FROM STUART’S PICTURE
]
THE
LADIES OF THE WHITE HOUSE.
I.
MARTHA WASHINGTON.
The first who, in our young republic, bore the honors as a President’s
wife, is described “as being rather below the middle size, but extremely
well-shaped, with an agreeable countenance, dark hazel eyes and hair,
and those frank, engaging manners so captivating in American women. She
was not a beauty, but gentle and winning in her nature, and eminently
congenial to her illustrious husband. During their long and happy
married life, he ever wore her likeness on his heart.”
“It was in 1758 that an officer, attired in a military undress, attended
by a body-servant tall and militaire as his chief, crossed the ferry
over the Pamunkey, a branch of the York River. On the boat’s touching
the southern or New Kent side, the soldier’s progress was arrested by
one of those personages who give the beauideal of the Virginia gentleman
of the old regime; the very soul of kindliness and hospitality. It was
in vain the soldier urged his business at Williamsburg; important
communications to the Governor, etc. Mr. Chamberlayne, on whose domain
the officer had just landed, would hear no excuse. Colonel Washington
was a name and character so dear to all Virginians, that his passing by
one of the old estates of Virginia without calling and partaking of the
hospitalities of the host was entirely out of the question. The Colonel,
however, did not surrender at discretion, but stoutly maintained his
ground, till Chamberlayne brought up his reserve in the intimation that
he would introduce his friend to a young and charming widow then beneath
his roof. The soldier capitulated on condition that he should dine, only
dine, and then, by pressing his charger, and borrowing of the night, he
would reach Williamsburg before his Excellency could shake off his
morning slumbers. Orders were accordingly issued to Bishop, the
Colonel’s body-servant and faithful follower, who, together with a fine
English charger, had been bequeathed by the dying Braddock to Major
Washington on the famed and fated field of the Monongahela. Bishop, bred
in the school of European discipline, raised his hand to his cap, as
much as to say, ‘Your honor’s orders shall be obeyed.’ The Colonel now
proceeded to the mansion, and was introduced to various guests (for when
was a Virginia domicil of the olden time without guests?), and, above
all, to the charming widow. Tradition relates that they were mutually
pleased on this their first interview, nor is it remarkable; they were
of an age when impressions are strongest. The lady was fair to behold,
of fascinating manners, and splendidly endowed with worldly benefits;
the hero, fresh from his early fields redolent of fame, and with a form
on which ‘every god did seem to set his seal, to give the world
assurance of a man.’ The morning passed pleasantly away; evening came,
with Bishop, true to his orders and firm at his post, holding the
favorite charger with the one hand, while the other was waiting to offer
the ready stirrup. The sun sank in the horizon, and yet the Colonel
appeared not, and then the old soldier wondered at his chief’s delay.
’Twas strange; ’twas passing strange. Surely he was not wont to be a
single moment behind his appointments, for he was the most punctual of
all punctual men. Meantime, the host enjoyed the scene of the veteran on
duty at the gate, while the Colonel was so agreeably employed in the
parlor; and proclaiming that no guest ever left his house after sunset,
his military visitor was, without much difficulty, persuaded to order
Bishop to put up the horses for the night. The sun rode high in the
heavens the ensuing day when the enamored soldier pressed with his spur
his charger’s sides and sped on his way to the seat of government, when,
having despatched his public business, he retraced his steps, and at her
country-seat, the White House, after which the home of the Presidents
was called, the engagement took place, with arrangements for the
marriage.”
It is pleasant to remember that, with all the privations and hardships
endured by both in after years, they never encountered poverty. When
Colonel Washington married Mrs. Custis, the ceremony was performed under
the roof of her own home, and the broad lands about it were but a part
of her large estate. Immediately after their wedding, which has been
described repeatedly as a most joyous and happy affair, in which every
belle and beau for miles around took part, they repaired at once to
Mount Vernon. Here for seventeen bright and beautiful years they enjoyed
the society of relatives and friends, and the constant companionship of
each other. During those years of prosperity, Mrs. Washington had ample
opportunity to manifest that elegance of manner for which she was
remarkable. In her girlhood, as Miss Dandridge, she had enjoyed the best
society of Williamsburg, and during Governor Dinwiddie’s residence
there, she had been one of the most popular and admired of the many
blooming girls who had rendered the court of the Governor attractive.
Nothing remains to us of her childhood save an indistinct tradition;[1]
perhaps her infant years were spent at her father’s country home,
unmarked but by the gradual change of the little one into the shy young
lady. That she was educated after the exigency of her time, at home, is
likewise a truth gathered from the echoes of the past generation.
Virginia in those early days—for she was born in May, 1732—possessed no
educational facilities, and the children of the wealthy were either sent
abroad for accomplishments unattainable in their native land, or put
under the care of tutor or governess at home. Such knowledge as she
possessed of the world was gleaned from the few books she read, and the
society of her father’s friends, for she had never been farther from
home than Williamsburg.
Footnote 1:
She was a descendant of the Rev. Orlando Jones, a clergyman of Wales.
[Illustration: Painted by Woolaston. Eng_d. by J. C. Buttre. M.
Washington]
She is first mentioned as a rustic beauty and belle at the British
Governor’s residence, and was there married, when very young, to Colonel
Custis. After her marriage her home was not far distant from her
father’s plantation, and these fleeting years were so fraught with every
conceivable blessing that her young heart asked no other boon. Endeared
to each other by the warmest affection, her time spent in dispensing
that hospitality which was deemed a duty and a virtue, it seemed as if
no trouble could ever mar her happiness. Colonel Custis was a gifted and
refined man, of eminently polished and agreeable manners, and the
possessor of a generous nature, which rendered him widely popular. The
congenial couple lived in happy contentment in the enjoyment of their
own and their children’s society, surrounded by friends, and the
possessors of all those creature comforts which add so essentially to
the pleasures of existence. They had three children, the eldest of whom
was a son, unusually endowed with mental gifts, and giving promise of a
bright future. His health was not good, and though watched over with
continuous care and forethought he died, and his untimely death hastened
the disease already manifest in his father’s system. Colonel Custis died
of consumption a short time afterward, and thus was the wife and mother
deprived of her companion, whose affection was in keeping with his many
virtues and elevated mind, and the boy whose existence had first called
into being all the deathless love of a mother.
Time soothed the wounds naught else could heal, and the young widow
discharged the duties that belonged to her position. The trust her
husband reposed in her—in leaving their large property in her own hands
to control—she amply vindicated, and her estate was one of the best
managed in the county. When she met Colonel Washington she was
twenty-six years of age, and was remarkably youthful in appearance and
very handsome. She had ever been the object of warm and disinterested
affection, and from her first entrance into the society of Williamsburg,
down to the last hour of her life, it was eminently illustrated. Few had
been her sorrows, and for each and every one endured she could count a
twofold blessing. There was nothing in her life to foster the faults
incident to human nature, for the rank weeds of poverty and lack of
opportunity, which cramp and deform so many earth-lives, were unfelt and
unknown to her.
Mount Vernon was the gift to Colonel Washington from his elder and
bachelor brother Lawrence, and the estate was then one of the finest in
Virginia. Washington had made it his occasional residence before his
marriage, but it was not until he took his bride there that it became
his permanent home. The life that Mrs. Washington led there was similar
in outward circumstances to her former position as Mrs. Custis, for she
was again the wife of a wealthy, prosperous planter, the centre of the
refined society of the county. The sameness of country life was
interrupted by her frequent trips with her husband to Williamsburg,
where he was for fifteen successive years a member of the Legislature.
“How noiseless falls the foot of time
That only treads on flowers!”
Engaged in fascinating pleasures and congenial pursuits, it did not
occur to Mrs. Washington how many summers of fragrantly blooming flowers
and ripening fruits had sunk into the unreturning past; nor did she
consider that the long term of years in which she had been so happy had
meted to others measured drops of bitterness, turning all their
harvest-times into chilling, dreary winter. There came to her a time
when the pleasant home-life had to be abandoned, and for eight years the
harmony of domestic peace was banished.
The following letter, the only one preserved of the many addressed to
her, is full of interest, and is replete with that thoughtfulness which
characterized Washington in his capacity as a husband. Mrs. Washington,
shortly before her death, destroyed every testimonial of this kind,
unwilling that any other should read these evidences of affection:
“PHILADELPHIA, _18th June, 1775_.
“MY DEAREST: I am now set down to write to you on a subject which fills
me with inexpressible concern, and this concern is greatly aggravated
and increased when I reflect upon the uneasiness I know it will give
you. It has been determined in Congress that the whole army raised for
the defence of the American cause shall be put under my care, and that
it is necessary for me to proceed immediately to Boston to take upon me
the command of it.
“You may believe me, my dear Patsy, when I assure you, in the most
solemn manner, that, so far from seeking this appointment, I have used
every endeavor in my power to avoid it, not only from my unwillingness
to part with you and the family, but from a consciousness of its being a
trust too great for my capacity, and that I should enjoy more real
happiness in one month with you at home, than I have the most distant
prospects of finding abroad if my stay were to be seven times seven
years. But as it has been a kind of destiny that has thrown me upon this
service, I shall hope that my undertaking it is designed to answer some
good purpose. You might, and I suppose did, perceive, from the tenor of
my letter, that I was apprehensive I could not avoid this appointment,
as I did not pretend to intimate when I should return. That was the
case. It was utterly out of my power to refuse this appointment, without
exposing my character to such censures as would have reflected dishonor
upon myself, and given pain to my friends. This, I am sure, could not
and ought not to be pleasing to you, and must have lessened me
considerably in my own esteem. I shall rely, therefore, confidently on
that Providence which has heretofore preserved and been bountiful to me,
not doubting but that I shall return safe to you in the fall. I shall
feel no pain from the toil or danger of the campaign; my unhappiness
will flow from the uneasiness I know you will feel from being left
alone. I therefore beg that you will summon your whole fortitude, and
pass your time as agreeably as possible. Nothing else will give me so
much sincere satisfaction as to hear this, and to hear it from your own
pen. My earnest and ardent desire is, that you would pursue any plan
that is most likely to produce content and a tolerable degree of
tranquillity, as it must add greatly to my uneasy feelings to hear that
you are dissatisfied or complaining at what I really could not avoid.
“As life is always uncertain, and common prudence dictates to every man
the necessity of settling his temporal concerns while it is in his
power, I have, since I came to this place—for I had no time to do it
before I left home—got Colonel Pendleton to draft a will for me by the
directions I gave him, which I will now enclose. The provisions made for
you, in case of my death, will, I hope, be agreeable. I shall add
nothing more, as I have several letters to write, but to desire that you
will remember me to your friends, and to assure you that I am, with the
most unfeigned regard, my dear Patsy,
“Your affectionate GEORGE WASHINGTON.”
This trial of separation was mitigated, although often prolonged to
weary months. Ever when the long Indian summer days of October shed
glory over the burnished forest trees, her cumbrous carriage with its
heavy hangings and massive springs, suggestive of comfort, was brought
to the door and laden with all the appurtenances of a winter’s visit.
Year after year, as she had ordered supplies for this annual trip to her
husband’s camp, she trusted it would be the last; and each time as the
servants cooked and packed for this too oft-repeated absence, they
wished it might hurry him home, to remember how many were needing his
presence there. The battles were fierce and the struggles long, and if
the orderly matron disliked the necessity of leaving home so often and
for so long a time, her heart was glad of the sacrifice when she reached
the doubly anxious husband who was watching and waiting for her—anxious
for his wife, somewhere on the road, and for his bleeding country,
struggling unavailingly for the eternal principles of freedom. It was
her presence that gave comfort to the ofttimes dispirited commander, and
sent a gleam of sunshine to the hearts of the officers, who saw in her
coming the harbinger of their own happiness. For it was an established
custom, for all who could, to send for their families after the
commander had received and welcomed his. General Washington, after her
annual trip, invariably wrote to persons who had been attentive and
obliging, and punctually thanked every one who had in any way conduced
to her comfort during her tedious stages from Mount Vernon. Never but
once or twice had those yearly moves been disagreeable, and though
universally unoffending, she felt the painful effects of party
bitterness; but the noble intrepidity of General Washington relieved the
depressing influences of such unusual occurrences. Her own pride
suffered nothing in comparison to the natural sensitiveness she felt for
her husband’s fair fame, and the coldness on the part of others affected
only as it reflected on her noble protector. Once, after a disastrous
campaign, as she was passing through Philadelphia, she was insulted by
the ladies there, who declined noticing her by any civilities whatever.
The tide in the affairs of men came, and, alas for human nature! many of
these haughty matrons were the first to welcome her there as the wife of
the President.
Mrs. Washington was unostentatious in her dress, and displayed little
taste for those luxurious ornaments deemed appropriate for the wealthy
and great. In her own home the spinning wheels and looms were kept
constantly going, and her dresses were, many times, woven by her
servants. General Washington wore at his inauguration, a full suit of
fine cloth, the handiwork of his own household. At a ball given in New
Jersey in honor to herself, she wore a “simple russet gown,” and white
handkerchief about her neck, thereby setting an example to the women of
the Revolution, who could ill afford to spend their time or means as
lavishly as they might have desired. “On one occasion she gave the best
proof of her success in domestic manufactures, by the exhibition of two
of her dresses, which were composed of cotton, striped with silk, and
entirely home-made. The silk stripes in the fabric were woven from the
ravelings of brown silk stockings and old crimson chair-covers!”
When peace was declared and her mantle folded round the suffering young
Republic, Mrs. Washington welcomed to Mount Vernon her hero-husband, who
naturally hoped that he might “move gently down the stream of life until
he slept with his fathers.” But a proud, fond people called him again
from his retreat to guide the ship of state; nor was he who had fought
her battles, and served her well, recreant now.
Mrs. Washington’s crowning glory in the world’s esteem is the fact that
she was the bosom companion of the “Father of his Country;” but her fame
as Martha Dandridge, and afterwards as Martha Custis, is due alone to
her moral worth. To her, as a girl and woman, belonged beauty,
accomplishments, and great sweetness of disposition. Nor should we, in
ascribing her imperishable memory to her husband’s greatness, fail to do
reverence to the noble attributes of her own nature; yet we cannot
descend to the hyperbolical strain so often indulged in by writers when
speaking of Mrs. Washington. In tracing the life of an individual, it
becomes necessary to examine the great events and marked incidents of
the times, and generally to form from such landmarks the motives that
prompted the acts of an earth-existence. More especially is this
necessary if the era in which our subject lived was remarkable for any
heroic deeds or valorous exploits which affected the condition of
mankind. Personally, Mrs. Washington’s life was a smooth and even
existence, save as it was stirred by some natural cause, but viewed in
connection with the historical events of her day, it became one of
peculiar interest.
As a wife, mother, and friend, she was worthy of respect, but save only
as the companion of Washington is her record of public interest. She was
in nowise a student, hardly a regular reader, nor gifted with literary
ability; but if stern necessity had forced her from her seclusion and
luxury, hers would have been a career of active effort and goodness.
Most especially would she have been a benevolent woman, and it is to be
regretted by posterity as a misfortune that there was no real urgency
for a more useful life. Her good fortune it was to be wealthy, of good
family, young and attractive; and if she was not versed in the higher
branches of literature, it was no fault of her own, probably, since the
drawbacks incident to the pursuit of knowledge, under the difficulties
and obstacles of a life in a new country, together with their early
marriages, deterred women from “drinking deep of the Pierean spring;”
but, under the benign influences of Christian morality, the maidens of
the Old Dominion were carefully and virtuously trained, and were
exemplary daughters, wives, and mothers.
Many have occupied the nominal position Mrs. Washington held, but, in
reality, no American, or, indeed, no woman of earth, will ever be so
exalted in the hearts of a nation as was she; and yet there is no single
instance recorded of any act of heroism of hers, although she lived in
times that tried men’s souls, and was so intimately associated through
her husband with all the great events of the Revolution. “Nor does it
appear, from the documents handed down to us, that she was a very
notable housewife, but rather inclined to leave the matter under her
husband’s control, whose method and love of domestic life admirably
fitted him to manage a large establishment. They evidently lived
together on very excellent terms, though she sometimes was disposed to
quarrel with him about the grandchildren, who he insisted (and he always
carried the point) should be under thorough disciplinarians, as well as
competent teachers, when they were sent from home to be educated.”
It was a source of regret that she bore no children to him, but an able
writer has said: “Providence left him childless that he might be the
father of his country.” It is hard to judge whether or not it was a
blessing; but it certainly has not detracted from his greatness that he
left no successor to his fame. On the contrary, it is all the brighter
from having no cloud to dim the solitary grandeur of his spotless name.
Few sons of truly great and illustrious men have ever reflected honor
upon their fathers and many have done otherwise. When we consider how
many representative men of the world, in all nations and ages, have been
burdened and oppressed with the humiliating conduct of their children,
let it be a source of joy, rather than of regret, that there was but
_one_ Washington, either by the ties of consanguinity or the will of
Providence. This character was never marred by any imperfect type of its
own, and in Washington’s life we recognize the fact that occasionally,
in great emergencies, God lifts up a man for the deed; when the career
is ended, the model, though not the example, is lost to the world.
Mrs. Washington’s two children (Martha and John Parke Custis) were with
her the bright years of her life intervening between her marriage and
the Revolution. Her daughter was fast budding into womanhood, and how
beautiful, thought the loving mother, were the delicate outlines of her
fair young face! Airy castles and visionary scenes of splendor reared
their grand proportions in the twilight-clouds of her imagination; and
in the sunlight of security she saw not, or, if perchance did define,
the indistinct outlines of the spectre, grim and gaunt, heeded not its
significant appearance at her festive board.
In all the natural charms of youth, freshness, and worldly possessions,
the mother’s idol, the brother’s playmate, and father’s cherished
daughter, died, and the light of the house went out, and a wail of
anguish filled the air as the night winds rushed hurryingly past that
desolate home on the shore of the murmuring river.
A great purpose was born out of that grief: a self-abnegated firmness to
rise above the passionate lamentations of selfish sorrow; and though
afterward, for years, the shadow of a past woe rested upon that famous
home, the poor loved it better than ever before, and meek charity found
more willing hands than in the days of reckless happiness. Religion,
too, and winning sympathy, softened the poignant grief, and
“The fates unwound the ball of time,
And dealt it out to man.”
The cannon of the Continental Militia at Lexington belched forth its
hoarse sound on the morning of the 15th of April, 1775, as in the gray
twilight of approaching day a band of invaders sallied up to demand the
dispersion of the rebels. The echo of those reports went ringing through
the distant forests, and fleetest couriers carried its tidings beyond
the rippling waves of the Potomac, calling the friends of freedom to
arms. Mrs. Washington heard the war-cry, and felt that the absence of
her husband was now indefinite; for she knew that from his post in the
councils of the nation he would go to serve his country in the field.
Nor was she mistaken in her conclusions.
She met the Commander-in-chief at his winter head-quarters at Cambridge,
after an absence of nearly a year, in December, 1775, and remained with
him until opening of the spring campaign. During the Revolution she
continued to spend each winter with him at his head-quarters. Early in
this year she returned to her home, leaving behind her son, John Parke
Custis, who had been with his adopted father from the beginning of the
war.
The next winter she passed at Morristown, New Jersey, where she
experienced some of the real hardships and sufferings of camp life. The
previous season, at Cambridge, the officers and their families had
resided in the mansions of the Tories, who had deserted them to join the
British; but at Morristown she occupied a small frame-house, without any
convenience or comforts, and, as before, returned in the spring, with
her daughter-in-law and children, to Mount Vernon.[2]
Footnote 2:
Mr. John Parke Custis was married to Miss Nelly Calvert the third of
February, 1774.
Valley Forge, during the last months of 1777 and the early part of 1778,
was the scene of the severest sufferings, replete with more terrible
want than any ever known in the history of the Colonies.[3]
Footnote 3:
Six miles above Norristown, Pennsylvania, and twenty from
Philadelphia, on the Schuylkill river, is the deep hollow known as
Valley Forge. It is situated at the mouth of Valley creek, and on
either side rise the mountains above this lonely spot. To the fact
that in this valley there had once been several forges, it owes its
name, and here Washington found winter-quarters for his suffering
army.
During all this winter of horrors, Mrs. Washington remained with her
husband, trying to comfort and animate him in the midst of his trials.
Succeeding years brought the same routine, and victory and defeat walked
ofttimes hand in hand. October of 1781 brought glad tidings of great
joy, in the capture of Yorktown, and nothing seemed to defer the long
anticipated return of General Washington to his family and friends.
Ere yet the shouts of victory rang out upon the listening ear of a
continent, Colonel Custis was borne from the scene of triumph to a
village in New Kent county to die, and soon the messenger startled the
wife and mother at Mount Vernon with the mournful intelligence.
Washington, amid the intense joy of his troops, could not conceal his
anxious feelings over the condition of this deeply loved son of his
adoption, and his heart went out to his crushed wife, so soon to be
widowed, and to Mrs. Washington, who idolized the son of her youth. “He
left Yorktown on the 5th of November, and reached, the same day, the
residence of his old friend, Colonel Bassett. He arrived just in time to
receive the last breath of John Parke Custis, as he had several years
previously rendered tender and pious offices at the death-bed of his
sister, Miss Custis. The deceased had been the object of Washington’s
care from childhood, and been cherished by him with paternal affection.
Reared under his guidance and instructions, he had been fitted to take a
part in the public concerns of his country, and had acquitted himself
with credit as a member of the Virginia Legislature. He was but
twenty-eight years old at the time of his death, and left a widow and
four young children. It was an unexpected event, and the dying scene was
rendered peculiarly affecting from the presence of the mother and wife
of the deceased. Washington remained several days at Eltham to comfort
them in their affliction. As a consolation to Mrs. Washington in her
bereavement, he adopted the two youngest children of the deceased, a boy
and girl, who thenceforth formed a part of his immediate family.”
[Illustration:
MT. VERNON—THE HOME OF WASHINGTON.
]
Mrs. Washington did not know that her husband had left the scene of his
triumph, until he suddenly appeared in the room of death; and it calmed
her to have his presence in so trying an hour. He returned with the sad
mourners to Mount Vernon, and mingled with those two sorrowful hearts
the tears of his own sad soul.
The world and its cares called him hence, and he turned away from his
quiet home to meet the demands of his country for his services. Congress
received him in Philadelphia with distinguished honors, and he
everywhere was the recipient of his country’s love and reverence.
Called from his retirement to preside over the destinies of his country
as its first President, Washington immediately left his home and
repaired to New York City, the seat of government.[4]
Footnote 4:
The journey to New York was a continued triumph. The august spectacle
at the bridge of Trenton brought tears to the eyes of the Chief, and
forms one of the most brilliant recollections of the age of
Washington.
Our young country demanded, in the beginning, that regard for forms and
etiquette which would command respect in the eyes of foreign courts;
and, acting in accordance with this design, the house of the first
President was furnished with elegance, and its routine was arranged in
as formal a manner as that of St. James or St. Cloud.
Always an aristocrat, Mrs. Washington’s administration as hostess was
but a reproduction of the customs and ceremonies of foreign heads of
government, and her receptions were arranged on the plan of the English
and French drawing-rooms.
She assumed the duties of her position, as wife of the Chief Magistrate,
with the twofold advantage of wealth and high social position, and was,
in manner, appearance and character, a pleasing and graceful
representative of American womanhood.
Reared as she had been, a descendant of the chivalry of Virginia, who in
their turn were the descendants of the English nobility—aristocratic,
proud and pleased with her lofty position—she brought to bear all the
brightness of a prosperous existence, and her influence extended to
foreign lands.
The levees held at the Republican Court—then located at No. 3 Franklin
Square, New York—were numerously attended by the fashionable and refined
of the city. The rules of the establishment were rigorous, and persons
were excluded unless in the dress required. Access was not easy, and
dignified stateliness reigned over the mansion of the first President of
the United States. The subjoined letter, written to Mrs. Warren soon
after Mrs. Washington’s arrival at the seat of government, will present
her views on the subject of her elevation more correctly than could be
given otherwise.
“Your very friendly letter of last month has afforded me much more
satisfaction than all the formal compliments and empty ceremonies of
mere etiquette could possibly have done. I am not apt to forget the
feelings which have been inspired by my former society with good
acquaintances, nor to be insensible to their expressions of gratitude to
the President; for you know me well enough to do me the justice to
believe that I am fond only of what comes from the heart. Under a
conviction that the demonstrations of respect and affection to him
originate in that source, I cannot deny that I have taken some interest
and pleasure in them. The difficulties which presented themselves to
view upon his first entering upon the Presidency, seem thus to be in
some measure surmounted. It is owing to the kindness of our numerous
friends in all quarters that my new and unwished-for situation is not a
burden to me. When I was much younger, I should probably have enjoyed
the innocent gayeties of life as much as most persons of my age; but I
had long since placed all prospects of my future worldly happiness in
the still enjoyment of the fireside at Mount Vernon. I little thought,
when the war was finished, that any circumstances could possibly happen
which would call the General into public life again. I had anticipated
that from that moment we should be suffered to grow old together in
solitude and tranquillity. That was the first and dearest wish of my
heart. I will not, however, contemplate with too much regret,
disappointments that were inevitable, though his feelings and my own
were in perfect unison with respect to our predilection for private
life; yet I cannot blame him for having acted according to his ideas of
duty in obeying the voice of his country. The consciousness of having
attempted to do all the good in his power, and the pleasure of finding
his fellow-citizens so well satisfied with the disinterestedness of his
conduct, will doubtless be some compensation for the great sacrifices
which I know he has made. Indeed, on his journey from Mount Vernon to
this place, in his late tour through the Eastern States, by every public
and every private information which has come to him, I am persuaded he
has experienced nothing to make him repent his having acted from what he
conceives to be a sense of indispensable duty. On the contrary, all his
sensibility has been awakened in receiving such repeated and unequivocal
proofs of sincere regard from his countrymen. With respect to myself, I
sometimes think the arrangement is not quite as it ought to have been;
that I, who had much rather be at home, should occupy a place with which
a great many younger and gayer women would be extremely pleased. As my
grandchildren and domestic connections make up a great portion of the
felicity which I looked for in this world, I shall hardly be able to
find any substitute that will indemnify me for the loss of such
endearing society. I do not say this because I feel dissatisfied with my
present station, for everybody and everything conspire to make me as
contented as possible in it; yet I have learned too much of the vanity
of human affairs to expect felicity from the scenes of public life. I am
still determined to be cheerful and happy in whatever situation I may
be; for I have also learned from experience that the greater part of our
happiness or misery depends on our dispositions and not on our
circumstances. We carry the seeds of the one or the other about with us
in our minds, wherever we go.”
The second year of Washington’s administration, the seat of government
was removed to Philadelphia. Mrs. Washington was sick when she started
on the journey, and remained in Philadelphia until she was strong enough
to go on to Mount Vernon.
The late Rev. Ashbel Green, for a long time President of Princeton
College, and one of the early Chaplains of Congress, in speaking of the
seat of government, said: “After a great deal of writing and talking and
controversy about the permanent seat of Congress under the present
Constitution, it was determined that Philadelphia should be honored with
its presence for ten years, and afterward the permanent location should
be in the city of Washington, where it now is. In the meantime, the
Federal city was in building, and the Legislature of Pennsylvania voted
a sum of money to build a house for the President, perhaps with some
hope that this might help to keep the seat of the general government in
the Capital; for Philadelphia was then considered as the Capital of the
State. What was lately the University of Pennsylvania, was the structure
erected for the purpose. But as soon as General Washington saw its
dimensions, and a good while before it was finished, he let it be known
that he would not occupy it, and should certainly not go to the expense
of purchasing suitable furniture for such a dwelling; for it is to be
understood, in those days of stern republicanism, nobody thought of
Congress furnishing the President’s house; or if perchance such a
thought did enter into some aristocratic head, it was too unpopular to
be uttered. President Washington therefore rented a house of Mr. Robert
Morris, in Market street, between Fifth and Sixth, on the south side,
and furnished it handsomely but not gorgeously.”
From New York, by weary processes, the household furniture of
individuals and government property were moved. General Washington
superintended the preparation and embarkation of all his personal
effects, deciding the time and manner in which every article was taken
or sold, and attending to all with a scrupulous zeal which is surprising
when we consider his public position. His letters to Mr. Lear are as
characteristic of his private life as was his career as founder of the
Republic. On Saturday afternoon, November the 28th, the President and
his wife returned from Mount Vernon, and took up their residence in the
house of Mr. Morris, which the corporation had obtained for them. They
found Congressmen and public characters already assembled, in
anticipation of a gay and brilliant season. Mrs. Washington held her
drawing-rooms on Friday evening of each week; company assembled early
and retired before half-past ten. It is related on one occasion, at a
levee held in New York the first year of the administration, that she
remarked, as the hands on the clock approached ten, “that her husband
retired punctually at ten, and she followed very soon afterward.” A
degree of stiffness and formality existed at those receptions that we of
this age can scarcely understand, accustomed as we are to the
familiarity and freedom of the present-day gatherings; but the imposing
dignity of the Executive himself rebuked all attempts at equality, and
the novelty of the position itself caused a general awkwardness. Unlike
latter-day levees, the lady of the mansion always sat, and the guests
were arranged in a circle round which the President passed, speaking
kindly to each one. It is to be regretted that no descriptions exist of
the appearance of Mrs. Washington at these fête evenings. Little or no
attention, outside of social life, was paid to such items as how ladies
dressed and what they appeared in, and letter-writing on this subject
was not so universal as we of modern times have made it; hence there
remains no source from whence to gather these little trifles which form
part of every newspaper edition of the present day.
However, we do know that the President always had his hair powdered, and
never offered his hand to any one at his public receptions.
“On the national fête days, the commencement of the levee was announced
by the firing of a salute from a pair of twelve-pounders stationed not
far distant from the Presidential mansion; and the ex-Commander-in-chief
paid his former companions in arms the compliment to wear the old
Continental uniform.”
The grandchildren of Mrs. Washington were her only companions during the
President’s long absences in his office; and Mrs. Robert Morris was the
most social visitor at the mansion. Several times mention is made of her
presence at the side of Mrs. Washington during the presentations at the
receptions. And at all the dinners by the republican Chief Magistrate,
the venerable Robert Morris took precedence of every other guest,
invariably conducting Mrs. Washington, and sitting at her right hand. At
this, the meridian period of her life, Mrs. Washington’s personal
appearance was, although somewhat portly in person, fresh and of an
agreeable countenance. She had been a handsome woman thirty years
before, when, on the 6th of January, 1759, she was married to Colonel
Washington; and in an admirable picture of her by Woolaston, painted
about the same time, is seen something of that pleasing grace which is
said to have been her distinction. During these years of her married
life, she had enjoyed ample opportunity to cultivate that elegance of
manner for which she was conspicuous, and to develop those
conversational powers which rendered her so attractive. Washington, ever
quiet and reserved in manner, depended on her; and her tact and gentle
womanly politeness relieved him from the irksome duties of hospitality
when business called him elsewhere. His first levee, the Marchioness
D’Yuro wrote to a friend in New York, was brilliant beyond anything that
could be imagined. She adds: You never could have had such a
drawing-room; and though there was a great deal of extravagance, there
was so much of Philadelphia tact in everything that it must have been
confessed the most delightful occasion of the kind ever known in this
country.
Mrs. Washington at this time was fifty-eight years old; but her
healthful, rational habits, and the ceaseless influence of the
principles by which her life was habitually regulated, enabled her still
to exhibit undiminished her characteristic activity, usefulness, and
cheerfulness. From the “Recollections” of a daughter of Mrs. Binney, who
resided opposite the President’s house, we have some interesting
accounts. She says: “It was the General’s custom frequently, when the
day was fine, to come out to walk attended by his secretaries, Mr. Lear
and Major Jackson. He always crossed directly over from his own door to
the sunny side of the street, and walked down.” She never observed them
conversing, and often wondered and watched as a child to see if any of
the party spoke, but never perceived that anything was said. He was
always dressed in black, and all three wore cocked hats. “It was Mrs.
Washington’s custom to return visits on the third day, and in calling on
her mother, she would send a footman over, who would knock loudly and
announce Mrs. Washington, who would then come over with Mr. Lear.” “Her
manners were very easy, pleasant, and unceremonious, with the
characteristics of other Virginia ladies.” An English manufacturer
breakfasted with the President’s family on the 8th of June, 1794. “I
confess,” he says, “I was struck with awe and veneration when I
recollected that I was now in the presence of the great Washington, ‘the
noble and wise benefactor of the world,’ as Mirabeau styles him. The
President seemed very thoughtful, and was slow in delivering himself,
which induced some to believe him reserved. But it was rather, I
apprehend, the result of much reflection; for he had, to me, an
appearance of affability and accommodation. He was at this time in his
sixty-third year, but had very little the appearance of age, having been
all his life so exceedingly temperate. Mrs. Washington herself made tea
and coffee for us. On the table were two small plates of sliced tongue,
and dry toast, bread and butter, but no broiled fish, as is the general
custom here. She struck me as being something older than the President,
though I understand they were both born the same year. She was extremely
simple in her dress, and wore a very plain cap, with her gray hair
turned up under it.”
Eight years of prosperity and progression blessed the administration of
Washington, and now the hour of departure was drawing near. With
feelings of pleasure, Mrs. Washington prepared for the long-desired
return to her home on the Potomac; and when the dauntless robins began
to sing and hardy daisies to bloom, the family set out, accompanied by
the son of General Lafayette. Once again the wife and grandmother
assumed the duties congenial to her nature, and it was reasonable to
hope that she might pass many years of tranquil, unalloyed happiness
under her own vine and fig-tree. The old life was resumed, and the
long-silent house echoed the voices of the young and happy. It was
during this season of rest and quiet that Washington devoted much of his
time to the planning and laying out of the city which bears his name. An
account is given of his coming, on one occasion, to it, and when he
reached the wharf the cannon pealed forth a welcome. Passing along the
Georgetown road, he halted in front of the locality intended as a
residence for the President, where workmen were then laying the
foundation of the building. He was deeply interested in the welfare of
the chosen seat of the government, and an amusing anecdote is related of
his conference with David Burns, whose residence was on the ground south
of the Presidential mansion, and was until recently standing. Washington
alludes to him in one of his letters as the “obstinate Mr. Burns;” and
it is related that, when the President was dwelling upon the advantage
he would derive from the sale, the old man replied, “I suppose you think
people here are going to take every grist that comes from you as pure
grain; but what would you have been if you hadn’t married the widow
Custis?”
Mount Vernon was constantly thronged with visitors; and to the
“Correspondence of Washington,” which, during these last two years of
his life, are very voluminous, we are indebted for many items of public
and private interest. But a blow was in store for the contented wife
which none suspected. A cold, taken after a long ride about the farm,
produced fever and swelling of the throat, which, on the 14th of
December, 1799, resulted in the death of the deeply loved husband. A
wail of anguish went up from the nation as the direful news flew by each
hut and hamlet; but in that hallowed room, forever consecrated, the
bereaved woman who has lost her all sits calmly serene. She suspects
that he is dead, for the doctor and Mr. Lear are gazing at each other in
mute anguish; and rising from her low seat at the foot of his bed, she
sees the limbs are composed and the breath gone. O agony! what is there
so fearful to a clinging woman’s heart as to see the strong, loving arm
that enfolded her cold and stiff forever? The cover is straightened as
he fixed it, and his face is composed after the violent struggle; but
what is this appearance of triumph to the desolate wife, who gasps for
breath like one drowning as she totters to his side? Yet the sweet
expression calms her; perhaps she is thinking of how he would have her
do if his spirit could only speak. Whatever of inward peace receiving,
there is a determined effort at control perceptible, and she is saying,
“’Tis well; all is now over. I shall soon follow him. I have no more
trials to pass through.” One long look, as if her hungry soul was
obtaining food to feed on through all eternity, and she is assisted from
the room. How full of holy memories must that chamber of death have been
to her as she summoned courage to turn and drink in the last look! The
great fireside, with the smouldering embers dying into ashes gray, the
quaint old mantel, all covered with vials and appendages of a sick
apartment, their easy-chairs side by side, one deserted forever, and
upon the bed lay the form of her friend and companion. It was wrong to
let her stand there and suffer so, but her awe-stricken appearance
paralyzes the stoutest heart, and they only stand and wait. A pale,
haggard look succeeds the fierce intensity of her gaze, and she wraps
her shawl about her and turns forever from all she in that hour lost.
Another room receives her; another fire is built for her; and in the
endless watches of that black night she mastered the longings of her
heart, and never more crossed the threshold of that chamber of her loved
and lost. A sickening feeling of utter loneliness and desolation ushered
in the early morn of the first day of her widowhood, but her resolve was
made; and when her loved ones saw it pained her, they urged no more that
she should go back to the old apartment she had occupied all her married
life.
“Congress resolved, that a marble monument be erected by the United
States, in the Capitol at the city of Washington, and that the family of
George Washington be requested to permit his body to be deposited under
it, and that the monument be so designed as to commemorate the great
events of his military and political life. And it further resolved,
“That there be a funeral procession from Congress Hall to the German
Lutheran Church in honor of the memory of General George Washington, on
Thursday, the 26th inst., and that an oration be prepared at the request
of Congress, to be delivered before both Houses on that day, and that
the President of the Senate and Speaker of the House of Representatives
be desired to request one of the members of Congress to prepare and
deliver the same. And it further resolved,
“That the President of the United States be requested to direct a copy
of the resolutions to be transmitted to Mrs. Washington, assuring her of
the profound respect Congress will ever bear to her person and
character; of their condolence on the late afflicting Dispensation of
Providence, and entreating her assent to the interment of the remains of
General George Washington in the manner expressed in the first
resolution. And it further resolved,
“That the President of the United States be requested to issue a
Proclamation notifying the People throughout the United States the
recommendation contained in the third resolution.”
In reply to the above resolutions, which were transmitted by the
President (John Adams) on the 23d Dec., 1799, Mrs. Washington says:
MOUNT VERNON, _Dec. 31st, 1799_.
“SIR:—While I feel with keenest anguish the late dispensation of Divine
Providence, I cannot be insensible to the mournful tributes of respect
and veneration which are paid to the memory of my dear, deceased
husband, and as his best services and most anxious wishes were always
devoted to the welfare and happiness of his country, to know that they
were truly appreciated and gratefully remembered, affords no
inconsiderable consolation.
“Taught by that great example which I have so long had before me, never
to oppose my private wishes to the public will, I must consent to the
request made by Congress which you have had the goodness to transmit to
me, and in doing this I need not, I cannot say, what a sacrifice of
individual feeling I make to a sense of public duty.
“With grateful acknowledgments and unfeigned thanks for the personal
respects and evidences of condolence expressed by Congress and yourself,
“I remain, very respectfully,
“Your most obedient and humble servant,
“MARTHA WASHINGTON.”
But this pain might have been spared her, for the monument is not yet
erected, and the remains are still at Mount Vernon, their most fitting
resting-place.
The twofold duties of life pressed constantly upon her, nor did she
shirk any claim. Yet the compressed lip, and the oftentimes quivering
eyelid betrayed the restless moanings of her aching heart.
It has been remarked that she resembled Washington in manners and
person; she was like him as every weaker nature is like a stronger one
living in close relationship. She received from his stronger will his
influences, and he impressed her with his views so thoroughly that she
could not distinguish her own. Relying on his guidance in every thing,
she studied his features until her softer lineaments imperceptibly grew
like his, and the tones of her voice sounded wonderfully similar.
Imbibing the sentiments and teachings of such a nature, her own life was
ennobled and his rendered happy.
She had lived through the five grand acts of the drama of American
Independence, had witnessed its prelude and its closing tableaux, and
stood waiting to hear the swell of the pëan she was yet to sing in
heaven. Her life was passed in seasons of darkness, as of glorious,
refulgent happiness, and was contemporaneous with some of the greatest
minds that will ever shine out from any century. Her sphere was limited
entirely to social occupations, and possessing wealth and position she
gratified her taste. Had her character been a decided one, it would have
stamped the age in which she flourished, for, as there never was but one
Washington, so there will never come a time when there will be the same
opportunities as Mrs. Washington had for winning a name and an
individuality. But she did not aspire to any nobler ambition than merely
to perform the duties of her home, and she lives in the memories of her
descendants, and in the hearts of the people of the United States, as
the wife of the illustrious Father of his Country, and the first in
position of the women of the Revolution.
In the engraving we have before us, taken while in the Executive
Mansion, we trace the gradual development of her life. All the way
through it has counted more of bliss than of sorrow, and the calm
contentment of the face in repose speaks of a heart full of peace and
pleasantness. How expressive of sympathy and kindness of heart is that
serene face, and how instinctively we would trust it! Sustained as she
was by her deep devotional piety, and shielded by the protecting arm of
her husband, she grew in spiritual development and fondly believed
herself strong and self-reliant. But when she was tested, when the
earthly support was removed, the inward strength was insufficient, and
she pined under the loss until she died.
The death of her husband was the last event of Mrs. Washington’s life.
It shattered her nerves and broke her heart. She never recovered from
it. The shaft of agony which had buried itself in her soul was never
removed. Fate had now dealt the last deadly blow to her earthly
happiness. Her children, their father, the faithful, affectionate,
sympathizing friend and counsellor, with whom through so many years she
had stood side by side in great and grievous trials, dangers, and
sorrows—all were gone? It was useless to strive to be courageous: a
glance at the low, narrow vault under the side of the hill unnerved her.
She stood, the desolate survivor, like a lone sentinel upon a deserted
battle-field, regarding in mute despair the fatal destruction of hope,
and love, and joy. Through all time that Saturday night would be the
closing scene of her life, even though her existence should be
lengthened to a span of years.
“The memory of his faintest tone,
In the deep midnight came upon her soul,
And cheered the passing hours so sad, so lone,
As on they rolled.”
Thirty months numbered themselves among eternity’s uncounted years, and
it became apparent to all that another death-scene was to be enacted,
and the lonely occupant of the room above that other chamber of death,
was reaching the goal of its long felt desire. The gentle spirit was
striving to free itself, and the glad light in the dim eye asserted the
pleasure experienced in the knowledge of the coming change.
For many months Mrs. Washington had been growing more gloomy and silent
than ever before, and the friends who gathered about her called her
actions strange and incomprehensible. She stayed much alone, and
declined every offer of company, but the last days of her life she
seemed more cheerful and contented. When the end came on that bright,
spring morning in 1801 she gave her blessing to all about her, and sank
quietly to rest, in the seventy-first year of her age, and the third of
her widowhood.
Her resting-place beside her husband is, like Mecca and Jerusalem, the
resort of the travellers of all nations, who, wandering in its hallowed
precincts, imbibe anew admiration and veneration for the immortal
genius, whose name is traced in imperishable remembrance in the hearts
of his grateful countrymen. Side by side their bodies lie crumbling
away, while their spirits have returned to their Author. The placid
Potomac kisses the banks of that precious domain, and the ripple of the
receding waves makes pleasant music all day along the shore of Mount
Vernon.
The temptation to see this historic and romantic home of the most
beloved of the nation’s dead was not to be resisted, and one winter day
in company with one of the few surviving relatives who bear that honored
name, the start was made from Washington. Although the weather was cold
and disagreeable, with a threatening aspect of a snow-storm, we found
the little vessel filled with pilgrims, bound to the tomb of Washington.
This trip is one of intense interest, and particularly since the events
of the civil war have given to all the locality additional attraction.
Arlington, Alexandria, and Fort Washington! what memories are stirred by
mention of these names, and how acute is remembrance when we stand face
to face with these places. The old commonwealth is dear to every
generous American, whether of northern or southern birth, but more
especially to the people of the South, whose ancestors fondly termed it
the “motherland.”
It was the quaint look of the place which appealed strongest to the
senses, and the fact that it is long past a century old, its foundation
having been laid in 1748. The boat anchored at Alexandria, and we gazed
wistfully up those streets through which Washington had often passed,
and looked in vain to see some “vast and venerable pile, so old it
seemed only not to fall,” but the residences of most of the old
inhabitants are the abodes of wealth, and they exhibit evidences of care
and preservation.
Alexandria was early a place of some note, for five colonial governors
met here by appointment, in 1755, to take measures with General Braddock
respecting his expedition to the West. “That expedition proceeded from
Alexandria, and tradition still points to the site on which now stands
the olden Episcopal Church (but then, in the woods), as the spot where
he pitched his tent, while the road over the western hills by which his
army withdrew, long bore the name of this unfortunate commander. But the
reminiscences which the Alexandrians most cherish are those which
associate their town with the domestic attachments and habits of
Washington, and the stranger is still pointed to the church of which he
was vestryman; to the pew in which he customarily sate; and many
striking memorials of his varied life are carefully preserved.”
That old church where Washington and his wife were wont to worship, how
tenderly it is looked upon now, and with what hallowed feelings! All the
commonplace thoughts that fill our minds every day are laid aside, while
we contemplate the character of the man who has stamped his image in the
hearts of freemen throughout the world. There is another church at which
one feels these ennobling heart-throbs, and which I confess moved me as
sensibly, and that is the little Dutch church in “Sleepy Hollow,” once
the shrine at which Washington Irving offered the adoration of his
guileless heart. His beautifully expressed admiration of Washington
possibly occasioned the constant comparison, and to many these two
temples are as inseparable as the memories of these great men are
linked.
The weather, which had been indicative all day of a storm, cleared off
as we approached Mount Vernon, and as we landed at the wharf, it shone
brightly upon us. Winding round the hill, following a narrow pathway, we
reached the tomb before the persons who had taken the carriage-way came
in view, but preferring to examine it last, we continued the meandering
path to the front of the house. It had been the home, in early youth, of
the person who accompanied me, and, listening to her explanations and
descriptions, an interest was felt which could not otherwise have been
summoned. The house is bare of any furniture whatever, save a small
quantity owned by the persons who live there, and on a winter’s day
looked cheerless and uninviting. The central part of Mount Vernon house
was built by Lawrence Washington, brother to the General; the wings were
added by the General, and the whole named after Admiral Vernon, under
whom Lawrence Washington had served. The dining-room on the right
contains the Carrara marble mantle-piece sent from Italy to General
Washington. It is elaborately carved and is adorned with Sienna marble
columns; Canova is said to be the artist who carved it. We feel ashamed
to add, it is cased in wire-work to prevent its being demolished by
injudicious, not to say criminal visitors. The rooms are not large, with
the exception of the one mentioned above, which is spacious; the quaint
old wainscoting and wrought cornices are curious, and in harmony with
the adornments of the mansion. The piazza reaches from the ground to the
eaves of the roof, and is guarded on the top by a bright and tasteful
balustrade; the pillars are large and present a simple and grand idea to
the mind. Beneath this porch the Father of his Country was accustomed to
walk, and the ancient stones, to hearts of enthusiasm, are full of deep
and meditative interest.
The room in which he died is small and now bereft of every thing save
the mantle-piece; just above is the apartment in which she breathed her
dying blessing. A narrow stair-case leads from the door of his room,
which was never entered by her after his death. The green-house, once
the pride of Mrs. Washington, has since been burned, and there remains
but a very small one, put together carelessly to protect the few rare
plants remaining. In front of the house, the front facing the orchards,
and not the river, is a spacious lawn surrounded by serpentine walks. On
either side, brick walls, all covered with ivy and ancient moss, enclose
gardens. The one on the right of the house was once filled with costly
ornamental plants from the tropical climes, and in which was the
green-house; but the box trees have grown high and irregular, and the
creepers are running wild over what hardy rose bushes still survive to
tell of a past existence of care and beauty. In the lifetime of Mrs.
Washington, her home must have been very beautiful, “ere yet time’s
effacing fingers had traced the lines where beauty lingered.” It is even
now a splendid old place, but rapidly losing the interest it once had.
The estate has passed out of the family, and the furniture has been
removed by descendants, to whom it was given: much that lent a charm to
the place is gone, and the only interesting object, save the interior of
the mansion itself, is the key of the Bastile, presented by Lafayette,
and hanging in a case on the wall. Portions of the house are closed, and
the stairway in the front hall is barricaded to prevent the intrusion of
visitors. The room in which Mrs. Washington died, just above the one
occupied by her husband, was locked, and we did not view the room in
which she suffered so silently, and from which her freed spirit sought
its friend and mate.
The small windows and low ceilings, together with the many little
closets and dark passage-ways, strike one strangely who is accustomed to
the mansions of modern times; but these old homesteads are numerous
throughout the “Old Dominion,” and are the most precious of worldly
possessions to the descendants of worthy families. There must be more
than twenty apartments, most of them small and plain in finish. The
narrow doors and wide fire-places are the ensigns of a past age and many
years of change, but are eloquent in their obsoleteness.