1837 THE WHITE HOUSE smelled like an open toilet. Simon had heard that the new president styled himself a man of the people. He’d heard about the inauguration that was open to every citizen and ended with most of the White House’s furniture stolen or in splinters. But he did not imagine that this president’s common touch included the stink of feces in the air. Simon had lived a long time already, and he supposed he should be grateful there were still some surprises left. Max, at his side, made no comment, but kept a bright handkerchief soaked in perfume in front of his nose and mouth. It wasn’t because of any foresight or planning on his part. He’d rarely been without it since returning to America on this trip. He said there was a special kind of smell that existed only here: “a mongrel breed of a new form of odor.” Despite the offense it caused everywhere they went, Simon found it difficult to reprimand Max for this.
