I asked Jemmy if he wanted me to tell Sukey that the affair must stop, and he surprised me by saying he would do it. She must understand the gravity of the situation and the harm she could do to us. I begged him not to become too angry with her.
He left the room. When he returned, his face was drawn, his lips tight. Sukey had cried. Jemmy can’t bear seeing a woman cry, but he persevered and told her she was not just putting him in a delicate position but was putting herself in harm’s way as well.
My dear husband. Even though she had done wrong, he thought of her welfare.
He paced the room. He wouldn’t get into bed and the man was dog-tired. He said he knew in his bones that slavery was the greatest evil this nation would ever know. Not only must we free the slaves, we must send them back to Africa, to the land of their ancestors. He kept going for an hour. He feared that the westward expansion, though necessary, would also spread slavery. He knew that the West Florida territories couldn’t get by without slave labor.
I beseeched him to come to bed. We could do nothing about slavery until after this war, and even then I felt uncertain about what we could do. Of course, I said nothing about freeing his slaves. I tried that early in our marriage, and now with this cursed war he couldn’t possibly consider this course of action even if he were so inclined.
Wherever rice, cotton, or tobacco can be planted, there will be slavery.
Jemmy finally exhausted himself, crawled into bed, and I believe was asleep before his head hit the pillow. Then I couldn’t sleep. It’s three in the morning. This room is as cold as a tomb.
What can we do with slaves? Can we send them back to their homelands? And how would slaves know their homelands? Their language is lost. When you look at Africans, you can see that they are as different from one another as an Irishman is from a Greek. I know this evil gnaws at Jemmy’s conscience even as it gnaws at mine. He was so overwrought. I don’t believe we should send our slaves back to Africa. They are Americans. I realize that they will never be allowed into society, but it is far better for them to remain here and make their way, painful and unjust though that way may be. Sending them back to Africa would be like sending me back to Ireland or Wales. I don’t belong there.
Perhaps once the war is over, Congress could someday consider giving the Africans a territory. Congress would never give them the vote, even if former slaves could read and write, but if the Africans wanted their own territory under the protectorate of the United States, they could educate and govern themselves. Maybe it would provide some sense of justice.
I must try to go to sleep.
Until the morrow, God willing.
D.P.M.
26 January 1814, Wednesday
Daschkov and his wife attended my Wednesday drawing room. Such looks he cast at Sukey! I kept my eyes on Jemmy. This situation has upset him as much as his worry over the impending vote. Perhaps in a strange way it’s a relief from the tension, or a safe conduit for the tension. I have never observed my husband in such a state of controlled anger.
He is furious with Daschkov for taking advantage of a slave, although with Sukey’s exotic beauty she probably had the advantage. I remember Jemmy’s outrage when the Federalists spread rumors about Jefferson and his slave Sally Hemings. Jemmy’s mildness disappears whenever women are mistreated or a friend is abused.
And yet how many men slip off into the night down to the cabins? One has only to observe carefully the faces of slaves on many a plantation to see the mark of the master. My dear James wishes that all men were as honorable as himself. I do, too.
As if Daschkov’s moonings and sighings weren’t enough, Laban Wheaton had the audacity to cite me for spending $12,669.31 to refurbish the small sitting room and the large oval drawing room. I spent that money between 1809 and 1811 and I accounted for every penny, an accounting he has obviously memorized. French John overheard Wheaton, and when French John served him wine, he managed to spill it in his lap. I feigned concern and winked at French John.
Mrs. William Thornton overheard the conversation and whispered to me, “Men want to live in comfortable homes, and then they complain about the bills. You had to spend that money. Every woman knows that.”
Madame Serurier still searches for a buyer for my necklace, which I do hope she finds quickly because James Brown knows of a good team of horses. Perhaps, too, I can placate some of our creditors if there is enough left over after the purchase of the horses. Now we’re in the depth of winter, but spring will be upon us and Mother Madison needs that team. When I begged Senator Brown to see if he could hold the team for me, he said he would hold them “ ’til kingdom come.”
Oh, I know Southern men slip down to those cabins, but then they flash that deadly charm. I don’t know when I’ve met more charming or handsome men than the delegation from Louisiana.
Laban Wheaton leaned over his wineglass, calling the men brought into our country from the Louisiana Purchase the “ignorant hordes.”
James Brown returned fire in a slow drawl. “I quite agree, Laban, I quite agree, we are ignorant of avarice, treachery, and small-mindedness.” Then he smiled, and we waited for him to say that Laban Wheaton had flagrantly exhibited all those characteristics, but the smile proved more potent than a further attack. Wheaton retreated.
Daniel Webster paid his respects. He’ll run to fat in his old age, which I shall not see, but now, in the bloom of manhood, what a handsome man and what a pity that he is a Federalist. I think of Federalists as such old men. I’m quite undone by the thought of a young one. I should think the young would want to go to the new territories. I know I would.
I can see the gleam in Daniel Webster’s eyes. I’ve seen that kind of ambition before. If we should lose this war—and we will not!—then Webster might win his prize.
I think those New England fellows resent men like James Brown of Louisiana and Henry Clay because every time Western Territories are opened up, more men and more money are drawn into the West. Our energies will turn westward, inward, away from Europe. New England’s face turns toward the Atlantic Ocean.
Of course, the fact that certain of these Northern businessmen have sunk fortunes into the timber in Maine and Vermont surely affects their politics. It’s possible to ship lumber north and south on rivers and even across oceans, but how will they get it inland unless by wagon? The expense would be terrible. The West is not a market for them.
The Federalists are led by city men. The Westerners and most of the Republicans are country men, men who want to be left alone to clear land, plant crops, and breed cattle and horses. A Federalist probably sees more people in a day than a Westerner sees in a year. Being alone, I believe, creates an independent spirit. Webster and his kind perceive this independence as lawlessness. Perhaps the men of the new territories aren’t as enamored of rules, procedures, and laws. I expect Mother Nature is their lawgiver.
Anna helped me tonight, as did Elizabeth Monroe. Anna stayed late and I told her about Sukey. Anna was horrified. When she recovered she shocked French John and me by saying that Sukey could prove very useful. Then she burst out laughing and so did I. We asked French John what he thought of such behavior, and he replied with a Gallic shrug of the shoulders, which made us laugh some more. Then he said, “Daschkov can’t be as busy as he pretends to be if he has the time for three women. I can’t keep up with the one I’ve got.”
He must keep up all right, because he has more children than a cat has kittens.
Which reminds me: King George escaped from the kitchen, rushed into the drawing room with her tail fluffed out, and made off with a turkey leg during my party. French John started to chase her, but I told him to let George keep her prize. This made the guests laugh. Actually, I believe we were all glad of any diversion to keep our minds off tomorrow, most especially Jemmy and John Calhoun. Mr. Calhoun is so gaunt that he looks cadaverous, and he’s an attractive man. He must not be eating or sleeping properly. I prepared a plate of food for him and then forced him to sit do
wn with me for a moment. I wouldn’t let him go until he had consumed every morsel. By no stretch of the imagination is Mr. Calhoun a jolly fellow, but with a bit of patience and pulling, one can lure him onto lighter subjects. He and Mr. Webster nodded politely to each other. Nothing more.
I asked Mr. Calhoun about his plantation, and for the first time I got more than a sentence out of him. He told me about the soils, his overseer’s capabilities, his use of the rich bottomland for corn. He was proud of his wife’s abilities as a manager and of being able to leave his land without a moment’s worry with Floride in charge. He smiled and said he didn’t know how she could be so beautiful and so intelligent. She was far better than he deserved. Then he blushed and apologized for bragging about his wife.
“Your youth and your love for your wife are refreshing, and I’d like to hear more,” I said.
“After the war Floride will join me here, and, Mrs. Madison, you are the first person I want her to meet.”
“I am honored,” I replied.
Well, I am. I think John Calhoun and I will work together very well so long as he doesn’t know we’re working together!
A busy day. Sukey’s still teary. I don’t know what to do. Jemmy forbade her to see Daschkov and he’s right, yet I hate to see her so miserable. If she’s not in love with the man, then why is she so unhappy? Perhaps in those moments when she has a man in her power, she feels free.
I know women have to work around men as I will have to do with Calhoun, but I don’t know that I have ever had a man in my power. I wouldn’t like it. I don’t want anyone to have power over me and I don’t want power over anyone else. Jemmy has never given me an order, nor I him. Well, when I ran up those dreadful duty charges on the Parisian clothes, he gave me orders never to do it again, but we made up.
I had merely asked Ruth Barlow, who was then in Paris, to send me a few things, a few gloves and so forth, and to bill my husband. I had no idea she would send so much! Then the turbans were too big and I couldn’t find anyone with whom I could exchange them. Well, the turbans weren’t the problem. The ten-thousand-dollar bill, including duties, was the problem. In all the years of our marriage I think that’s the angriest Jemmy has ever been with me. And yes, I did put in another clothing order to Paris last year, but I was much more precise and the costs will be reasonable. I can’t go about in clothes everyone has seen a hundred times, or looking raggedy. It just wouldn’t do.
At Montpelier it is different. I wear gray Quaker dresses, no frills, and Jemmy wears a simple shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He’s outside as much as in. We look like the two farmers we are.
Did I take another detour? I fear I did. These Wednesday levees make me as chatty as a blue jay. Oh, I almost forgot, William Thornton found another racehorse. A 16.2-hand liver-chestnut colt with two white socks and a blaze. One white sock, buy him. Two white socks, try him. Three white socks, be wary. Four white socks, nary. Father used to say that and I have heard it many times since. I wonder where it comes from? Naturally, Jemmy can’t buy this horse with Dr. Thornton. We haven’t a penny, but oh, we’ve won some wonderful races together in the past. I must see the horse, and Dr. Thornton promises me a visit.
I’m nervous about tomorrow’s vote. I’d roll my dice but I’m anxious. What if I turned up double sixes? I rolled them. Three. I kept going and got my three. Good!
Until the morrow, God willing.
D.P.M.
James Madison threw the newspapers across his desk with such force that he startled John Armstrong. “Lies, lies, and poppycock!” Madison’s thin voice filled the room.
“I know that, Mr. President.” Armstrong’s voice dripped sympathy, but in truth he was enjoying Madison’s fury.
The Secretary of War had asked the President for a private meeting after the levee. Armstrong lost no time in producing the Federalist newspapers and gossip sheets that insinuated Dolley Madison was having an illicit affair with André Daschkov. A few papers threw in Louis Serurier for good measure.
“I ought to call out each of these editors and hasten his departure from this life!”
“The President can’t risk himself dueling, especially since you’ve been so opposed to the practice in the past,” Armstrong replied in a silky voice.
“This nation has lost enough good men through dueling but oh, the satisfaction of it!”
“You could engage a good attorney.” Armstrong nearly smirked as he said that.
“The law allows what honor forbids.” Madison had always been suspicious of lawyers.
He stood up and began pacing, but Armstrong made no move to stand as his superior paced. “My wife will see these. I can’t hide them from her,” said Jemmy.
“No gentleman would mention it—”
“Oh, Mr. Armstrong, as my mother would say, this is ‘scandal too good to be true.’ Of course someone will mention it! I have to consider how to tell her”—he paused—“and right before this crucial vote. Those fimicolous vermin!” Madison surmised from the quizzical look on Armstrong’s face that he didn’t know what fimicolous meant. “Inhabiting dung, Mr. Armstrong.”
Armstrong smiled weakly and nodded. “It will all blow over.”
“Yes.” James rubbed his chin. It greatly irritated him that he couldn’t shave himself because one eye was nearsighted and the other farsighted. He liked being cleanshaven and the hint of stubble bothered him. “It will blow over, but think of the harm it does.”
“Anyone who knows your good lady knows she is quite incapable of this.”
“They’ve been whispering about her since the war began, but putting it in print—” Madison stopped pacing and directed his gaze at the handsome Armstrong. “Yes, it will blow over, as you say, but remember what happened to Jefferson in 1787 when he was serving as minister to France. He was across the Atlantic and could hardly defend himself. His enemies spread the rumor that he had taken his fourteen-year-old slave girl, Sally Hemings, as his”—he paused—“concubine. Those rumors are alive today. They will be alive when both Thomas Jefferson and Sally are dead. And now my dear wife, my Dolley, who is the kindest, sweetest, and most lighthearted woman I have ever known—laughter is her natural element, Mr. Armstrong, have you ever noticed? She is either laughing or she spins it out of other people.” Armstrong smiled and indicated that he agreed with the President, “This good woman, who never harmed anyone, never even spoke against anyone, is enduring this filth—because she’s married to me.”
John Armstrong suddenly wondered what he would do if the newspapers printed something like this about his wife. Well, that was easy. He would call the fool out for a duel. He might lose his Cabinet post over it, but he would retain, indeed enlarge, his standing in the public eye. James Madison, as President, could not fight a duel. It occurred to John Armstrong for the very first time that a man surrendered a great deal of freedom when he became President. This revelation gave him pause. He didn’t like the idea, so he blinked rapidly and started talking; he wouldn’t think about it.
“Mr. President, well, you know what they say. For Mrs. Madison, the sun rises and sets upon you. She will weather this storm.”
Madison sat down. “I know she will, but that doesn’t erase the fact that I brought it upon her.” He composed himself and then stood up again and reached out to shake Armstrong’s hand. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention.”
As French John showed John Armstrong out of the house and to his carriage, James Madison reflected. He knew that Armstrong had hated issuing orders for Hull’s court-martial. Bringing the newspapers to Madison’s attention was his way of getting even. Armstrong was quite unprepared for the President’s outburst, though, and Jemmy thought that the man had left just a bit embarrassed at what he had done.
James put his hands under his chin, resting his elbows on the desk. He thought about the time long ago, when he still had light color in his hair and had attended the College of New Jersey. In April 1771 David Rittenhouse’s orrery, or planetarium, was del
ivered to the college. The panels were supported by sturdy wooden legs, the heaven was blue, and the zodiac decorated the edge. When a crank was turned by Dr. John Witherspoon, president of the college, ivory spheres representing Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn began to move around the brass Sun. As each planet had a slightly different orbit, it was fascinating to watch them dance around the Sun. The device was so cleverly constructed that a dial ticked off the days, months, years, and even the centuries.
So it should be with government. Each body had its place in the firmament. Government had to be a system of checks and balances. Louis XIV conceived of himself as the Sun King; he was the Sun at the center of France, and by extension, Europe. But in America the people were the Sun. Government existed to serve their needs. As the Father of the Constitution, James knew that better than anyone else did, but at that precise moment he was sorely tempted to attack the First Amendment. Did free speech mean this kind of slime?
He walked to his wife’s private room. Dolley glanced up at him, then down again at the lace handkerchief she was mending. Her obvious nonchalance made him feel even worse.
“Ah, you know then.” He folded his hands in front of him. “We should give these fellows a good thrashing!”
“Perhaps the British will do it for us,” Dolley said, hastily adding, “That’s an awful thought. I believe it’s the only time I thought kindly about a British soldier.” James looked at the subject of this abuse, the living target, and she smiled back. “Come, come, we have an important vote in Congress and a war to win. Neither of us has time for these flights of fancy.”
“The reference to a ‘female form seen leaving the President’s house in the darkness of night’ has to mean Sukey. Some reptilian newspaperman probably spent his nights spying on the house.” Jemmy’s tone was harsh.
“A snake stand out all night in the cold?” Dolley laughed. “Oh, Jemmy, these people paid someone to do it for them. They don’t get their feet dirty or cold. Now you’re all upset and I’m grateful that you wish to protect me, but there’s nothing to worry about.”
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