nation’s government below the Mason-Dixon survey line in return for southern votes for some of his financial measures.
The special district, two-thirds in Maryland, one-third on the southwest side of the river in Virginia, was already being informally called “Columbia,” in honor of the Italian navigator who had reached the continent in the fifteenth century. A French-born engineer named L’Enfant was drawing up plans for a modern city which everyone hoped could be occupied by the turn of the century.
Abraham found Virginia a green and pleasant state, full of handsome homes, large tracts under cultivation—and scores of black men and women owned outright by white planters. Though he was well aware of slavery’s existence, seeing it firsthand was something of a jolt. He’d been brought up in the only state in the union which had reported a slave population of zero in the 1790 census.
As the weather improved, so did Elizabeth’s health. The Kents spent an enjoyable week and a half at an inn in Caroline County, responding to invitations from families who remembered Peggy and her second husband from their trip to Virginia shortly after their marriage in 1781. The family even received a note by courier from a totally unexpected source: a gentleman who had heard of their presence from mutual friends with whom, they’d dined.
When Peggy read the gracious note, Philip exploded. “ What? Visit that damned republican devil? I’d sooner take a vacation in hell!”
“Come, come, dear,” Peggy soothed. “Mr. Jefferson is an old, old friend of my parents. It would be rude to refuse his invitation to Monticello.” She teased him. “Are you afraid your principles would melt away in his presence?”
“I am afraid I might not be able to contain my temper!”
“I think we should go, Papa,” Abraham said.
“The decision is not yours,” Philip answered in a brusque way. But after twenty-four hours of grumbling, he gave in. He justified his turnabout by saying a man should know his enemy.
The two carriages left the Rappahannock and turned westward toward Mr. Jefferson’s country seat in Albemarle County. There, on the eight-hundred-foot monticello— little mountain—near Charlottesville, Philip confronted his intellectual adversary.
He soon had cause to regret agreeing to the excursion.
iv
Never in his life had Abraham inhaled such a heady combination of fragrances—nor seen so many different kinds of trees.
Mr. Jefferson had arranged to receive them in the garden adjoining his orchard. A burly black servant who met the carriage pointed out the varieties: walnut and peach; plum and cherry; olives and almonds and figs. There were even a few of the exotic orange trees from the far Floridas. Deer could be glimpsed grazing here and there in the orchard. Only Peggy acted uninterested. She gave the slave guide a peculiar, nervous look from time to time.
On the carriage ride to the hilltop, Abraham had been startled to see that Monticello seemed to be in a state of disrepair. Now, at close range, his original impression was confirmed. Scaffolding rose everywhere. Slaves pushed barrows of bricks from the kilns on the property. Carpenters’ tools made a racket in the soft morning air. Peggy explained that since the death of his wife and the decline of his political fortunes, the man who had played such a large role in shaping the new country had withdrawn from public life and now occupied himself with his two passions—architecture and agriculture.
Abraham touched Peggy’s arm. Was the man approaching through the orchard Mr. Jefferson? Yes, she said, it was. The man’s clothing instantly drew a disdainful comment from Philip, who was formally dressed. Jefferson, ten years younger than the president, and standing well over six feet, wore a linen shirt sticky with sweat, and workman’s trousers tucked into dusty boots.
Jefferson’s face had a gaunt quality, as if from illness or personal strain. But he greeted
The special district, two-thirds in Maryland, one-third on the southwest side of the river in Virginia, was already being informally called “Columbia,” in honor of the Italian navigator who had reached the continent in the fifteenth century. A French-born engineer named L’Enfant was drawing up plans for a modern city which everyone hoped could be occupied by the turn of the century.
Abraham found Virginia a green and pleasant state, full of handsome homes, large tracts under cultivation—and scores of black men and women owned outright by white planters. Though he was well aware of slavery’s existence, seeing it firsthand was something of a jolt. He’d been brought up in the only state in the union which had reported a slave population of zero in the 1790 census.
As the weather improved, so did Elizabeth’s health. The Kents spent an enjoyable week and a half at an inn in Caroline County, responding to invitations from families who remembered Peggy and her second husband from their trip to Virginia shortly after their marriage in 1781. The family even received a note by courier from a totally unexpected source: a gentleman who had heard of their presence from mutual friends with whom, they’d dined.
When Peggy read the gracious note, Philip exploded. “ What? Visit that damned republican devil? I’d sooner take a vacation in hell!”
“Come, come, dear,” Peggy soothed. “Mr. Jefferson is an old, old friend of my parents. It would be rude to refuse his invitation to Monticello.” She teased him. “Are you afraid your principles would melt away in his presence?”
“I am afraid I might not be able to contain my temper!”
“I think we should go, Papa,” Abraham said.
“The decision is not yours,” Philip answered in a brusque way. But after twenty-four hours of grumbling, he gave in. He justified his turnabout by saying a man should know his enemy.
The two carriages left the Rappahannock and turned westward toward Mr. Jefferson’s country seat in Albemarle County. There, on the eight-hundred-foot monticello— little mountain—near Charlottesville, Philip confronted his intellectual adversary.
He soon had cause to regret agreeing to the excursion.
iv
Never in his life had Abraham inhaled such a heady combination of fragrances—nor seen so many different kinds of trees.
Mr. Jefferson had arranged to receive them in the garden adjoining his orchard. A burly black servant who met the carriage pointed out the varieties: walnut and peach; plum and cherry; olives and almonds and figs. There were even a few of the exotic orange trees from the far Floridas. Deer could be glimpsed grazing here and there in the orchard. Only Peggy acted uninterested. She gave the slave guide a peculiar, nervous look from time to time.
On the carriage ride to the hilltop, Abraham had been startled to see that Monticello seemed to be in a state of disrepair. Now, at close range, his original impression was confirmed. Scaffolding rose everywhere. Slaves pushed barrows of bricks from the kilns on the property. Carpenters’ tools made a racket in the soft morning air. Peggy explained that since the death of his wife and the decline of his political fortunes, the man who had played such a large role in shaping the new country had withdrawn from public life and now occupied himself with his two passions—architecture and agriculture.
Abraham touched Peggy’s arm. Was the man approaching through the orchard Mr. Jefferson? Yes, she said, it was. The man’s clothing instantly drew a disdainful comment from Philip, who was formally dressed. Jefferson, ten years younger than the president, and standing well over six feet, wore a linen shirt sticky with sweat, and workman’s trousers tucked into dusty boots.
Jefferson’s face had a gaunt quality, as if from illness or personal strain. But he greeted
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