Stephen O'Connor - Thomas Jefferson Dreams of Sally Hemings

“Well, I don’t know about all that. But I do know that it’s not possible to love your enemy. And so saying that impossible things are beautiful makes about as much sense to me as crying over a stone.”

“But you do cry over a stone.”

“And that’s stupid.”

“You don’t think there is anything good about tenderheartedness?”

“It’s good to be tenderhearted to your children. And to your mother.”

“Not to your father?” Thomas Jefferson smiles wryly.

“Your father, too.” Sally Hemings laughs. “But only if he is a good father!”

Thomas Jefferson also laughs. But after only a few seconds, their smiles fade.

They have crossed place Louis XV and are walking amid the colonnades of trees bordering the Champs-Élysées. The sky straight overhead is crystalline blue, but the sun has been obscured by the clouds. The air has grown distinctly cooler, and the wind is continuous. There is a sound in the tops of the trees like air being sucked through teeth.

After a couple of minutes, during which they only stroll, never even exchanging a glance, Sally Hemings speaks. “Mr. Jefferson, might I ask you a question?”

“Certainly.”

“You knew my father well, didn’t you?”

The center of Thomas Jefferson’s brow furrows. It is a while before he says, “I am not sure.”

Understanding that he is only trying to be discreet, Sally Hemings’s throat tightens. She feels a prickling of sweat at her temples and in her armpits. She, too, should be discreet — all the more so because she is a servant. And yet she is so curious to hear what Thomas Jefferson might have thought of this man of whom she has no memory.

“I know who he was,” she says at last. “My mother told me.”

“Oh.” Seeming both surprised and embarrassed, Thomas Jefferson falls silent, and Sally Hemings decides to let the topic drop. But after a couple of moments, he says, “Yes, I knew him, but not as well — or as long , I should say — as I would have liked.”

“Can you tell me about him?”

Thomas Jefferson is silent another extended moment. “He was a good man, and very capable. You would have had every reason to be proud of him.” Thomas Jefferson falls silent again, an indecisive expression on his face.

After a moment Sally Hemings asks, “Is there something else?”

“He was a spirited man, and possessed of many powerful enthusiasms. But like all men, he had his weaknesses…. And beyond that I do not feel qualified to speak.”

They traverse the length of the Champs-Élysées in silence, except one time when Thomas Jefferson points to a magpie and says, “That is the only animal, apart from the human race, that can recognize itself in a mirror”—a remark that Sally Hemings responds to with only a grunt.

At the Chaillot Gate, immediately beyond which they can see a southern wall of the Hôtel de Langeac, Thomas Jefferson stops and turns to face Sally Hemings.

“Miss Hemings, there is something on my mind that I suspect I should keep to myself, but… Well, I can only hope that it might actually be better for you and… for both of us… if I speak….”

Sally Hemings looks down at the toes of his black boots on the yellow sand and waits for him to continue.

“… I simply want you to know that despite my unforgivable behavior several weeks ago, I have the utmost respect for you. You are a charming and very intelligent young woman, and I regret deeply that my utter foolishness might have led you to believe I had any other opinion.”

Sally Hemings allows her gaze to meet his for half an instant before she says, “Thank you.”

… I could have said no to Mr. Jefferson. Even at sixteen, when I knew so little of him, I still understood this essential fact. If I had said no, emphatically, and on every occasion when he first began to broach his intentions, he would have respected my virtue, both because he himself was ashamed of his desires, particularly when he considered the feelings of his daughters and dearest friends, and because, as ardently carnal as his nature might have been, he was ultimately less interested in sensual pleasure than in love. This was one of his greatest weaknesses. He craved adoration, not just of the people he knew but, in a very real sense, of the entire world — which was why he couldn’t stay away from politics, even though he detested political life.

But I didn’t say no—“no,” of course, being a word Negroes simply never speak to white people. That said, I could easily have conveyed my feelings without having to actually speak the word. I could have pretended, for example, to be indifferent to his small kindnesses and continual readiness to engage in conversation. Had I done so, then none of the events that now seem a poison in my soul would have come to pass. The difficult relations that followed his having come into my bedchamber would certainly have continued a while longer, but I still would have been his daughters’ maid throughout the remainder of our time in Paris and, most likely, at Monticello as well.

And what is more, even had I rejected him when his expressions of desire became more emphatic and overt, I knew that the worst I would have had to suffer would have been life as a scullery maid or a washerwoman. Mr. Jefferson would never have sold me away from my family or subjected me to any form of severe punishment. Had he done so, he would have had to face the fact that his supposed love for me was a sentimental sham and that he was as capable as the most brutal slaveholder of acting out of revenge, cruelty and spite. It was essential to Mr. Jefferson’s self-esteem that he believe himself to be nothing like the majority of his neighbors….

One morning, as Sally Hemings is walking past Thomas Jefferson’s study on her way to the kitchen, he calls out, “Mademoiselle Sally!” And when she looks in his door, he says, “I’ve been thinking….” He makes a circular gesture with his hand. “Come in! Come in!” She takes a step inside the door but goes no farther, and he does not insist. “I’ve been thinking,” he says, “that you have too good a mind to be so entirely unlettered. What’s happened with Jimmy? Has he been teaching you to read and write?”

“Not really.”

“Did you ask him?”

“I did, but he didn’t seem very interested.” She sighs. “I think he doesn’t see the point of a girl learning to read.”

Thomas Jefferson slaps his hand down on the table. “That’s absurd! Go ask him again. And if he continues to be so contrary, you must tell him that I order him to teach you reading and writing.”

Four or five times over the next several days, Thomas Jefferson asks Sally Hemings if she has commenced her reading lessons, and on each occasion her answer is the same, that her brother has agreed to teach her but that he never seems to have the time. “Nonsense!” Thomas Jefferson invariably replies. “All you need is fifteen minutes a day. He must have fifteen minutes!”

But then one day, when Sally Hemings gives him the same report, he says, “Well, I suppose I’ve got fifteen minutes. Come by the parlor after you have finished your duties, and let’s see what we can do.”

Sally Hemings finishes her labors at 9:00 P.M. and arrives at the parlor to find that Thomas Jefferson actually went out that day to buy her a primer, which he has placed open on the same table where he showed her how to write her name. There are two chairs beside the table, so close to each other that she could barely fit her fingers between them. The table is lit with a candelabra and an oil lamp.