Lincoln

by Gore Vidal

A dark-skinned John Hay entered the room. He was just returned from South Carolina, where he had seen his ill brother Charles; and from Florida, where he had investigated the military and political situation for the President. With Lincoln’s blessing, Hay had been looking for a possible congressional seat once the newly reattached-to-the-Union east Floridians again held elections. Lincoln was eager to bring the Southern states, or those portions of them that were in Federal hands, back into the United States so that they could send loyal Republican representatives to Congress. If none were to be found among the sullen natives, then a number of John Hays would have to be sent to the various regions; and duly elected. Lately, it had become a matter of some urgency to regularize the returned states or fragments of states because the radical Republicans took the line that the states in rebellion were out of the Union and should be treated as an enemy nation’s conquered provinces.

  But Lincoln’s line was unwavering. The Union was absolutely indivisible. No state could ever leave it; therefore, no state bad ever left it. Certain rebellious elements had seen fit to make war against the central government, but when those elements were put down all would be as it was and the Southern states would send representatives to Congress, exactly as they had done in the past. Thaddeus Stevens was now openly challenging this policy; and there were, Hay could see, storms ahead for the Tycoon.

  When Hooker had gone, Lincoln stared at the door through which the general had passed. Then he said, “You know, John, they say that if that pillar which fell on him at Chancellorsville had killed him, the war would have been shortened.” Lincoln smiled. “Naturally, I have never said anything so unkind.”

  “Naturally, sir. Will you replace him?”

  Lincoln shook his head. “There is no point … now.”

  Hay gave the President the latest folder of dispatches from the War Department. Lincoln’s face lit up almost immediately. “Listen to this. Grant is now just below Vicksburg. Halleck sent him an order to join his army with that of General Banks to the south of him. Actually, that was my inspiration, not Halleck’s. But I enjoy giving credit to others. They like it so much. Now Grant tells Halleck that to bring the armies together would delay his operations against Vicksburg, and then he says, ‘I could not lose the time.’ There is a lesson here somewhere,” said Lincoln, putting down the folder. “Where I pick the generals and have them here in my own front yard, nothing goes right. But out west, where I don’t do much of anything, things go like a house on fire. I shall ponder the moral of this.”

  Hay found that others were also pondering the same moral. He arrived at Chase’s house a few moments after General Hooker had left. Apparently, Hooker had gone straight from the Mansion to the house of his political mentor. “He stayed just long enough to compliment Kate on her engagement to Mr. Sprague. Then he went into Mr. Chase’s study for an hour, and now he is gone.” Mrs. Eames’s bright eye saw everything; she also understood what she saw. Mrs. Eames and Hay stood in an alcove massed with every sort of May flower. Hay noted that Kate was rather more slender than usual and rather more pale than usual. Decorously, she moved from group to group, as did Senator Sprague. They moved separately.

  All of Washington’s grandees were on hand, as well as a number of financial men, including the brothers Cooke, who were now openly at the center of Chase’s campaign for the presidency. Since Lincoln was equally aware that his Secretary of the Treasury was now trying to secure the nomination, there were times when Hay regarded the Tycoon’s patience with Chase as greater even than that of Job’s with God. On the other hand, he knew that Lincoln always liked to have enemies nearby in order to keep an eye on them. But did he not mind the fact that they were also able to keep him in view?

  “I think they are well matched,” said Mrs. Eames. “In every sense.”

  Hay looked at her, and saw the delicate ironic smile. “They complement each other,” said Hay judiciously. “Her beauty and his money.”

  “Her father and … his money.”

  “The money seems to be the key element,” said Hay.

  “Well, this is a marriage. And,” Mrs. Eames added, “this is Washington.”

  For Sprague, money was of urgent interest. He stood at the buffet in the dining room, listening to a former congressman from Texas, who said, “I’ve just received a letter from our friend Harris Hoyt.”

  Sprague stared blankly at the man. “Our friend … who?”

  “Well, you must’ve met him somewhere, Senator, because you gave him a letter of recommendation to General Butler in New Orleans.”

  “I gave out a lot of those when I was govenor. Friends of friends. Cotton business?”

  “That’s right, sir.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “Well, he took a ship, he told me, from Havana. He was going to Galveston but the Yankees got there first. So he landed in Mexico at Matamoros, and then he went on to Houston, from where he wrote me this letter. He says he’s got a cotton mill now, and he’s making money.”

  Sprague looked glum. “I wish I had some of that cotton.”

  “Surely your prospective father-in-law can give you a Treasury permit.”

  “He can. But he won’t.”

  Chase said, yet again, that after the President’s proclamation in March there could be no trading with the enemy. Chase and Sprague had withdrawn to Chase’s study.

  “The cotton’s more use to us than the money is to them.” Sprague had found a decanter containing port; and he filled a glass. Chase was aware that Sprague often drank more than he ought but he put this down to the young man’s long fatherless youth and subsequent bachelorhood. “I’m going to buy this,” said Sprague.

  “Buy … what?” Chase looked, anxiously, at the decanter, an inheritance from Bishop Chase.

  “The house here. Sixth and E. I’ve worked it out with Kate. She doesn’t want to be separated from you. So now she won’t be.”

  Chase was stunned with delight. “Come now,” he said, at last. “You cannot move in with a father-in-law at the very beginning of your marriage.”

  “We’re not. You’re moving in with us. That is, you’re staying put. The only thing that’s changed is you won’t have to pay rent. I made a sweet deal with the owner.”

  “My dear boy …” Chase was genuinely moved. He had been dreading this marriage for twenty-three years. Finally, when he knew that it must be now or never, he had tried to accustom himself to the idea of moving to a smaller place nearer the White House where he could at least try to compete with Seward for the President’s ear. Now all was beautifully changed because nothing was to be changed.

  Sprague struck the philosophic note. “I guess you know I have my faults. Katie knows, God knows. We’ve had our problems these last two years. Mother thinks Katie’s too good for me. But then she thinks everyone’s too good for me.”

  At Providence, Chase had met Fanny Sprague, the most formidable matriarch in all New England. Fanny’s contempt for her son William was chilling. But then Fanny’s admiration for Kate redressed, somewhat, the balance in Chase’s eyes. “Your mother is a most … exigent parent.”

  “She’s a terror all right. Anyway all my defects come from drink. Whatever in my life that I may have done wrong comes from that. My life has been an excited and eccentric one. I know that. But now, with Katie, I’ve found a remedy. With good health and disposition, I have more hope for the future than I ever thought I would.”

  There were genuine tears in Chase’s eyes, as Sprague finished both his soliloquy and the decanter of port at the same time. “I know that the two of you are bound to be happy. I like your manly admission of your weaknesses. She has hers as well, as do we all. Don’t expect perfection from her. She has had an unusual life, with an unusual attachment to a father; and no attachments to anyone else—before now. She is the Sleeping Beauty. You are the Prince. But then, after the awakening, there is … breakfast, and ordinary life, and desires in conflict. Understand her as you understand yourself, and you will bot
h be happy.” Chase was well pleased with the happy inspiration of the Sleeping Beauty. After all, it was true, in a way. Kate had never loved or even thought that she had loved anyone on earth except her father, who had, selfishly, kept her in thrall. Now, graciously, he let her go. As for himself, he might yet marry Adéle Douglas. He would need a hostess in the White House. He would also need company once Kate had got used to marriage and motherhood and a life that would, eventually, be apart from his own.

  Jay Cooke entered the study. “I’m sorry, Mr. Chase,” he said, when he saw Sprague. “I thought you were alone.”

  “No, no, Mr. Cooke. Come in.”

  “I don’t think Katie looks too good,” said Sprague, frowning. “She’s lost weight. I think I’ll take her north.”

  “Mrs. McDowell has asked us all to Troy, New York,” said Chase.

  “Dull place,” said Sprague, leaving the room.

  “An unexpectedly thoughtful young man,” said Chase, straightening the frame of Queen Victoria’s holograph letter. Originally, he had planned to put the Emerson autograph between those of Longfellow and Tennyson but then he had had second thoughts about keeping a valuable letter addressed not so much to him as to the Secretary of the Treasury and so, with a sad heart, he had handed it over to the Treasury archives; just as now he gave Jay Cooke a check made out not to the Secretary of the Treasury but to S. P. Chase, a man who must always be above suspicion, for the nation’s sake. “This dividend, Mr. Cooke, comes from a stock which I do not actually own. Therefore, I cannot accept it.”

  “As you have done in the past?” Jay Cooke took the proffered check. “Do you have a new banker?”

  “No, no, Mr. Cooke. Our relationship continues. I shall bank with you, as always. I shall also rely on you, as always, to keep the ship of state afloat financially. But now propriety is all-important.”

  Cooke nodded, gravely. “Shall I stop raising money for your campaign next year?”

  “I had not realized that you had been so engaged,” said Chase, a bit uneasily. He had never actually discussed the details with Jay Cooke.

  “Oh, we are at it all the time, a group of us. We want you elected, and that costs money nowadays.”

  “Naturally, I will regard any sums raised toward that end as a public and not a private matter.”

  “Good.” Cooke folded the check and put it in his pocket. “The money don’t belong to me. So I shall lay it aside for future consideration. Meanwhile, I assume your usual needs will be taken care of by Senator Sprague.”

  Chase felt his cheeks grow warm. “My usual needs will be taken care of by me. I’ve just sold the last of my farms in Ohio. Since Senator Sprague is buying this house, I shall be relieved of paying rent, a considerable expense. But that is the limit of his kindness.”

  “He is worth twenty-five millions,” said Jay Cooke, respectfully.

  “Is he? The subject has not come up—at least, not so specifically. Let us join the guests.”

  Hay was being questioned by a handsome young congressman from New York, who had not been reelected the previous November. “What is she really like?” was the burden of his questioning. But Hay could think of no interesting answer. “I think she is sad at the moment.” Both men looked at Kate, who was now presiding over a tea urn.

  “I don’t think,” said Roscoe Conkling, “that I’d enjoy being married to a fool like Sprague. Do you know her well, Mr. Hay?”

  Hay shook his head. “I have seen a good deal of her since we both came to Washington. But I still have no idea at all what she is really like.”

  “She fascinates me,” said Conkling.

  “You are too late, Congressman.”

  “So it would appear. I don’t suppose it helped, my leading the fight in the House against her beloved father’s banking scheme.”

  “He is certainly the beloved father.”

  “With an elephant’s memory.” As Conkling moved away, Hay wondered whether or not the rumors were true that Conkling was a member of the secret congressional cabal whose aim had been, since Fredericksburg, to impeach and remove from office Lincoln. Only once had the Ancient mentioned this conspiracy to Hay; and in the most elliptical way. “They would have Hamlin for president for a year; and then what?” Nicolay thought that Simon Cameron, recently returned in disgust from Russia, was also involved. But, thus far, no overt move had been made; and the Thirty-eighth Congress had now adjourned until December, much to everyone’s relief. Currently, the ineffable Horace Greeley was telling everyone that only the presidency of General Rosecrans could save the country.

  Hay went to Mr. Chase to say farewell. As relations between Chase and Lincoln deteriorated, all the greater was the appearance of warmth between statesman and youthful secretary. Chase was quarrelling with Thaddeus Stevens, who was leaning heavily on his cane. “Ah, Mr. Hay! Mr. Stevens here is tormenting me yet again about the currency.”

  “Mr. Chase, there is nothing wrong with your currency. It is a good green color; and you, sir, are the handsomest man in public life as well as the most honest. In fact, whenever I see your incredibly youthful countenance staring at me from beneath the dollar sign, I feel secure. But then when I read the Treasury’s latest promise to the moneylenders, the National Banking Act which your friends in Congress passed over my broken body, that you will redeem in gold—in precious gold—the principal on your bonds, I shudder, for you have too much favored the unfortunate moneylenders who were clamorous lest the debtor should the more easily pay his debt. Say that I am right, Mr. Hay?”

  “I always say that you are right, Mr. Stevens,” said Hay to what many suspected was the leader of the secret cabal.

  “A wise youth. I may also say, Mr. Chase, that when it takes one hundred and seventy of your dollars to buy one hundred dollars of gold, I grow anxious; and tend to tear my hair.” Delicately, he touched the chestnut wig.

  “Well, sir, the war must go on until the rebellion is shut down, so we’ll keep on putting out paper until it costs a thousand dollars for breakfast.”

  “I agree about the rebellion.”

  Hay said good-bye to Kate at the door. For an instant, they were alone. “Are you happy?” he asked, to his own surprise.

  “I don’t think that I am supposed to be.” This was the surprising answer to his impertinence. But then she gave him, suddenly, the famed mischievous smile. “But Father is happy; and that is all I ever want.”

  Hay was halfway down E Street when it occurred to him that it was not Kate who managed Chase, as everyone assumed, but Chase who managed Kate; and in his lust for the presidency he had thrust his daughter into a loveless marriage so that he might have Sprague’s money.

  TWELVE

  IT WAS one of Mary’s numerous economies to keep a cow on the front lawn of the White House. But in the summer of 1863, the cow, though seemingly in good health and appetite, ceased to give any milk, and Mary and Watt often visited the cow’s fenced-in corner of the lawn to discuss its condition.

  One hot morning in June, as Company K drilled in the driveway and Mary and Watt and a dairyman were contemplating the cow, a carriage containing old Mr. and Mrs. Blair and their son Montgomery pulled into the driveway. When Mr. Blair saw Mrs. Lincoln, he ordered the carriage to stop. The Blairs greeted the First Lady; and Mrs. Blair, a vigorous white-haired lady, leapt from the carriage to announce dramatically, “We have fled from Silver Spring!”

  “My God, what has happened?” asked Mary.

  “The rebels are in the area,” said the Old Gentleman grimly. “Some say they are going to move on to Washington …”

  “So we have fled!” Mrs. Blair seemed to be enjoying the image of herself in flight. “I wanted to ride my new hunter into town, but Mr. Blair said no. So some rebel may have himself the best hunter in all Maryland.”

  “Is the President in the Mansion?” asked Montgomery Blair.

  Mary nodded. “Go and tell him. I’ll be right in.”

  Washburne had been with the President since break
fast; he was now on his way back to Illinois, with a number of messages from Lincoln to various political operatives. Washburne wondered if he would ever see the President again. In the last six months, his old friend had become spectral-thin. The face was sallow; and he had developed a tremor in one hand. The left eyelid was now almost always half shut in a curious wink. “I cannot sleep any more,” he said. “General Lee has murdered sleep for me.”

  “Take laudanum. Take something.”

  Lincoln shook his head. “Even when I do sleep and don’t dream, which is seldom, I wake up tired. There is a part of me that will never be rested again. How strange …” Lincoln stared at the portrait of Jackson. “You know me well. You know how most of my life I wanted to be here. I wanted to be the president. I think it was in my bones and blood from birth. I wanted to be here so that I could sort out a country already founded but in need of so much.”

  “Henry Clay’s ‘internal improvements’?” Washburne had yet to find any politician who had had the slightest influence on Lincoln save Clay; and that was indeed slight.

  “Harry of the West was blessed, finally, never to have got to this place, particularly at such a time as now. I am president of part of a country, with a fire in front of me, the war; and a fire behind me, the Congress and the Copperheads. It is a white elephant I have got on my hands.”

  “Well, you wanted to ride it,” said Washburne, with less sympathy than he intended.

  “Yes, I wanted to ride it; and so I shall, to the end.” Lincoln picked up a sheet of paper from his desk. “A petition to me. I am told I must let Mr. Vallandigham return; and that banishment is not American.”

  The former congressman had been arrested by General Burnside, the commanding general of the Department of Ohio. He had been charged with preaching treason. Although Washburne had thought the whole business deeply embarrassing for the Republican Party, Lincoln had supported the arrest with the statement: “Must I shoot a simple-minded soldier boy who deserts, while I must not touch a hair of a wily agitator who induces him to desert?” Lincoln had then ordered Vallandigham sent to the South.