Mrs. Grant and Madame Jule (24 page)

“I have before and survived to tell the tale,” said Ulys. “You can give the Lincolns my regrets—and yours, if you refuse to go without me.”

Julia had no intention of declining, and so later that evening, hours after Ulys had departed for headquarters, she donned her most becoming new gown, a deep-green watered silk trimmed in eyelet lace, and engaged a maid to brush her long, thick locks and arrange them into a stylish coil. Jule would have done better, Julia thought with a pang as she studied her reflection in the mirror, but it would suffice.

The night air was brisk, but Julia found the exercise invigorating as she walked the few blocks to the White House accompanied by her two dashing escorts, Lieutenant Colonel Badeau and Admiral David Farragut, whose recent successes at sea had earned him great acclaim throughout the North.

Carriages filled the circular drive in front of the White House nearly all the way to Lafayette Square, but Julia and her companions easily made their way past the bronze statue of Thomas Jefferson in the center of the driveway and proceeded beneath the tall white columns of the front portico. The burly, white-haired doorman greeted them in an Irish brogue and admitted them into the vestibule, and from there they strolled down the brightly illuminated corridor to the Red Room. The public parlor was richly furnished in crimson satin and gold damask, with heavy gilded cornices framing the windows and a profusion of ormolu work gleaming in the gaslight. Elegant vases, some of them appearing quite ancient, adorned polished tables along the walls, and in a corner sat a grand piano, unattended at the moment, but hinting at the pleasing possibility of music later. An impressive full-length portrait of George Washington commanded attention from the wall to her left, and although Julia was much too far away to read the artist’s signature, she was certain she beheld the work by Gilbert Stuart that Dolley Madison had famously saved from being consumed in flames when the British destroyed the first Executive Mansion. A lovely new red carpet softened the footfalls of the dozens of guests mingling and chatting or standing in the line to pay their respects to the president and his wife.

Admiral Farragut drew admiring glances and respectful murmurs as they joined the queue, and Julia observed a few curious looks for herself, as if everyone wondered who the plain, sturdy woman on the arm of their valiant hero could be. Julia smiled and nodded pleasantly, knowing that her anonymity would be short-lived, for the ladies in the crowd who had called upon her at the Willard would quickly enlighten the others.

Before long she and her escorts reached the top of the queue. President Lincoln—clad in a handsome black suit, tall and gaunt and melancholy of expression—immediately recognized Admiral Farragut and welcomed him heartily. The admiral presented Julia, but his words were drowned out in the din. “I beg your pardon?” the president said, bending his lanky frame toward them and smiling kindly.

“This is Mrs. General Grant, Mr. President,” said Badeau, loud enough for all nearby to hear. Heads turned, eyebrows rose, interested gazes took in Julia up and down and politely flitted away.

“Mrs. General Grant,” the president echoed. He beamed warmly as he took both her hands in his. “Mrs. Grant, it is truly my great pleasure to meet you at last. But where is the general?”

“I begged the general to remain and accompany me,” Julia explained, “but he said he must go to the front, and that he was sure the President and Mrs. Lincoln would excuse him.”

Mr. Lincoln seemed delighted with her reply, and he assured her that General Grant’s absence was entirely forgivable. He presented her to his wife, who smiled so cordially and took her hand so readily that Julia could hardly believe she despised Ulys or had ever called him a butcher. Mrs. Lincoln’s expression was intelligent and inquisitive, her complexion white and smooth except for faint shadows beneath her clear blue eyes, her neck and arms elegantly molded, but otherwise, like Julia herself she was plain and tended toward stoutness, which her short stature and her husband’s great height unfortunately exaggerated. Her elegant gown of deep lavender silk was masterfully fashioned, if a trifle too elaborately embellished for Julia’s simple tastes, but it unquestionably outshone any Julia had seen in the fine shops of Philadelphia. She knew it was the handiwork of the gifted, generous woman she had met at Union Bethel Church, Elizabeth Keckley.

“My dear Mrs. Grant,” Mrs. Lincoln said warmly. “Mr. Lincoln admires General Grant very much. He is convinced that the general will bring about a Union victory at last.”

“The general has dedicated himself to that great endeavor,” Julia replied. “I speak as a partial judge, but I’m certain the president will have no cause to regret entrusting General Grant with his high command.”

Mrs. Lincoln smiled knowingly. “I’m not one to dismiss the judgment of a great man’s wife, partial or not.”

They chatted pleasantly for a few moments, and upon discovering a mutual fondness for flowers, Mrs. Lincoln invited Julia to tour the White House conservatories. “But first, would you care to join me in receiving our guests?” she inquired, gesturing to a place at her side. “I’m sure they would all welcome the opportunity to meet the wife of our new general in chief.”

“Oh, thank you, Mrs. Lincoln, but I couldn’t,” Julia replied, a trifle bashfully. “You are Mrs. President, and I am merely a guest. This place is rightfully yours alone.”

Julia had spoken with her usual sincerity, but Mrs. Lincoln drew herself up and beamed proudly, obviously flattered.

The queue moved along and Julia and her escorts with it, but when they withdrew to the Blue Room, the press of the crowd was so great that Admiral Farragut proposed that they pass on to the Green Room. Lowering his voice, he added, “The commonality gather there. Do you dare venture it?”

Smiling up at him, Julia replied, “I think I may venture anywhere on the arm of Admiral Farragut.”

He smiled, bowed, and led her off, while Badeau remained behind, cornered by a distinguished-looking gentleman in civilian attire who probably hoped to petition Ulys for a favor or an appointment. Ulys’s aides had become quite popular of late with opportunists who sought a quick and easy way to reach the great man.

No sooner had they found a good place to stand and observe the beautiful ladies and brave men in attendance than the guests from the Blue Room followed after and, without any instructions whatsoever, formed another queue to pay their respects. To Julia’s astonishment, cabinet ministers, senators, foreign dignitaries, Supreme Court justices, distinguished officers of the army and navy, and a hundred or more of the beaux and belles of Washington passed before her and Admiral Farragut, smiling, welcoming her to the capital, and cordially shaking her hand.

More than an hour elapsed before the entire receiving line passed before them, and everyone Julia met showed her the utmost courtesy for her husband’s sake. Afterward, Julia reminded Admiral Farragut of Mrs. Lincoln’s gracious suggestion that she tour the conservatory. “I believe Badeau claimed the honor of escorting you there,” the admiral said, offering her his arm and leading her back to the Green Room.

They found Badeau standing a little apart from the throng, engaged in a quiet, heated conversation with the loveliest woman in attendance, quite possibly the most beautiful young woman Julia had ever seen. The auburn-haired beauty looked to be in her early twenties, with intelligent green eyes flecked with hazel. Graceful and vivacious, she was becomingly attired in a gown of pale green silk, her hair arranged in an elegant Grecian twist adorned with pearls and diamonds.

As Julia and the admiral approached, the young woman and Badeau broke off their muted argument. “Mrs. Grant,” Badeau said, “May I present Mrs. Senator William Sprague. Mrs. Sprague, please allow me to introduce you to Mrs. General Ulysses S. Grant.”

“Mrs. Grant,” said the young woman warmly, clasping her hand. “It is such pleasure to meet you. My father and I—and my husband—trust that he will bring about a Union victory soon.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Sprague,” Julia replied.

“Mrs. Sprague’s father is Mr. Salmon Chase,” said Admiral Farragut.

“Yes, of course.” Julia had never met Mr. Chase, but she certainly knew of him. As secretary of the treasury, he was responsible for issuing cotton permits and making trading policies that Ulys had been obliged to spend far too much of his time enforcing. He was also a teetotaler—quieter on the subject than the fiery Rawlins, perhaps, but just as adamant in his views and suspicious of drinkers, even those who indulged in only a rare tipple. According to trusted friends, it was Secretary Chase who had passed along to the president scurrilous rumors that during the siege of Vicksburg, Ulys had been drinking excessively out of sheer boredom. Ulys was, reporter Murat Halstead was said to have written to Mr. Chase, “Most of the time more than half drunk, and much of the time idiotically drunk.” After Secretary Stanton ordered an investigation, he had concluded that Ulys’s drunkenness—of which no proof had been discovered—clearly did not interfere with his ability to win battles. No action been taken against Ulys, and rumor told that Mr. Lincoln had joked that if he knew which brand of whiskey Ulys favored, he would immediately distribute bottles of it to his other generals.

Julia had been outraged when she learned about the investigation, but Ulys had reminded her that petty, cowardly folk had been raising the same accusations against him for most of his military career, and no one had ever found a scrap of evidence against him. “It could be worse,” he had said as Julia fumed. “Sherman was accused of being insane—not reckless or foolhardy, but entirely insane—and it wasn’t easy to defend himself against that.”

But Julia decided there was nothing to be gained by introducing this long, fraught history into a conversation with Mr. Chase’s lovely daughter, who was being quite friendly and perhaps did not know what her father had done. “You’re a native of Cincinnati, are you not?” Julia asked instead. “I’ve had the great pleasure of visiting the city often, as General Grant’s family live across the river in Covington.”

“Yes, I am, and I’m proud that General Grant represents our home state with such distinction.” Mrs. Sprague had an enchanting voice, rich and musical. “I do hope I’ll have the honor of meeting him soon.”

“I hope so too, because that will mean he’s returned to Washington, and I do miss him when duty calls him away.”

Mrs. Sprague smiled sympathetically and rested a graceful hand on Julia’s forearm. “I completely understand. Business often calls my husband home to Rhode Island, but I find consolation in the company of my father and sister—and in meeting pleasant ladies such as yourself.”

Charmed, Julia smiled and thanked her. With a gracious bow, Mrs. Sprague bade her good evening and moved on in a whisper of silk, gracefully gliding across the floor until she was detained by several handsome officers.

“Take care with her,” Badeau warned, offering Julia his arm as they watched the younger woman smile up at her admirers, engaging them in what seemed to be lively banter. “She’s someone to be reckoned with.”

“Oh, come, now. She seems lovely.” Julia took Badeau’s arm and strolled alongside him to the East Room and down the corridor to the conservatory. “Although I could not help noticing that my arrival interrupted a heated exchange between the two of you.”

“She is her father’s official hostess and a dominant figure in the Republican Party in her own right,” said Badeau, glowering. “It’s her life’s ambition to see her father president and herself as First Lady. Mrs. Lincoln believes her husband to be the best man for the job, so naturally the two ladies have become bitter enemies.”

“That’s not natural at all,” Julia protested. “Gentlemen can disagree fiercely over politics or business and their ladies remain good friends. Our friendships are a constant that helps restore civility when our gentlemen’s disagreements are resolved. I’m sure I could never hate my dear friend Mrs. Longstreet, and I would probably like Mrs. General Lee too, although their husbands are fighting for the rebels.”

“That’s probably because good ladies such as you remain above politics. Mrs. Sprague, the Belle of Washington as they call her, strides right into the midst of it. She won’t rest until her father is made president, and after that, she’ll probably want her husband to succeed him. They say a tremendous amount of her father’s success is due to her political maneuvering and his greatest missteps befall him when he fails to consult her.”

“Really,” said Julia, intrigued. She liked to think that her support and affection helped Ulys to succeed, but she could not plan military strategy. It astonished her to think that a woman half her age could have such influence.

“Indeed,” said Badeau shortly, “but her charms and demands will not move me. Whenever I encounter her—and she seems to descend upon me wherever I go—”

Julia gave him a sidelong look. “I daresay that prospect would please most gentlemen.”

“Not I.” Badeau stopped short in the corridor and clasped a hand to his brow, shaking his head in weary exasperation, inspiring other guests to glance curiously their way in passing. “I wish she would relent. Her persistent demands that General Grant call on her father are driving me to distraction.”

Julia laughed, astonished. “General Grant and Secretary Chase have had some disagreements through the post and the telegraph, but if the Chases invite the general to call, why shouldn’t he accept?”

“You don’t understand.”

“No, evidently not.”

“When General Grant comes to Washington, he calls on the president and the secretary of war. Every other gentleman calls on
him.
”

“I see,” said Julia, hiding her amusement as Badeau resumed walking toward the conservatory, his pace brisker than before, spurred by indignation or an unconscious desire to escape Mrs. Sprague. “It’s a question of rank. Whoever calls first shows deference to the other.”

“Yes, and I will not allow Mrs. Sprague to contrive to have General Grant defer to Secretary Chase. The general is the better man.”

“I can hardly disagree with that,” said Julia, “but all this fuss seems very silly to me, and I don’t think the general would countenance such machinations.”