Читать книгу Calling on the Presidents: Tales Their Houses Tell - Clark Beim-Esche - Страница 3

To his most noted biographer, James Thomas Flexner, he was the “indispensable man." To a more recent historian, Joseph Ellis, he was “…a mysterious abstraction … aloof and silent …." (x). Richard Brookhiser has suggested that many Americans view him as if he “…had been carved of the same stone as his monument" (6). Yet year after year, thousands of us come to the places associated with his name, reverently, gratefully, searching for insights into—and perhaps even hoping for a closer connection with—the irreplaceable George Washington, our first President and the Father of his Country.

Gaining such insights and forging such a connection turns out to be more difficult than one might expect, however. Why? One answer can be found in the National Park Service brochure visitors receive upon entering the George Washington Birthplace National Monument at Pope's Creek in the Virginia tidewater. It identifies a challenge awaiting any guest attempting to understand Washington more completely:

George Washington is the most elusive of national heroes. His great achievements and the strength of his character led a grateful nation to elevate him to the level of myth. As his life was magnified with legend and held up as an example to schoolchildren, Washington the man began to disappear behind the model. 'The Father of his Country' is, like the monument built to him, an emblem of the nation. But for many the historical person has become as abstract as the monument, as unreal as the marble statues.

What hope, then, is there of getting closer to Washington, the real Washington, and not merely to a mythologized ideal nor, equally dissatisfying, to some revisionist devaluation of his genuine greatness? And furthermore, who or what had actually determined to “elevate him to the level of myth" in the first place? The Pope's Creek site begins to offer some interesting answers to such questions.

By the early 19th century, the home where George Washington had been born had long since disappeared. Touring the farm site in 1815, Washington's step-grandson had placed a stone marker on the spot he believed to be the location of the original house, but nothing of consequence was done to materially preserve the site for over fifty years. By the early 20th century, however, as the bicentennial of Washington's birth approached, an organization styling itself the “Wakefield National Memorial Association" worked to have the location designated as a national monument and, furthermore, this group funded the building of a house on the original home site that would give Americans a clearer sense of the sort of environment into which Washington had entered the world. They constructed the Memorial House in time for the 1931 celebration of the two hundredth anniversary of Washington's birth. But in doing so, they participated in creating some of the tendency “to elevate him to the level of myth" to which the current park brochure refers.

As our docent, a knowledgeable young man named Alan, informed us, the Memorial House had not been placed on the actual site of the Washington home. The ground chosen for the reconstruction was closer to the water, commanding a more stately view of the confluence of Pope's Creek with Chesapeake Bay than had been afforded to the original house. Also, the recreated structure was much larger than the Washington plantation house had been and possessed considerably more touches of affluence than the Washington family had ever enjoyed.

The true farmhouse site was discovered in the years following the bicentennial celebration. Today its foundation stones are visible and indicate that the extent of this original home measures approximately half the scale of the reconstructed Memorial House.

Clearly, then, the goal of the Wakefield National Memorial Association had been twofold: first, to create a lasting national park site commemorating the birthplace of our first President, and second, to present an iconic symbol of Washington's world that would reflect the elevated stature of his reputation. Even the separate kitchen building constructed near the Memorial House is twice the size of the original structure that had been located there.

These amplifications, I firmly believe, were never the result of any intentional efforts to mislead the public. The buildings were not conscious fabrications. This glorification of Washington's earliest years had occurred naturally and was an understandable result of a 20th century appreciation of the scope of his career and of the meaning of his success, a meaning that not even the most prescient 18th century colonist could have imagined. Nevertheless, the “Washington myth" is clearly in evidence here at Pope's Creek, and, I have discovered, it is equally, if not increasingly, present in other sites connected with his name.

About thirty-eight miles west of the birthplace locale, on the eastern bank of the Rappahannock River just opposite Fredericksburg, is Ferry Farm, Washington's boyhood home where, this site's introductory leaflet informs visitors, “…Washington grew to manhood and developed the remarkable traits that helped him lead the Continental Army, become the first U.S. President, and guide a fledgling nation to its place in history."

What one actually encounters at Ferry Farm, however, falls considerably short of the impressive rhetoric quoted above. This site is essentially a field with its western edge sloping down to the Rappahannock River, now nearly invisible because of a variety of unkempt foliage blocking the view. Yet in this place, once again, we see the Washington myth being set forth, even as it identifies itself as myth.

For instance, although the Ferry Farm leaflet admits, honestly enough, that Parson Weems's anecdote of George Washington chopping down the cherry tree is probably only a “legend," it quotes the Weems account in full and uses as the leaflet's cover graphic an image of a cherry tree beneath which lies a discarded hatchet. Similarly, although archeological research has revealed that the so-called “Surveyor's Shed" dates from the late 19th century and, thus, is completely unrelated to Washington's boyhood years, The George Washington Foundation of Fredericksburg maintains the shed on the property to remind visitors that “Washington did learn to survey during his years at Ferry Farm and practiced in the fields and pastures." Finally, when referring to the legend of Washington throwing a stone (some accounts identify it as a silver dollar) across the Rappahannock, we are assured that “In his [Washington's] day, the river would have been much wider than it is today." Reality, it seems, is not quite enough when it comes to our appreciation of George Washington. He needs to be seen as larger than life, regardless of historical accuracy. It is a point of view that George Washington himself may have come to share. But for evidence of that, we need to drive north to Alexandria, Virginia, just south of the nation's capital.

Here we find the location that attracts more people to experience the world of our first President than all the other Washington sites combined. It is Mount Vernon, America's Versailles.

Over a million tourists each year find their way here to what is one of our greatest and certainly most venerated American “palaces." Compared to Versailles it doesn't measure up, but most Americans have never visited Versailles, and, consequently, the expansive acreage and exquisite placement of Mount Vernon on the rising hills above the Potomac still communicate the sense of affluence and elegance that we all associate with palatial grandeur.

George Washington himself fully appreciated the beauty and value of his plantation. Writing to a friend in 1793 in a rare moment of boastfulness, he noted, “No estate in United America is more pleasantly situated than this. It lies in a high, dry and healthy Country 300 miles by water from the sea … on one of the finest Rivers in the World" (Haas 12).

Pilgrimages here are nothing new. Even in Washington's day, Mount Vernon had a staggeringly large number of visitors. In one year alone, a docent informed our tour group, George and Martha Washington had entertained 677 overnight guests.

What had brought them? Not, I think, the healthy air nor even the splendid view of the Potomac River winding its way to the sea. Some, of course, had come with the prospect of political gain, but most made this trek, I suspect, for reasons very similar to today's travelers: to feel closer to this great man, to connect to a person whose life decisions had approached an ideal that very few have any hope of equaling.

In this way Mount Vernon is more than a presidential home; it is an ideal, and it is that ideal that is on display today in pastoral Virginia. As I have toured the site with Carol on several occasions, I have invariably been struck with the panoramic loveliness of the piazza overlooking the Potomac, the unexpectedly bold aqua color of the walls of the “Great Room" with its 16 foot tall ceiling, and the pieces of genuine history which adorn the walls of the central entrance hall. (Displayed here, for instance, is an unprepossessing frame which houses a large key. “That arrived in late 1789," docents inform us. “It was one of the keys of the Bastille sent by Lafayette with the accompanying note, 'A symbol of liberty to the Father of liberty.' ") Even the historical reality of slavery pales here, in no small part, perhaps, because of Washington's ultimate decision to free those men and women who had served him.

One might expect, then, in traveling to this beloved place which Washington had called home for over forty years, that an earnest seeker would gain many meaningful insights into the illustrious personage who had designed so many of its features and reveled in its graceful beauty.

Yet even after ascending the wide wooden stairway up to the second floor and standing quietly and patiently outside the doorway of Washington's bedroom for a chance to look at the bed on which the President had died in 1799, I have found it nearly impossible to envision George Washington here. And my subsequent research has revealed to me that, in this, I am not alone. As one of Washington's most esteemed biographers, Marcus Cunliffe, observed,

Innumerable tourists visit Mount Vernon. It is a handsome place, as they can testify, refurbished with taste and maintained in immaculate order. But the ghosts have been all too successfully exorcised in the process; Mount Vernon is less a house than a kind of museum-temple. We know that George Washington lived and died there; we do not feel the fact …. (2)

It is important that such comments not be construed as criticism of the loving conservation of this site, provided so ably by the Mount Vernon Ladies Association. Mount Vernon is arguably the most completely perfect example of presidential home restoration and conservation in the United States. It is just that I have been unable to find much of Washington the man in this place.

That is, until the spring of 2012. On this most recent of my tours of the Mount Vernon property, I thought I glimpsed, however momentarily, an aspect of General Washington's humanity that related directly to the mythic stature he has assumed over the years. But then again, I may have been wrong. Walk with me down the pathway toward the river to visit Washington's tomb. Or tombs, I should say, for it is their plurality that provided me the insight to which I am referring.

In fact, it had not been my initial intent to stop at the Washington tomb(s) when I had begun the long walk down the steep hillside from the plantation house to the wharf on the Potomac. I had chosen to make the descent only because Carol and I had arrived at Mount Vernon nearly an hour before our scheduled house tour, and we needed something to do to pass the time prior to our entry to the home. Carol had chosen to enjoy the site's new state of the art Educational Center and Museum, and I had decided to see the riverside wharf and landing area which I had never taken the time to visit in my earlier trips here.

As I was about halfway down the hill, my attention was caught by a sign identifying Washington's “Old Tomb." As no one was heading down the brick pathway indicated by the sign, I wondered where it would lead. Why weren't there crowds of people wending their way to pay their respects to Washington? And why “old" tomb? Wouldn't any tomb containing the remains of the first President of the United States be old?

The pathway ended in a landing which spread out before a plain, square brick structure with a closed wooden door in the middle. Beside this small edifice was an explanatory sign which contained a quotation from Washington’s Last Will and Testament: “The family vault of Mount Vernon requiring repairs and being improperly situated besides, I desire that a new one of Brick and upon a larger scale may be built at the foot of what is commonly called the Vineyard Inclosure.”

Although several other family members had already been laid to rest here, had Washington begun to question whether or not such a humble family vault was worthy of the “Father of his Country”? Was he realizing the importance of elevating himself “to the level of myth” in order to assure himself a permanent place in the hearts and minds of those who would come after him? As I wondered about all this, I became determined to see the newer tomb that had been erected in place of this original crypt.

The second tomb was a bit further down the hill, and it was deluged with reverent visitors who passed its door respectfully and solemnly. Its architecture was a striking contrast to the “Old Tomb." It was several times larger than the original vault. This, of course, had been in accordance with Washington's instructions regarding a “larger scale." The building also featured an elegant, brick Gothic arch, and, on either side of the path leading to the tomb, were impressive stone obelisks reminiscent of the monument that would later be erected in Washington's name on the mall of the capital city. Finally, I thought, here was a distinct glimpse of Washington, the man. After all his deprivations, his sacrifices for his country, his years of selfless service, here was concrete evidence that George Washington had desired glory and national reverence. I couldn't blame him. Certainly, if anyone in American history had earned such adulation, he had. But it also made him human, perhaps even understandably fallible, in a way that nothing else I had seen here quite matched. I had received my insight, my revelation.

Or so I thought. But, as I was to learn, quotations are tricky things. After I had returned home and was conducting some research into the design of the newer tomb, I came upon the complete text of the portion of Washington's Last Will and Testament relating to his burial site. The words that had been quoted on the sign by the “Old Tomb" were not all he had written. The next, concluding, sentence was vintage Washington: “And it is my express wish that my corpse may be interred in a private manner, without parade or funeral Oration." These were hardly the words of a man who, at the last, had wished for the lionization of his memory. The figure I believed that I had grasped, however momentarily, was once again becoming elusive.

Why was it so difficult to find evidence of Washington's human characteristics, his faults as well as his virtues, in this place? Perhaps Mount Vernon has remained distinct from Washington's personal character because, even for him, it had always been both more and less than an actual home.

It had been less than a home because, as much as he had thought about it and loved it, Washington was seldom present here for any extended period of time. From the moment he had officially acquired the estate in 1754, he had been constantly called away to service, first in the British nine year war with France and later in the colonies' eight year struggle for independence from Britain. Even with that remarkable victory achieved, Washington had been called away again—this time for eight more years—to serve as his country's first President. Finally, in 1797 he had been able to return to his beloved Mount Vernon, only to die two years later.

But Mount Vernon had always been more than a home, even more than the “museum-temple" referred to by Marcus Cunliffe. From its earliest days, it had been a kind of secular Mecca, a place of pilgrimage for the American people. And thousands of visitors still line the avenue each day, waiting for their tours to begin, waiting for their chance to witness for themselves this model of a perfect plantation life so clearly present and beautifully maintained here. This Mount Vernon was an ideal which Washington himself had never been fully able to inhabit, but it remains a powerful and important symbol for our national psyche. Almost literally, it was George Washington's “city on a hill," his ideal life that he was creating out of the promise and potential of the new world. But it was a life that future generations would enjoy more than he, for it was a life that could only be realized as a result of sacrifice and travail.

Washington's experiences away from this place, in the wilderness of western Pennsylvania and on the frigid heights of Valley Forge, on battlefields in New York and on a frozen river in New Jersey, would carry with them many essential lessons. He would learn to model a selfless devotion to duty for which he would receive no reward but honor, he would learn humbling lessons about what he could and could not accomplish as a soldier and a leader of men, and he would learn to dedicate himself tenaciously to his cause, regardless of personal cost or length of duty. More than anything else, these lessons—and his willingness to learn them—made George Washington the “Father of his Country."

And this, I suspect, is what brings us here by the thousands upon thousands. We come to appreciate his sacrifice, to acknowledge our debt of gratitude for his leadership, and to pay homage to his tireless efforts to achieve the ongoing ideal which became the nation he was so instrumental in founding.