it ever existed!" my mind shouted. “I saw it. Carol saw it. Does this fellow really think that the 20th century duPonts had had such a feature added to their estate?" Obviously not. This was, I concluded, nothing less than a cover-up promulgated by the Montpelier Foundation.
And if this disappointment had not been enough, Carol and I found that, although guests were now allowed to enter the mansion, its interior was almost completely still devoid of the Madisons' belongings. As I recall it, only one room, the downstairs parlor, was even partially furnished, though I do remember being struck by an ink stain on the floor of Madison's upstairs study. This, our docent assured us, was original and indicated the exact placement of Madison's desk as he had worked on his researches leading up to his writing of the Virginia Plan, prior to the Constitutional Convention of 1787.
There were also some archeological displays explaining and illustrating the work of the ongoing restoration of the mansion, but it didn't take us too long to realize that, if Carol and I were ever to see the completely recreated Montpelier, we would have to return some years hence.
I had my big story, however. Once again, upon returning to my classroom, I was able to tell my students and colleagues the tale of the disappearing sunken walkway and to emphasize the dangers of altering historical truth to suit contemporary preferences. It would be another few years before Carol and I, once again touring Virginia in search of presidential sites and dwellings, would make our way back to Montpelier. But this visit would be very unlike the first two and would carry with it a very important lesson for me.
In April of 2012, Carol and I drove north from Charlottesville and presented ourselves for the third time at the Visitor's Center at Montpelier. Again, we saw the Madison film, and again we joined an assembled group for a tour of the home. This time our guide was a gentleman named Bob who led us up on the front porch and began his tour by talking about Madison's horticultural interests. Very quickly it became apparent that Bob was significantly more knowledgeable about Madison than had been either of our earlier guides. And, as we entered the house, it became equally apparent that Herculean strides had been made to decorate its interior in the years since our last visit.
Carol particularly enjoyed the fact that the Madisons' Montpelier had been, in fact, a sumptuous duplex. Madison's mother had occupied the right hand wing of the house, while James and Dolley had lived in the central and left wings. Each side had only been accessible to the other by exiting out onto the front porch and walking to the opposite wing's entrance door!
The central parlor was now completely decorated as the Madisons would have recognized it, and Bob was quite thorough in identifying the variety of marble busts that were displayed around the circumference of the room. Images of Washington, Madison himself, Lafayette, Jefferson, Franklin, even Robert Livingston, one of the diplomats responsible for the Louisiana Purchase, were all present in this sculptural grouping. (Bob smilingly noted that Livingston had sent his own statue to Madison to add to his collection, subsequent to visiting here for the first time.) Appropriately enough, though, it was the spirit of Madison's best friend, Thomas Jefferson, that most clearly permeated the room. In addition to his marble bust, two oil painting portraits of the third President hung on opposite walls, and a Campeche chair, Jefferson's favorite, sat in one of the corners of the parlor.
Bob then led us into the formal dining area, another beautifully decorated interior, complete with a grass-green scalloped design wallpaper that perfectly matched the sample of the original wall covering that had been discovered during the renovation. Gathered around the extended table were life-sized cardboard images of some of the most famous persons who had dined here, including Jefferson, of course, and Andrew Jackson.
Next was the room which had originally been James and Dolley Madison's bedroom. It now contained objects which had been part of Madison's library, including a large fossil of prehistoric marine life. Also of interest here was yet another portrait bust, but unlike the statues in the parlor, this piece, Bob informed us, was the only sculpture original to the house. As I inquired about just who this image was, Bob replied with a laugh, “I know the name, but you've got me here. You'll have to do a bit of research yourself to find out his significance to Mr. Madison. The man was George William Erving. That's all I know."
Now, nothing gives a writer more joy than such a challenge, and in the days following our visit, I did learn more about this interesting man. George William Erving had been a diplomat during the Jefferson, Madison, and Monroe administrations, serving as U.S. Consul in London from 1801 to 1804, Charge d'Affaires of the United States in Madrid from 1804 to 1809, Special Negotiator to Copenhagen in 1811, and U.S. Minister to Spain from 1814 to 1819. But it was not until I dug deeper that I discovered why Madison might have wanted to have the sculpted bust of this personage prominently displayed in his home. In a long out-of-print volume entitled Diplomatic Services by J.L.M. Curry, I found the following passage:
Mr. Madison then told me that he never had a more capable and faithful minister in his service during his sixteen years' term as Secretary of State and as President of the United States, than George William Erving. (6)
Any student of Madison's presidential years quickly discovers that he had been faced with daunting challenges, both from foreign quarters and from within regions of his own nation, sometimes even from within his own political party. It was telling to me that Madison had come to value so highly both the abilities and faithfulness of this now largely forgotten diplomat. Erving's marble image must have assured the now aging ex-President that his years as Chief Executive, as arduous as they had been, had not lacked loyal and capable workers within his administration. There must have been comfort in that remembrance.
Our last stop on the first floor of the house was James Madison's final study and sitting room. Its walls were colored a deep aqua, and it was here that Bob recounted the story of Paul Jennings, Madison's slave who had served him to the very end. It was Jennings who had helped Dolley remove the famous Stuart painting of George Washington on the night in 1814 when British troops had captured the capital and burned its public buildings, including the White House. It was Jennings who had continued to care for Madison at Montpelier during his difficult post-presidential years. And it was Jennings who had been present to overhear Madison's last words. When a visible alteration had passed over the old man's countenance, he had been asked if everything was all right. His response, his last response, was simply, “Nothing more than a change of mind." A moment later he had slumped over, dead.
After a moment of stillness, Bob then led our group upstairs, and here the renovation of the home was very much an ongoing process. There were no bookcases in Madison's second floor library, though the ink stain on the floor remained quite visible. Overall, this tour had been such a marked improvement over my earlier visits to Montpelier, that, after Bob had finished his presentation and had encouraged us to go off and wander the grounds, I couldn't resist cautiously questioning him about the sunken walkway. He was immediately interested, and he told me that he had never heard about it.
“But I know the person you should ask about this," he added. “Carole White is in charge of all the docents. If anyone can answer your question definitively, she's the one. Come on, I'll find her for you and introduce you."
Before I had a chance to respond, Bob was rapidly heading downstairs, and I sprang after him. At the foot of the stairway, he told me to wait, and he exited out a door. In only a minute or two, the same door opened, and a pleasant woman greeted me.
“I hear you have a question that Bob couldn't answer," she began. “Maybe I can help."
I recounted to Ms. White the story of the sunken walkway and its disappearance. She listened carefully, then quietly shook her head.
“Oh dear," she sighed, “I do so wish that those early docents had simply been willing to admit it when they didn't know an answer. I do
