Jefferson's Daughters

by Catherine Kerrison

  But lessons in drawing, needlework, music, and Spanish had hardly taught Maria what she needed to know about courtship. And by the summer of 1795, as she turned seventeen, she needed to be ready. She was beautiful, educated, and the daughter of an evidently wealthy and well-respected political leader. In other words, she was a prize, and at least two men vied for her hand that year. “Mr. Giles is at Monticello on Business with Maria,” Jefferson’s sister Martha Jefferson Carr reported in August, “and Jack Eppes has spent the summer there it is said with the same motive.”

  A lawyer from Amelia County, forty miles southwest of Richmond, William Branch Giles was then serving in the House of Representatives. He was a vigorous supporter of Jefferson and had launched an inquiry into the ethics of Alexander Hamilton’s conduct in running the Treasury, as part of Jefferson’s effort to discredit him. Although the episode had actually vindicated Hamilton, Jefferson continued to sign his letters to Giles “affectionately, Th. J.” This was but one episode in a career for which Giles would acquire a reputation for audacity and fearlessness in attacking the executive branch. Once, dining at Jefferson’s home, he had launched a merciless attack on the artist John Trumbull, who a few days earlier had made him look ridiculous in front of a young woman he had been trying to impress. Jefferson’s smiling encouragement of Giles’s attack no doubt induced Giles to continue the bombardment from the predinner gathering to the end of the meal. Sixteen years older than Maria, and with a belligerent streak that she would have found overwhelming, Giles should not have been surprised when she turned him down.

  Slave Isaac Jefferson saw it happen. One morning he “saw him talking to her in the garden, right back of the nail-factory shop,” Isaac recounted. “She was lookin on de ground: all at once she wheeled round and come off. That was the time she turned him off.” Watching the scene, Isaac was “never so sorry for a man in all his life: sorry because everybody thought that she was going to marry him.” Given Jefferson’s obvious favor and hospitality to Giles, he seemed to be the odds-on favorite in the neighborhood gossip network. But Maria, knowing her own mind and heart, turned on her heel and left him in the garden among Jefferson’s experimental plantings. Knowing when he was beaten, “Mr. Giles give several dollars [tips] to the servants and when he went away dat time,” Isaac finished, “he never come back no more.”

  Jack Eppes did not fare much better that summer. Jefferson had made a point of letting him know about his competition. “Mr. Giles joined us, the day after you left us,” Jefferson informed Jack, and he stayed about ten days. Also alert to the rivals’ strategic maneuvering, Martha Carr had nonetheless forecast that in spite of their cleverness, neither would succeed. She was right. Seven months later she wrote, “Maria Jefferson has discarded both Mr. Giles & Mr. Eppes.”

  A family story, written decades later by the wife of one of Maria’s descendants, may help explain why she also refused Jack. One day, the story went, as the Philadelphia schoolgirls sat around in their sewing circle, a Miss Spotswood entertained Maria and her classmates with a cautionary tale of a Virginia acquaintance who had worn her heart on her sleeve. When she finally received the long-awaited marriage proposal, “she dropped like a ripe persimmon,” but the suitor, by then tired of her, left. “I think we girls ought to band together,” Miss Spotswood firmly concluded, “and pledge ourselves to have more womanly pride than that; in other words, never be a ripe persimmon.” Remembering her pledge given solemnly that day, Maria refused Jack’s first proposal, but “grew pale and thin” when he did not follow up with the second attempt she expected. The story finishes when Maria tearfully confesses her dilemma to Martha, who quickly put everything to rights.

  The details of this tale may be questioned, but not its essential truth. The design of elite female education was to preserve girlish innocence rather than prepare young women for the realities of courtship and marriage. French, English, and American sentimental novels with titles such as The History of a Young Lady of Distinction, The History of Charlotte Summers, and The Coquette (all written by women) won an avid readership in the years following the Revolution. They offered not only entertainment but a more realistic view of the limited protection that their patriarchal society afforded young unmarried women. These stories of smooth-talking suitors who flattered and seduced innocent women supplemented the lack of such practical advice offered by the newer educational programs for girls. It is wiser and far safer to experience the perils of courtship vicariously through books than to fall victim to a suitor’s flattery and false promises. But Maria was on her own that summer. Her father’s preference seemed to be the argumentative Giles, who may have reminded Maria somewhat of the intemperate man Jefferson had allowed her sister to marry. In any event, he seemed oblivious to the anxiety his daughter felt as she weighed this most important decision. Instead he was focused on himself, exulting in the serenity of his pastoral life, “retired to my home, in the full enjoiment of my farm, my family, and my books, having bidden an eternal Adieu to public life which I always hated.”

  Nor could Maria rely on Martha’s wise counsel. That summer, she had left Monticello, accompanying her husband on travels to the Virginia springs, seeking a remedy for the illness that had debilitated his body and his spirits. This was the trip on which Martha and Tom suffered the loss of their little Ellen and sent her body back to Monticello for burial. A worried wife and grieving mother, Martha was far too preoccupied to offer courtship advice. That the teenage girls of Maria’s acquaintance in Philadelphia had talked about men, love, courtship, and marriage in the absence of their elders, pooling their collective (if limited) knowledge, is entirely likely. So, too, is the possibility that, left to her own devices and remembering their conversations, Maria drew from the font of that wisdom. Whatever her reasons, Jack Eppes returned to his law practice in Richmond empty-handed, forced to yield the field to his rival.

  The next summer was an entirely different story. By this time, according to the log Jefferson kept of his correspondence, he and Jack Eppes had exchanged six letters, between September 9, 1795, and June 2, 1796 (all of which, unfortunately, are missing). Although they were all living in the dust clouds and noise of demolition as Jefferson launched the French-inspired renovations of his house, Maria’s sister and her aunt Martha Jefferson Carr were in residence by the end of the summer of 1796. Perhaps one of the older women tactfully suggested that Jack should solicit the approval of Maria’s father before continuing to express his feelings and hopes to Maria. In any event, visiting at Monticello that fall, Jack sat down and wrote the first (surviving) letter of his suit to Jefferson. “Could I hope, that should time and future attentions render me agreeable, my wishes may be crowned with your approbation,” Jack wrote in his formal application to his sweetheart’s father, “I should indeed be happy.”

  Jefferson did not write a reply, but rather most likely called the young man into his cabinet to talk. One guesses that a substantial consideration, for Jefferson at least, was where the young couple would live. As the eldest Eppes heir, Jack would inherit Eppington; indeed, as the heir he would be committed to take control of the property. Its distance from Monticello—at least two days’ travel—would pose a considerable obstacle to Jefferson’s happiness, however, if not to Maria’s. By December, Jack had worked out the dilemma of living arrangements. “All obstacles to my happiness are removed,” he notified Jefferson, assuring him that “in every arrangement as to future residence, I shall be guided by yourself and Maria.”

  Given the fact that Jack had wrapped up these negotiations by the end of 1796 and, it seems, that Maria had happily accepted him, it is a bit of a puzzle why Maria asked her sister the following spring to notify their father about her impending marriage. By May 1797, Jefferson was back in Philadelphia, having been elected vice president the previous fall. Martha’s letter of May 20, 1797, is lost, but Jefferson’s reply makes clear that in it Martha had presented the news of Maria’s engagement. After having seen Martha so well settled, Je
fferson replied, his only remaining anxiety was “to see Maria also so associated…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.” To Maria he wrote, “I learn, my dear Maria with inexpressible pleasure that an union of sentiment is likely to bring on an union of destiny between yourself and a person for whom I have the highest esteem.”

  Given Jefferson’s rather predictable response, Maria’s reticence to tell her father about her choice is unclear. Perhaps he had urged her to wait a year or two to confirm her decision. Or maybe Maria feared that if she pressed for a wedding date it would appear to be a sign of disloyalty to her father. She easily could have been aware of the emotional tug-of-war between Jefferson and the Eppeses and so wisely delegated the task to the favored daughter who could handle it most diplomatically. In any event, in his letters to both daughters, Jefferson waxed eloquent about his vision of the family’s future. “We shall all live together as long as it is agreeable to you,” he planned with Maria. With Martha, he dreamed of a harmonious family gathered around the fireside, a vision distinctly at odds with the bitter political conflicts of which he was once again at the center, as vice president clashing with President Washington’s successor, John Adams.

  In September, the father of the bride-to-be wrote to Francis Eppes to begin the formal negotiations about wedding gifts and dowry. In the end, in keeping with his vision, Jefferson gave the newlyweds Pantops, a tract of eight hundred acres within sight of Monticello, and thirty-one slaves; Francis Eppes had already deeded his son acreage called Bermuda Hundred, south of Richmond along the James River (about a two-day journey from Monticello) and some slaves to be delivered that Christmas.

  There are no details about their wedding celebrated on October 13, 1797, in the parlor of Monticello. We know Elizabeth Eppes was not there to see her beloved niece become her daughter. “To say how much poor Betsy [Eppes], and myself are disappoint’d at not being present,” she wrote sadly, “requires a better pen than mine.” It is not certain that Tom Randolph was present, either. He had not entirely recovered from his illness and in early November was making his way slowly home from Richmond, determined not to tax his waning energies. “Tell my Dear Martha that I shall hasten as much as I can without disabling myself,” he wrote to Jefferson three weeks after Jack and Maria’s wedding. He remembered too well what he called the horrors he had suffered two years earlier to take the risk; death would be a better alternative, he swore, than a relapse.

  A jovial, well-liked man, John “Jack” Wayles Eppes was successful in politics and as a planter. He served in the House of Representatives (1803–1811, 1813–1815), where he staunchly supported his father-in-law’s policies; he also served in the Senate until ill health forced his resignation. After Maria’s death, he left their home of Mont Blanco for Millbrook, his plantation in Buckingham County. He is buried there alongside his slave Betsy Hemmings, with whom he fathered several children.

  What is certain is that the marriage of Maria Jefferson and Jack Eppes was a happy union of lifelong friends. In Jack Eppes, Maria found the assurance of stability she had lacked all her life. He was an anchor from her earliest memory; he would never desert her. He had stoutly pleaded her case to keep her in Virginia when her father had called her to Paris. He was part of the family that had embraced, loved, taught, nursed, and tearfully parted with her, and then happily welcomed her home again. She had long been part of the Eppes family, and with her marriage Maria cemented that relationship forever.

  But Maria’s marriage was successful not just because she loved her in-laws but because she adored her husband. John Wayles Eppes was a handsome man, according to slave Isaac Granger Jefferson, who had watched the courtship proceedings closely. Eppes wore his thick, curly dark hair long around his ears; he had a round prominent chin and dark eyes. His niece Ellen Randolph could not help but compare him to her father, Tom Randolph, who disliked Eppes intensely. “Mr Eppes was a gay, good-natured, laughing man,” Ellen remembered, “inferior perhaps to my father in talent and cultivation, but of a much happier and more amiable temper.” Jefferson enjoyed joking with Jack, whose warm, open, and engaging manners had been cultivated in the household infused with the warm cordiality of Elizabeth Eppes. It is no wonder that the affectionate Maria, who basked in the kindliness of others, would be drawn to such a man rather than to the cold reserve of her brother-in-law.

  As Jefferson’s biographer Dumas Malone ended his account of Maria’s life, he concluded regretfully that “the author of the Declaration of Independence did not succeed in molding his second daughter in his own image, and may never have won first place in her heart.” Her constant resistance to her father’s wishes—whether about moving to France, writing letters, practicing her music, or visiting him—constituted ample evidence for Malone of Maria’s failure to conform to Jefferson’s wishes. Other scholars have followed suit, comparing the adult Maria to a “fretful child,” because she balked at his pleas to visit him when he was in residence at Monticello. In particular, the newlyweds’ choice about where they would live seemed to provide the best evidence of the weakness of Maria’s attachment and loyalty to her father, especially as contrasted with Martha’s. But if we shift our focus to Maria’s aspirations for her marriage, our perspective on her feelings for her father looks distinctly different.

  The newly married couple did not leave the mountain immediately upon their wedding. In the construction zone that was Monticello, Maria had fallen twice that year. The first time was in January, when she fell through the floor to the cellar below, from which she emerged unscathed. The second time she was not so lucky. She injured herself falling through a door, so they remained at Monticello, as did Jefferson, until she was ready to travel. By mid-November, the couple had left, and as they approached Richmond, Jack could report that “Maria’s foot improves with traveling—She walked last evening conveniently without her stick.”

  As was customary for newlywed couples, Maria and Jack made the visiting rounds. They went immediately home to Eppington, where they were kept busy seeing relatives and friends. After traveling to see extended family, they returned to Eppington, where they stayed through the spring, planning to join Jefferson at Monticello during his summer visit in 1798.

  But like Martha and Tom, Jack and Maria needed to make a decision about which of their landholdings would be their primary home. There were several considerations. Jefferson, of course, had given them just over eight hundred acres at Pantops, a tract clearly visible to the north from Monticello, because, as he explained to Francis Eppes, “their inclinations concur with my wishes that they should live here.” There was no house there yet, but no matter. “A plantation here will furnish him daily employment,” Jefferson assured Jack’s father, “which is necessary to happiness, to health and profit.” In the meantime, Jefferson planned to be at home eight months of the year and wanted them to be there when he was in residence. The remaining four winter months, when Congress was in session (the schedule then was considerably shorter than it is today), he allowed expansively, “they can divide between their other friends.” By living with him at Monticello, the couple could save money, “put off the expence of building till it shall be convenient,” and Jack could easily make the daily commute to the Pantops plantation as it was being developed.

  As she had been with his request to send an eight-year-old across the Atlantic, Elizabeth Eppes was incredulous at Jefferson’s expectations; daughters should follow their husbands after they married, not the other way around. But she was more diplomatic this time. She refused to deal with such emotionally laden matters through correspondence, putting off the conversation until Jefferson could visit Eppington to talk with her in person. In the meantime, however, she did write that she was sure he was “too generous…not to let us have half their company.” Of course, the appeal of Eppington, with its affable and loving relations, made it a magnet for Maria Jefferson Eppes, who easily made the adjustment from calling Elizab
eth Eppes “Aunt Eppes” to “my dear mother” and then “Mama.” Jefferson had not had to worry about sharing Martha with her in-laws, given the estrangement brought on by Tom’s father’s marriage to his very young bride; indeed, Tom’s sisters had come to them, seeking refuge at Monticello. But it was a different situation when Maria married into the Eppes family. Now Jefferson faced competing claims on his daughter’s time and was forced into negotiation with her in-laws. Certainly the absence of a dwelling on the land he had given them at Pantops made it easier for the young couple to justify looking elsewhere for a home. Indeed, there was no contest; back to Eppington they went.

  Another consideration was the groom’s financial independence. With a successful law practice and the endowment of lands from both his father and father-in-law, Jack had less need than his new brother-in-law, Tom Randolph, to live at Monticello. Tom had begun his married life in debt on heavily mortgaged land, and his indebtedness only increased through the years—the consequence, his daughter believed, of his generous nature in co-signing every note for friends and relatives, assured that he would never have to pay a penny but then finding himself tapped for the full amount. By 1809 his family had moved into Jefferson’s home, almost entirely dependent upon Jefferson for their support. During Jack’s marriage to Maria, however, his financial independence of Jefferson allowed them to make decisions based on their own goals.

  But most important is the way in which Jack Eppes consulted with his wife so that they could make this monumental decision together. This becomes apparent in an exchange of letters in 1802, as Jefferson continued to press Maria and Jack to make their permanent home within sight of Monticello. He had begun his campaign the previous fall, when he laid out all the plans for Pantops, suggesting to Jack that the work “would give you so much to do in the upper country that I should think you and Maria had better make Monticello your head quarters for the next year as central to all your concerns.” Forced to decline Jefferson’s invitation to join him in the summer of 1802 at Monticello (Jack could not spare the horses for traveling when they were needed at his farm for that year’s crop), Jack acknowledged it would be easier if they lived at Pantops. “If I could conveniently make the arrangement I would gladly leave this place and fix immediately at Pant-Ops, that Maria might always be with you when your public duties allowed of your being at Monticello,” he diplomatically soothed his father-in-law. The couple had been splitting their time between their plantation of Mont Blanco, near Petersburg, and Bermuda Hundred, the land at the confluence of the James and Appomattox rivers given to them by Jack’s father. But rather than squander his financial resources on several temporary homes, Eppes preferred to hold off on building until he and Maria decided on their permanent location. He did not have the money to do so yet, however, and had begun discussing with Maria the possibility of selling her dower land in Bedford County to finance the project.