Julia Sand – Letter 7

 Context

This letter makes reference to several of President Arthur’s appointments, beginning with the appointment of Horace Gray to the Supreme Court. Arthur elevated him from Chief Justice of the Massachusetts Judicial Court.

Julia next references Arthur’s appointment of Frederick Frelinghuysen, a Senator from New Jersey, as Secretary of State. Though Frelinghuysen was more aligned with the Stalwart wing of the Republican Party, he was regarded as a legitimate statesman. His appointment followed the resignation of James Blaine, who carried over from Garfield’s administration, and who Julia had initially urged Arthur to keep in letters 3 and 6. Though Arthur requested Blaine and everyone in Garfield’s cabinet remain in their roles, the rest of the cabinet followed Blaine’s example. The only man who stayed was the Secretary of War, Robert Todd Lincoln.

Julia provides a more tepid opinion of Arthur’s new Attorney General, Benjamin Brewster. Brewtser had been serving as the chief prosecutor in the Star Route scandal investigation – a case involving bribery of the U.S. Post Office. Julia is particularly skeptical of Arthur’s selection of Timothy Howe as Postmaster General.

Julia makes reference to a few earlier historical figures, beginning with Cardinal Thomas Wolsey, an English statesman who rose to prominence in the early 1500s. Though he accumulated much power as King Henry VIII’s chief advisor, he lost all of his power when he failed to secure an annulment of King Henry VIII’s first marriage. Wolsey died in transit on his way to answer charges of treason. Next referenced is Charles-Maurice de Talleyrand-Périgord, a shrewd French politician who managed to hold power from King Louis XVI, through Napoleon, and beyond. And finally, there is a reference to Saint George, famous for a heroic legend in which he slays a dragon.

Letter 7

January 7, 1882

Well, have you had happy holidays? The idea of coming to New York for quiet! One might suppose you had never been here before. Your reception went off charmingly. But how could you close the ceremonies by kissing that baby? I thought of Pickwick – & almost died laughing. Shall I tell you something about my holidays? Will you promise not to laugh at me? By way of making merry, I spent Christmas in bed. The family – nieces & nephews of all sorts and sizes – were having a gay time downstairs – I heard the laughing voices & the music quite distinctly. After a while someone closed the parlor door & the sounds grew fainter. Then the front door bell rang sharply & a moment later I heard somebody coming up stairs. It was my sister – she came into my room, carrying an exquisite horseshoe of flowers. “This is for you,” she said, as she placed it beside me, “but we can not make out who sent it.” She held up a card – there was nothing on it but a monogram in purple ink. I saw – made out – & was surprised. Can you guess whose it was? I won’t tell you! But the flowers were beautiful – ah, how lovely those pink rosebuds were – how sweet the mignonette – what a spicy fragrance those carnations had – & there was a whole row of rich, velvety pansies – the pansies that I loved when I was a little girl, long before it was fashionable to care for them. I was lingering over my flowers with the rapt devotion of a child of nature – the serene vanity of a society woman – the morbid tenderness of an invalid – when something startled me. I looked up – my sister was not standing there, holding that card, & there were no flowers beside me – only a glass of ice water & a bottle of camphor – perhaps the latter suggested “the spicy fragrance of those carnations!” I was surprised again. Are you laughing? Well, go on – laughter is healthful – but don’t be sarcastic. How could I help what I saw – far less what other people chose to do – when my eyes were shut? As soon as they were open, I knew that his pansies were anywhere except with me. Still, for a mid winter day dream, don’t you think it was rather poetic? But this is miles away from what I meant to talk about.

In her book on Germany, Mad. de Stael says: “Les poêles, la bière et la fumée de tabac forsument autour des gens du peuple une sorte d’atmosphère lourde et chaude dont ils n’aiment pas a sortir.” Is there a political frying-pan, beer & tobacco-smoke atmosphere, from which politicians do not like to emerge? Perhaps I ought not to reproach you with it, for you have emerged from it so much more than was at one time expected. And yet there are moments when the suspicion sieges me, that you plunge back into it again, when the eyes of the world are not fixed upon you. Is this true? Please let me find out that I am mistaken.

It all reminds me of a story – possibly you know it – about a mother & son – they were French, distinguished – & the story is rather French too. He was the model of son, so devoted, so deferential, & obedient, as only a French son could be. And she was a model mother – had absolute confidence in him – never asked where he was going, or where he had been – never criticized his friends, or gave advice unasked (like some women you never heard of) but always killed the fatted calf for him, & piled it high with bread & molasses & all that sort of thing. And all the while this good mother kept a detective following her delightful son, & so knew all about him that there was to know. I forget how the story ended – whether he was very naughty, or only moderately so. But don’t you think she would have been a very happy mother, if the detective had come back & said to her, “Madame, you are entirely mistaken. Your son is all that you could wish him to be.”?

Now I feel exactly as if I were your mother – which you must own is generous, considering you are old enough to be mine! & I follow your career with the closest interest. Whenever you do anything that is good, I am delighted. Often I am really proud of you – when suddenly my eye falls on some tiny paragraph which chills me through. Then I send out my detective after you. Not literally – if you took the whim to send one after me, you might, but I do not indulge in such luxuries – it is only the detective in my own nature – the cold, questioning, skeptical part of my mind, which says, “this does not prove that,” & “that does not prove anything,” & then climbs up on the fence to watch you – a worrisome task, by-the-way.

Do you want to know what delighted me? The appointment of Judge Gray – & of Mr. Frelinghuysen. As regards the Secretary of State, I admit that I was wr – did you think I was going to say wrong? Oh no! – wright, only you were wrighter. (That is the authentic way of spelling it.) He ought to be appointed in reference to foreign affairs, not home politics. Besides, thinking B. [Blaine] over, I fear no amount of good motive would make him a statesman – his brain is not that shape. And I liked the appointment of Mr. Brewster – until I read somewhere that he was “a man of great ability & small conscience.” That sticks a splinter in my memory. How finely the the Star Route prosecutions begin, is nothing to me – I am waiting for the end. And what of Mr. Howe? People say he is a nobody. But he is worse than a nobody – he is father-in-law to the Star Route defense. Do you not think, if two such ugly twos should stand together, they would make a remarkably ugly four? Was your selection of Mr. H. a blunder? – or was it something worse? I would be sorry to have you blunder – but I would rather think it a blunder, than anything else. There – have I said too much?

But several things have troubled me lately. Oswego is not a great city – but is it true that you removed the Collector there, said to be a respectable, upright man, doing his duty satisfactorily, & gave the place to a machine politician? If so, what is the use in talking about Civil Service Reform? And did you pardon a man in New York, & another in Pennsylvania for embezzlement? How can you hold out such reward to rascality & throw such discouragement on honest labor? Is that a right use of power? And there are things which the newspapers do not say, which puzzle me. How is it possible for the highest officer in the land to come from Washington to New York, & it not be generally known? Yet I have an impression that you have been here – perhaps more than once – when the papers best acquainted with your doings & desires, have not mentioned the fact. Do you remember any other President as restless as yourself – who was rushing home every few weeks? If, as Washington gossip hints, you are engaged & wish to see the lady without having her name dragged before the public – of course the end justifies the means. But if that is not the reason, why should there be any mystery about your movements? If you want to see people, they ought to come to you. If they are people you ought not to have around you in the White House, are you sure it is wise for you to have them around you anywhere? Let me beg of you in no respect to lead a double life. Insincerity so degrades a man & poisons the social atmosphere. Think of how high your position is – how wide your influence. You have a grand opportunity for doing good – would you be willing in after years to look back & feel that you had wasted it? Of all your friends, do you know which ones I like best to hear of being with you? Your children. They are your guardian angels. When you think of what it would be if your son did anything wrong & quoted you as his example – if the little girl grew up &, knowing the world better, lost faith in you – I think you would never set an example that he might not follow, nor do anything to shake her faith.

At last I am going away – my trunks are half packed & I am half dead. But the other half is rather tough & means to fight for life. I am going to where there will be more quiet & fewer newspapers – where I can, if I try, for a time, forget politics – & you. But I do not want you to forget me – at least, I mean what I have said to you. I express merely what hundreds feel. The people long to have faith in you – they wish to give you the most earnest support – & every now & then you do something to startle their distrust. Those around you, I fancy, do not tell you this – perhaps it would be very impolite if they did. And the newspapers – which possibly you have not much time to read – do not express all of public sentiment. They utter public opinion as fast as it is formed, but the process of crystallization is something they cannot put in print. What editor will confess himself anxious & bewildered? Or be responsible for the spread of some dark suspicion which may, at last, prove unfounded? And yet this undercurrent of anxiety & doubt, if augmented, may sometimes suddenly rise to the surface & form an opposition more powerful than anything you have dreamt of. If you mean to do right, do it with an emphasis that is unmistakable. And never imagine that you can accomplish any great good, & keep on pleasant terms with everybody. That theory does for the nursery, not for the world. So fight the good fight, means to receive, more than to give, grievous blows & wounds. In the cloister it may be easy to lead the higher life, but outside it is a hard struggle. And suffering is the first condition of accomplishing any great good. Cannot you accept the condition – be willing to suffer for the sake of the good? You are strong – able to endure – why should you expect that life be smooth? From where you stand now, can you not see how much more noble & beautiful life will seem to you in old age, if you can feel that when power was in your hands, you used it only for the purest purposes? Even if you can not do all that needs to be done, the effort is honorable. There is defeat which has the flavor of victory in it. Who calls that man a failure, who dies defending his country’s flag? And what of the success of him, who, by deserting it, saves his life? The lowest kind of failure is to succeed in ignoble things. People call you a shrewd politician. Does that satisfy you? To me it means almost degradation – the using of great ability for small ends. My ambition for you is larger. Look at the careers of some of the shrewdest politicians – what have they amounted to? There was Cardinal Wolsey – what a pathos & a warning there is in his remorseful cry: “If I had served my God, as I have served my King”! And what a pitious wail comes from the death bed of that prince of shrewd politicians Talleyrand, on the emptiness of life – ah, yes, the emptiness of his own.

The vital question before the country today is Civil Service Reform. The vital question before you is how you will meet it. Evasion in any form will be a proof of weakness. Yet if you fight the rampant evil – though more than half the country will back you – you will do it at your own risk. Are you a coward? Do you fear to face the same danger that Garfield faced? It is for you to choose. Are you content to sit, like a snakecharmer, & let loathsome serpents coil about you, priding yourself on it that not one of them dares sting you? I would rather think of you, like St. George, in shining armor, striking death to the heart of the dragon.

Goodbye.

Yours sincerely,

J. I. S.