ELEONORA AND JOSEPH. Julieta Almeida Rodrigues
I looked up, I saw a skylight. A lot of the furniture was European, undoubtedly pieces Jefferson brought to America after his ambassadorship to France. The golden clock at the center of the fireplace was the epitome of refinement. The atmosphere was stylish and, at the same time, relaxed.
I had dressed for the occasion. I wore my best jacket, my Florentine breeches, a clean white shirt, and my only pair of black silk socks. My shoes had buckles, and I made sure my garters would be in place the whole evening. Jefferson, on the other hand, was dressed in a modest blue coat and black breeches; his soft leather shoes looked like slippers. His republican simplicity was patently displayed.
There were no servants around. Jefferson addressed the matter saying he enjoyed talking to his guests uninterrupted. There was a dumbwaiter on the side of the room and serving plates, filled with food, lay on various shelves in a revolving door. Jefferson said the fireplace had a side mechanism to transport bottles of wine up from the basement—he would show it to me later.
“I plan to attract to Virginia the best European minds.” Jefferson had a suave manner. “You already live in this country, which is an advantage. André Thouin’s letter of introduction for you is outstanding.”
“You flatter me.” I trembled with excitement while looking through the windows at the west lawn’s vibrant grass.
Upon arriving in the New World, I swiftly wrote to Jefferson from Philadelphia asking to meet him. I had carefully chosen the friends who could give me the best references. I knew beforehand that my success in America depended on the good fortune of making prominent acquaintances. A botanist, I was already a member of the American Philosophical Society, and Jefferson continued to be its president. As I intended to pursue my long-life interest in the natural sciences, Jefferson was at the top of my list of people to meet.
André Thouin was the chief conservator of the Jardin des Plantes, the main botanical garden of France. He was a towering figure of the French establishment, a man of influence, and a good friend of Jefferson. Of all the recommendations I had brought with me to America—and I had several from renowned European luminaries—I particularly appreciated Thouin’s. He told Jefferson that I was a naturalist of the first order. He said my scientific credentials were the best among the best, and that he could rely on my botanical expertise. I was a philosophe with a practical mind, who enjoyed field trips into the countryside, and therefore believed in the usefulness of science. Moreover, he said, Jefferson would enjoy my conversation and company.
Jefferson replied to my initial contact with an invitation to visit Monticello. An exchange of correspondence ensued. Needing to establish myself first in Philadelphia, and hesitant about a journey through uncharted territory, I kept postponing the trip.
Now I had the privilege to be his guest at the dinner table.
“Friends tell me you might be waiting for a diplomatic assignment from the Kingdom of Portugal. But knowing your passion for botany, I’m confident I’ll steal you away.” Jefferson rested his glass of Bordeaux back on the table.
“I see you’re well-informed. But correspondence across the Atlantic is slow and unreliable, therefore my assignment might never come through. One thing I know for sure, I plan to stay here, I love your country.”
“I’d like to work out the statutes of the University of Virginia with your counsel. They’ve been worrying me and, after all, you set up the Royal Academy of Sciences of Lisbon. May I count on you? Your reputation is widely acknowledged.”
“I would be honored to be at your service.” I hoped my smile indicated to my host how happy I felt with his request.
“I want to create a state institution paid for through public funding. But my university must be free from religious affiliation, unlike those in the North.”
I nodded. “I congratulate your originality of thought.” Jefferson filled my glass a second time.
The food we were enjoying was first-class. We had Beef à la Mode, eye round cutlets, accompanied by white onions, carrots and mushrooms. The brandy gave the meat a most delicate taste. Jefferson explained his cook used the art of French cuisine, following his taste. The china, the glasses, and the silverware were all French.
As the dinner proceeded, I was delighted to confirm that the sage of Monticello and I had a lot in common. The University of Virginia was a monumental initiative, something the two of us had already touched upon in our letters. These exchanges, even if brief, convinced me that we shared the same encompassing love of the natural world. I was confirming my impressions.
As we moved from topic to topic, my host said that he very much enjoyed the company of regular visitors since retiring in 1809. I could see he was a gregarious human being: he gesticulated, looked me in the eyes, and touched my arm cordially once in a while. His guests, he said, were American and foreign alike, people he knew enlivened his inner world. He abhorred cities now, and preferred the ease of plantation life. Surrounded by his family, he had found the peace and quiet he needed for his projects to mature. Establishing the University of Virginia was a major one.
Jefferson reminded me of a well-bred Frenchman. I knew them well, I had lived in Paris the previous decade. Although born and raised in the privileged landowning class of Virginia, Jefferson was wholly down-to-earth, which struck me as surprising. As we talked, he seemed to embody the soul of the new America.
From the outside, we were an odd pair. Jefferson was tall and lean, I was—and still am—short and stout. His face was angular, mine was round. His eyes were a deep blue, mine were brown. His hair, now white, still had reddish overtones, mine was still black. His complexion was fair, mine was olive. My face was pale. His was pale, too, but had freckles. Our age disparity—I was in my early sixties and Jefferson in his late sixties—didn’t make any difference.
The French loved Jefferson and stories about his demeanor still abounded when I arrived in Paris, many years after his sojourn there. The inconsistencies of his life were a perpetual topic of conversation. He had written the American Declaration of Independence, declaring we were all created equal. But he had two mulatto servants with him, and Parisians knew they were his slaves. These enslaved individuals were members of the Hemings family; their offspring, if they had any, would also be Jefferson’s property. Furthermore, it was well-known that Jefferson had helped the Marquis de Lafayette draft the French Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen, also ensuring equality to all in France. The document had an enormous influence at the start of the French Revolution, and the two men had remained life-long friends.
These ironies excited the French elite. Jefferson never mentioned his mulatto slaves in the salons he regularly frequented, but people said he treated them as well as his paid French domestics. He never mentioned, either, his help to Lafayette. As an ambassador, he was forbidden to meddle in French affairs. So, he had advised his friend in private. As I heard these stories many times over, I had an insurmountable curiosity to meet the man in person. The descriptions indicated a unique individual with exceptional qualities of heart and mind.
When we finished the meal, Jefferson got up from the table. “I’d like to show you the drawings for the university. Let’s go to my private quarters.” It was now getting darker outside. He took a large candlestick from the table to light the way across the entrance hall.
So here I was, astonished, as I followed Jefferson. A priest from Portugal, in the company of one of the most—if not the most—famous man in America. Moreover, he wanted me not only to help him establish his university, but also be a professor there. Soon, I suspected, I would be agonizing over my decision. I knew I wanted to remain in America. But what would I prefer? A diplomatic assignment, undoubtedly prestigious? Or devote my time to scholarship in rural Virginia? In due time, it appeared, I would have to make a choice. Even if it didn’t seem an easy one, how much more blessed could I be?
Jefferson’s private quarters comprised a suite that started with his library, which he called his book room. The area was lit with well-placed candleholders. When I mentioned how bright the ambiance was, Jefferson said he used spermaceti wax candles made from whale oil. According to him, they gave the best light.
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