I lie in the tangled grass,
And watch, in the sea of azure,
The white cloud-islands pass.
The birds in the rustling branches
Sing gaily overhead;
Grey stones like sentinel spectres
Are guarding the silent dead.
The early flowers sleep shaded
In the cool green noonday glooms;
The broken light falls shuddering
On the cold white face of the tombs.
Without, the world is smiling
In the infinite love of God,
But the sunlight fails and falters
When it falls on the churchyard sod.
On me the joyous rapture
Of a heart's first love is shed,
But it falls on my heart as coldly
As sunlight on the dead.
Chapter Eight: The Insanity File
“I feel there is no life to me, without my idolized Taddie. One by one I have consigned to their resting place, my idolized ones, & now, in this world, there is nothing left me, but the deepest anguish & desolation.”
— Mary Todd Lincoln
AN AUGUST, THE SUMMER OF 1871 SHOULD HAVE ENDED, but the weather seemed more sweltering than ever. The wind kept blowing from the southwest, bringing in waves of heat from the prairie. Streams dried up, and grass withered away, while leaves started falling off the trees. The horses in the streets were visibly exhausted, and the buildings seemed to shine in the sun. Businessmen kept going about their duties, sweating in their suits and wiping their brows with their handkerchiefs. Ladies tried to stay in the shade and to air out their dresses when possible.
Mary Lincoln was so lethargic and so grief-stricken that she could barely walk, and her nausea was downright debilitating. Her migraines were so severe that she spent all her time in the dark. She was taking laudanum for her nerves and chloral hydrate to sleep. Lizzie Brown tried to watch her while Robert was away, but Mary often barricaded herself in her room, and no amount of cajoling could get her to open the door.
Doctor Smith stood outside in the hallway. “Mrs. Lincoln,” he said, “it’s your physician. You must let me in.” He waited for a response, but nothing seemed to happen.
“Mary,” Lizzie said, “you must not be so reclusive. We are trying to help you—”
Mary let out a wail but didn’t otherwise respond.
Billy Holbrook, Robert’s manservant, came down the hall. “She’s been going through pamphlets,” Billy said. “She asked me to find a spiritualist to help make peace with her son—”
“Oh good heavens,” Lizzie said.
Smith jostled the knob. “Mrs. Lincoln?”
Lizzie turned away. “It’s no use,” she said. “We must go find Robert.” And with that, Lizzie hurried down the stairs.
SIMON, MEANWHILE, WAS IN THE BOWELS OF THE COURTHOUSE, while Lillian watched his nephew yet again. Dramatic news had just come over the wires. The recent riots in Manhattan had unleashed a storm of criticism against New York’s Tammany Hall, but the trouble went deeper than anyone had suspected. A disgruntled employee had now leaked the city ledgers to The New York Times, revealing more than twelve million dollars in fraudulent payments. It didn’t take a detective to realize what was happening: Tammany Hall was raiding city coffers and fleecing New York into bankruptcy.
Now Simon’s corruption story was taking on new life as activists nationwide began calling for reforms. Simon knew that Chicago was as corrupt as New York, and he knew there was a great deal of graft for him to find. Even Deacon Bross now acknowledged the problem, and Joseph Medill demanded that something be done at once. The whole Tribune was mobilizing its forces, and Simon found himself on the front lines of the effort.
Simon sat among the plat books, which were housed in the Courthouse’s East Wing. He paged through the papers that Lillian had given him, and when he compared them against the official records, he immediately began seeing patterns.
Then, when he looked up from the table, he saw Dyer enter the room. Simon noticed that Dyer was headed for the Belden Avenue books. Simon took a deep breath and got up from his seat.
“What are you doing here?” Simon asked.
“Why hello son,” Dyer replied. “I just purchased a plot that’s adjacent to yours.”
“Did you,” Simon shot back. He could already feel his muscles growing tense. “Tell me, did you forge any documents to get it?”
Dyer’s good eye darted around, but his glass eye sat fixed in place. “Excuse me?” he asked.
“You must tell me precisely what’s going on, and exactly how you’re involved,” Simon replied. “It must not affect me, otherwise I shall call for investigation—”
“Son,” Dyer said, “you haven’t the slightest idea what is truly at work. You must not think for one moment that you may march in here, make a threat, and make me nervous. Understand?”
Simon didn’t answer. He crossed his arms and glared.
“I believe I’ve told you what I must,” Dyer said.
ROBERT UNLOCKED MARY’S ROOM AND QUIETLY OPENED THE DOOR. “Mother?” he said.
Mary sat on the far side of the room but didn’t say a word. She had drawn all the shades and now sat sobbing in a chair.
Robert stuffed his key in his pocket. “Good heavens, mother,” he said. “What on Earth—”
“I’m sorry,” Mary cried. “Sorry my son.”
“What?” Robert asked as he went to her side.
“With the last few years so filled with sorrow, this fresh anguish bows me to the earth,” Mary said. “Oh, that I could be with him! For with the lonely life I impose upon myself, separated from those I love so much at this trying heartrending time, I feel excruciating pain.” She threw her arms around Robert. “Let me beseech you, dear son, to take care of your health. My head now aches for tears I have shed in thinking of your brother and his illness. Our loving boy Taddie, with his great good heart, loved you so devotedly... Robert, dear child, you must be very careful of yourself, and I beg you now to enjoin all that caution upon you.”
“Mother,” he said, “my health is not at issue. You should heed your doctors yourself.”
“No!” Mary yelled. “No doctors! Not that miserable little humbug Doctor Smith! Do oblige me, dear Robert, not to speak with him when he calls to see you. He acted a most perfidious part to me, and it was a great piece of impudence that he ventured near you. Please oblige me by never going near him!”
“What happened?” Robert asked.
“He killed my son! Saintly Tad was improving, he would have recovered on his own! I know not why Smith chose to snuff out his life, but so it was! As grievous as other bereavements have been, not one great sorrow ever approached the agony of this— I cannot forgive him— my idolized and devoted boy, torn from me, when he had bloomed into such a noble, promising youth!” Then Mary burst into tears, fell back into her chair, and sobbed uncontrollably.
Robert swallowed. “Do not cry so, mother,” he said. “I cannot bear to hear it. Tad is in a better place now, along with Father and Willie—”
“Stop!” Mary yelled. “Stop! You shall not say another word!”
Robert looked into Mary’s eyes, and he tried to gauge what she was thinking. “Mother?” he said.
Mary closed her eyes and shook her head. She whimpered for a minute, then began muttering a slow stream of words. “I hope you will so— it is always a dreary time— I do hope your girl— dresses shawls camel hairs— to like Chicago— we can only hope— make good use of the time I will be— and tell me about baby boxes, windows height and depth and everything— that you value so highly.”
Robert paused as his expression darkened. “Mother,” he said, “you are not yourself.”
Mary sat still for a moment. Her eyes stayed closed, and her lip quivered a bit. She held her hand to her face, but she seemed too weak to wipe away her tears.
“Mother,” Robert said, “you must gather yourself. Do it for my sake, i
f not for yours.” He chewed his lip. “Are you listening?”
Mary nodded ever so slightly, then suddenly let out a wail. “Forgive me, son— son, terribly, forgive me,” she said between sobs. “For— forgive me terribly, terribly my son.”
Robert didn’t know how to respond. He knew how inconsolable his mother could be, but he had never seen her in such an incoherent state.
Mary leaned forward and put her hands on his cheeks. “My son,” she said, “none but your own good noble self, would be so forgetful of self, no, not while in the midst of your own indisposition.”
Robert swallowed. “I cannot focus on myself,” he replied. “Not at a time such as this.”
Mary cried for another few minutes, then briefly gathered herself. “If I could possibly live,” she sobbed, “other than to be a mortification of myself, I would not make the least request, no, not at the hands of those who could so ameliorate my sad condition. I do not expect to rally— no, if defeat comes, perhaps when the end comes, we can hope that it will be well with me.”
“No, Mother,” Robert said. “Never say such things. Think of that expression, which you quoted to me so often: ‘the darkest hour is before day.’”
Mary blinked, leaned back, and pulled a strand of hair from her eyes. “My dearest,” she said, “I am so terribly sorry. You must know, whilst life lasts and afterwards— I shall always love you.”
Robert felt a queasy sensation in his chest. He looked his mother in the eyes. Then he swallowed hard and kissed Mary’s forehead. “And I you,” he replied.
THREE BLOCKS AWAY, A MASSIVE INFERNO WAS RAGING. It was on Sixteenth Street at the mammoth Burlington Warehouse. Flames were blasting out of the roof, and the smoke was visible across the South Side. The blaze had broken out barely a half-hour before, but every fireman in Chicago was already on the scene. A crowd watched as a side of the building collapsed, and a cloud of debris cascaded through the air.
Fire Marshal Williams was racing around the site, commanding the efforts of more than a dozen different engines. Williams was now in his element; he loved tackling fires and working up a good sweat. He had always prided himself on his ability to make quick decisions, and he knew how important those decisions truly were. Williams rushed from engine to engine in large confident steps, stopping only to bark orders at his men. Many of his subordinates were as skilled and as dedicated as he was, and they fought the fire like soldiers in the heat of battle.
Williams heard another roar as the building’s northern façade gave way. The brick front was only a few inches thick; inside, the warehouse was made entirely out of pine, and it was stocked full everything from syrups to stoves. It was a dangerous situation, but it was not unusual, since rickety construction was so common in the city.
The weather, of course, had only made things worse. The whole Mississippi basin was now baking in the sun. Forest fires were burning across Illinois, Iowa, and Wisconsin, sending smoke plumes hundreds of miles across the sky. None of those blazes had so far threatened Chicago, but the city was seeing plenty of conflagrations of its own. Williams was experienced enough to know how precarious the city’s position was.
He ran to the Chicago engine company, which was scrambling to get its equipment set up. Williams feared that the blaze could jump State Street, in which case it was anyone’s guess how far it might spread. He directed the men as they unraveled their hose and started dousing the blaze. Williams bit his lip, crossed his fingers, and prayed to God that their strategy would work.
SIMON STORMED PAST A GROUP OF OFFICERS WHO WERE RUNNING OUT OF THE COURTHOUSE. He was steaming with indignation as he marched to Lillian’s home at Terrace Row. “What have you to say about this?” Simon asked. “I’ve found at least two aldermen, McGrath and McAuley, who supported both the Milliman-Judd transaction and the Water Tower in Bridgeport. Each received two hundred fifty dollars from Dyer—”
“I told you about those payments months ago,” Lillian said. “Did you not believe me?”
“That’s just it,” he replied. “None of this has ever been public before. How could you possibly have known it? And where did you obtain the records you gave me?”
Lillian stared at him. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Of course you do,” he said. “You’ve clearly got inside information— exactly what sort, I don’t know.”
“But I neve’ said— I mean—”
Simon crossed his arms. He didn’t buy her explanation; in fact, he was starting to see Lillian in a whole different light. “So tell me,” he said, “exactly how is your father involved?”
“H-he isn’t,” she quickly replied. “You must leave him out of this.”
“How can I?” Simon asked. “And why should I? If the corruption truly runs as deeply as you’ve said, then I could lose everything! And you must not forget, you came to me— you’re the one who wanted me to pursue it—”
“Well, what was I to do?” she snapped. “It gnawed at me... well, I’m sorry I told you. It was a mistake, that’s all it was... I love my fathe’ with all my soul.”
Simon paused for a moment, then decided to take another tack. “You want to get away from him, don’t you?” he asked. “I can see it in your eyes.”
“Simon—”
“It’s true, isn’t it?” he asked. “I don’t know why you’re so afraid, because I can help you. I’d support you. I’ve got a house, I’ve got everything you need— and we can make our lives whatever we want—”
“What is this?” she asked. “If you’ trying to be pe’suasive, that’s the most obtuse proposal I’ve heard in my life.” She crossed her arms. “The answer is unequivocally no, and if you wish to win over a woman—”
“Just a moment—”
“No, you’ve offended me. How dare you accuse me of this and besmirch the name of my fathe’, then turn around and act as if you wish to help me? As if I even needed any help!”
“Now wait, you’re misconstruing every word I have used—”
“Then don’t let me misconstrue any othe’ thing you say. Just take you’ nephew and get out of my home. Goodbye Simon.” And before Simon had a chance to react, she rushed up the stairs and slammed a door shut behind her.
ROBERT PACED AROUND HIS BEDROOM AS HE DEBATED HOW TO HANDLE HIS MOTHER. A framed photo of his wife looked out across the room, making Robert feel all the more lonely. He thought Mary Harlan would know just what to do, and he wished he could ask for her advice and support. But he knew that wasn’t possible; he’d have to work up the courage to confront his mother himself.
Robert opened a drawer and pulled out some letters, most of which Mary had written from Europe. Robert felt a pang of nostalgia as he looked through the papers. His mother seemed to have enjoyed her travels so much, but at the same time, Robert couldn’t help noticing how erratic the letters were. Mary rarely expressed a clear thought or even a complete sentence, and she often changed subjects at random. Robert began to consider if that may have been due to an unstable mind:
If I was in Chicago— we would be accompanied by “Miss Lincoln,” beguile those hours— be sometimes driving out... You should go out every day & do enjoy yourself you are so very young and should be as gay as a lark. Trouble comes soon enough, my dear child— and you must enjoy life, whenever you can— We all love you so very much— and you are blessed with a devoted husband & darling child—so go out— & enjoy the sunshine— Only, do not allow the baby, to walk too soon & become bowlegged—
Robert read and re-read those lines, and a wistful expression crept across his face. He tried to follow her logic, and he tried to make himself think that she was misunderstood. But then he moved on to another letter:
Terrible, gloomy Chicago, what good cause I had to remember that place. The picture looks brighter with you & the baby in it! And those shocking servants— that infest the place & are part of it— I am sorry you are so soon realizing, the discomforts of keeping house there— If you only ha
d some of these faithful German servants— How much I wish I could be with you for with your young baby— I could help you very much— What a scrawl this is— The news of the missing box— makes me very anxious regarding the little box & trunk.— I sent you— four weeks since—
Then Robert came to a third letter:
I am suffering badly with Neuralgia— all over me— I would get no curtains— for any part These Germans are slow— but so they are sure about the work, to complete it, as I have enjoined upon them— the little delay can be endured— I suppose your letter of 14th of June in which the announcement was made— arrived here about a week after I left— otherwise, I could have secured what I wished in Paris—
Robert took a deep breath, put down the letters, and began rubbing his chin. He didn’t want to believe that his mother was unbalanced. She was, and always had been, one of the most important figures in his life. Robert prayed that she would find a way out of her grief, because if she didn’t, then the family would be left with very few options.
Robert knew that at that point, mental illness was almost impossible to treat. The needed research and technology simply didn’t exist. The only thing doctors could do was to smile and nod and lend a sympathetic ear. Doctors didn’t want to admit that, of course, so they claimed they could “cure” almost anyone. But that didn’t mean much, since many patients were “cured” on a regular basis; in one case, the same woman was “cured of insanity” at least forty-six times.
The only real option was to send a patient to an asylum, and Illinois had some of the toughest commitment standards in the world. The system was notoriously hard on patients’ families. The family members would have to testify about their loved ones’ troubles, and these matters became public record for all the world to see. If a jury found that their loved one was insane, then the patient was shipped off to the State Hospital in Jacksonville, Illinois, more than half a day’s train ride from Chicago.
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