The Ghost of the White House

Jane Pierce’s portrait stands out. It is somber, stoic, and melancholic – a stark contrast from other portraits of first ladies in the 19th century. They wear glitzy gowns and exude confidence; Jane wears modest black and doesn’t smile. By rejecting the frills, pomp and tassels, she quietly defies the ornamental role of a first lady in the 19th century, a time when America was still deeply steeped in British aristocratic culture.  

This defiance of traditional portraiture may stem from the fact that Jane never wanted to be first lady in the first place. In fact, she detested politics; she disliked their sordid nature and politicians’ propensity to drink. Her husband Franklin, however, was politically passionate. He was ambitious and popular, which assured him a bright political future. He also was prone to the bottle. This perpetual disagreement led to many temporary separations and, ultimately, the tragedy that haunted Jane until the end of her life. What happened was so devastating that when taking the oath of office, Pierce refused to swear in on the Bible, for he believed God was punishing him.

Franklin Pierce was elected to the United States Congress in 1837, three years after marrying Jane. Being a Congressman’s wife didn’t suit Jane; she was shy, prone to sickness, bookish, and devoutly religious, so she struggled with the social expectations and stuffy, orchestrated political events of Washington DC. She was also suffering from depression which stemmed from the recent death of their first child. However, she put up with it as long as she could. 

By 1842, however, Jane had had enough. She and Franklin had two young sons—a toddler, Frank, and an infant, Benny. Jane was deeply concerned about her husband's drinking, the suffocating societal expectations imposed on her, and the wellbeing of their children. She pressured Franklin to resign his Senate seat and return to practicing law in New Hampshire. He agreed.

Jane enjoyed little respite. The following year, Frank died of tuberculosis. She became religiously zealous and poured her love into her only remaining son, Benny. She was obsessed with his health and happiness. The family lived this way precariously for a decade, and slowly, Jane became happier.

Then, without telling his wife, Franklin Pierce sought and won the Democratic nomination for president in 1852. Jane fainted when she was told, and silently prayed he wouldn’t win the election. When he did win, Jane begrudgingly agreed to move to the White House—she knew it was in the best interest of their son, Benny, as it would open doors for him.

The blow of tragedy soon swiftly fell on Jane Pierce. On January 6, 1853, the Pierces were returning from a funeral and Christmas gathering by train. An axel broke and their car derailed and tumbled into a ravine. Benny died in front of their eyes, and although Pierce tried to shield his wife’s view, Jane saw her son nearly decapitated. 

Jane would never be the same. She began to disappear into her grief.  As she and Pierce moved into the White House, she was consumed by depression and a longing for her son. Jane refused to attend her husband's inaugural and ordered the White House to be permanently decorated in black crepe in memory of Benny. She spent long periods writing letters to her dead children, and servants would often hear her sobbing in her room. Jane was too frail in health of body and mind to undertake the hostess duties of the first lady.

The story of Jane and Franklin Pierce does not end well. Pierce was seen as an incredibly weak president, having done nothing to prevent the Civil War and often under the influence of alcohol. Jane slowly succumbs to tuberculosis, and after her death, Pierce gives himself to the bottle and dies in obscurity. 

The story of Jane’s grief and defiance is quietly told in her portrait. She is dressed in all black, immortalized in a state of mourning. She mourns her husband's political ambitions, drinking, and deceit. She mourns the loss of her three children. She mourns the role of first lady, thrust upon her in the wake of tragedy, which came with societal expectations that were impossible to meet. In her portrait, Jane does not look at the viewer but rather off to the left, in the same direction she was looking at Benny in the undated photograph. In the photograph, Jane smiles at her son; in her portrait, she looks sadly and longingly at some far-off point we cannot see. Jane is still illuminated by Benny’s light; she just can’t reach it anymore. 

History was not kind to Jane Pierce. A study done by the Siena College Research Institute dubbed Jane as the worst first lady in the history of the United States. The study interviewed over ninety history professors across the U.S., measured characteristics such as public image, leadership, courage, and “value to country.” Jane scored last in all of them. One professor went so far as to say that Jane is perceived by historians as a “neurotic woman” who “tended to make the president’s life more difficult.” 

Evidently, Jane’s life and legacy are sorely mischaracterized. History remembers her as the weakest first lady of our country; lost: absent from political events, and unable to meet the expectations of an ornamental hostess.  What was her mistake? She poured her heart and soul into the light of her life, Benny, and that love destroyed her when he died. Her story is magnitudes more powerful than that of the frilly, aristocratic hostess that society wanted her to be. No matter how society construes Jane, she will never stop looking toward her light. 

(Cover Image: John Chester Brute, Jane Pierce, 1886, Image: whitehousehistory.org)