel with the former site of that wall. The portico on
the north front was added to the building during the administration of
President Jackson.
The latitude to the nearest second, 38° 53′ 12″, north. Longitude of the
Presidents’ House from the Paris observatory, 79° 17′ 16″, west.
In 1793, about eighty paces west of the brick arch on Pennsylvania
Avenue, a log was thrown over the Tiber, which served as a bridge over
which the procession passed, headed by General George Washington. Here
the boys caught herring and other fish. The waters of the Tiber
occasionally extended in places over the present Pennsylvania Avenue,
the road to the Presidents’ House being considerably north of it, and
along which a traveller in that day might pass from the Capitol square
to the former without seeing a human being. The house of David Burns,
which stood in the grounds south of the Presidents’ House, is now owned
by his descendants, and is an object of interest to all who remember
Washington’s notion of him as the “obstinate” Mr. Burns.
In 1796, as President Washington passed the Presidents’ House (then
building), a salute of sixteen guns was fired by the artillery company
stationed at that point.
The Presidents’ House is situated in the western part of the city, on a
plot of ground of twenty acres; forty-four feet above high-water mark.
It has a southern and a northern front; the southern sloping towards the
Potomac and commanding a view of it. A semi-circular balcony extends out
from the Parlors on this side and overlooks the private garden near by,
and the public grounds beyond. The high basement gives the house a third
story on this side. On both fronts the grounds are laid out with taste
and planted with forest trees and shrubbery. The walks are of gravel,
broad and delightful.
The mansion is two stories and very lofty, one hundred and seventy feet
front, and eighty-six feet deep. The northern front is ornamented with a
lofty portico of four Ionic columns in front and three on either side.
Beneath this portico drive the carriages of visitors; immediately
opposite the front door, across the open vestibule or hall, is the
Reception Room. The East Room is eighty feet long, forty feet wide, and
twenty-two high. There are four mantels of marble with Italian black,
and gold fronts, and very handsome grates; each mantel is surmounted
with a French mirror, the plates of which measures one hundred and
fifty-eight inches, framed in splendid style. Four other large mirrors,
two at each end of the room, reflect the rays from three large
chandeliers, from which depend glass pendants, which glitter in the
light like diamonds; each chandelier has twenty-seven burners.
In front of the Presidents’ House, in a small enclosure, is the bronze
statue of Jefferson, presented to the government by Captain Levy, of the
United States army, who was, at that time (1840) owner of Monticello.
The statue stands on a pedestal: in his left hand Jefferson holds a
scroll of the Declaration of Independence, and in his right hand a pen,
as though he had just finished that immortal instrument, and was
anticipating the glorious results of its influence; the terror it would
strike among the foes of freedom; the strength with which it would nerve
the patriot’s heart; the bitter opposition which it would meet with from
some; the joy with which it would be hailed by more; and, if adopted,
the high destinies which awaited Young America.
It now occupies an eligible position, and will long stand in honor alike
of the great man it so faithfully represents, and of the noble spirit of
patriotism that secured and presented it to the nation. It formerly
stood in the Rotunda of the Capitol.
The Presidents’ House, during Mr. Jefferson’s administration, stood
unenclosed, on a piece of waste and barren ground, separated from the
Capitol by an almost impassable marsh. That building was not half
completed, and standing as it did amidst the rough masses of stone and
other materials collected for its construction, and half-hidden by the
venerable oaks that still shaded their native soil, looked more like a
ruin in the midst of its fallen fragments and coëval shades, than a new
and rising edifice. The silence and solitude of the surrounding space
were calculated to enforce this idea, for beyond the Capitol hill as far
as the eye could reach, the city, as it was called, lay in a state of
nature, covered with thick groves and forest trees, wide and level
plains with only here and there a house along the intersecting ways,
that could not yet be properly called streets.
Thomas Moore visited the United States in 1804, and writes in his
letters to his mother, that “the Presidents’ House is encircled by a
very rude pale, through which a common rustic stile introduced
visitors.”
The Executive Mansion was opened for the reception of visitors on the
1st of January, 1818, being the first time since the completion of
repairs subsequent to its destruction by the British.
Gas was introduced into the White House during President Polk’s
administration, the 29th of December, 1848.
Until President Fillmore’s time there was no library. The circular room
in the second story contains now a fine collection of books, many of
them purchased during President Buchanan’s administration. The trees on
the western side of the mansion were planted by President John Quincy
Adams. At various times there have been complaints made of the
“_palace_” in which the Presidents were entertained during their terms,
and not a few have been the bitter denunciations, written and spoken,
“of its inappropriateness,” averring that it is too fine and too large
for a republican Chief Magistrate. However, as the country has increased
in population and wealth, these objections ceased to be made, and since
the most interested persons say nothing now of its being too large or
elegant, it is to be supposed that it will continue to be the Executive
Mansion as long as the country remains under its present form of
government. Congress has heretofore made an appropriation after the
election of each new President,[24] for repairing and refurnishing the
mansion. After the close of the late civil war, it was in a sad
condition, having been subjected to hard usage. It was renovated, and
the first floor beautifully papered and refurnished under the auspices
of Mrs. Patterson, the daughter of President Johnson.
Footnote 24:
There was none made during President Tyler’s administration.
The green-house was partly burned in the winter of 1868, but is now
greatly enlarged, and adds much to the beauty of the fine old mansion.
From the library-window on the second floor the view of the Potomac is
very extended and magnificent. On a clear day, the distant points of
Fort Washington may be dimly defined, and the old city of Georgetown
distinctly seen.
The White House was so called in honor of the Virginia home of Mrs.
Washington, in which her wedding occurred. Washington had pleasant
memories of that residence, and suggested the building of a white house
for the Presidents. It cost originally three hundred thousand dollars,
and was smaller at the time it was burned by the British than now. Its
rebuilding, refurnishings from time to time, and the additions and
alterations, have cost a trifle over one million seven hundred thousand
dollars.
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