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a young man son off to school in his stead, feeling vaguely thankful
that I should have until Christmas to get used to the thought of him
before having to see him again.
Shortly afterward I returned to the White House and to the routine
of a social season. The Cabinet officers having all gone to their
respective homes we gave the Cabinet Dinner with all its accustomed
formalities, then came musicals, luncheons, small dinners, teas and
parties of various sorts until near the end of the year when I
introduced my daughter to society.
Helen had gone out in Washington and had attended my
entertainments during the winter of 1909 whenever she had been at
home from college and when I was ill had even acted as hostess in
my place at a dinner we gave for Prince and Princess Fushimi of
Japan, but she had never “come out,” so I gave two parties early in
the winter of 1910 in honor of her début.
We began with an afternoon At Home, for which, as my daughter
says she “got all the flowers there were in Washington,” and later I
gave a ball on the night of December 30th, when the East Room was
filled with hundreds of young people clamouring for “just one more
dance” until two o’clock in the morning.
The New Year’s Reception was followed in quick succession by the
Diplomatic, Congressional, Judicial and other state functions; the
winter passed like a dream; the Garden Party season was upon us;
then came the greatest event of our four years in the White House,
our Silver Wedding.
Twenty-five years married and all but a single year of it spent in
the public service. It did not seem unfitting to me that this
anniversary should be spent in the White House or that we should
seek to make it an event not to be forgotten by anybody who
happened to witness it. I thanked the happy fate that had given me a
summer wedding-day because I needed all outdoors for the kind of
party I wanted to give. That silver was showered upon us until we
were almost buried in silver was incidental; we couldn’t help it; it
was our twenty-fifth anniversary and we had to celebrate it.
I am not going to try to remember or to take the trouble to find out
how many invitations we issued. I know there were four or five
thousand people present and that a more brilliant throng was never
gathered in this country.
It was a night garden party with such illuminations as are quite
beyond description. Every tree and bush was ablaze with myriads of
tiny coloured lights, the whole stately mansion was outlined in a
bright white glow; there were strings of bobbing, fantastic lanterns
wherever a string would go; the great fountain was playing at its
topmost height in every colour of the rainbow; while on the gleaming
point of the Monument and on the flag stretched in the breeze from
the staff on the top of the White House shone the steady gleam of two
searchlights.
My husband and I received the almost endless line of guests under
a large tree about midway between the South Portico and the
fountain; the entire house was thrown open and was filled constantly
with people seeking the refreshment tables laid in the dining rooms
and vestibule. I have a right to be enthusiastic in my memory of that
party because without enthusiasm it could not have been given at all.
And why should not one be frankly grateful for success?
With the passing of another season, in no way different from those
that went before, I come to the end of my story. There is another
story to tell, longer and fuller, but it does not belong to me. It belongs
to the man whose career has made my story worth the telling.
After Mr. Taft was renominated, or rather after the second
convention in Chicago when the Republican party was divided, I
began to make plans for the future in which the White House played
no part. I stopped reading the accounts of the bitter political contest
because I found that the opposition newspapers made so much more
impression on me than those that were friendly to my husband that I
was in a state of constant rage which could do me no possible good.
Mr. Taft had never been subjected to bitter criticism and wholesale
attack until his term in the Presidency and I suppose I had formed a
habit of thinking that there was nothing to criticise him for except,
perhaps, his unfortunate shortcoming of not knowing much and of
caring less about the way the game of politics is played. Such
criticism of him as Mr. Bryan’s supporters were able to create for
their use in 1908 amounted to nothing. His record of twenty years’
uncriticised service stood, and he stood on it. I think we both avoided
much perturbation after we became convinced of the unfairness and
injustice of much that was said by hostile newspapers, by not reading
it. Mr. Taft took much satisfaction from those words of Lincoln’s
which Mr. Norton, his Secretary, had photographed and placed in a
frame on his office desk:
“If I were to try to read, much less answer, all the attacks made on
me this shop might as well be closed for any other business. I do the
very best I know how—the very best I can; and I mean to keep on
doing so until the end. If the end brings me out all right, what is said
against me won’t amount to anything. If the end brings me out
wrong, ten angels swearing I was right would make no difference.”
I wanted him to be re-elected, naturally, but I never entertained
the slightest expectation of it and only longed for the end of the
turmoil when he could rest his weary mind and get back into
association with the pleasant things of life. Fortunately we are a
family that laughs. Both Mr. Taft and the children manage to get
some fun out of almost everything, and I and my matter of factness
have afforded them lifelong amusement. They like now to tell a story
about me which doesn’t impress me as being particularly funny.
During the last campaign I was at Beverly alone a good part of the
summer, but when Mr. Taft did join me for short intervals he
brought Republican Headquarters with him, more or less, and a few
political supporters were sure to follow for consultation with him.
There was one good old enthusiastic friend who had always
supported him and who was then making a valiant fight in his behalf.
And he had faith that they would win. He assured me they would
win. He told me how they were going to do it, pointing out where Mr.
Taft’s strength lay and telling me how kindly the people really felt
toward him.
“Mrs. Taft, you mark my word,” said he, “the President will be re-
elected in November!”
“Well,” said I, “you may be right, but just the same I intend to pack
everything up when I leave Beverly, and I shall take the linen and
silver home.”
At a dinner given by the Lotos Club in New York, just ten days
after Mr. Wilson’s election in 1912, Mr. Taft said:
“The legend of the lotos eaters was that if they partook of the fruit
of the lotos tree they forgot what had happened in their country and
were left in a state of philosophic calm in which they had no desire to
return to it.
“I do not know what was in the mind of your distinguished
invitation committee when I was asked to attend this banquet. They
came to me before election. At first I hesitated to accept lest when
the dinner came I should be shorn of interest as a guest and be
changed from an active and virile participant in the day’s doings of
the Nation to merely a dissolving view. I knew that generally on an
occasion of this sort the motive of the diners was to have a guest
whose society should bring them more closely into contact with the
great present and the future and not be merely a reminder of what
has been. But, after further consideration, I saw in the name of your
club the possibility that you were not merely cold, selfish seekers
after pleasures of your own, and that perhaps you were organised to
furnish consolation to those who mourn, oblivion to those who
would forget, an opportunity for a swan song to those about to
disappear....
“The Presidency is a great office to hold. It is a great honour and it
is surrounded with much that makes it full of pleasure and
enjoyment for the occupant, in spite of its heavy responsibilities and
the shining mark that it presents for misrepresentation and false
attack.... Of course the great and really the only lasting satisfaction
that one can have in the administration of the great office of
President is the thought that one has done something permanently
useful to his fellow countrymen. The mere enjoyment of the tinsel of
office is ephemeral, and unless one can fix one’s memory on real
progress made through the exercise of presidential power there is
little real pleasure in the contemplation of the holding of that or any
other office, however great its power or dignity or high its position in
the minds of men.
“I beg you to believe that in spite of the very emphatic verdict by
which I leave the office, I cherish only the deepest gratitude to the
American people for having given me the honour of having held the
office, and I sincerely hope in looking back over what has been done
that there is enough of progress made to warrant me in the belief
that real good has been accomplished, even though I regret that it
has not been greater. My chief regret is my failure to secure from the
Senate the ratification of the general arbitration treaties with France
and Great Britain. I am sure they would have been great steps toward
general world peace. What has actually been done I hope has helped
the cause of peace, but ratification would have been a concrete and
substantial step. I do not despair of ultimate success. We must hope
and work on.”
THE END
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
1. Silently corrected obvious typographical errors and
variations in spelling.
2. Retained archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings
as printed.
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