Voices from the Past Part 164

Palm Sunday

1865

In the salon of the River Queen I met with my guests as we sailed up the Potomac, the river calm and the air fresh. We talked of the ruins of Richmond, the looters, the burned buildings, the wounded in tent hospitals. I saw a general feeling of sympathy.

During the afternoon, a military band played for us-the "Ma.r.s.eillaise" for my special guest, the Marquis de Chambrun; we had "Dixie" and Foster melodies for the congressmen and their wives.

As we sailed by Mount Vernon someone asked me about Springfield: did I think of returning after my second term? I thought it proper to say that my home was no Mount Vernon but I looked forward to returning.

The meals on our flagship were excellent. Tad was always hungry. Mary did not relish the food, or enjoy some of the guests. All of us know the war is winding down. General Lee has lost 19,000 men, as prisoners to Grant.

I can't remember when I have felt so encouraged.

As I lay in my bunk I could see in my mind a tree that reminded me of great trees I saw as a boy, trees with great shadows. It is worth a man's time to hold communion with trees. The trunk of this tree, seen on the river bank, supported layers of outgoing branches.

Next morning I read to guests in the salon. I read from Macbeth. I always find it relaxing to read aloud, though my gla.s.ses sometimes bother me. I explained how Macbeth suffered mentally after becoming king. I helped my listeners visualize the murderer. I read from the quarto, graciously given me by Dr. Bancroft.

With Tad sitting at my feet, I read:

...After life's fitful fever he sleeps well;

Treason has done his worst; nor steel, nor poison,

Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing

Can touch him further.

The White House

Library

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

The capitol is decorated from dome to portico.

Victory!

Flags are everywhere.

The weather is fine.

The Treasury building has a huge bond picked out in lights. Cooke's Bank has GLORY TO G.o.d spelled out in golden stars. Hotels, shops, restaurants are festive, I am told. Bands play "Dixie" and "Yankee Doodle," Irish tunes, Foster's songs. Fireworks and rockets explode over the Potomac. Cannon boom.

Hors.e.m.e.n, carriages, wagons, buggies, pedestrians...there isn't a quiet corner in Washington!

This morning, General Grant shook my hand sadly, hardly a victory gesture. I did not try to penetrate his mood.

Tomorrow I am to speak to a crowd in front of the White House. I will try to envision a sane future. Rain is forecast. It will not matter, nothing is going to diminish the enthusiasm.

Robert is due here tomorrow.

Mary remains in her bedroom.

General Lee has surrendered his forces at the McLean House, at Appomattox. Grant has permitted Lee and his men to return to their homes; they may retain their mounts.

Lee pointed out that his army was holding a thousand Union prisoners, prisoners who have nothing to eat but parched corn. His own men amply supplied, Grant has turned over 25,000 rations to Lee's men and fed the Union prisoners.

As I write, fire engines roar, whistles blow, church bells ring.

This morning there was a salute of a hundred guns.

I spoke to a throng in front of the White House. The newspapers will carry my words but I also add them here, thinking to improve the text.

Mary is ill...all very unreal.

An end like a beginning can have a bitter edge.