“The New Englanders, generally speaking, were very religious, but though there were many exceptions, I cannot say so much for the Marylanders, and still less for the Virginians. But in spite of its inconveniences and desolate aspect, it was, I think, the most agreeable town to reside in for any length of time. The opportunity of collecting information from Senators and Representatives from all parts of the country—the hospitality of the heads of the Government and the Corps Diplomatique—of itself supplied resources such as could nowhere else be looked for.”
In Mr. Jefferson’s time, the population numbered about five thousand persons, and their residences were scattered over an immense space. Society presented a novel aspect; unconnected by similarity of habits, by established fashions, by the ties of acquaintance or consanguinity, the motley throng became united into one close and intimate circle by a feeling common to all; they were strangers in a strange land, and felt the necessity of mutual aid and accommodation, and might be compared to a beautiful piece of mosaic, in which an infinity of separate pieces of diversified colors are blended into one harmonious whole. Mr. Jefferson, many years after his retirement from public life, recurring to that time, remarked to a friend that the peculiar felicity of his administration was the unanimity that prevailed in his Cabinet; “we were,” said he, “like one family.” The same spirit of union and kindness pervaded the whole circle of society—a circle at that time very limited in its extent and very simple in its habits. The most friendly and social intercourse prevailed through all its parts, unshackled by that etiquette and ceremony which have since been introduced, to the no small detriment of social enjoyment. The President’s house was the seat of hospitality, where Mrs. Madison always presided (in the absence of Mr. Jefferson’s daughters) when there were female guests. Mrs. Madison and her husband spent three weeks at the White House after their arrival in the city, until they could make arrangements to obtain a suitable house. President Jefferson abolished the custom of holding levees which Mrs. Washington had introduced, and the fashionable people of the city did not like the innovation. The ladies in particular were opposed to it, and they made up their minds to muster in force at the Presidential Mansion at the usual time. They accordingly did so, and the President received them as they found him, hat in hand, spurs on his feet, and clothing covered with dust just after a long ride on horseback. He welcomed his guests heartily, did what he could to make their call agreeable, but it was not repeated. His opposition to levees was said to be due to the fact that he was democratic in his ideas and thought them unsuited to American institutions. But the fact that there was no lady to preside over them was doubtless one of his reasons.
In March, 1802, Mr. Jefferson wrote to his youngest daughter that he would be at home between the 15th and 20th of April, and that he wished her to be prepared to go back to Washington with him and her sister; but Congress did not adjourn as he expected, and he did not get off until the first of May. The measles broke out in the family of Mrs. Randolph, and she did not go to Washington. The same cause prevented Mrs. Eppes from seeing her father, but during the summer months he was at Monticello as usual.
From the letters of Mr. Jefferson of November and December to his youngest daughter, we find him advising her to have good spirits and profit by her sister’s cheerfulness. “We are all well here,” he says, “and hope the post of this evening will bring us information of the health of all at Edgehill, and particularly that Martha and the new bantling are both well; and that her example gives you good spirits.” “Take care of yourself, my dearest Marie, and know that courage is as essential to triumph in your case as in that of a soldier. * * * Not knowing the time destined for your expected indisposition, I am anxious on your account. You are prepared to meet it with courage, I hope.” And again he writes:—
“Washington, March 3, 1804.
“The account of your illness, my dearest Marie, was known to me only this morning. Nothing but the impossibility of Congress proceeding a single step in my absence, presents an insuperable bar. Mr. Eppes goes off, and, I hope, will find you in a convalescent state. Next to the desire that it may be so, is that of being speedily informed and of being relieved from the terrible anxiety in which I shall be till I hear from you. God bless you, my ever dear daughter, and preserve you safe to the blessing of us all.”
But she was not preserved: frail and sensitive, her nervous system gave way, and she died on the 17th of April, little more than a month after her father’s letter was written, leaving to her sister’s care her children, the youngest of whom was a young infant. Her niece in writing of her some years later said:—“She had been delicate and something of an invalid, if I remember right, for some years. She was carried to Monticello from her home in a litter borne by men. The distance was perhaps four miles, and she bore the removal well. After this, however, she continued as before steadily to decline. She was taken out when the weather permitted, and carried around the lawn in a carriage, I think drawn by men, and I remember following the carriage over the smooth green turf. How long she lived I do not recollect, but it could have been but a short time. One morning I heard that my aunt was dying; I crept softly from my nursery to her chamber door, and being alarmed by her short, hard breathing, ran away again. I have a distinct recollection of confusion and dismay in the household. I did not see my mother. By-and-by one of the female servants came running in where I was with other persons, to say that Mrs. Eppes was dead. The day passed I do not know how. Late in the afternoon I was taken to the death-chamber. The body was covered with a white cloth, over which had been strewn a profusion of flowers. A day or two after, I followed the coffin to the burying-ground on the mountain side, and saw it consigned to the earth, where it has lain undisturbed for more than fifty years.
“My mother has told me that on the day of her sister’s death, she left her father alone for some hours. He then sent for her, and she found him with the Bible in his hands. He who has been so often and so harshly accused of unbelief, he, in his hour of intense affliction, sought and found consolation in the sacred volume. The Comforter was there for his true heart and devout spirit, even though his faith might not be what the world called orthodox.
“There was something very touching in the sight of this once beautiful and still lovely young woman, fading away just as the spring was coming on with its buds and blossoms—nature reviving as she was sinking and closing her eyes on all that she loved best in life. She perished not in autumn with the flowers, but as they were opening to the sun and air in all the freshness of spring. I think the weather was fine, for over my own recollection of these times there is a soft, dreamy sort of haze, such as wraps the earth in warm, dewy, spring-time.
“You know enough of my aunt’s early history to be aware that she did not accompany her father, as my mother did, when he first went to France. She joined him, I think, only about two years before his return, and was placed in the same convent where my mother received her education. Here she went by the name of Mademoiselle Polie. As a child she was called Polly by her friends. It was on her way to Paris that she stayed a while in London with Mrs. Adams, and there is a pleasing mention of her in that lady’s published letters.