Washington in Domestic Life. From Original Letters and Manuscripts

by Richard Rush

Not long, however, is he permitted to remain a private citizen reposing at Mount Vernon amidst all its endearments. The next succeeding year finds him again summoned by his country to her service. At the eager solicitation of the government, the elder Adams then being President, and Mr. Adams' own desire being seconded by the nation's voice, he was prevailed upon to accept the supreme command of the Army during the difficulties and even quasi-war that had risen up with our old ally, France. He accepted on condition of receiving no pay or emolument until actually called into the field. Nevertheless this conditional acceptance threw upon him burdensome duties. It exposed him to "many official calls, to a heavy correspondence, and to a flow of company." It is so he expresses himself. In this conjuncture he writes to his attached friend and faithful secretary Mr. Lear. Under date of August the second, 1798, from Mount Vernon, he describes to him those fresh duties as hindrances to putting his private affairs in that order so necessary before he embarked in new scenes; it being his desire, before quitting the scene of human action, to leave his concerns in such a condition as to give as little trouble as possible to those who would have the management of them afterwards. Under this view of his situation he had written to the Secretary of War to be informed whether he was at liberty to appoint his secretary, who should be entitled to the usual and proper allowances; and concludes with asking Mr. Lear if he would join him in that capacity if the Secretary of War answered in the affirmative. Mr. Lear assents.

This is the last letter in the series. I learn from Mrs. Lear that others not in this collection, bespeaking a high degree of intimacy and confidence, were written to her husband by the same hand. This may well be conceived when it is known that Mr. Lear's connection with this illustrious man began prior to the year '86, and continued until his death in '99; that he was at his bedside when he died, and drew up the authentic narrative, which was verified by the physicians, of his last illness, from its commencement to the closing scene. This was published at that time to meet the anxious feelings of his mourning countrymen, struck down at first by his death as by a shock that went through every heart.

From one of the letters there dropped out, as I unfolded it, a slip in Mr. Lear's handwriting, dated May the first, 1791, containing the copy of a message to General Washington from Lord Cornwallis, of which Captain Truxton had been the bearer from the East Indies. His lordship, whom Captain Truxton had seen there, being then Governor General of India. "congratulated General Washington on the establishment of a happy government in his country, and congratulated the country on the accession of General Washington to its Chief Magistracy." The message wished "General Washington a long enjoyment of tranquillity and happiness," adding that, for himself (Lord C.), he "continued in troubled waters."

I have thus noticed succinctly, perhaps I might more appropriately say described, these letters. In abridging and connecting the train of them, Washington's language is used to the extent that will be seen. The style is different from that of his official productions and other letters of his voluminous correspondence. He naturally stepped into one more familiar when writing to a confidential friend on family matters relating to his home at Mount Vernon, or as it was to be arranged in Philadelphia while he was President. But the style has the directness and sincerity of all his writings. It is apparent that the letters are written without reserve. With two or three exceptions, no copies appear to have been kept; yet everything is frank and straight-forward. Understanding human nature thoroughly under all its phases, he deals wisely with men in small things as in great; but he does no one injustice. When others are acting disingenuously towards him, though seeing through it, he is considerate and forbearing, not taking steps hastily, but ready to make allowances where they could be made. Dishonesty or suspicion of it he never overlooks. In the second letter he suspects his steward of extravagance in spending too much for supplies of the table kept for his upper servants; yet he authorizes Mr. Lear to retain him, if, on looking into his accounts, he finds him honest; intimating that any successor to him might act in the same way, and a dismissal might be only a change without a benefit. His reprobation of all dishonesty is seen in more than one of the letters, as well as his restrained modes of dealing with it whilst affecting only his own interests.

As regards the minutiae seen in the letters; the details respecting his house, furniture, servants, carriages, horses, postilions, and so on, these will be read with curiosity and interest. They suggest a new test by which to try Washington, and let him be tried by it. We have not before had such details from himself. It is for the first time the curtain has been so lifted.

All great men, the very greatest, Caesar, Cromwell, Napoleon, Frederick, Peter the Great, Marlborough, Alexander, all on the long list of towering names, have had contact with small things. No pinnacle in station, no supremacy in excellence or intellect, can exempt man from this portion of his lot. It is a human necessity. Washington goes into this sphere with a propriety and seemliness not always observable in others of his high cast, but often signally the reverse. In dealing with small things, he shows no undue tenacity of opinion; no selfishness; no petulance; no misplaced excitements. He never plays the petty tyrant. He does not forget himself; he does not forget others; he assumes nothing from any exaltation in himself, but is reasonable and provident in all his domestic and household arrangements.

Shall we seek for comparisons, or rather contrasts? With as much of Washington's domestic portraiture before us as these letters hold up, shall we turn to look at others? There is no difficulty, but in selecting from the vast heap.

Frederick thought coffee too expensive an indulgence for common use in his kingdom, saying he was himself reared on beer soup, which was surely good enough for peasants and common fellows, as he called his people. He wrote directions to his different cooks with his own hand the better to pamper his appetite with every variety of the dishes and sauces he liked best. He stinted Voltaire in sugar while a guest in his palace, or gave it to him cheap and bad. He praised him face to face, and ridiculed him behind his back. Napoleon played blind-man's buff at St. Helena. He lost his temper at his coronation on perceiving that some of the princesses of his family who were to act as trainbearers were not in their right places. Caesar was versed in all the ceremonials of State. It was said that he would even have been a perfect Roman gentleman but for a habit of putting one of his fingers in his hair. Yet such a master of forms gave grave offence to the Roman Senate by not rising when they intended him a compliment; so unwise was he in small things. Cromwell in a frolic threw a cushion at Ludlow, who in turn threw one at him. He bedaubed with ink the face of one of the justices, who, with Cromwell himself, had just been condemning Charles to the block. Peter the Great travelled about with a pet monkey, which unceremoniously jumped upon the King of England's shoulder when the latter visited the Czar in London. Some great men have played leap-frog; some practised this affectation, some that. The book of history records too amply the child-like diversions among those who have flourished on the summits of renown. We hear of none of this in Washington; no idle whimsies, no studied or foolish eccentricities; none of the buffoonery of ripe years. They were not in him; or if they were, self-discipline extirpated them, as it did the bad ambition and moral callousness that have disfigured too many of the great names of the earth, ancient and modern; whilst his matchless purity and deathless deeds raise him above them all. This verdict is already more than half pronounced by the most enlightened and scrutinizing portions of mankind, and time is silently extending its domain as he is longer tried by the parallels of history, and by the philosophy of greatness itself.

Before his fame, steadily ascending from its adamantine foundation, gave signs that it was to encircle the globe, some imagined him too prudent. Some thought him devoid of sensibility; a cold, colossal mass, intrenched in taciturnity, or enfolded in a mantle of dignity. The sequel disclosed that his complete mastery over passion, moving in harmony with his other powers and faculties, lent its essential aid towards his unrivalled name. Opinion and passion were strong in him. The latter existed in vehemence; but he put the curb upon it, turning it into right directions, and excluding it otherwise from influence upon his conduct. He stifled his dislikes; he was silent under sneers and disparaging innuendoes lest inopportune speech might work injury to the great cause confided to him. To the success of that cause he looked steadily and exclusively. It absorbed his whole soul, and he determined to concentrate upon it all his forbearance as well as energy. The complicated dangers which encompassed it he knew, from his position, sooner and better than others; but he would not make them public, lest the foe might hear them, or others whose prepossessions were unfriendly; preferring that temporary odium should rest upon himself. Therefore his reserve; and thus it was that the grand results of his life came out in manifold blessings to his country; thus it was that some at first distrustful, and others long distrustful, of his superiority, came to admit it in the end. Be it added, that his native good sense teaching him the value of social restraint, and his knowledge of the world, its approved observances in intercourse, the tone of the gentleman on its best models ever also graced his public glory.

An anecdote I derived from Colonel Lear shortly before his death in 1816, may here be related, showing the height to which his passion would rise yet be controlled. It belongs to his domestic life which I am dealing with, having occurred under his own roof, whilst it marks public feeling the most intense, and points to the moral of his life. I give it in Colonel Lear's words as nearly as I can, having made a note of them at the time.