Mrs. Lincoln's Dressmaker (13 page)

“It is useless to argue the question, Mother.” Mr. Lincoln returned his gaze to the newspaper. “You cannot change my opinion.”

That did not dissuade her from trying. She called Andrew Johnson a demagogue and warned her husband that if he placed him in a position of power, he would regret it one day. When the popular General McClellan was promoted, she declared that he was a humbug, because he talked so much and did so little. When Mr. Lincoln protested that he was a patriot and an able soldier, Mrs. Lincoln retorted, “You will have to find some man to take his place—that is, if you wish to conquer the South.”

General Ulysses S. Grant was definitely not the officer she would have chosen to replace McClellan. “He is a butcher,” she often said, “and is not fit to be at the head of an army.” When Mr. Lincoln pointed out that he had been very successful in the field, she replied, “Yes, he generally manages to claim a victory, but such a victory! He loses two men to the enemy’s one. He has no management, no regard for life. If the war should continue four years longer, and he should remain in power, he would depopulate the North.” She shook her head, indignant and angry. “I could fight an army as well myself. According to his tactics,
there is nothing under the heavens to do but march a new line of men up in front of the rebel breastworks to be shot down as fast as they take their position, and keep marching until the enemy grows tired of the slaughter. Grant, I repeat, is an obstinate fool and a butcher.”

“Well, Mother, supposing that we give you command of the army,” said Mr. Lincoln, a merry gleam in his eye and a ring of irony in his voice. “No doubt you would do much better than any general that has been tried.”

If the offer had been made in earnest, Elizabeth would not have been surprised if Mrs. Lincoln had accepted. Then her husband would have had to listen to her counsels.

The war cast a somber mood over the holidays, but Mrs. Lincoln was determined to celebrate. Elizabeth made her a blue velvet gown to wear to a performance at the National Theatre, as well as other dresses for her afternoon receptions and the president’s formal levees. The two youngest Lincoln boys were merry, but Mr. Lincoln seemed always melancholy, his cares weighing heavily upon him. Mrs. Lincoln endeavored to cheer him out of his gloomy spells, but the reliable tactics of the past were losing their power to affect him.

Robert Lincoln came home from college for the holidays, and his presence added joy to what already had turned out to be a surprisingly triumphant season for the First Lady. Her much-maligned renovations had transformed the reception areas of the White House into elegant showplaces, earning rave reviews in the papers and grudging praise from even her most persistent detractors.

As for Elizabeth, she celebrated Christmas quietly, with church services on Christmas Eve and the morning of Christmas Day. As they had the year before, the Lewises invited her to join their family for a midday feast, and this time Emma too was a welcome guest. Her friends were so gracious and easy that it wasn’t until later that Elizabeth realized that they were each taking care to amuse and divert her, knowing that her first Christmas without her son was bound to be mournful. She was so
touched by their kindness that she endeavored to be of good cheer. She reminded herself that thanks to the Savior whose birth they celebrated that day, her son would have eternal life. Surrounded by friends, comforted by the certainty that she and George—and her father and mother too—would be reunited in heaven someday, she could not grieve, if only for that day, if only on Christmas.

The social success Mrs. Lincoln enjoyed during the Christmas season extended into the New Year. Thousands visited the White House for the traditional New Year’s Day reception, and although some guests continued to criticize Mrs. Lincoln’s decorating expenses and others gossiped about corruption scandals within the administration, many more visitors praised the refurbished Executive Mansion as tastefully and elegantly done, befitting a glorious nation.

A brilliant levee followed shortly after the New Year’s Day reception, and the next morning, Mrs. Lincoln spoke of it in glowing terms while Elizabeth fitted her for a dress. “I have an idea,” she mused. Although she spoke as if suddenly inspired, Elizabeth had the distinct impression that she had been pondering whatever she was about to say for quite some time. “These are war times, and we must be as economical as possible. You know the president is expected to give a series of state dinners every winter.”

“Yes, of course.” Elizabeth had dressed Mrs. Lincoln for almost every one of them.

“These dinners are very costly.” Mrs. Lincoln shook her head and sighed as if no words would suffice to describe the outrageous expense. “I thought that if I gave three large receptions, the state dinners could be scratched from the program. What do you think?”

Elizabeth considered. A large reception would allow the Lincolns to entertain a far greater number of guests for the cost, but what Washington society would think of abandoning tradition was another matter. In any event, Mrs. Lincoln had surely already made up her mind, in which case it was simply best to agree with her. “I think you’re right, Mrs. Lincoln.”

Mrs. Lincoln brightened. “I am glad to hear you say so. If I can persuade Mr. Lincoln, I shall not fail to put the idea into practice.”

Before Elizabeth finished her work for the day, Mr. Lincoln joined them, his expression clouded with frustration. “I’ve just come from the sickbed of my recalcitrant general,” he said, sighing gloomily as he settled into a chair. “At least today he can blame typhoid fever for his reluctance to budge.”

Mrs. Lincoln murmured sympathetically for a moment, and then, either to distract him from his gloom or because she simply couldn’t wait, she proposed her changes to their social calendar. The president mulled it over, then frowned and said, “Mother, I am afraid your plan will not work.”

“But it
will
work, if you will only determine that it
shall
work.”

“It is breaking in on the regular custom,” he noted mildly. The protocol was indeed complex, with the rules of etiquette and the ranking of guests carefully noted. The president and the secretary of state alternated hosting evening receptions from the last week of January through March, and the White House also gave weekly dinners for various members of the government as well as receptions for military officers, diplomats, and Supreme Court justices. Breaking these well-established Washington traditions had the potential to offend.

“But you forget, Father, that these are war times, and old, impractical customs can and should be set aside,” Mrs. Lincoln said. “The idea is economical, you must admit.”

“Yes, Mother, but we must think of something besides economy.”

Elizabeth hid a smile. Matters of economy plagued both Lincolns, due in no small part to Mrs. Lincoln’s notorious spending habits, but frugality had become a tool each employed when it served them and dispensed with when it did not. Mrs. Lincoln was usually the spendthrift and her husband the more cautious, and it was amusing to see them trade roles.

“I do think of something else,” Mrs. Lincoln retorted. “Public receptions are more democratic than stupid state dinners—are more in keeping with the institutions of our country, as you would say if called
upon to make a stump speech. There are a great many strangers in the city, foreigners and others, whom we can entertain at our receptions, but whom we cannot invite to our dinners.”

Mr. Lincoln pondered this. “I believe you are right, Mother,” he finally said. “You argue the point well. I think that we shall have to decide on the receptions.”

When her husband’s gaze was turned elsewhere, Mrs. Lincoln shot Elizabeth a look of triumph. She had won the day.

For all her talk of economy, for the first of these receptions, Mrs. Lincoln decided to host a grand ball in the East Room. As word of her lavish plans spread, she once again invited criticism—not only from the usual suspects in the press and the popular circles, but also from her husband’s cabinet secretaries, who took to calling her Hellcat behind her back, though not behind Elizabeth’s. She wouldn’t carry hurtful tales of their bold hostility to her patron, but she knew cruel remarks usually managed to make their way from the offices, through the servant’s quarters, and on to the subject of their derision.

If the men’s sniping troubled Mrs. Lincoln, she feigned indifference and threw herself into her preparations. She collaborated on a new dress with Elizabeth, an off-the-shoulder white satin gown with a low neckline, flounces of black lace, black and white bows, and a long, elegant train. She planned an elaborate menu of roast turkey, foie gras, oysters, beef, duck, quail, partridge, and aspic, complemented by an assortment of fruits, cakes, and ices, and fanciful creations of spun sugar. She sent out seven hundred invitations to prominent men in government and their wives, as well as to certain favorite friends, important Washington personages, and visiting dignitaries. “Half the city is jubilant at being invited,” Elizabeth overheard Mr. Lincoln’s personal secretary remark, “while the other half is furious at being left out in the cold.” Expectations soared after the
New York Herald
predicted that the ball would be “the most magnificent affair ever witnessed in America.”

But such raptures in the press were not enough to entice everyone. The usual detractors, and many more besides, expressed astonishment and disgust for the vain spectacle of the ball and its hostess. A great
many of the invitations were brusquely declined, and nearly one hundred were returned with indignant notes protesting such excessive frivolity when the nation was distracted, mournful, and impoverished by the war. “I am astonished by such impertinence from a gentleman,” Mrs. Lincoln exclaimed to Elizabeth one afternoon as she read her mail. “Listen to what Senator Benjamin Wade writes: ‘Are the President and Mrs. Lincoln aware that there is a civil war? If they are not, Mr. and Mrs. Wade are, and for that reason decline to participate in dancing and feasting.’” Mrs. Lincoln slapped the letter down on the table. “Are we aware there is a war? We are scarcely aware of anything else!”

“I cannot imagine that anyone is more mindful of the war than Mr. Lincoln,” said Elizabeth.

Outraged, Mrs. Lincoln bolted from her seat and stalked to the window. “If canceling the ball would bring a swift end to the war, or even a single hour of respite to a weary soldier, then I would be the first to propose it.”

Elizabeth murmured soothing words until Mrs. Lincoln calmed herself. If only the war could be ended so easily. At the moment, Elizabeth would have settled for an end to the tempests that sprang up whenever someone affronted Mrs. Lincoln. Her critics judged her actions without understanding the motives behind them, which meant they would never be fair and only rarely accurate. As they were unlikely to change, it would serve Mrs. Lincoln well to cultivate a sense of calm and learn to ignore them. A dignified silence was often the best response to spiteful gossip—but that was not Mrs. Lincoln’s way.

Soon thereafter, Mrs. Lincoln was distracted from her frenzy of planning when Willie caught a severe cold while riding his pony in foul weather. A few days before the ball, his condition worsened into a fever. Elizabeth had nursed both children through measles and a host of other illnesses, and this time too Mrs. Lincoln summoned her to his bedside. With tender efficiency, Elizabeth cared for Willie—a kind, gentle, thoughtful boy, everyone’s favorite—and tried to comfort his mother, who fretted and worried incessantly, as she always did when any of her children fell ill. She had lost her second-born, Eddie, to chronic
consumption when he was not quite four years old, and she lived in terror of losing another son.

Soon it was evident that Willie was becoming steadily weaker. One afternoon, Elizabeth was at his bedside pressing a cooling cloth to his brow while Mrs. Lincoln hovered nearby, telling Willie cheerful stories of his pets, although he was too drowsy to pay much attention. Mr. Lincoln entered to check on his son, as he often did throughout the day. “How is my boy?” he asked.

“He seems to be unchanged since this morning,” Elizabeth replied. “No worse, but no better either.”