The Wages of Fame

by Thomas Fleming

  Dolley Madison opined that she was sure her late husband, who had, after all, written the Constitution, would not object to stretching it a little now and then. After all, Mr. Madison had approved of Mr. Jefferson’s Louisiana Purchase, which had been on even shakier ground from a legalistic point of view. The opinion rated a page-one story in John L. O’Sullivan’s New York Morning News.

  All this Caroline reported to Sarah Polk in a stream of daily letters. Sarah returned the favor by telling Caroline about the mail that was pouring into Nashville from job seekers. The Polks had hired two secretaries, but the cresting flood still threatened to overwhelm them. Worse were the obnoxious letters that President-elect Polk was getting from Martin Van Buren, who thought he was entitled to be the invisible prime minister of the new administration, dictating everything from policies to appointments.

  So far we are keeping Van at arm’s length with sweet nothings. He controls enough votes in the lame-duck congress to complicate your push for Texas. You are extremely wise to let Julia Regina do most of the talking. I fear Mr. Van Buren will never forgive you for that Aaron Burr toast. What other woman—or man—can say she/he caused the scaly creature to lose his composure? That should be inserted into a history book, somewhere.

  Sarah’s loathing for the ex-president remained intense.

  Its path smoothed by feminine wiles and bolstered by vigorous scrawls from the Hermitage, the Texas bill made encouraging progress. The House of Representatives, more responsive to the will of the people, approved it on January 25. But its fate in the Senate remained uncertain until James and Sarah Polk arrived in Washington early in February. Caroline and George visited them at Gadsby’s Hotel the night they arrived.

  Sarah was radiant. Her embrace, her kiss, her voice, emanated strength and confidence. But Caroline thought the president-elect looked tired, harassed, fretful. There was no trace of the triumph she had imagined every man must feel as he approached the White House. Gone too was the relaxed, genial charm of the young congressman she had known and liked. He let Sarah reiterate their gratitude for all the Stapletons had done to nominate and elect him. His response to an inquiry about General Jackson’s health was almost curt. “He’s well—and full of advice.”

  With scarcely a pause, Polk turned to the one topic that interested him. “Where do things stand on Texas?”

  George’s response was blunt. Out of fear of the abolitionists, Northern Democrats in the Senate would desert the bill unless Polk talked of Texas and nothing but Texas to everyone he met from now until inauguration day. “You’ve got to convince them you’ll push it through eventually if they don’t do it now,” George said. “That way they can blame you.”

  “Do you agree, Caroline?” Sarah asked.

  Judging from what she had heard at her salon, Caroline reluctantly concurred. She hated to admit their female campaign was faltering. The president-elect was not at all happy to hear this news. “I thought I made it very clear that this was precisely what I did not want to do,” he said. “Become responsible for Texas.”

  He looked at Sarah in an almost unfriendly way as he said this. “Caroline assured me that it could be done,” Sarah said. “I don’t think she’s changed her mind, have you?”

  “Not really. Some pressure from you would be more in the nature of insurance, Mr. President.” Caroline was using the title playfully, in response to the way he was talking.

  “Don’t call me that yet. I’m entitled to another month without that noose around my neck.” If Polk was trying for gallows humor, he failed. He sounded as if he meant it.

  “Everything we’ve heard from the moment we arrived has been disagreeable,” Sarah said, trying to explain her husband’s sour mood. “The Van Buren people are more obnoxious in person than their leader has been in the mail. Everyone seems to be claiming credit for getting us here. The election was so close …”

  In the final count, only thirty-eight thousand votes had separated the two candidates, out of 2 million cast. It was easy to see how almost anyone could boast that his oratory or influence had put James K. Polk in the White House.

  “Let me assure you that Mrs. Tyler, and yours truly, have no intention of slackening their efforts for Texas—and we have no interest in any tangible reward,” Caroline said.

  “Good,” Polk said, finally managing a smile.

  “Thank God tomorrow is Sunday,” Sarah said. “I’ve decreed—not a single visitor. We’ll keep the Sabbath holy—and give James some time to himself.”

  Riding home in their carriage, the Stapletons were silent at first, though Caroline sensed they were thinking similar thoughts. “He’s worn-out from his trip,” she said.

  “Yes,” George said.

  “Sarah seems fine.”

  “Yes.”

  “He tires so easily.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll see Julia and the president tomorrow. Do you have some suggestions for them?”

  “There are three Southern Whig senators who could go either. way. Make them guests of honor at something big,” George said.

  Something big was exactly what Caroline had in mind, and she found a willing collaborator in the first lady. For the next three days, Julia, her sister, Margaret, and Caroline toiled at addressing a staggering two thousand invitations to an ultimate gala on February 18. At the head of the list were the three targeted Southern Whig senators. Among the other guests were the ex-president of the Texas Republic and the commodore of the Texas Navy, who were in Washington lobbying for annexation, plus generals, diplomats, and congressmen by the score.

  No less than three thousand people showed up. The White House all but bulged at the seams. While a marine band in scarlet uniforms played waltzes, polkas, and cotillions, Julia concentrated her charms on the three wavering Whigs. They fluttered around her like moths around a flame, and each was forced to drink a private toast to Tyler and Texas. Meanwhile, the rest of the guests were emptying champagne bottles by the dozen and wine by the barrel. Yet decorum was maintained with only a few exceptions.

  One of these was John Sladen. He reeled up to Caroline as the band struck up a polka and all but dragged her out on the floor. “What’s this I hear about Polk turning pusillanimous on Texas?” he said.

  “I’ve seen or heard nothing to suggest such a thing. I hope you’re not spreading the rumor. It has to come from our enemies.”

  “George hinted at something along that line just now. Why didn’t Little Jim and Sarah show up for this ball?”

  “They have no desire to identify themselves with a president who’s been ridiculed and burned in effigy,” Caroline said, growing angrier by the minute. “What the devil is the matter with you?”

  “What’s the matter with me? Surely you can answer that question.”

  “I begin to think it’s nothing that a temperance lecture couldn’t cure. Get out of here before you make a complete fool of yourself.”

  The polka crashed to a close. Congressman Sladen bowed low before Mrs. Stapleton. “Your wish is my command, madam.”

  She watched him stagger to the door, wondering at his almost supernatural ability to read her mind. He sensed something was going wrong with their master plan. She had sensed it the moment she looked into James Knox Polk’s weary face two weeks ago. The idea had been festering in her mind ever since.

  Julia Gardiner floated up to her. “All three of those now somewhat tipsy gentlemen have sworn they’ll vote for Texas.”

  Julia was in white again. John L. O’Sullivan, who was among the guests, had told Caroline that Julia looked like Juno—a line that would undoubtedly appear in the New York Morning News tomorrow. But Juno never giggled and glowed like Julia. “Isn’t this the most divine fun?” she said. “The president says he’s certain no one will dare to vote against Texas now.”

  Suddenly Caroline saw Julia in the president’s arms on the second floor of the White House later tonight. Did he really give a damn about Texas? Was it all a performance to induce this
delicious creature to surrender herself to him with total abandon? It had been a long time since Caroline and Senator Stapleton had made love with abandon.

  Over the next week, it became apparent that Julia Tyler’s influence had severe limits. From one day to the next, George reeled home from the Senate to report that Texas was alternately doomed or saved. Only desperate arm-twisting by him and Senator Robert Walker of Mississippi, who was still chairman of the Democratic Party, rescued the bill. In the deep background, President-elect Polk also played a part. Jobs, favors and committee chairmanships were promised in all directions.

  On February 27, the final vote was taken. The three Southern Whigs remained true to their promises to Julia, and George dragged enough Northern Democrats with them to squeak Texas into the Union by a 27–25 vote. With no vice president, if one more senator had voted no, the bill would have died.

  On March 1, 1845, in a ceremony at the White House to which the Stapletons were naturally invited, President Tyler signed the bill into law and dispatched a messenger to Texas to inform them that if they were still willing to join, they were now part of the United States of America. Tyler gave Julia the small gold pen he had used to sign the measure. She vowed to wear it around her neck as a keepsake for the rest of her life.

  The next night, the triumph was celebrated at a cabinet dinner at the White House, to which the Stapletons as well as the Polks and their vice president, George Dallas, were invited. Sarah looked regal in black velvet and a headdress of ostrich plumes. Caroline wore black blond over white satin, causing Secretary of State John C. Calhoun to abandon his attentions to the first lady and cross the elliptical salon to congratulate her. Portly Vice President—elect Dallas, an old friend of Calhoun’s, joined them as the Polks strolled past with President Tyler.

  “I fear this will be the last good party in the White House,” Dallas said.

  “Why do you say that?” Caroline asked.

  “Mrs. Polk tells me she doesn’t plan to serve any liquor or wine at her dinners or receptions.”

  How could Sarah commit such a blunder? The policy was certain to start tongues wagging nastily across Washington. “I think it’s a health measure, more than anything else, to spare the president the ordeal of endless toasts,” Caroline said, concealing her dismay.

  “Perhaps,” Dallas said. “She offered no explanations or apologies. Unquestionably, she’s mistress of herself—and of another I could name.”

  Caroline’s dislike of this big hearty Pennsylvania politician grew every time he opened his mouth. He obviously did not have a shred of loyalty to the Polks. She would warn Sarah against him immediately.

  “If I recall correctly, she declined to marry him until he won his first election,” Calhoun said.

  “I fear he’s won his last one,” Dallas said. “The Whigs have already sworn undying enmity to Mr. Polk’s policies. The Van Buren Democrats feel no bond to him. If the Mexicans or the English start a war over Texas or Oregon, he’ll have a terrible time.”

  “I agree,” Calhoun said. “Wars never go well.”

  With a pang, Caroline realized Calhoun looked on this possibility without a shred of pity. If the Polk administration collapsed, Calhoun could well emerge from the political wreckage as a presidential candidate in 1848. The years had worn deep grooves in his gaunt cheeks; his hair was iron gray. But his ambition for the ultimate office remained as keen as ever.

  Two days later, Caroline huddled beneath George’s umbrella on the East Portico of the Capitol listening to James Polk’s inaugural address. Rain came down in a steady torrent from the leaden sky. If one believed in omens, the gods seemed to be frowning—or drooling. Solemnly the new president declared to the thin crowd that annexation was a “question that belonged exclusively to the United States and Texas.” He assured the world that there was not an iota of military ambition in the American government. How could there be, when the sovereign people have to bear “the burdens and miseries” of a war? He insisted Texas was”the peaceful acquisition of a territory once our own“—words that would delight Old Hickory and infuriate John Quincy Adams because they implied Adams had foolishly signed away America’s claim to the territory in the 1819 treaty he had negotiated with Spain.

  It was a satisfactory performance, but the postinaugural reception at the White House was another matter. Never did male guests, and even a few female ones, feel more in need of a strong drink to counteract their cold, wet feet and damp clothes. But there was not a trace of alcohol in the punch. More than a few people began muttering under their breath. John Sladen was especially uncomplimentary. “I foresee a huge sale of pocket flasks in this city. Otherwise a visit to the White House will be the equivalent of a trip across the Great Sahara,” he loudly informed a circle of disgruntled fellow congressmen and reporters.

  The glare he received from Caroline had no visible effect. On the contrary, he extended his attack to her. “I hope you’re not going to imitate the first lady’s example and serve us nothing but grape juice at Thirty-six Hundred Pennsylvania Avenue, Mrs. Stapleton. That will drive every honest Democrat in town into the Whig Party.”

  “Rest easy,” she said. “We have enough champagne in our cellar to keep you drunk until the next inauguration.”

  “Who’ll be welcoming us here on that great day? President Stapleton?”

  The reporters listened with hungry eyes. The moment anyone admitted he was running for president, he was a marked man in Washington, D.C. John knew nothing about what Sarah Polk had said when they exchanged prophecies in Tennessee a year ago. But with his preternatural ability to sense Caroline’s inner thoughts, he suspected something or someone was luring her away from her secret allegiance to him.

  “Mrs. Polk hopes to establish a truly Democratic style in her White House,” Caroline said. “She doesn’t think the American people will complain too much if at the end of four years she can say never once was a senator or a congressman disgracefully drunk in these halls. Nor was the people’s money squandered to get them that way.”

  “You don’t approve of Mrs. Tyler’s entertainments?” asked one of the congressmen, a tall, bucktoothed man from upstate New York. He had been one of Julia’s early suitors.

  “They were in perfect taste for an administration devoted to the glorification of aristocracy,” Caroline said. “But they would be in the worst possible taste for a Democratic president and his first lady.”

  She did not believe a word of this balderdash. She knew that her criticism of Julia Gardiner Tyler would be in the newspapers tomorrow—and Julia would read it with pain. But it was necessary to defend Sarah against this crew of mindless guzzlers.

  At twilight, upstairs in the private quarters, as the rain continued to sluice relentlessly from the darkening sky, Caroline told Sarah what the men were saying about her nonalcoholic White House. “You don’t approve either?” she asked.

  George and the president were in his study, perusing a map of Texas and Mexico. “It seems likely to cause problems that could be avoided,” Caroline said.

  “It was James’s idea. In that last campaign against Jimmy Jones, he drank so much bad bourbon, his digestion was almost completely ruined. I’m happy to bear the blame. I plan to say it’s a religious scruple.”

  “I suppose that’s as good an explanation as any.”

  “My dearest friend. When I look at the tasks confronting us, I see no time to give many parties. You know I don’t particularly enjoy them. They’re your forte. What I can’t accomplish in the White House at James’s side, you must attempt to carry out in your salon. They say the French Revolution started in the salons of Paris. Perhaps they’ll say the war that won us a continent started in your parlors.”

  “You think war is a certainty?”

  “We’re going to do our best to avoid it. Once we settle the Oregon question, we’ll send an ambassador to Mexico who’ll offer them thirty million dollars for New Mexico and California. We’re practically sure they’ll say no. Their gov
ernment is so weak, the mob rules—and the mob cries no surrender to the Americans.”

  “Do you have anyone in mind for that mission?”

  Sarah shook her head. “Do you have a suggestion?”

  “John Sladen. He speaks fluent Spanish. He’s a passionate supporter of our—your—policies.”

  Sarah smiled. “You can call them ours. If he can get California without a war—will he do it? James dreads a war. He remembers what happened to President Madison.”

  Did that mean Sarah had not told the president-elect about the Southern dream of conquering all of Mexico? Did that mean she secretly agreed with that idea? The answer to both questions was probably yes. For a moment Caroline struggled to breathe. Should she—could she—tell Sarah the whole truth? John Sladen was the worst possible choice, if the real goal was avoiding a war. Did Sarah know that already? If so, there was no harm in not telling her. Once she spoke, Sarah would be forced to reject him. Caroline saw the exquisite balancing act Sarah was performing. She too was trying to be both powerful and good, loyal to her own vision—their vision, now—and loyal to James Knox Polk.

  “Yes,” Caroline said. “I think you’ll have nothing to worry about on that score—if his instructions are carefully spelled out.”

  “They will be.”

  “What should George do?”

  “Nothing for the moment but support us in the Senate. The minute war begins, James will make him a brigadier general. The rest is up to him—and God.”

  Caroline felt a shiver of nerves. She never liked Sarah to mention God. It opened a gap between them that drove her back to her secret partner in unbelief, John Sladen. Should she tell Sarah the whole truth now? For a moment it almost burst from her lips. She yearned to confess her involvement with John Sladen—and then repudiate him. But it was neither the time nor the place to speak.

  George and the president emerged from the study. “There’s no question in my mind that the boundary should be the Rio Grande,” George said. “I’ve studied all the documents. Texas claimed it when they became independent. It was specified in the treaty Santa Anna signed when he was captured. It’s the boundary in ancient maps going back to the sixteenth century.”