The Identity of "C.E.L."
Mystery Solved?
Most Mary Lincoln biographies include quotes from an interesting 1872 newspaper account signed with the initials “C.E.L.” I think I’ve finally figured out who wrote it.
First, background information: In 1872, the year after Tad’s death and the Great Chicago Fire, Mary Lincoln was in bad shape. She began roaming the country talking to spiritualists who promised to put in her in touch with her dead relatives, and this was closely tracked by the newspapers. Early in the year, the famous/pathetic William Mumler photograph of Mary with Lincoln’s “ghost” was sent to the Boston Herald, and passed around elsewhere. Shortly afterwards, with occasional exceptions, the newspaper jabs that had been a regular thing since 1867, abruptly ceased. Such one-liners no longer seemed funny.
Around the same time, probably disturbed by Mary’s deterioration, some people began to rally to her defense. Mary herself had always preferred a policy of ignoring criticism, and others had generally followed her lead. It’s hard to imagine that she raised the issue herself, as she was pretty much withdrawn from the world at this point—very little correspondence survives from these years, and she seemed beyond caring about her reputation or even settling scores. It seems more likely that those around her just couldn’t bite their tongues anymore about her distress, especially after Robert Lincoln, who hated press coverage of his family, went abroad for the latter half of 1872.
In March, longtime friend and former neighbor Rev. Dr. N. W. Miner wrote a letter about his relationship with the Lincolns, and included a defense of Mary’s character, especially her loyalty to the Union cause. He sent it to the University of Chicago, and it was published in some newspapers. He modified it into a lecture, and addressed audiences regularly for the next fifteen or so years. In this case, it appears the project started when Mary asked him to address the question of Lincoln’s religion raised by the publication of Lamon’s biography in 1872.
Possibly partly in response to the fallout from Lamon’s book in May and June, provocative journalist and friend Jane Swisshelm wrote a letter to the editor of the Chicago Tribune on July 4, 1872. This was weeks before the anniversary of Tad’s death, but Swisshelm did not mention it.
Sir: in these days of ‘respectful consideration’ of woman’s claim to political equality, may we not ask that simple justice be done to one woman who has been dragged into politics and roughly handed there? For years I have made it a point to speak in public and private of Mrs. Abraham Lincoln as I felt she deserved; but, no matter how long the report of a lecture might be, that part was always left out; and I now formally ask the press of that State which claimed the body of her husband for interment, to do her justice, and brighten her pathway to his side.”
Swisshelm recounted their first meeting in early 1863, differing somewhat in the details from the account she gave in her memoirs years later. After dismissing various criticisms, she concluded that “It is time that justice was done Mrs. Lincoln, and that the American people should soothe her sorrows by every manifestation of respect.”
On September 7, C.E.L.’s letter to the editor appeared in the popular Christian Register, a Boston publication. It was titled “A Kindly Word for Abraham Lincoln’s Widow.” Perhaps she was inspired by Swisshelm, or, perhaps, though I’ve found little evidence of it, the bitter and fast-approaching 1872 election campaign was causing a resurgence in cruel remarks.
“Abraham Lincoln’s widow!” Should not this sacred title be in itself a tower of defense for the woman? Of a man who can lift his voice or pen against one so bereaved as Mary Lincoln, we can only say he reminds us of the young lord who praised the big boy for beating the little boy, and who received the appreciative reply from the bully, “Your Lordship and I know quite well whom to beat!” But, women of American, will you no longer countenance this cowardice, this slander that has become vulgar fashion, against a lady bereft of husband, children, health and home? I, for one, for Abraham Lincoln’s sake, will bear it no longer. I protest, in the name of womanly decency and Christian sisterhood, against the rough handling by press and tongue of a woman’s name, a woman who has done no life an injury (unless it be her own), but whose deeds of mercy have been manifold, and whose virtues are more numerous than her foibles.
I knew her tolerably well at Washington. She was very kind to me, and I would shame to requite her well-meant courtesies with criticism and contumely. She sent my sick child books and flowers, as she sent them to so many suffering children. I wept with her when little Willie died, and never shall I forget how suddenly she arrested herself in the midst of her tears, with the (as it would seem inopportune) question, “Madam, why did you not call upon me before my ball? I sent you word I wished to know you.” And when I replied, wonderingly, “Because my country was in grief, as you now are, and I shunned all scenes of gayety,” she exclaimed, “I thought so! Those who urged me to that heartless step (alluding to the ball) now ridicule me for it, and not one of them has driven to this ‘Soldiers’ Home,’ where I have come, to share my sorrow. I have had evil counselors!” This indeed was the secret of Mrs. Lincoln’s blunders. She did have evil counselors, and “blunder” is the hardest name her mistakes deserve. Women who knew the wire-pulling in Washington, whose toilet arts and social pretensions, society-lobbying and opportunity-seeking, taught them to lie in wait and rise in the social scale by intimacy at the White House, these basely laughed at the credulous woman who took counsel from them, and struck at the ladder of her friendship by which alone they had been able to climb. Some said to her, “They say you are a Western woman, and that brilliant life is known to you. Prove by your style and splendor that to be Western is not to be a boor.” Others said (and these were wives of certain army officers and office-holders, rebels in heart, but protected by disguise of loyal livery). “We rejoice to have a Union Southern lady in the White House, one who will understand to be our friend.” And so they found a welcome to her home, where they evinced their chivalry spirit by ridiculing her “attempts at Southern hospitality.”
But to leave the unkind word for them, and to give the kind word for Mr.s Lincoln. After a very short experience at Washington, she saw for herself the nature of the many who surrounded her, and, asserting herself, she chilled them from her presence. This is how she made her enemies; they could no long use her, and combined to abuse her every act and motive. Her toilet was magnificent, her manner gracious, her entertainments successful; but all in vain; for the decaying gentility of resident Washington, the disappointed aspirants for honor, the at length exposed rebel wolves in sheep’s clothing,—all were united in their last bond of sympathy—detraction of Mrs. Lincoln.
Her husband dearly loved her. It is the cruelest of all to take away that crown of glory from her. I chatted with him in the great East Room one evening, and noticed that he looked often at his wife. At length he laughed pleasantly and said, “My wife is as handsome as when she was a girl, and I, a poor nobody then, fell in love with her; and what is more" (he continued) “I have never fallen out." He said this to me while the Marine Band was playing, at his order, his favorite march from Faust. I shall cherish to my death the memory of his words, coming so unexpectedly in the midst of that glare of folly and Vanity Fair. And . . . at that same time, I questioned Mr. Lincoln with regard to some of the witticisms attributed to him, such as “Grant and the Whiskey.” He laughed and said, "The papers make are smarter than I am; I have said none of these things with one exception. I did say, when I had the small pox, “Now let the office-seekers come, for at last I have something I can give to all of them.’
To return. A colored woman lost her son during the war. Mrs. Lincoln, in who's employ the woman was, wrote her a tender, friendly letter, and herself took pains to obtain the boy’s decent burial at her own expense and after much trouble, as he had died at a distance from his mother. I read the letter, shown me by its recipient, Elizabeth Keckley, and its womanly sympathy covered all error of judgment, from my eyes, at least, of the writer. A sorrow, deep and cruel as the grave, came into my own life. Many forgot to speak the word of sympathy, when temporarily I passed from their sight beneath my overwhelming grief; but the wife of Abraham Lincoln did not, and her kindly letter spoke a noble heart.
I could tell of many, many deeds of mercy from this lady toward those who needed her; of flowers sent to hospitals by her hands, and fruit and books. She often visited our wounded soldiers, and I have told some of them, not she, that the lady who sat beside them quietly was the wife of Mr. Lincoln.
In her failing health, with her broken wife and mother-heart, she seeks retirement and oblivion. For Abraham Lincoln’s sake, for his widow’s sake, and for the honor of American womanhood, let scandal against this afflicted lady cease!
In trying to identify C.E.L., I focused on a few things. This was obviously a woman of some social status who was in Washington throughout most of the war. She was a good writer, chatty, lively, educated, and Christian. Based on her access to Lincoln, if she wasn’t a journalist, she was probably married to a prominent Republican. She knew Elizabeth Keckley. I noticed she didn’t mention her husband at all, but didn’t think much of it at first.
I now believe C.E.L. was the former Caroline (Cara) Eliot Kasson, wife of Iowa Congressman John A. Kasson. She spent most of the war in Washington, writing lively letters to the Iowa State Register under the pen name “Miriam.” They read similarly to C.E.L.’s piece.
Caroline was the sister of a prominent reverend, and she recorded witnessing Mary’s hospital visits, and also expressed great sorrow about Willie’s death. Back in 1862, as “Miriam,” she was already writing about the difficulties Mary found herself in socially: “some are pleased to find fault . . . I think the Secesh ladies here were positively vexed that we did not have an awkward, ill-dressed representative of Republican Ladies…” She strikes me as the type who would be bold enough to have such a conversation with Lincoln, and she would have attended East Room receptions. She also would have been sensitive to attacks on women in the press that resulted from political proxy battles, as we shall see.
Mary is not known to have been very close with her, but she says they only knew each other “tolerably well.” In 1866, after John A. Kasson defended Mary Lincoln on the House floor when it was alleged she plundered the White House, Mary wrote Caroline a letter, asking her to pass on her gratitude to her husband. In that note, she mentioned that Elizabeth Keckley was a mutual “good friend.”
Mary was evidently not expecting what happened a few weeks later: Caroline stunned the political world, and apparently her husband, by filing for divorce on the grounds of adultery. She claimed he had cheated on her with at least two women in Washington, one allegedly the wife of a former Senator. (Caroline had stayed in Iowa for the 1865-1866 congressional session, and appears to have already been separated from her husband before the filing, but it’s not clear when she learned of the infidelity).
John rushed back to Iowa and did not contest the divorce, acknowledging the infidelity, but some in his camp indicated she’d become increasingly paranoid or jealous and had blown things out of proportion, and he’d just decided it wasn’t worth trying to convince her otherwise. The couple had been very popular and were viewed as happily married, and Kasson’s moral reputation was strong. As far as I can tell, people generally believed him to be guilty of inappropriate behavior with women that may have fallen short of legal adultery, but moved on fairly quickly, especially since he didn’t deny it. He lost the congressional election that year, but he went on to have a long and successful political career.
Caroline married Rufus J. Lackland in 1869. He was a prominent St. Louis businessman who had recently lost his first wife.
After that, she went by Caroline Eliot Lackland.
There are a few problems with my theory. One is that she mentions her sick child. As far as I can tell, the Kasson marriage was always childless, which one report said contributed to the marital tension. Caroline was about 40 years old when she remarried, and did not have any children by her second husband. I don’t think John ever remarried, nor was he known to have children. (His obituaries are strangely silent on his personal life.) But it appears he was involved in raising his nieces and nephews. Articles after Caroline’s remarriage refer to the adopted daughter of the Lacklands, Emma C. Kasson (later Emma C. Harrison). My best guess is that the couple at one point adopted John’s niece, who stayed with Caroline after the divorce. She would have been very young during the war years, but it’s not clear when the (probably unofficial) adoption happened. Emma was not mentioned at all in the press until after the divorce, and Caroline was awarded alimony, but not child support.
It’s also not clear what she would be referring to by “a sorrow, deep and cruel as the grave,” that caused her to temporarily drop out of sight. It could be the infidelity and/or divorce, although at that point Mary would have been the “widow” rather than the “wife” of Lincoln, and Caroline seems to have permanently rather than temporarily exited the societies she frequented as “Mrs. Kasson.” While several pages of Mary’s letter to Caroline are missing, one assumes she wouldn’t have asked her to pass on a message to John had she known earlier about these troubles. So, Caroline was almost certainly referring to something that happened during the war years. There are many personal tragedies that could have occurred without making it into the historical record, and she indicates people seemed oblivious, so this doesn’t seem to undermine my theory too badly.
Finally, Caroline’s “Miriam” letters did not indicate any particular concern about the 1862 ball, though she lamented Washington gaiety in general throughout the war. She spoke of the ball with interest, described many other parties going on at the same time, and defended Mary from criticism regarding it.
However, the narrative of the ball being an “obvious,” defining mistake and outlier was largely a creation after the fact, and seems to have overridden many people’s actual memories. (One of Miriam’s letters from the first week of February read, “To-night Mrs. Seward gives a large party, and next week Mrs. Lincoln does the same.” On February 21, on learning of Willie’s death, she began her letter with “Last night at a large and brilliant party I found myself moralizing…The guests assembled were nearly the same as those who lately met under the White House roof at the recent festivity held there…Did any pause to think of that desolated dwelling? Did any give a tear of sympathy? Alas! the laugh was just as loud, the dance as giddy…”) By 1872, Caroline may have remembered it as a bigger deal than she felt it was at the time.
Her account would be consistent with a general avoidance of “frivolous” socializing early in the war, starting well prior to the ball, such that she wouldn’t have attended any receptions. Mary’s reference to having wanted to meet her probably referred to that kind of invitation. Kasson was a government official in Washington at the time of Lincoln’s inauguration, but not a congressman until later in 1862, so he wouldn’t have been expected to attend regular receptions, but could still have been on Mary’s radar. Caroline makes it clear in her letters that at the time of the ball, she had never met Mary Lincoln. It would make sense that after John was elected to Congress, Caroline chose to pay her respects to Mary at the Soldiers’ Home.
Great work. I love finding these in my inbox.