Numerous incidents of this kind are well authenticated. To this day Marshall's unselfish devotion to his infirm and distracted wife is recalled in Richmond. But nobody ever heard the slightest word of complaint from him; nor did any act or expression of countenance so much as indicate impatience.
In his letters Marshall never fails to admonish his wife, who seldom if ever wrote to him, to care for her health. "Yesterday I received Jacquelin's letter of the 12th informing me that your health was at present much the same as when I left Richmond," writes Marshall.[186] "John [Marshall's son] passed through this city a day or two past, & although I did not see him I had the pleasure of hearing from Mr. Washington who saw him ... that you were as well as usual."[187] In another letter Marshall says: "Do my dearest Polly let me hear from you through someone of those who will be willing to write for you."[188] Again he says: "I am most anxious to know how you do but no body is kind enough to gratify my wishes.... I looked eagerly for a letter to day but no letter came.... You must not fail when you go to Chiccahominy [Marshall's farm near Richmond] ... to carry out blankets enough to keep you comfortable. I am very desirous of hearing what is doing there but as no body is good enough to let me know how you do & what is passing at home I could not expect to hear what is passing at the farm."[189] Indeed, only one letter of Marshall's has been discovered which indicates that he had received so much as a line from his wife; and this was when, an old man of seventy-five, he was desperately ill in Philadelphia.[190] Nothing, perhaps, better reveals the sweetness of his nature than his cheerful temper and tender devotion under trying domestic conditions.[191]
His "dearest Polly" was intensely religious, and Marshall profoundly respected this element of her character.[192] The evidence as to his own views and feelings on the subject of religion, although scanty, is definite. He was a Unitarian in belief and therefore never became a member of the Episcopal church, to which his parents, wife, children, and all other relatives belonged. But he attended services, Bishop Meade informs us, not only because "he was a sincere friend of religion," but also because he wished "to set an example." The Bishop bears this testimony: "I can never forget how he would prostrate his tall form before the rude low benches, without backs, at Coolspring Meeting-House,[193] in the midst of his children and grandchildren and his old neighbors." When in Richmond, Marshall attended the Monumental Church where, says Bishop Meade, "he was much incommoded by the narrowness of the pews.... Not finding room enough for his whole body within the pew, he used to take his seat nearest the door of the pew, and, throwing it open, let his legs stretch a little into the aisle."[194]
It is said, however, that his daughter, during her last illness, declared that her father late in life was converted, by reading Keith on Prophecy, to a belief in the divinity of Christ; and that he determined to "apply for admission to the communion of our Church ... but died without ever communing."[195] There is, too, a legend about an astonishing flash of eloquence from Marshall—"a streak of vivid lightning"—at a tavern, on the subject of religion.[196] The impression said to have been made by Marshall on this occasion was heightened by his appearance when he arrived at the inn. The shafts of his ancient gig were broken and "held together by withes formed from the bark of a hickory sapling"; he was negligently dressed, his knee buckles loosened.[197]
In the tavern a discussion arose among some young men concerning "the merits of the Christian religion." The debate grew warm and lasted "from six o'clock until eleven." No one knew Marshall, who sat quietly listening. Finally one of the youthful combatants turned to him and said: "Well, my old gentleman, what think you of these things?" Marshall responded with a "most eloquent and unanswerable appeal." He talked for an hour, answering "every argument urged against" the teachings of Jesus. "In the whole lecture there was so much simplicity and energy, pathos and sublimity, that not another word was uttered." The listeners wondered who the old man could be. Some thought him a preacher; and great was their surprise when they learned afterwards that he was the Chief Justice of the United States.[198]
His devotion to his wife illustrates his attitude toward women in general, which was one of exalted reverence and admiration. "He was an enthusiast in regard to the domestic virtues," testifies Story. "There was ... a romantic chivalry in his feelings, which, though rarely displayed, except in the circle of his most intimate friends, would there pour out itself with the most touching tenderness." He loved to dwell on the "excellences," "accomplishments," "talents," and "virtues" of women, whom he looked upon as "the friends, the companions, and the equals of man." He tolerated no wit at their expense, no fling, no sarcasm, no reproach. On no phase of Marshall's character does Story place so much emphasis as on his esteem for women.[199] Harriet Martineau, too, bears witness that "he maintained through life and carried to his grave, a reverence for woman as rare in its kind as in its degree."[200] "I have always believed that national character as well as happiness depends more on the female part of society than is generally imagined," writes Marshall in his ripe age to Thomas White.[201]
Commenting on Story's account, in his centennial oration on the first settlement of Salem, of the death of Lady Arbella Johnson, Marshall expresses his opinion of women thus: "I almost envy the occasion her sufferings and premature death have furnished for bestowing that well-merited eulogy on a sex which so far surpasses ours in all the amiable and attractive virtues of the heart,—in all those qualities which make up the sum of human happiness and transform the domestic fireside into an elysium. I read the passage to my wife who expressed such animated approbation of it as almost to excite fears for that exclusive admiration which husbands claim as their peculiar privilege. Present my compliments to Mrs Story and say for me that a lady receives the highest compliment her husband can pay her when he expresses an exalted opinion of the sex, because the world will believe that it is formed on the model he sees at home."[202]
Ten children were born to John Marshall and Mary Ambler, of whom six survived, five boys and one girl.[203] By 1815 only three of these remained at home; Jacquelin, twenty-eight years old, James Keith, fifteen, and Edward, ten years of age. John was in Harvard, where Marshall sent all his sons except Thomas, the eldest, who went to Princeton.[204] The daughter, Mary, Marshall's favorite child, had married Jacquelin B. Harvie and lived in Richmond not far from Marshall's house.[205] Four other children had died early.
"You ask," Marshall writes Story, "if Mrs Marshall and myself have ever lost a child. We have lost four, three of them bidding fairer for health and life than any that have survived them. One, a daughter about six or seven ... was one of the most fascinating children I ever saw. She was followed within a fortnight by a brother whose death was attended by a circumstance we can never forget.
"When the child was supposed to be dying I tore the distracted mother from the bedside. We soon afterwards heard a voice in the room which we considered as indicating the death of the infant. We believed him to be dead. [I went] into the room and found him still breathing. I returned [and] as the pang of his death had been felt by his mother and [I] was confident he must die, I concealed his being alive and prevailed on her to take refuge with her mother who lived the next door across an open square from her.