American History Tellers - First Ladies | Mary Todd Lincoln | 2

Episode Date: July 3, 2024

In 1842, Mary Todd married Abraham Lincoln in Springfield, Illinois after a stormy romance. Despite their many differences, the couple bonded over a shared passion for politics. Less than two decades later, Mary fulfilled her greatest ambition when she entered the White House as First Lady.Unlike many of her predecessors, Mary relished public life. She was determined to make her mark on the White House. But her explosive temper and extravagant spending habits drew widespread criticism. And her response to a series of family tragedies caused many to question her sanity.Order your copy of the new American History Tellers book, The Hidden History of the White House, for behind-the-scenes stories of some of the most dramatic events in American history—set right inside the house where it happened.Listen to American History Tellers on the Wondery App or wherever you get your podcasts. Experience all episodes ad-free and be the first to binge the newest season. Unlock exclusive early access by joining Wondery+ in the Wondery App, Apple Podcasts or Spotify. Start your free trial today by visiting https://wondery.com/links/american-history-tellers/ now. See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Wondery Plus subscribers can binge new seasons of American History Tellers early and ad-free right now. Join Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. Imagine it's July 1864 in Washington, D.C. You're a friend and seamstress to Mary Todd Lincoln, and you're in her bedroom in the White House. As you hem a new evening dress for her, she walks into the room and collapses into a plush armchair across from you. You briefly look up from your sewing to acknowledge her entrance, noticing how weary she looks today. She lets out a heavy sigh. What do you think of Mr. Lincoln's chances for re-election? You're surprised by the question. Well, of course Mr. Lincoln will win again. What makes you think

so? I fear that he'll be defeated. The people of the North see him as an honest and upright man. I believe they'll trust him to see the war through. Mary sighs again and leans back, resting her elbows on the chair and her chin in her hand. Your confidence gives me hope. To tell you the truth, I don't know what will become of us all if he is defeated. There's more at stake in this election than he realizes. What do you mean? Well, I'm afraid my debts are much larger than I've told you. How much larger? Some $27,000, mostly in overdue store bills. You drop your sewing in your lap and try to hide your shock. I see. Mr. Lincoln knows nothing of this. If he is re-elected, I can buy time to come up with the money. If he loses, he'll find out everything. But Mary, isn't that more than his entire yearly salary?

How did this happen? You must understand. Mr. Lincoln has little idea of the cost of a woman's wardrobe. He glances at my dresses and thinks that the few hundred dollars he gives me is sufficient. But the people scrutinize everything I wear. They think that because I grew up in the West,

I must be some sort of country bumpkin. I must keep up appearances. I have no alternative but to run up debt. So Mr. Lincoln suspects nothing? Heavens no. The knowledge would drive him mad. I just wonder who I might persuade to pay the bills on my behalf. You must be careful. Mr. Lincoln's rivals are already watching you closely. They believe you overstep your role, and they question the company you keep in those salons of yours. She crosses her arms defensively. So I enjoy discussing literature and politics with members of the Beaumont. What of it? I'm not allowed to keep company with a few businessmen and writers?

Even I've heard the rumors, Mary. They say Mr. Wyckoff is a philanderer, and that Mr. Sickles murdered his wife's lover. Mary shrugs. What those men lack in principle, they more than make up for an influence. And I need influence if I'm going to get Mr. Lincoln re-elected and keep him in ignorance of my affairs. While that may be true, I urge you to tread lightly. Mr. Lincoln is simply too honest to do what needs to be done. It's my duty to electioneer for him. Mrs. Lincoln's jaw is set, but there's a glint of fear in her eyes. You worry that her outsized ideas about her duty are the root of her problems, but you pick up your needle and keep your mouth shut.

You know that once she's got her mind made up, there's no chance of persuading her otherwise. Have you ever wondered who created that bottle of sriracha that's living in your fridge? Or why nearly every house in America has at least one game of Monopoly? Introducing The Best Idea Yet, a brand new podcast about the surprising origin stories of the products you're obsessed with. Listen to The Best Idea Yet on the Wondery app or wherever you get your podcasts. Now streaming. Welcome to Buy It Now, where aspiring entrepreneurs get 90 seconds to pitch to an audience of potential customers. If the audience liked the product, it gets them in front of our panel of experts, Gwyneth

Houghton, Anthony Anderson, Tabitha Brown, Tony Hawk. Oh my God. Buy It Now. Stream free on Freebie and Prime Video. From Wondery, I'm Lindsey Graham, and this is American History Tellers. Our history. Your story. In the summer of 1864, an anxious Mary Todd Lincoln confided in her friend Elizabeth Keckley,

a former slave turned seamstress. In the middle of her husband Abraham Lincoln's uphill battle for re-election, Mary faced mounting debts and a firestorm of controversy. In her time as First Lady, Mary Todd Lincoln shattered the norms set by her predecessors. Most previous First Ladies had carefully guarded their privacy and confined themselves to ceremonial duties. But Mary was determined to chart a new path and wield influence of her own. But too often, her accomplishments were overshadowed by her volatile moods, her notorious spending, and her insistence on participating in politics. While her husband was one of America's most venerated presidents,

Mary Todd Lincoln was one of its most polarizing First Ladies. Reaching the White House was her greatest ambition, but in the end, it would cost her everything. This is Episode 2, Mary Todd Lincoln. Mary Todd was born on December 13, 1818, to a wealthy and influential family in Lexington, Kentucky. She was the fourth of seven children. But tragedy struck at a young age. When she was six, her mother died in childbirth. Her father, Robert, wasted little time in remarrying, but Mary and her siblings despised their new stepmother, Betsy. The feeling was mutual. After Mary put salt in her stepmother's coffee, Betsy pronounced her a limb of Satan

loping down the broad road leading to destruction. Making matters worse, Mary's father, Robert, was often absent from home, his energies absorbed by his career in local and state politics. Mary would later describe her childhood as desolate. But one bright spot was her love of school. Mary's father, Robert Todd, believed that women should be well-educated to attract better suitors, so Mary received 12 years of formal schooling, far more than was typical for girls of the era. And she excelled in her studies, developing a talent for French and a passion for

reading. But not only was Mary well-educated, thanks to her father's career, she was also steeped in the world of politics from a very young age. When she was nine, she precociously refused to attend a rally for visiting presidential candidate Andrew Jackson, deeming him unsuitable for the office. And she sometimes joined her father at the dinner table, where she did not hesitate to express her opinions to local political luminaries, including the family's neighbor, Kentucky Senator Henry Clay. When Clay himself ran for president in 1832, the then 13-year-old Mary told him that one day she would like to live in the White House. By age 17, she had completed her studies at her elite boarding school and returned home a poised and spirited young woman. Her brother-in-law affirmed that she could make a bishop forget his prayers, but she was also impulsive and sharp-tongued. Her sister reflected that she could not restrain a witty, sarcastic speech that cut deeper than she intended. But Mary was not home for long.

She was eager to escape her stepmother, so when she turned twenty, she moved to Springfield, Illinois, to live with her married sister, Elizabeth Edwards. Springfield had a vibrant social scene, and Mary was soon swept up in a world of parties, dinners, and dances where she attracted several suitors. Among them was a rustic lawyer named Abraham Lincoln. He was roughly 10 years her senior and had recently started a new law practice in town. But Mary and Lincoln were an unlikely match. She was short and plump. He was tall and lanky. Her family was prosperous. He had been born in a log cabin. And while Mary had attended the best schools, Abraham was self-educated. She was outgoing. He was awkward and reserved. She was fashionable. He wore patched trousers and mismatched socks.

But Mary was ambitious and saw something ined trousers and mismatched socks. But Mary was ambitious and saw something in Lincoln, despite his humble origins. She told her sister that she wished to marry a good man, with a head for position, fame, and power, a man of mind with bright prospects. And she believed that Lincoln had potential her other suitors lacked. Mary had previously rejected the popular local Democratic politician, Stephen Douglas, telling him, I can't consent to be your wife. I shall become Mrs. President, or I am the victim of false prophets, but it will not be as Mrs. Douglas. So Mary and Abraham's relationship was a case of opposites attracting. Her sister Elizabeth remembered that when Mary talked,

Abraham would listen and gaze on her as if drawn by some superior power irresistibly. The pair also bonded over their shared interest in literature and politics, but they had a stormy courtship. In December 1841, Abraham promised to escort Mary to a holiday party, but he was late, so she left without him. When he finally arrived at the party alone, he found Mary flirting with another admirer. They argued, and Mary told him to leave and never come back. After this squabble, Abraham sank into a deep depression. In a letter to his law partner, he confessed, I am now the most miserable man living. But Mary and Abraham's estrangement

didn't last long. In the fall of 1842, a mutual friend brought them back together and they renewed their courtship. They were married on a rainy night in November 1842. Over the next year, the newlywed Lincolns settled into married life. Mary was often left alone for weeks at a time while Abraham rode the circuit, traveling to various county courthouses for his law practice. In August 1843, Mary gave birth to their first son, Robert Todd Lincoln. With her father's help, the family purchased a small cottage, and they expanded the home as Abraham's law practice grew. While he focused on his career,

Mary was consumed by the responsibilities of motherhood and housekeeping. But she had a hard time keeping hired help because she often scrimped on wages. So she felt overworked and frequent debilitating migraines added to her stress. Her moods could also be volatile. Abraham often came home to find his wife in a rage. She was known to throw books at him and once even a wooden log. He later commented on her hot temper, declaring, If you knew how little harm it does me and how much good it does her, you wouldn't wonder that I am meek. Still, despite the domestic turmoil,

Mary would remember these years as the happiest of her life. She loved entertaining guests in their home, and she doted on her children. And even with the responsibilities of motherhood and housekeeping, Mary poured energy into her husband's political pursuits. She was thrilled when he was elected to Congress in 1846 because although most congressmen left their families at home, Mary and their sons Robert and Eddie accompanied Abraham to Washington. But to Mary's disappointment, Abraham would only serve one term in Congress. He lost his seat in 1848, and his career stalled for the next few years. Despite this, Mary still insisted that he would be president one day, and she refused to let him give up. Abraham's old law partner said that Mary was like a toothache, keeping her husband awake to politics

day and night. Priding herself in her ability to judge character, she counseled Abraham on people rather than issues and relished her role as her husband's champion and advisor. But after their return to Springfield from Washington, D.C., the Lincolns would face tragedy. In February 1850, Abraham and Mary were devastated when their four-year-old son, Eddie, died of tuberculosis. But although they were wracked with grief, they continued to expand their family. Mary gave birth to another son, Willie, in December of that year, and their youngest son, nicknamed Tad, was born in 1853.

But it was about that same time when the national debate over the westward expansion of slavery drew Abraham back into the political arena. He launched a campaign for the United States Senate in January 1855, but he ultimately stepped aside to make way for another candidate, much to Mary's chagrin. Imagine it's a Sunday morning in February 1855 in Springfield, Illinois. You shiver as you emerge from the warmth of your church, walking gingerly down snow-covered steps with your husband, Lyman, by your side. As he turns to greet a neighbor, you spot your good friend Mary Todd Lincoln in the crowd.

It's the first time you've seen her since Lyman won a seat in the U.S. Senate, and as you approach, you steal your nerves. Because in order to win, your husband had to defeat Mary's husband, and you know she's one to hold grudges. You tentatively extend your hand. Good morning, Mary. She looks at your hand, but refuses to take it, so you drop it awkwardly. Mary squares her shoulders in defiance. I never imagined that a friend could do something like this to me. You were a bridesmaid at my wedding, for heaven's sake. I didn't do

anything, Mary. You must know that. It was Mr. Lincoln's decision to release his supporters in the state legislature and throw his votes to Lyman. She raises a skeptical eyebrow, but you press on, hoping she'll understand. I applaud Mr. Lincoln for sacrificing his personal gain in electing Lyman, rather than to see a pro-slavery Democrat win. Your husband is a noble man, but you never should have let this happen. You speak as if this was my decision. These decisions are made by the men in the legislature. How could I have stopped it? If you were a true friend, you would have persuaded your husband to throw his votes to Mr. Lincoln.

Mary, you assume that all women have as much influence over their husbands' political careers as you. I respect Lyman's decisions as he respects mine and my own endeavors. I can't dictate his choices any more than he can dictate mine. But you humiliated us. Mary's look of disdain sends a chill down your spine. You never expected you would be on the receiving end of her spite. You reach out, touching her arm gently. Please, don't let this ruin our friendship.

But she pulls away, her gaze no longer meeting yours. It's not me who's thrown a friendship away. I never thought you could be so disloyal. Mary walks away to join her husband, leaving you alone amid the thinning crowd. Memories flash through your mind, years of shared laughter and whispered secrets now tinged with a profound sense of loss. You can't understand why Mary would let politics get in the way of your friendship. You're left wondering whether there's any bridge she wouldn't burn. Mary was bitterly disappointed when Lincoln was forced to abandon his bid for the Senate.

She went so far as to end her friendship with Julia Trumbull, the wife of the winning candidate. Mary was sensitive to even the mildest criticism, and her tendency to hold grudges destroyed many friendships. But with Mary's encouragement, Abraham persisted in his political career, and three years later, he tried for the Senate again. In 1858, the Illinois Republican Party nominated him for a seat, and he kicked off a campaign against Mary's former suitor, the powerful Democratic Senator Stephen Douglas. The two squared off in a series of fierce debates throughout Illinois. In the end, Douglas won the seat, but Abraham's powerful oratory skills put him in the national spotlight. So when the Republican Party gathered to choose their candidate for president in May

of 1860, Abraham emerged as their nominee. Mary campaigned hard on behalf of her husband, writing letters to potential supporters to clarify his positions. She contradicted claims that Abraham was an abolitionist, explaining that he merely wanted to stop the spread of slavery in the West. And when newspaper reporters descended on their home in Springfield, Mary delighted in the favorable attention. She was especially pleased with an article in the New York Tribune which declared her amiable and accomplished, vivacious and graceful, a sparkling talker. And at a time when

it was considered unladylike for a woman to talk to the press at all, she spoke openly with journalists about her husband's plans for his administration. Reporters called her Abraham's kitchen cabinet. And then, on November 6, 1860, Abraham learned that he had won the presidency. He rushed home from the Springfield Telegraph office, yelling out, Mary, Mary, we are elected. Mary was thrilled to give up life as a small-town housewife and take her place by the president's side. And in February 1861, the Lincolns set off on a whistle-stop train journey from Springfield to Washington, D.C. Mary relished the trip, despite threats to her husband's life from pro-slavery Southerners,

because she had fulfilled her greatest ambition. But Abraham Lincoln's election had triggered the secession of the South and rumblings of war. As her husband turned his attention to the crisis engulfing the nation, Mary Todd would find it increasingly difficult to wield the power and influence she craved.

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Fort Sumter and Charleston Harbor. But Mary danced and talked into the early hours of the morning. The New York Herald applauded her debut as First Lady, declaring, She is more self-possessed than Lincoln, and has accommodated more readily than her taller half to the exalted station to which she has been so strangely advanced. Mary was far more comfortable with the role of First Lady than her immediate predecessors. The past two decades had seen a series of first ladies who shrank from public duties. Margaret Taylor and Jane Pierce both prayed their husbands would lose their elections and shut themselves in their private quarters after moving to the White House. Sarah Polk and Abigail Fillmore hated entertaining so much

that the White House guests complained of an unwelcoming atmosphere. But Mary was eager to assume the role she had long coveted. Though when she moved into the White House, she discovered that it had been neglected by its previous occupants. It was full of broken furniture, threadbare carpets, and peeling wallpaper. So Mary set herself the task of refurbishing the mansion with a $20,000 allowance from Congress. But her plans were put on hold with the outbreak of the Civil War in April. Union military authorities feared that Confederate soldiers would attack the White House, and they urged Mary to return to Springfield with her children. She flatly refused. Instead,

in May, Mary set out on the first of nearly a dozen shopping trips to Philadelphia and New York to buy new furnishings, much to the frustration of local Washington businesses. And while in Philadelphia, Mary sent a merchant to Paris to buy wallpaper. And after a New York merchant gave a dinner party in her honor, she purchased $2,000 worth of rugs and curtains from him. But even in the midst of Mary's lavish spending, she did not ignore the escalating war. After the Battle of Bull Run in northern Virginia that summer, Mary began making regular trips to Washington, D.C. hospitals. She spent time with wounded soldiers, reading books to them, writing letters

home on their behalf, and organizing special meals. Meanwhile, her refurbishment of the White House was nearing completion, and in only one year, Mary had exceeded the $20,000 allowance that was supposed to last her husband's entire first term. Abraham was horrified, declaring, It would stink in the nostrils of the American people to have it said that the President of the United States had approved $20,000 for flub-dubs for this damned old house, while the soldiers cannot have blankets. Abraham told his wife that he would pay for the bills out of his own pocket,

but Mary refused to let him spend his own salary. Instead, she tried to sell second-hand White House furniture, though the shabby antiques brought in little money. Then she cut costs by reducing staff, taking over the role of steward herself. Even the White House gardener tried to help, offering to pad his expense accounts and kick back the role of steward herself. Even the White House gardener tried to help, offering to pad his expense accounts and kick back the excess to the First Lady. Mary was better at managing her family finances than these White House bills. She would ultimately save more than two-thirds of the salary her husband earned during his four years in office, even despite her lavish spending on her own clothes, which included hiring seamstress Elizabeth Keckley, a formerly enslaved woman who spending on her own clothes, which included hiring seamstress Elizabeth Keckley,

a formerly enslaved woman who had purchased her own freedom. The two women became close friends. Mary had Keckley create costly gowns in the style of the French Empress, each of which required 25 yards of fabric. And as a result of her extravagance, the press dubbed Mary the Illinois Wren, a reference to French royalty. But Mary spent excessively in the belief that she was representing her country through her clothes. She knew that many political elites assumed that because she was from Kentucky,

she was an ill-bred Westerner, and she was determined to prove them wrong. But rather than win respect, her youthful styles and elaborate flowered headdresses only garnered criticism from journalists and politicians. After Oregon Senator James Nesmith met Mary at a White House reception, he wrote to his wife describing the sight of the weak-minded Mrs. Lincoln and her sorry show of skin and bones. He continued, She had her bosom on exhibition, a flowerpot on her head.

There was a train of silk dragging on the floor behind her of several yards in length. Some critics complained that she was putting on airs. Others condemned her for failing to set an example of frugality during wartime. These concerns also did not stop Mary from upholding the long-standing tradition of White House receptions. She was an enthusiastic hostess, and even when suffering from regular migraines, she staged receptions twice a week during the fall and spring, with as many as 4,000 guests passing through the East Room. Mary also hosted special parties for officials and foreign guests who praised her warmth in the hospitality. She chose the menus,

supervised the cooking, and arranged the flowers herself. A presidential bodyguard said the White House was more entirely given over to the public in Lincoln's administration than in any other. But Mary also used these parties to wield influence and trade favors. She offered to sway her husband's political appointments in exchange for expensive gifts, including diamonds, a costly sewing machine, and a stylish black carriage with four matching black horses. Abraham refused large gifts himself, but he did not interfere with Mary's efforts. Mary declared her husband almost a monomaniac on the subject of honesty. She also lobbied government officials and cabinet members,

often making it seem as though she were communicating the president's own feelings, but her relentless quest for favors was destined to generate controversy. Imagine it's January 1862 in Washington, D.C. You've recently been appointed Secretary of War, and you're walking through the White House cross hall. You plan to spend the day addressing problems with the Army of the Potomac, but the First Lady's constant intrusions have interrupted your work, and you feel you can't stay silent. A butler shows you into the Red Room, where you're confronted with the overpowering smell of fresh jasmine.

Then you take in the new scarlet damask drapes and French wallpaper. As you remove your hat, Mrs. Lincoln looks up from the letter she's writing. Mr. Secretary, what a pleasure to see you. To what do I owe this unexpected visit? Mrs. Lincoln, I must address a matter of urgency regarding your recent interventions in War Department affairs. Her eyebrow arches slightly, her face a picture of innocence. Oh? I'm not sure I grasp your meaning. Yesterday I turned away a Mr. Robert Parker.

A relative of your mother's, as I understand it. He came to the War Department seeking a contract as an army supplier. I sent him away at once. So you must imagine my surprise when he returned again this morning. A dogged fellow, isn't he? Indeed. But this time he arrived brandishing your personal calling card, with an attached note in your handwriting asking me to grant Parker's petition as a personal favor to you. Well, did you give him the position? You try to control your rising anger, your hand tightening around the brim of your hat. Of course not. I tore

up his request on the spot. A flicker of discomfort crosses her face before she regains her composure. I assure you that Mr. Parker is more than qualified. Forgive me if I don't take much stock in your assurances. It is imperative that you understand your duties. You are a charming and energetic hostess, but it is not your job to interfere with military appointments. Please excuse me, Mr. Secretary. I meant no harm. I merely wish to help a family member in need of work.

Be that as it may, the War Department is under incredible strain. I intend to bring integrity to the business of assigning war contracts. She smiles brightly while fidgeting with the pen in her hand. You are right, of course. I apologize for any inconvenience I may have caused. It won't happen again. See that it does not. Good day, ma'am. With a curt nod, you turn and leave the room, the weight of your responsibilities pressing down upon you. As you step back into the cross hall, you can't shake the feeling that this won't be the last time you'll have to contend with the First Lady's iron will. After Secretary of War Edwin Stanton lectured Mary about her attempt to secure an appointment for her cousin, she swore she would not bother him again. But a week later,

a messenger gave Stanton an anonymous collection of newspaper clippings attacking the army and its leaders. Stanton was convinced that they were sent by Mary. In the end, Mary circumvented Stanton and persuaded one of his generals to give her cousin an appointment. Winners of elections had long handed out government jobs to friends and relatives, and the Civil War created thousands of new offices. But first ladies did not typically get involved in political patronage. Mary did, though. She also persuaded her husband to appoint two of her brothers-in-law to government positions. The New York World complained, President Lincoln, in an unparalleled display of nepotism, has appointed his whole family to government posts.

Mary was outraged by what she called villainous aspersions, declaring, Mr. Lincoln has neither brother nor sister, aunt nor uncle, and only a few third cousins. That clears him entirely as to any connection. By the start of 1862, Mary had proven herself the most active First Lady in history. But no previous First Lady had also been the subject of so much controversy. Northerners suspected that she was a Confederate sympathizer because she was from Kentucky and because two of her brothers fought for the Confederacy. Meanwhile, Southerners called her a traitor to her birth. Criticism also swirled around her extravagant clothes and parties, and her tempers became infamous, earning her the nickname the Hellcat from Lincoln's

secretaries. And soon these criticisms were compounded by Mary's response to a family tragedy. In February 1862, both Willie and Tad Lincoln fell ill with typhoid fever. Eight-year-old Tad recovered, but 11-year-old Willie did not. Willie was Mary's favorite son, and her grief at his death was overwhelming. She refused to leave her bed for three weeks, and when she finally did emerge, she wore mourning clothes for a year, six months beyond what was customary. In an era when the rituals of mourning were strictly governed, she was criticized for excessive grief. Abraham was also alarmed by his wife's behavior. One evening, he pointed to an asylum in the distance and declared,

Try and control your grief or it will drive you mad, and we may have to send you there. Mary's sister Elizabeth also condemned what she called a long indulgence of gloom. And even Washington, D.C. residents took notice after Mary forbade the Marine Band from performing its popular weekly concerts on the White House South Lawn. The band continued into the summer, sparking public resentment.

But it was clear Mary was desperate for some sort of solace. With unprecedented numbers of men dying on the battlefield, a growing number of Americans turned to mediums for a chance to connect with lost loved ones. Mary's seamstress, Elizabeth Keckley, sought out spiritualists when her son was killed in the war, and she urged the First Lady to do the same. So soon, Mary began attending seances and darkened parlors, and she even hosted her own in the White House Red Room. Nearly a year passed before Mary returned to public life.

While grieving the death of her son, she was also losing the attention of her husband, who was himself depressed and exhausted as he navigated the immense challenge of leading the nation through a civil war. But a tough re-election was looming too, and both Lincolns faced the danger of losing their positions and place in the White House. We'll be right back. products of all time. And they're wild origin stories that you had no idea about. From the Levi's 501 jeans to Legos. Come for the products you're obsessed with. Stay for the business insights that are going to blow up your group chat. Jack, Nintendo

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many of whom were men with checkered reputations. But for Mary, they served a purpose. She appealed to them for government appointments and help renegotiating her mounting bills. She also urged them to donate funds to the Contraband Relief Association, founded by Elizabeth Keckley, to aid freed people. But by the summer of 1864, Mary's concerns over her personal debts were growing. The Union Army's progress had stalled, and rising casualties had triggered a crisis in northern morale. Both she and her husband feared that he would lose his bid for re-election,

and Mary knew that if Abraham lost, he would at last discover her substantial debt. She told her friend Keckley, If he is elected, I can keep him in ignorance of my affairs, but if he is defeated, then the bills will be sent to him. Then, much to Mary's relief, that fall a reversal in the Union's military fortunes carried her husband to victory. He was thrilled to see the war to its conclusion, but shortly after his re-election, Abraham told Mary about a dream he had in which he looked into a mirror and saw two reflections of himself, and one was very pale and haggard. Over the years, Mary had become superstitious,

and she saw this dream as an omen. Life had taught her that her greatest triumphs were always followed by a tragedy. So a month after her husband was re-elected, Mary purchased $1,000 of mourning clothes. On April 9, 1865, Union and Confederate soldiers laid down their weapons, and four bloody years of war came to an end. Five days later, the Lincolns went for a carriage ride. The president was in a cheerful mood. He and Mary talked about their future. And that night, they attended a play at Ford's Theater. In the middle of the performance,

actor and Southern sympathizer John Wilkes Booth crept into their box and shot the president in the back of his head. Mary cried out, Oh my God, and have I given my husband to die? Death had been a constant presence in Mary's life, but Abraham's assassination shattered her. She blamed herself, convinced that her ambitions had cost him his life. She stayed in bed for a month, and her weeping was so intense that it caused headaches, congestion, and back pain. She refused to see family members, turning to spiritualists for comfort instead. And she was so consumed with grief that several weeks passed before she finally relinquished the White House to Lincoln's successor, Andrew Johnson. After she and her sons left the White House, they moved into a series of Chicago hotels,

and she would remain in mourning for her husband for the rest of her life. Mary had money from her husband's estate, but the debts she accumulated in the White House weighed heavily. She tried to sell her clothes and asked wealthy acquaintances for help, even handing out her husband's walking canes in exchange for contributions. She also lobbied Congress to grant her a pension. All this activity, and especially the clothing sales, became a newspaper spectacle. Adding to Mary's humiliation were press accusations that she had taken bribes and diverted funds to pay for parties while her husband was in office.

Critics called her gaudy, greedy, and vulgar. One newspaper declared, If Mrs. Lincoln had studied her true mission as a mother and wife, she could not have discredited her sex and injured the name of her country and husband. Some other reporters even questioned Mary's sanity. But among Mary's most costly debts was the money she owed her seamstress and confidant, Elizabeth Keckley. In 1868, in an effort to earn back the money she was owed, Keckley published a book about her time in the White House that portrayed Mary as petty and narcissistic.

The book ended their friendship. Ashamed, Mary fled to Germany with her son, Tad. But much to her relief, in the summer of 1870, she finally received a pension from Congress. Mary and Tad returned to Chicago the following year. But her relief didn't last. Soon after their return, 18-year-old Tad died after a long illness. Mary had now lost two brothers, her husband, and three of her four sons. Her grief was overwhelming, and she was never close with her sole surviving son, Robert.

Over the next few years, he lost patience with his mother's increasingly erratic behavior. Hotel employees found her wandering the hallways in her nightgown. She was convinced that someone was trying to poison her, and she continued her spending sprees, purchasing yards of expensive drapes she did not need. It was soon that she would face consequences for her aimless existence. Imagine it's the morning of May 19, 1875, in Chicago, Illinois. You're a lawyer and an old

friend of Abraham Lincoln, and you're walking through a hallway in the Grand Pacific Hotel with two police officers. You've been charged with carrying out an unpleasant task. Your client has sworn out a warrant for the arrest of Mary Todd Lincoln, so you brace yourself as you approach her room. Mary opens the door. Her eyes dart from you to the police officers, confusion clouding her face. Please, come in. I apologize for my disheveled appearance. You and the officers follow her into the room and close the door behind you.

Thank you, ma'am. I'm sorry I did not leave a calling card. What can I do for you, gentlemen? Whatever it is, I hope it's quick. I'm expecting a delivery of lace curtains any minute now. I'm afraid that won't be possible. You must accompany us to the courthouse. A jury is waiting to render a judgment regarding your sanity. Mary's eyes widen in shock. You produce an arrest warrant from your pocket.

Mrs. Lincoln, this is a warrant for your arrest. For your own benefit and for the safety of the community. Your friends have concluded that your many troubles have produced a mental disease. You mean to say that I am crazy? Where is my son, Robert? You ignore the question. No less than six doctors have already diagnosed you with insanity. What doctors? I haven't seen any doctors.

Mrs. Lincoln, you have two options. You may come with me willingly, or I will turn you over to these officers and let them take you by force. They will handcuff you if necessary. So why don't you put on your bonnet and come along? Mary takes a step back and twists her hands together, her fingers trembling. I can't go anywhere like this. The hem of my dress is muddy.

I must change. You will not. I'm not letting you out of my sight. Tears stream down her face as she retrieves her bonnet from the vanity. How could you do this to me? And you call yourself a friend of my poor dead husband? You offer her your elbow, but she just looks at you with disgust.

I will go with you, but I beg you not to touch me. You nod as she walks out the door ahead of you with her head held high. As you follow her out, you feel a strong pang of guilt, but you must do right by your client, and you're certain that this is what is best for Mrs. Lincoln, too. On May 19, 1875, Mary Todd Lincoln reluctantly went to court to face charges of insanity. During the trial, she learned that the person who swore out the warrant against her was none other than her own son. Robert Todd Lincoln was embarrassed by his mother's behavior,

but he may also have had a financial incentive. If Mary was committed to an asylum, he stood to inherit her fortune, which was still substantial despite her spending. Robert had hired detectives to follow his mother. He paid $6, $50 each, to testify to her insanity, although none of the doctors had actually examined her. In total, Robert assembled 17 witnesses to testify against his mother, including hotel employees and sales clerks who had waited on her. Robert himself also took the stand. But Mary's lawyer, whom Robert recruited, did not bother to call any witnesses to her defense. An all-male jury took just ten minutes

to find her insane. For years, Mary's mental health would remain a subject of debate and speculation. She was eccentric, self-absorbed, and wracked with grief. But there was no evidence that she was a danger to herself or others. Mary lived in a time when Americans had no patience for idiosyncratic women, and a national preoccupation with mental illness had caused a rapid expansion in the populations of insane asylums. In the wake of her trial, Mary's property was taken from her, and she was committed to a private asylum in Illinois, where she was treated with opium, morphine, and eggnog laced with whiskey. After three months of confinement,

Mary managed to smuggle a letter out to a lawyer friend in Washington, who helped secure her release. She was then put into the care of her sister, Elizabeth. One year later, another Illinois jury found her sane and capable of managing her own affairs. But determined not to be recommitted, Mary fled to Europe. After four years of drifting from place to place, though, her declining health brought her back to the United States. Now nearly blind, Mary spent the final months of her life in a darkened bedroom in her sister's home in Springfield, Illinois, just above the parlor where she had married Abraham 40 years earlier. On July 16, 1882, Mary Todd Lincoln died of a stroke at the age of 63.

Few First Ladies relished their position as much as Mary Todd Lincoln did. In the face of profound personal tragedy, she brought energy, intelligence, and strength to the role. But her ambition, her instability, and her refusal to conform to strict gender expectations also made her one of the most vilified women to ever occupy the White House. From Wondery, this is Episode 2 of our five-part series, First Ladies from American History Tellers. In the next episode, Eleanor Roosevelt brings a bold and modern sensibility to the White House, but she must overcome tragedy and hardship to become the longest-serving First

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