Abraham Lincoln by Stephen B. Oates Page B

genteel middle class, Lincoln tended to derive his sense of worth from the acceptance and approval of others. He said as much himself in his first political platform, written in 1832. “I have no other [ambition] so great as that of being truly esteemed of my fellow men, by rendering myself worthy of their esteem.” When his fellow men rejected him at the polls, Lincoln could be devastated. Oh, hewould try to joke about political defeat. He would say, “Well, I feel just like the boy who stubbed his toe—too damned badly hurt to laugh and too damned proud to cry.” But he still felt rejected and depressed.
    The “hypo” could be worse when women and affairs of the heart were involved. In his youth, Lincoln was painfully shy around girls and covered it up by acting the neighborhood clown. In New Salem and later in Springfield, young Lincoln felt inadequate as a man, fearful of female rejection, doubtful that he could please or even care for a wife. As for Ann Rutledge, there is no evidence whatever that Lincoln and she ever had a romantic attachment. There is no evidence that theirs was anything more than a platonic relationship. In these years, in fact, his closest female relationships were with married women who posed no threat to him.
    In 1836, he did become engaged to a Kentucky woman named Mary Owens, but in their notes and letters there is not a single mention of love or passion or even a kiss. In truth, Lincoln’s communications to her reveal a confused and insecure young man as far as intimacy with a woman was concerned. He was very lonely, he wrote Mary in 1837, but he had thought over his agreement to wed her and decided to let her out if she wanted. He was so poor that if they married she would have to live in unaccustomed poverty. He wanted Mary to be happy. He would be happier with her than without her, but he asked her to think it over before throwing in with him. If she liked, they could still get married. But his honest opinion was that she “better not do it,” because of the hardships this would impose on her.
    A little later he wrote her again: “I want in all cases to do right, and most particularly so, in all cases with women. I want, at this particular time, more than anything else, to do right with you.” If she wanted she could dismiss him from her thoughts, forget him. But she should not think that he wanted to cut off their “acquaintance,” because he didn’t. He would leave it up to her whether to stop or keep on seeing one another. If she felt boundto him by any promise, he now released her from all obligations—if that was what she wished. “On the other hand, I am willing, and even anxious to bind you faster, if I can be convinced that it will, in any considerable degree, add to your happiness. This, indeed, is the whole question with me. Nothing would make me more miserable than to believe you miserable—nothing more happy, than to know you were so.” But “if it suits you not to answer this,” then “farewell—a long life and a merry one attend you.”
    Mary Owens never replied, later remarking that Lincoln “was deficient in those little links which make up the chains of a woman’s happiness.” For three years after that, Lincoln had no romantic involvements, instead throwing himself into politics and the law. Meanwhile he found acceptance and companionship with Joshua Speed, a brooding, hefty Kentuckian who operated a general store in Springfield. When Lincoln first came there looking for a place to stay, Speed gazed at him with amazement. “I never saw so gloomy and melancholy a face in my life,” he said. Lincoln found him a warm and congenial companion: they slept together in a bed upstairs, swapped jokes, and confided in one another about their mutual troubles with women. In time, Speed became Lincoln’s “most intimate friend,” the only friend to whom he ever