Here I attempt to find sanctuary, among the poets.
Now I realize that Mary is going insane.
Only imbalance could bring about such reactions; no one can forget her insults to Grant, to officers and friends at his headquarters. All this distress centered on an innocent pretty woman.
For years I have detected imbalance in Mary. It has come into focus following Willie’s death. Hysteria, illnesses, doctors.
I am puzzled why I have persisted in this diary. For a time it seemed fitting to write it for my sons; for a while I considered Mary. As President, I thought of posterity. However posterity should have a solid record, objective, and this record, written at odd moments, emotional, leaves much to be desired.
While with Grant at the front lines, seeing men dead in the field, a man without hands dying, after seeing lifeless boys in the woods, I asked and I ask again, why do I add to these pages?
For a while it seemed to me I was learning about myself and others through these jottings. With Mary’s decline I find more question marks here, question marks beyond war’s great question marks; these question marks began with Ann Rutledge, resumed in East Salem, continued along the Mississippi and on my legal circuits. For years they lay dormant in Springfield, in the Lincoln house with the green shutters.
Executive Mansion
April 4, 1865