Description of Monticello and Jefferson by the Duc de la
Rochefoucauld-Liancourt.--Nominated Vice-President.--Letter
to Madison.--To Adams.--Preference for the Office of
Vice-President.--Sets out for Philadelphia.--Reception
there.--Returns to Monticello.--Letters to his Daughter.--Goes
to Philadelphia.--Letter to Rutledge.--Family Letters.--To Miss
Church.--To Mrs. Church.
I have elsewhere given a charming picture of Monticello and its
inmates in 1782, from the pen of an accomplished Frenchman--the
Marquis de Chastellux. A countryman of his--equally as accomplished
and distinguished, the Duc de la Rochefoucauld-Liancourt--has left
us a similar one of a later date. This patriotic French nobleman,
who had been Lieutenant-general of France and President of the
National Assembly, while in exile spent some days at Monticello, in
the month of June, 1796--a month when the mountains of Albemarle are
clothed in all the brilliancy of their summer beauty. The lovely
landscapes around Monticello were well calculated to charm the eye of
a foreigner; and I give the Duc's detailed but agreeable description
of the place, its owner, and its surroundings. There are one or two
trifling mistakes in it as regards geographical names; the rest is
accurate:
Monticello is situated three miles from Milton, in that chain of
mountains which stretches from James River to the Rappahannock,
twenty-eight miles in front of the Blue Ridge, and in a
direction parallel to those mountains. This chain, which runs
uninterrupted in its small extent, assumes successively the
names of the West, South, and Green Mountains.
It is in the part known by the name of the South Mountains that
Monticello is situated. The house stands on the summit of the
mountain, and the taste and arts of Europe have been consulted
in the formation of its plan. Mr. Jefferson had commenced its
construction before the American Revolution; since that epocha
his life has been constantly engaged in public affairs, and he
has not been able to complete the execution of the whole extent
of the project which it seems he had at first conceived. That
part of the building which was finished has suffered from the
suspension of the work, and Mr. Jefferson, who two years since
resumed the habits and leisure of private life, is now employed
in repairing the damage occasioned by this interruption, and
still more by his absence; he continues his original plan, and
even improves on it by giving to his buildings more elevation
and extent. He intends that they shall consist only of one
story, crowned with balustrades; and a dome is to be constructed
in the centre of the structure. The apartments will be large and
convenient; the decoration, both outside and inside, simple,
yet regular and elegant. Monticello, according to its first
plan, was infinitely superior to all other houses in America, in
point of taste and convenience; but at that time Mr. Jefferson
had studied taste and the fine arts in books only. His travels
in Europe have supplied him with models; he has appropriated
them to his design; and his new plan, the execution of which
is already much advanced, will be accomplished before the end
of next year, and then his house will certainly deserve to be
ranked with the most pleasant mansions in France and England.
Mr. Jefferson's house commands one of the most extensive
prospects you can meet with. On the east side, the front of
the building, the eye is not checked by any object, since
the mountain on which the house is seated commands all the
neighboring heights as far as the Chesapeake. The Atlantic
might be seen, were it not for the greatness of the distance,
which renders that prospect impossible. On the right and left
the eye commands the extensive valley that separates the Green,
South, and West Mountains from the Blue Ridge, and has no other
bounds but these high mountains, of which, on a clear day, you
discern the chain on the right upward of a hundred miles, far
beyond James River; and on the left as far as Maryland, on
the other side of the Potomac. Through some intervals formed
by the irregular summits of the Blue Mountains, you discover
the Peaked Ridge, a chain of mountains placed between the
Blue and North Mountains, another more distant ridge. But in
the back part the prospect is soon interrupted by a mountain
more elevated than that on which the house is seated. The
bounds of the view on this point, at so small a distance, form
a pleasant resting-place, as the immensity of prospect it
enjoys is perhaps already too vast. A considerable number of
cultivated fields, houses, and barns, enliven and variegate the
extensive landscape, still more embellished by the beautiful and
diversified forms of mountains, in the whole chain of which not
one resembles another. The aid of fancy is, however, required to
complete the enjoyment of this magnificent view; and she must
picture to us those plains and mountains such as population
and culture will render them in a greater or smaller number of
years. The disproportion existing between the cultivated lands
and those which are still covered with forests as ancient as
the globe, is at present much too great; and even when that
shall have been done away, the eye may perhaps further wish
to discover a broad river, a great mass of water--destitute
of which, the grandest and most extensive prospect is ever
destitute of an embellishment requisite to render it completely
beautiful.
On this mountain, and in the surrounding valleys on both banks
of the Rivanna, are situated the five thousand acres of land
which Mr. Jefferson possesses in this part of Virginia. Eleven
hundred and twenty only are cultivated. The land, left to the
care of stewards, has suffered as well as the buildings from
the long absence of the master; according to the custom of
the country, it has been exhausted by successive culture. Its
situation on the declivities of hills and mountains renders
a careful cultivation more necessary than is requisite in
lands situated in a flat and even country; the common routine
is more pernicious, and more judgment and mature thought are
required, than in a different soil. This forms at present
the chief employment of Mr. Jefferson. But little accustomed
to agricultural pursuits, he has drawn the principles of
culture either from works which treat on this subject or from
conversation. Knowledge thus acquired often misleads, and
is at all times insufficient in a country where agriculture
is well understood; yet it is preferable to mere practical
knowledge, and a country where a bad practice prevails, and
where it is dangerous to follow the routine, from which it is so
difficult to depart. Above all, much good may be expected, if a
contemplative mind like that of Mr. Jefferson, which takes the
theory for its guide, watches its application with discernment,
and rectifies it according to the peculiar circumstances and
nature of the country, climate, and soil, and conformably to the
experience which he daily acquires....
In private life Mr. Jefferson displays a mild, easy, and
obliging temper, though he is somewhat cold and reserved. His
conversation is of the most agreeable kind, and he possesses a
stock of information not inferior to that of any other man. In
Europe he would hold a distinguished rank among men of letters,
and as such he has already appeared there. At present he is
employed with activity and perseverance in the management of
his farms and buildings; and he orders, directs, and pursues
in the minutest details every branch of business relative to
them. I found him in the midst of the harvest, from which the
scorching heat of the sun does not prevent his attendance. His
negroes are nourished, clothed, and treated as well as white
servants could be. As he can not expect any assistance from the
two small neighboring towns, every article is made on his farm:
his negroes are cabinet-makers, carpenters, masons, bricklayers,
smiths, etc. The children he employs in a nail factory, which
yields already a considerable profit. The young and old
negresses spin for the clothing of the rest. He animates them
by rewards and distinctions; in fine, his superior mind directs
the management of his domestic concerns with the same abilities,
activity, and regularity which he evinced in the conduct of
public affairs, and which he is calculated to display in every
situation of life. In the superintendence of his household he is
assisted by his two daughters, Mrs. Randolph and Miss Maria, who
are handsome, modest, and amiable women. They have been educated
in France....
Mr. Randolph is proprietor of a considerable plantation,
contiguous to that of Mr. Jefferson's. He constantly spends the
summer with him, and, from the affection he bears him, he seems
to be his son rather than his son-in-law. Miss Maria constantly
resides with her father; but as she is seventeen years old,
and is remarkably handsome, she will, doubtless, soon find that
there are duties which it is still sweeter to perform than those
of a daughter. Mr. Jefferson's philosophic turn of mind, his
love of study, his excellent library, which supplies him with
the means of satisfying it, and his friends, will undoubtedly
help him to endure this loss, which, moreover, is not likely
to become an absolute privation; as the second son-in-law of
Mr. Jefferson may, like Mr. Randolph, reside in the vicinity of
Monticello, and, if he be worthy of Miss Maria, will not be able
to find any company more desirable than that of Mr. Jefferson....
Left Monticello on the 29th of June.
All through this summer Mr. Jefferson was much occupied with the
rebuilding of his house, which he hoped to finish before the winter
set in; but just as the walls were nearly ready to be roofed in, a
stiff freeze arrested, in November, all work on it for the winter.
General Washington having declared his determination to retire from
public life at the expiration of his second term, new candidates had
to be run for the Presidential chair. The Federalists chose John
Adams as their candidate; while the Republicans, having no thought of
running as theirs any man but Jefferson, placed his name at the head
of their ticket. How little interest Jefferson took in the elections,
so far as his own success was concerned, may be inferred from the
fact that he did not leave home during the whole campaign, and in
that time wrote only one political letter.
As the constitution then stood, the candidate who received the
highest number of votes was elected President, and the one who
received the next highest--whether he was run for President or
Vice-president--was elected to fill the latter office. The elections
were over, but the result still unknown, when Jefferson wrote, on
December 17th, to Mr. Madison, as follows:
_To James Madison._
Your favor of the 5th came to hand last night. The first wish
of my heart was that you should have been proposed for the
administration of the Government. On your declining it, I wish
any body rather than myself; and there is nothing I so anxiously
hope, as that my name may come out either second or third. These
would be indifferent to me; as the last would leave me at home
the whole year, and the other two-thirds of it.
After the result of the elections was no longer doubtful, and it
was known that Adams had been chosen as President and Jefferson
Vice-president, the latter wrote the following feeling and handsome
letter to the former:
_To John Adams._
Monticello, Dec. 28th, 1796.
Dear Sir--The public and the public papers have been much
occupied lately in placing us in a point of opposition to each
other. I trust with confidence that less of it has been felt by
ourselves personally. In the retired canton where I am, I learn
little of what is passing; pamphlets I see never; papers but a
few, and the fewer the happier. Our latest intelligence from
Philadelphia at present is of the 16th inst. But though at that
date your election to the first magistracy seems not to have
been known as a fact, yet with me it has never been doubted. I
knew it impossible you should lose a vote north of the Delaware,
and even if that of Pennsylvania should be against you in the
mass, yet that you would get enough south of that to place
your succession out of danger. I have never one single moment
expected a different issue; and though I know I shall not be
believed, yet it is not the less true that I have never wished
it. My neighbors, as my compurgators, could aver that fact,
because they see my occupations and my attachment to them....
I leave to others the sublime delight of riding in the storm,
better pleased with sound sleep and a warm berth below, with the
society of neighbors, friends, and fellow-laborers of the earth,
than of spies and sycophants. No one, then, will congratulate
you with purer disinterestedness than myself. The share, indeed,
which I may have had in the late vote I shall still value
highly, as an evidence of the share I have in the esteem of my
fellow-citizens. But still, in this point of view, a few votes
less would be little sensible; the difference in the effect
of a few more would be very sensible and oppressive to me. I
have no ambition to govern men. It is a painful and thankless
office. Since the day, too, on which you signed the treaty of
Paris, our horizon was never so overcast. I devoutly wish you
may be able to shun for us this war, by which our agriculture,
commerce, and credit will be destroyed. If you are, the glory
will be all your own; and that your administration may be filled
with glory and happiness to yourself and advantage to us, is the
sincere wish of one who, though, in the course of our voyage
through life, various little incidents have happened or been
contrived to separate us, retains still for you the solid esteem
of the moments when we were working for our independence, and
sentiments of respect and attachment.
TH. JEFFERSON.
Of the office of Vice-president, we find Jefferson, in a letter to
Madison written on January 1st, 1797, saying:
_To James Madison._
It is the only office in the world about which I am unable to
decide in my own mind whether I had rather have it or not have
it. Pride does not enter into the estimate; for I think, with
the Romans, that the general of to-day should be a soldier
to-morrow, if necessary. I can particularly have no feelings
which could revolt at a secondary position to Mr. Adams. I am
his junior in life, was his junior in Congress, his junior in
the diplomatic line, his junior lately in our civil government.
He always spoke of this office as being of all others the most
desirable, from the fact that it gave the incumbent a high position,
good salary, and ample leisure. To him this last advantage was its
greatest recommendation, and made him accept it with less reluctance
than he would have done any other which his countrymen could have
forced upon him.
Jefferson set out on the 20th of February for Philadelphia, there to
be installed in his new office. He drove his phaeton and pair as far
as Alexandria, when he sent his servant Jupiter back home with his
horses, while he continued his journey in the stage-coach. He arrived
in Philadelphia on the 2d of March.
With his usual modesty and dislike of display, he had written in
January to his friend Mr. Tazewell, who was in Congress, begging that
he might be notified of his election by the common channel of the
ordinary post, and not by a deputation of men of position, as had
been the case when the Government was first inaugurated. So, too,
from the same feeling of diffidence he sought to enter the national
capital as a private citizen, and without being the recipient of any
popular demonstrations. It was, however, in vain for him to attempt
to do so. A body of troops were on the look-out for him and signalled
his approach by a discharge of artillery, and, marching before him
into the city, bore a banner aloft on which were inscribed the words:
"Jefferson, the Friend of the People."
An incident characteristic of Jefferson occurred on the day of the
inauguration. After the oaths of office had been administered, the
President (Mr. Adams) resumed his seat for a moment, then rose and,
bowing to the assembly, left the hall. Jefferson rose to follow, but
seeing General Washington also rise to leave, he at once fell back to
let him pass out first. The General, perceiving this, declined to go
before, and forced the new Vice-president to precede him. The doors
of the hall closed upon them both amid the tumultuous cheering of the
assembly.
Jefferson set out for home on the 12th of March and arrived there
on the 20th, having performed the last stages of his journey in his
sulky. His two daughters were not at Monticello, being absent on a
long visit to an estate of Colonel Randolph's on James River. A few
days after his return home he wrote to Mrs. Randolph.
_To Martha Jefferson Randolph._--[_Extract._]
Monticello, March 27th, '97.
I arrived in good health at home this day se'nnight. The
mountain had then been in bloom ten days. I find that the
natural productions of the spring are about a fortnight earlier
here than at Fredericksburg; but where art and attention can do
any thing, some one in a large collection of inhabitants, as in
a town, will be before ordinary individuals, whether of town or
country. I have heard of you but once since I left home, and
am impatient to know that you are all well. I have, however,
so much confidence in the dose of health with which Monticello
charges you in summer and autumn, that I count on its carrying
you well through the winter. The difference between the health
enjoyed at Varina and Presqu'isle[45] is merely the effect of
this. Therefore do not ascribe it to Varina and stay there too
long. The bloom of Monticello is chilled by my solitude. It
makes me wish the more that yourself and sister were here to
enjoy it. I value the enjoyments of this life only in proportion
as you participate them with me. All other attachments are
weakening, and I approach the state of mind when nothing will
hold me here but my love for yourself and sister, and the tender
connections you have added to me. I hope you will write to me;
as nothing is so pleasing during your absence as these proofs of
your love. Be assured, my dear daughter, that you possess mine
in its utmost limits. Kiss the dear little ones for me. I wish
we had one of them here. Adieu affectionately,
TH. JEFFERSON.
[45] A former residence of Mr. and Mrs. Randolph.
Again, on April 9th, he writes:
My love to Maria. Tell her I have made a new law; which is,
only to _answer_ letters. It would have been her turn to have
received a letter had she not lost it by not writing. Adieu most
affectionately, both of you.
An extra session of Congress recalled Jefferson to Philadelphia
during the spring; and the following extract from a letter written
to Edward Rutledge while there gives an animated picture of the
bitterness of party feeling at that time.
_To Edward Rutledge._
You and I have seen warm debates and high political passions.
But gentlemen of different politics would then speak to each
other, and separate the business of the Senate from that of
society. It is not so now. Men who have been intimate all their
lives, cross the streets to avoid meeting, and turn their heads
another way, lest they should be obliged to touch their hats.
This may do for young men with whom passion is enjoyment, but it
is afflicting to peaceable minds.
The following charming family letters will be read with pleasure, I
feel sure:
_To Mary Jefferson._
Philadelphia, May 25th, 1797.
My dear Maria--I wrote to your sister the last week, since which
I have been very slowly getting the better of my rheumatism,
though very slowly indeed; being only able to walk a little
stronger. I see by the newspapers that Mr. and Mrs. Church and
their family are arrived at New York. I have not heard from
them, and therefore am unable to say any thing about your friend
Kitty, or whether she be still Miss Kitty. The condition of
England is so unsafe that every prudent person who can quit it,
is right in doing so. James is returned to this place, and is
not given up to drink as I had before been informed. He tells
me his next trip will be to Spain. I am afraid his journeys
will end in the moon. I have endeavored to persuade him to stay
where he is, and lay up money. We are not able yet to judge when
Congress will rise. Opinions differ from two to six weeks. A
few days will probably enable us to judge. I am anxious to hear
that Mr. Randolph and the children have got home in good health;
I wish also to hear that your sister and yourself continue in
health; it is a circumstance on which the happiness of my life
depends. I feel the desire of never separating from you grow
daily stronger, for nothing can compensate with me the want of
your society. My warmest affections to you both. Adieu, and
continue to love me as I do you. Yours affectionately,
TH. JEFFERSON.
The letter which comes next was written to Mrs. Randolph in reply to
one from her announcing to her father the engagement of his daughter
Maria, to her cousin John Wayles Eppes.
_To Martha Jefferson Randolph._
Philadelphia, June 8th, 1797.
I receive with inexpressible pleasure the information your
letter contained. After your happy establishment, which has
given me an inestimable friend, to whom I can leave the care of
every thing I love, the only anxiety I had remaining was to see
Maria also so associated as to insure her happiness. She could
not have been more so to my wishes if I had had the whole earth
free to have chosen a partner for her.
I now see our fireside formed into a group, no one member of
which has a fibre in their composition which can ever produce
any jarring or jealousies among us. No irregular passions,
no dangerous bias, which may render problematical the future
fortunes and happiness of our descendants. We are quieted as to
their condition for at least one generation more.
In order to keep us all together, instead of a present position
in Bedford, as in your case, I think to open and resettle the
plantation of Pantops for them. When I look to the ineffable
pleasure of my family society, I become more and more disgusted
with the jealousies, the hatred, and the rancorous and malignant
passions of this scene, and lament my having ever again been
drawn into public view. Tranquillity is now my object. I have
seen enough of political honors to know that they are but
splendid torments; and however one might be disposed to render
services on which any of their fellow-citizens should set a
value, yet, when as many would depreciate them as a public
calamity, one may well entertain a modest doubt of their real
importance, and feel the impulse of duty to be very weak. The
real difficulty is, that being once delivered into the hands
of others whose feelings are friendly to the individual and
warm to the public cause, how to withdraw from them without
leaving a dissatisfaction in their mind, and an impression of
pusillanimity with the public.
Maria Jefferson was married on the 13th of October, 1797, to John
Wayles Eppes, who was in every respect worthy of the high opinion
which we have found Jefferson expressing for him in the preceding
letters. His manners were frank and engaging, while his high talents
and fine education placed him among the first men of the country. The
young couple spent the early days of their married life at Eppington,
where the little "Polly," so beautiful and so timid, had received
such motherly care and affection from her good Aunt Eppes when
heart-broken at the death of her own mother.
I continue Mr. Jefferson's family letters.
_To Mary Jefferson Eppes._
Philadelphia, January 7th, '98.
I acknowledged, my dear Maria, the receipt of yours in a letter
I wrote to Mr. Eppes. It gave me the welcome news that your
sprain was well. But you are not to suppose it entirely so. The
joint will remain weak for a considerable time, and give you
occasional pains much longer. The state of things at ---- is
truly distressing. Mr. ----'s habitual intoxication will destroy
himself, his fortune, and family. Of all calamities this is the
greatest. I wish my sister could bear his misconduct with more
patience. It would lessen his attachment to the bottle, and at
any rate would make her own time more tolerable. When we see
ourselves in a situation which must be endured and gone through,
it is best to make up our minds to it, meet it with firmness,
and accommodate every thing to it in the best way practicable.
This lessens the evil, while fretting and fuming only serves to
increase our own torments. The errors and misfortunes of others
should be a school for our own instruction. Harmony in the
married state is the very first object to be aimed at. Nothing
can preserve affections uninterrupted but a firm resolution
never to differ in will, and a determination in each to consider
the love of the other as of more value than any object whatever
on which a wish had been fixed. How light, in fact, is the
sacrifice of any other wish when weighed against the affections
of one with whom we are to pass our whole life! And though
opposition in a single instance will hardly of itself produce
alienation, yet every one has their pouch into which all these
little oppositions are put; while that is filling the alienation
is insensibly going on, and when filled it is complete. It would
puzzle either to say why; because no one difference of opinion
has been marked enough to produce a serious effect by itself.
But he finds his affections wearied out by a constant stream
of little checks and obstacles. Other sources of discontent,
very common indeed, are the little cross-purposes of husband
and wife, in common conversation, a disposition in either
to criticise and question whatever the other says, a desire
always to demonstrate and make him feel himself in the wrong,
and especially in company. Nothing is so goading. Much better,
therefore, if our companion views a thing in a light different
from what we do, to leave him in quiet possession of his view.
What is the use of rectifying him if the thing be unimportant;
and if important, let it pass for the present, and wait a softer
moment and more conciliatory occasion of revising the subject
together. It is wonderful how many persons are rendered unhappy
by inattention to these little rules of prudence.
I have been insensibly led, by the particular case you mention,
to sermonize you on the subject generally; however, if it be
the means of saving you from a single heartache, it will have
contributed a great deal to my happiness; but before I finish
the sermon, I must add a word on economy. The unprofitable
condition of Virginia estates in general leaves it now next
to impossible for the holder of one to avoid ruin. And this
condition will continue until some change takes place in the
mode of working them. In the mean time, nothing can save us and
our children from beggary but a determination to get a year
beforehand, and restrain ourselves vigorously this year to the
clear profits of the last. If a debt is once contracted by a
farmer, it is never paid but by a sale.
The article of dress is perhaps that in which economy is the
least to be recommended. It is so important to each to continue
to please the other, that the happiness of both requires the
most pointed attention to whatever may contribute to it--and
the more as time makes greater inroads on our person. Yet,
generally, we become slovenly in proportion as personal decay
requires the contrary. I have great comfort in believing
that your understanding and dispositions will engage your
attention to these considerations; and that you are connected
with a person and family, who of all within the circle of my
acquaintance are most in the dispositions which will make you
happy. Cultivate their affections, my dear, with assiduity.
Think every sacrifice a gain which shall tend to attach them to
you. My only object in life is to see yourself and your sister,
and those deservedly dear to you, not only happy, but in no
danger of becoming unhappy.
I have lately received a letter from your friend Kitty Church.
I inclose it to you, and think the affectionate expressions
relative to yourself, and the advance she has made, will require
a letter from you to her. It will be impossible to get a crystal
here to fit your watch without the watch itself. If you should
know of any one coming to Philadelphia, send it to me, and I
will get you a stock of crystals. The river being frozen up, I
shall not be able to send you things till it opens, which will
probably be some time in February. I inclose to Mr. Eppes some
pamphlets. Present me affectionately to all the family, and be
assured of my tenderest love to yourself. Adieu.
TH. JEFFERSON.
_To Martha Jefferson Randolph._
Philadelphia, Feb. 8th, '98.
I ought oftener, my dear Martha, to receive your letters, for
the very great pleasure they give me, and especially when they
express your affections for me; for, though I can not doubt
them, yet they are among those truths which, though not doubted,
we love to hear repeated. Here, too, they serve, like gleams
of light, to cheer a dreary scene; where envy, hatred, malice,
revenge, and all the worst passions of men, are marshalled to
make one another as miserable as possible. I turn from this with
pleasure, to contrast it with your fireside, where the single
evening I passed at it was worth more than ages here. Indeed, I
find myself detaching very fast, perhaps too fast, from every
thing but yourself, your sister, and those who are identified
with you. These form the last hold the world will have on me,
the cords which will be cut only when I am loosened from this
state of being. I am looking forward to the spring with all
the fondness of desire to meet you all once more, and with the
change of season to enjoy also a change of scene and society.
Yet the time of our leaving this is not yet talked of.
I am much concerned to hear of the state of health of Mr.
Randolph and family, mentioned in your letters of Jan. 22d and
28th. Surely, my dear, it would be better for you to remove
to Monticello. The south pavilion, the parlor, and study will
accommodate your family; and I should think Mr. Randolph would
find less inconvenience in the riding it would occasion him than
in the loss of his own and his family's health. Let me beseech
you, then, to go there, and to use every thing and every body as
if I were there....
All your commissions shall be executed, not forgetting the Game
of the Goose, if we can find out what it is, for there is some
difficulty in that. Kiss all the little ones for me. Present me
affectionately to Mr. Randolph, and my warmest love to yourself.
Adieu.
TH. JEFFERSON.
_To Martha Jefferson Randolph._--[_Extract._]
Philadelphia, May 17th, '98.
Having nothing of business to write on to Mr. Randolph this
week, I with pleasure take up my pen to express all my love to
you, and my wishes once more to find myself in the only scene
where, for me, the sweeter affections of life have any exercise.
But when I shall be with you seems still uncertain. We have been
looking forward from three weeks to three weeks, and always
with disappointment, so that I know not what to expect. I shall
immediately write to Maria, and recommend to Mr. Eppes and her
to go up to Monticello....
For you to feel all the happiness of your quiet situation, you
should know the rancorous passions which tear every breast here,
even of the sex which should be a stranger to them. Politics
and party hatreds destroy the happiness of every being here.
They seem, like salamanders, to consider fire as their element.
The children, I am afraid, will have forgotten me. However,
my memory may perhaps be hung on the Game of the Goose which
I am to carry them. Kiss them for me.... And to yourself, my
tenderest love, and adieu.
_To Martha Jefferson Randolph._--[_Extract._]
Philadelphia, May 31st, '98.
Yours of the 12th did not get to hand till the 29th; so it must
have laid by a post somewhere. The receipt of it, by kindling
up all my recollections, increases my impatience to leave this
place, and every thing which can be disgusting, for Monticello
and my dear family, comprising every thing which is pleasurable
to me in this world. It has been proposed in Congress to adjourn
on the 14th of June. I have little expectation of it; but,
whatever be their determination, I am determined myself; and my
letter of next week will probably carry orders for my horses.
Jupiter should, therefore, be in readiness to depart at a
night's warning....
I am sorry to hear of Jefferson's indisposition, but glad you do
not physic him. This leaves nature free and unembarrassed in her
own tendencies to repair what is wrong. I hope to hear or find
that he is recovered. Kiss them all for me.
_To Mary Jefferson Eppes._
Monticello, July 13th, '98.
My dear Maria--I arrived here on the 3d instant, expecting to
have found you here, and we have been ever since imagining that
every sound we heard was that of the carriage which was once
more to bring us together. It was not till yesterday I learnt,
by the receipt of Mr. Eppes's letter of June 30th, that you
had been sick, and were only on the recovery at that date.
A preceding letter of his, referred to in that of the 30th,
must have miscarried. We are now infinitely more anxious, not
so much for your arrival here, as your firm establishment in
health, and that you may not be thrown back by your journey.
Much, therefore, my dear, as I wish to see you, I beg you not
to attempt the journey till you are quite strong enough, and
then only by short days' journeys. A relapse will only keep us
the longer asunder, and is much more formidable than a first
attack. Your sister and family are with me. I would have gone
to you instantly on the receipt of Mr. Eppes's letter, had
not that assured me you were well enough to take the bark. It
would also have stopped my workmen here, who can not proceed
an hour without me, and I am anxious to provide a cover which
may enable me to have my family and friends about me. Nurse
yourself, therefore, with all possible care for your own sake,
for mine, and that of all those who love you, and do not attempt
to move sooner or quicker than your health admits. Present me
affectionately to Mr. Eppes, father and son, to Mrs. Eppes and
all the family, and be assured that my impatience to see you can
only be moderated by the stronger desire that your health may be
safely and firmly re-established. Adieu, affectionately.
TH. J.
_To Martha Jefferson Randolph._
Ellen appeared to be feverish the evening you went away; but
visiting her, a little before I went to bed, I found her quite
clear of fever, and was convinced the quickness of pulse which
had alarmed me had proceeded from her having been in uncommon
spirits and constantly running about the house through the day,
and especially in the afternoon. Since that she has had no
symptom of fever, and is otherwise better than when you left
her. The girls, indeed, suppose she had a little fever last
night; but I am sure she had not, as she was well at 8 o'clock
in the evening, and very well in the morning, and they say she
slept soundly through the night. They judged only from her
breathing. Every body else is well, and only wishing to see you.
I am persecuted with questions "When I think you will come?"...
If you set out after dinner, be sure to get off between four and
five. Adieu, my dear.
Wednesday, Aug. 15th, '98.
The following letter, without date, was written to the daughter of
his friend Mrs. Church:
_To Catherine Church._
I received, my dear Catherine, from the hands of your brother,
the letter you have done me the favor to write me. I see in
that letter the excellent disposition which I knew in you in an
earlier period of life. These have led you to mistake, to your
own prejudice, the character of our attentions to you. They
were not favors, but gratifications of our own affections to an
object who had every quality which might endear her to us. Be
assured we have all continued to love you as if still of our
fireside, and to make you the very frequent theme of our family
conversations. Your friend Maria has, as you supposed, changed
her condition; she is now Mrs. Eppes. She and her sister, Mrs.
Randolph, retain all their affection for you, and never fail
in their friendly inquiries after you whenever an opportunity
occurs. During my winter's absence, Maria is with the family
with which she has become allied; but on my return they will
also return to reside with me. My daughter Randolph has hitherto
done the same, but lately has removed with Mr. Randolph to
live and build on a farm of their own, adjoining me; but I
still count on their passing the greater part of their time
at Monticello. Why should we forbid ourselves to believe that
some day or other some circumstance may bring you also to our
little society, and renew the recollections of former scenes
very dear to our memory. Hope is so much more charming than
disappointments and forebodings, that we will not set it down
among impossible things. We will calculate on the circumstance
that you have already crossed the ocean which laid between us,
and that in comparison with that the space which remains is
as nothing. Who knows but you may travel to see our springs
and our curiosities--not, I hope, for your health, but to vary
your summer scenes, and enlarge your knowledge of your own
country. In that case we are on your road, and will endeavor
to relieve the fatigues of it by all the offices of friendship
and hospitality. I thank you for making me acquainted with
your brother. The relations he bears to the best of people are
sufficient vouchers to me of his worth. He must be of your party
when you come to Monticello. Adieu, my dear Catherine. I consign
in a separate letter my respects to your good mother. I have
here, therefore, only to claim your acceptance of the sincere
attachment of yours affectionately,
TH. JEFFERSON.
The following gives some glimpses of the French friends of Jefferson:
_To Mrs. Church._
Dear Madam--Your favor of July 6th was to have found me here,
but I had departed before it arrived. It followed me here, and
of necessity the inquiries after our friend Madame de Corny
were obliged to await Mrs. M.'s arrival at her own house. This
was delayed longer than was expected, so that by the time I
could make the inquiries I was looking again to my return to
Philadelphia. This must apologize for the delay which has taken
place. Mrs. M. tells me that Madame Corny was at one time in
extreme distress, her revenue being in rents, and these paid in
assignats worth nothing. Since their abolition, however, she
receives her rents in cash, and is now entirely at her ease.
She lives in hired lodgings furnished by herself, and every
thing about her as nice as you know she always had. She visited
Mrs. M. freely and familiarly in a family way, but would never
dine when she had company, nor remain if company came. She
speaks seriously sometimes of a purpose to come to America, but
she surely mistakes a wish for a purpose; you and I know her
constitution too well, and her horror of the sea, to believe
she could pass or attempt the Atlantic. Mrs. M. could not give
me her address. In all events, it is a great consolation that
her situation is easy. We have here a Mr. Niemcewitz, a Polish
gentleman who was with us in Paris while Mrs. Cosway was there,
and who was of her society in London last summer. He mentions
the loss of her daughter, the gloom into which that and other
circumstances have thrown her, and that it has taken the form of
religion. Also that she is solely devoted to religious exercises
and the superintendence of a school for Catholic children, which
she has instituted, but she still speaks of her friends with
tenderness. Our letters have been rare, but they have let me
see that her gayety was gone, and her mind entirely fixed on a
world to come. I have received from my young friend Catherine a
letter, which gratifies me much, as it proves that our friendly
impressions have not grown out of her memory.... Be so good as
to present my respects to Mr. C., and accept assurances of the
unalterable attachment of your affectionate friend and servant,
TH. JEFFERSON.