“One of the most interesting things about Rachel Jackson is that she could hold the chivalrous heart and deep love and devotion to the last day of her life; that she could so live that her distinguished husband could write her epitaph in words of noble and restrained tenderness and grief, through which truth and candor runs like a golden thread in a rich tapestry, is undying testimony of the intrinsic worth and nobleness of the woman so deeply, so tenderly loved and cherished.”
But, how was Rachel Jackson as a hostess?
A full and complete answer is found in the words of Thomas Hart Benton, distinguished Tennessean, United States Senator from Missouri, and frequent guest at the Hermitage:
“She had a faculty—a rare one of retaining names and titles in a throng of visitors, addressing each one appropriately, and dispensing hospitality to all with a cordiality which enhanced its value. No bashful youth, or plain old man, whose modesty sat them down at the lower end of the table, could escape her cordial attentions any more than the titled gentlemen on her right and left. Young persons were her delight, and she always had her house filled with them—clever young women and clever young men—all calling her affectionately, ‘Aunt Rachel.’ I was young then, and was one of that number. I owe it to the early recollections and to cherished convictions—in this last notice of the Hermitage—to bear this faithful testimony to the memory of its long mistress—the loved and honored wife of a great man.”
No true student of Rachel Jackson can escape the impression that a quality of queenliness in natural grace and dignity hovered about her and made her not unlike the great Victoria in all social and domestic qualities.
If no other manifestation of the life and character of this woman were left to us today, the little Hermitage Church, which was built for her in 1823, would stand as an everlasting monument to the simple greatness of her inmost soul. She inspired true things and good things, and the beauty of her spirit is reflected in every corner that one searches in the place that was her home. More often than not great deeds of men find their fountain head in the inspiration welling from the being of a beloved and cherished woman. Who shall view the epochal career of Andrew Jackson and gainsay that one sees Rachel, too!
The last chapter of her life was the most trying, but it did not break her spirit. It was engaged with the bitter campaign in 1828 between Jackson and Adams for the presidency. Political opponents dragged out the old divorce question and ridiculed her as an unlettered woman from the backwoods, totally unsuited to be mistress of the White House. Here the thought is advanced that these base and purely politically inspired statements constitute the only basis for the widely accepted version of Rachel as an ignorant and crude personality, a pure fiction that is false to its very core. Through all of this Rachel maintained a calm dignity. She did not like politics, and it was natural that the bitterness of that memorable campaign should have drawn her closer to her home and her God. She would have preferred the simplicity and peace of private life for herself and her husband, but she accepted both the outrages of the campaign and the final victory with quiet resignation.
On the eve of a victory banquet in Nashville in honor of the newly elected President, she died peacefully in the bosom of her home. Almost her last words with her husband had been to exact a promise from him that he would attend the banquet in spite of her illness, which was not considered as being serious. She died on December 22, 1828, just forty-nine years to the day since trustingly she turned her face Westward on the “Good Ship Adventure.” With the same child-like confidence, her great and good soul now passed beyond the veil and the mystery to the eternal home of her Maker. Upon her tomb in the Hermitage garden is inscribed an epitaph dictated by the stricken heart of Andrew Jackson:
“Here lies the remains of Mrs. Rachel Jackson, wife of President Jackson, who died the 22nd of December, 1828, age 61 years. Her face was fair, her person pleasing, her temper amiable, her heart kind; she delighted in relieving the wants of her fellow creatures, and cultivated that divine pleasure by the most liberal and unpretending methods; to the poor she was a benefactor; to the rich an example; to the wretched a comforter; to the prosperous an ornament; her piety went hand in hand with her benevolence, and she thanked her Creator for being permitted to do good. A being so gentle and yet so virtuous slander might wound, but could not dishonor. Even death when he bore her from the arms of her husband could but transport her to the bosom of her God.”
