Martha Washington (24 page)

His celebrity attracted the visitors, but Martha took care of them. The Washingtons' social code called for gracious entertainment; they felt duty-bound to put up with impertinent strangers who wanted to question Washington closely about his career. Martha often found herself consulting with the house servants about adding extra dishes for dinner or making up beds in the hallways. Often, too, in the evenings George would retire to his library to read or answer correspondence while she and the invaluable Lear kept their guests occupied and entertained. George knew he could depend on Martha's incomparable conversational skills as she talked with guests about politics, the war, the founding of the American nation, or whatever subject they desired.

On one occasion, George left an English traveler, John Hunter, to the company of Fanny and Martha, and the talk soon turned to military matters. Hunter wrote later, “It's astonishing with what raptures Mrs. Washington spoke about the discipline of the army, the excellent order they were in, superior to any troops she said upon the face of the earth towards the close of the war; even the English acknowledged it, she said. What pleasure she took in the sound of the fifes and drums, preferring it to any music that was ever heard; and then to see them reviewed a week or two before the men disbanded, when they were all well clothed was she said a most heavenly sight; almost every soldier shed tears at parting with the General when the army was disbanded: Mrs. Washington said it was a most melancholy sight.” His astonishment was no doubt based on the novelty of hearing a woman talk knowledgeably and passionately about war and patriotism—considered by the English to be men's business.

She had settled on a style of dress that pleased her. Following the general modes of the day, she had her gowns made of very fine fabrics. One of her dresses remains intact at Mount Vernon: the tailored lines of its lustrous brown silk would have flattered her now stocky shape; the bodice's square neckline and three-quarter-length sleeves would have been accented by a lace fichu and trim. Pieces of fabric cut from her dresses and passed down through the family as mementos are a beautiful assortment of lampas and damask silks—white with red and pink roses, pale ivory with narrow ivory stripes and delicate bouquets, very pale green with dark and pale pink grosgrain-pattern stripes and more pink bouquets. A visiting Frenchman bestowed his approval on her “simple dignity . . . she possesses that amenity, and manifests that attention to strangers, which render hospitality so charming.”

Among their more illustrious guests was one of Great Britain's leading literary figures, Catherine Macaulay. Author of the liberal
History of England
, she had been savaged in England both for her openly pro-American views and her marriage to the very much younger, socially inferior William Graham. Her friend and longtime correspondent Mercy Otis Warren made a classic comment on her marriage at forty-seven to a man of twenty-one: “Doubtless, that lady's independency of spirit led her to suppose she might associate for the remainder of her life with an inoffensive, obliging youth with the same impunity a gentleman of threescore and ten might marry a damsel of fifteen.”

Armed with introductory letters from the Warrens, Macaulay, now Macaulay Graham, and her husband arrived for a ten-day visit at Mount Vernon in June 1785. Martha welcomed them warmly, although the author was chiefly interested in looking over George's military correspondence and discussing republican government. Writing to Mercy in fond remembrance of their wartime friendship, Martha thanked her for “introducing a Lady so well known in the literary world as Mrs. Macaulay Graham, whose agreeable company we have had the pleasure of a few days.”

But though Washington enjoyed the company of intellectual women, it was his own beloved wife's conversation he relished. Martha had no pretensions of being intellectual, but she was intelligent, observant, and vitally interested in all the experiences that had come her way in life. Now in her late fifties, she was comfortably plump, gray-haired, and grandmotherly in appearance. Most people were still attracted by the flashing smile, friendly eyes, unwrinkled skin, and interest in everyone she met.

George had grown only more contented in nearly thirty years of marriage. He revealed his feelings about the joys of a happy marriage in a letter to his old friend from the Revolution, the Marquis de Chastellux, who had finally married after many years of amorous liaisons. George wrote: “I was, as you may well suppose, not less delighted than surprised to come across that plain American word—‘my wife.' A wife!—Well, my dear Marquis, I can hardly refrain from smiling to find you are caught at last. I saw, by the eulogium you often made on the happiness of domestic life in America, that you had swallowed the bait. . . . Now you are well served for coming to fight in favor of the American Rebels, all the way across the Atlantic Ocean, by catching the terrible contagion—domestic felicity—which like the smallpox or the plague, a man can have only once in his life; because it commonly lasts him—(at least with us in America—I don't know how you manage these matters in France) for his whole lifetime.” He wished for the newlyweds the enjoyment of their “domestic felicity—during the entire course of your mortal existence.”

There were very few people who truly loved farming as George did. He started to get his acreage back in good heart again, to repair the deterioration of the mansion house, and to complete the additions and improvements that had lagged during the Revolution. The enlarged house gave the extended family much needed space and privacy, particularly his study and his and Martha's large second-floor bedroom, separated from the main body of the house by private passageways to be entered only by invitation. At the end of the war, the grand dining room on the north end of the house was still incomplete. The embellishment of that great room continued apace; it was nearly two stories high, with its own outside door, grand Palladian window, bright mint green paint, marble mantelpiece, and delicate white plasterwork on ceiling and walls.

A spacious portico with columns soaring to the second story on the riverside and flagstones underfoot provided the perfect setting to enjoy their dramatic view of the Potomac; it became one of the signature elements of the mansion. The finishing touches were provided on the west front by a pediment, cupola topped by a dove-shaped weather vane, and open arcades tying the mansion to the adjoining outbuildings while allowing glimpses of the river, creating what is essentially today's Mount Vernon.

Much as he enjoyed agricultural retirement, Washington hadn't given up his keen interest in the development of the western frontier or his belief that a strong federal government was needed for the economic and political well-being of the nation he had done so much to form. Beginning in 1784, he and James Madison drew the states of Virginia and Maryland into a series of conventions to work together on issues involving the Potomac River and the Chesapeake Bay; some of the meetings were held at Mount Vernon. Finally, in 1786, Virginia invited all the states to a convention at Annapolis to discuss trade and commercial problems; representatives from the five states present issued a call for a convention of all the states to meet the following May in Philadelphia.

In 1787, Fanny Washington gave birth to a boy, who died four days later. For Martha, it must have been like losing a grandson. But Fanny didn't recover completely from her confinement; instead, she remained weak and started to cough persistently, a worrisome echo of George Augustine. The younger Washingtons went to try the effects of Warm Springs, and Fanny returned in somewhat better health, “but not perfectly recovered” in her aunt's eyes. She was also five months pregnant and feeling superstitious about the loss of her first baby at Mount Vernon.

Early the next year, George Augustine took her down to Eltham for her lying-in, stopping to enjoy her brother's wedding on the way before he returned to take up his duties. Martha lamented her niece's absence greatly and worried about the survival of the expected child. She wrote wistfully, “She is a child to me, and I am very lonesome when she is absent.” Fanny delivered a healthy girl, named Anna Maria for her grandmother but called Maria instead of Nancy; they returned to Mount Vernon late the following spring.

That year, the rich and well-connected Powels, wartime acquaintances from Philadelphia, stopped for a while on their way back from a visit to her sister at Westover. The women obviously talked at length about family problems, and Eliza Powel appreciated Martha's “Civilities & attention to me while I was under your hospitable Roof.” Although the three little Custis girls ranged in age from eight to eleven, Martha was already worried about their posture. At her request, Eliza bought posture collars, disguised with ribbons, so that her granddaughters would hold up their heads, stand erect, and throw back their shoulders. These devices trained young girls to avoid “those ridiculous Distortions of the Face & Eyes which girls, at a certain age, frequently fall into from a foolish Bashfulness.”

Eliza had talked frankly and tearfully with Martha about the plight of her sister Mary Willing Byrd, left a widow with ten children by the suicide of her monstrously indebted husband. Eliza hoped that Martha's “own good heart will plead my apology” for pouring out her troubles. Martha responded promptly and kindly: “I do most truly sympathize with you on your sister's disappointments in life. These [disappointments] now come, in a greater or less degree, are what all of us experience.”

To Martha's serious disquiet, 1787 was starting to sound like 1775 at Mount Vernon. Political discussions were roiling about them, and her husband was mentioned constantly as a leader in the new nation, floundering under the weak government set up by the Articles of Confederation. George was happy in retirement, and so was she. Farming, building, gardening, spending time with Tobias Lear and George Augustine Washington, soon to be joined by David Humphreys, the general was well amused by his interests and the company of these intelligent, compatible young men so like his military family of aides-de-camp.

A life spent on housekeeping, decorating, sewing, looking after Fanny and the little children, and enjoying frequent visits from Nelly Stuart and the other grandchildren seemed just right to Martha. Then there were the scores of visitors, assorted nieces and nephews to help on their way in the world, and their own financial interests to look after. The Washingtons looked much richer on paper than they actually were. George had hundreds of acres that went untilled because he could find no tenants—or if he did, they neglected to pay the rent. They also were owed large debts, but since many of the loans had been made to their own siblings and friends, they were largely uncollectible.

Very much against her will, he agreed to lead Virginia's representatives at the new convention to be held in Philadelphia in May. He believed not only that the work of the convention was crucial, but that his presence was important. Just before he set off, he was summoned to Fredericksburg to visit his mother, who was dying slowly of breast cancer, and his sister, Betty, who was worn to the bone caring for her. Since he was making a galloping visit, Martha didn't come with him. Both women were somewhat improved, and he spent three days with them before going back home.

On May 9, 1787, he left for Philadelphia. This time, Martha didn't accompany him. At first he hadn't wanted to take part, but he had been persuaded that it was his duty. Martha wasn't the only one who realized that he was sacrificing his (their) private interests or that he was putting his hard-won reputation on the line by entering politics. Both James Madison and Henry Knox wrote admiringly of his commitment to the public good. As Knox put it: “Secure as he was in his fame, he has again committed it to the mercy of events.”

Their old friend Robert Morris had invited the Washingtons to stay with his family throughout the convention. George declined because he thought the sessions might drag on too long and because he was coming alone. As usual, he would have preferred to have his wife's company. He wrote rather sadly and perhaps a shade defensively: “Mrs. Washington is become too Domestick, and too attentive to two little Grand Children to leave home, and I can assure you, Sir, that it was not until after a long struggle I could obtain my own consent to appear again in a public theatre. My first remaining wish being to glide gently down the stream of life in tranquil retirement.”

In Philadelphia, the meeting charged with merely revising the Articles of Confederation scrapped the whole document and started over, creating the United States Constitution. George Washington was unanimously elected president of the convention. As such, he acted with studied impartiality as major issues were debated—representation for large states versus small states, free states versus slaveholding states, the slave trade, the form and extent of executive power. Even though he did not join in the official discussions, no one could doubt that he was in favor of a strong government with a strong executive. Long, long days of discussion, speechmaking, and debate and further long evenings of politicking, negotiating, and compromise finally ended on September 17 with the Constitution that today governs the United States.

Letters to and from Mount Vernon helped him bear those long months away from home when Martha refused to join him. Just as he had during the war, he wrote weekly letters to his manager, now George Augustine rather than Lund, and to Martha, and they responded just as regularly. To miss the height of the planting season and all his family at home was a cruel deprivation for him. As he wrote to his nephew in early September when adjournment was at last in sight: “God grant I may not be disappointed in this expectation, as I am quite homesick.”

After George returned home in the fall, the household was enlarged by a new and very welcome semipermanent resident. He had continued to take an interest in the career of one of his favorite wartime aides, David Humphreys, who had a certain literary reputation. Washington had issued a standing invitation: “The only stipulations I shall contend for are, that in all things you shall do as you please.” With his pleasing manners and entertaining conversation, Humphreys was a welcome addition to the family circle.