In the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries, writers have drawn on older legends and depictions of Washington as the charming general. This redoubled emphasis is, in part, a reaction to the perceived wisdom regarding how the public feels distanced from Washington, viewing him as inaccessible and elite-as "dull but perfect," to quote Gore Vidal."
In the twenty-first century, biographers have continued to emphasize what they see as Washington's deep passions; says one, "George was always susceptible to women."90 A 2009 biography on the "intimate lives" of the Founding Fathers largely repeats early-twentieth-century tales and similarly concludes that as a young man, "George was powerfully attracted to the opposite sex-hardly surprising for a healthy, vigorous teenager."91 Similarly, journalist Willard Sterne Randall concludes, "Washington was capable of being a great romantic."92
In popular biographies in the new millennium, gone is any hesitation about interpreting the letters Washington wrote to Fairfax. Long gone is the defensive view that he wrote as a "votary of love" for Martha, despite the letters' being penned for Sally. For many today, the letters written to Fairfax, a young woman who has been described in romanticized terms as having "large, steady, wide-open eyes" and "a mouth that was a cupid's bow," serve to make Washington personable by emphasizing sex, love, and romance.93 Best-selling author Joseph Ellis explains, "The titillating `consummation' question is almost as irrelevant as it is unanswerable. The more important and less ambiguous fact is that Washington possessed a deep-seated capacity to feel powerful emotions." He adds, "Only someone dedicated to denying the full import of this evidence could reject the conclusion that Washington was passionately in love with Sally Fairfax."94 For another writer, the Fairfax letters reveal a romantic man: "There's no credible way to read the letters he wrote in the fall of 1758 other than as those of a young man suffering from a forbidden love; they're practically incoherent, the outpouring of a sorely troubled heart."95 Popular writer Thomas Fleming waxes even more romantic, calling the later letter evidence that Washington and Fairfax "were lovers that destiny had tragically separated."96 Another brief biography identifies Fairfax as "his first love," and a recent biography takes the position that she was his one true love in life 97
Many accounts exhibit a near fetishistic fascination with his body. Speaking of his wedding gloves, as though anticipating this later development, Desmond writes to an earlier generation that they are "still treasured in the Masonic Museum at Alexandria, Virginia, and they are huge."98 The emphasis on eroticized depictions of Washington's body has blossomed in the new millennium.99 Mount Vernon Love Story begins by establishing that Washington was a "giant of a man in every way."100 In his best-selling biography of Washington, Pulitzer Prize-winning writer Ellis similarly exclaims, "He was the epitome of the man's man: physically strong, mentally enigmatic, emotionally restrained."101 Wood also depicts Washington in this manner. Washington, he writes, had "all the physical attributes of a classical hero. He was very tall by contemporary standards, six feet three or so, and was heavily built and a superb athlete. Physically he had what men and women admired.""' Likewise, Randall describes him as a "giant" whose "209 pounds were spread over a taut six-foot-four-and-a-half-inch frame."103 Fleming links Washington's build to his father, Augustine Washington, whom Fleming describes as a "huge, muscular man, a sort of rural Hercules famous for his feats of strength.""' In one final example, readers of David Hackett Fischer's Washington Crossing are introduced to Washington's "mus cular legs" in the opening paragraph, and they are informed that he, "at forty-two, looked young, lean, and very fit" at the time of his famous crossing of the Delaware River."'
Other authors specify that Washington was unusually desirable to those around him. In her preface to the new edition of a 2003 historical novel, the author explains that in her "research," she found that Washington was "the best dancer in the colony of Virginia""' A 2006 biographer explains, "His social graces left ladies swooning as he spun them 'round the ballroom.""' Richard Brookhiser bolsters the tradition of focusing with intensity on the unusual body of the allegedly disembodied first president. He provides the usual description of Washington's body and explicitly links it to sex appeal: "Women also took note of him," he writes. Brookhiser, a journalist, goes one step further. He claims that John Trumbull's 1792 portrait of Washington striking a classical pose after the Battle of Trenton "clearly shows a pair of well-developed thighs" (Figure 1.6). In the absence of the image itself, he mobilizes testimony from an authority to support his assertion: "When I showed it to a body builder, she said: `Nice quads."'108 That the body builder is a woman sexualizes the assessment. Similarly, a recent biography of Martha Washington views George from his wife's vantage point. "What did Patsy [Martha's daughter, Martha Parke Custis] see when George Washington walked into her parlor?" asks author Patricia Brady. "Towering over most men by half a foot, George was exceptionally tall for the time" and "exceptionally athletic, powerful and graceful." The depiction of such a body is not just about sex appeal, of course-culturally, it speaks volumes about the man's qualities and character. Thus, Brady follows her description of Washington's body with the phrase "bespeaking the leader rather than the fop.""' Writer Fleming remarks that "there were undoubtedly a great many women in Virginia who would have felt shivers" "at the thought of being embraced" by Washington."'
Such phrases as "he had an athlete's body" raise the question of what imagery this calls to mind for Americans today.11' This type of language likely conjures up an appealing physique, not simply a capable one. As women's historians have noted, physical ideals for the female body have changed over time. Even in the context of the twentieth century, this is obvious when one compares the voluptuous physique of Marilyn Monroe to the waif models of the early twenty-first century or the Hollywood hunks of the 1950s with today's more muscular leading men. Physical ideals have changed over time for both men and women, so modern readers may well impose their twenty-first-century athletic eroticized ideal on an aging eighteenth-century military officer. Washington may have been strong, but according to many accounts he had an ungainly frame, was disproportioned, was "wide across the hips," had a concave or "flat" chest, and would certainly not have been toned or taut in a currently idealized way."' The increased emphasis on crafting an appealing body for Washington can be illustrated by comparing one author's descriptions over time. Twenty-one years after publishing the description that includes the phrase "wide across the hips," John Ferling changes it to "broad shoulders," "muscular arms," and "small, flat waist," with no mention of the wide hips that many associate with femininity. He also emphasizes instead that Washington "exhibited the striking look of what we would expect today in a gifted athlete."113
Figure 1.6. General George Washington at Trenton. (John Trumbull. Oil on canvas, 1792. Courtesy of the Yale University Art Museum.)
Accounts and images depicting his size and athleticism create a man who stands alone. Washington himself may have had a hand in establishing this depiction of his body. In an unpublished authorized biography, drafts of which Washington reviewed and approved, he is described as "remarkably robust & athletic.""' Such comments about size, appeal, and physical attributes stand on their own and are intended to suggest that somehow nature had endowed him with a physical presence that indicated his superior skills and capabilities and the pivotal role he would play in the founding of the nation. In this way, large hands and big muscles are connected to founding the national government and acting as figure head to a fledgling country.
Modern Marriage
Turn-of-the-twenty-first-century accounts do adopt a slightly more skeptical view of the bond between husband and wife. Certainly many have speculated that it was a marriage of convenience for both. As biographers have long noted, the marriage itself was crucial to Washington's advancement. According to Ellis, "Nothing he ever did had a greater influence on the shape of his own life than the decision to marry Martha Dandridge.""' It is often noted that his marriage to the wealthiest
widow in Virginia catapulted him up the social ladder to the highest echelons of Virginian planter society. For many biographers, the evidence clearly suggests a calculated first meeting. Washington called on the extraordinarily wealthy widow too soon after her husband died-and in a calculating measure to impress left a hefty tip for her servants.
But even those who emphasize this initial motivation highlight evidence that the union developed into something to be envied. Writes one pair, "The marriage may initially have been one of convenience, [but] it seems to have turned out to be an exceptionally happy one on both sides."' 16 Still another author asserts, "If the main source of Martha's appeal was initially more economic than romantic, there is reason to believe that the relationship soon developed into an intimate and mutually affectionate bond of considerable 17
If some later views are decidedly less romanticized, we still learn that the marriage was a success from a public perspective. Historian Gordon Wood points out that George and Martha had a model marriage. In New York and Philadelphia, Wood elaborates, they operated as "matchmakers," and they did so "with their own marriage... as examples." The result was a success in quantity and quality: "He and Martha arranged sixteen marriages, including that between James Madison and Dolley Payne.""'
Biographers, however, anticipate any of this skepticism that readers may have held about the marriage of Martha and George. Some remind us that Martha was not a great deal older than George, as is often misremembered by a public familiar only with her matronly portrait-indeed, she was only three months older. "The fact that they had no children of their own is almost certainly not a sign that they were sexually incompatible," assures one."' "Late efforts to suggest that Washington's marriage lacked passion ... have all been discredited by most scholars," he continues.120 "The fact is that George and Martha loved each other deeply," writes another.121
Indeed, the skeptics' view of the marriage has been well challenged by romantic accounts. Twenty-first-century romantic depictions of their marriages enshrine the Founders as men far more virtuous than others. One biographer of Martha Washington writes that during the Revolution, George's conduct was exemplary, and his satisfying marriage was a key aspect of this behavior:
Many British officers entertained themselves in camp with all-night drinking bouts, high stakes gambling, and a plethora of easily available sexual partners. The Puritan strain in American society called for greater discretion in their camp, but some men took the opportunity to kick off-or at least loosen-the marital traces. Not their commander. Whatever George Washington's sexual experiences as a young man may have been, he had never led a dissipated life-even his love for the married Sally Fairfax had been well-nigh respectable. There would be no startling middle-aged outbreak: he was well aware that he set the example for his men, and he genuinely delighted in his wife's company and their "domestic enjoyments."
For this author, the love of husband and wife was not just privately shared. It radiated outward, bolstering the beleaguered American forces: "Everybody enjoyed being with the Washingtons at headquarters because of their obvious fondness for each other and the good cheer they radiated.""'
Turn-of-the-century popular accounts rely on lore and speculation as much as the romanticized accounts published a century earlier. The introduction to Worthy Partner, a 1994 publication of the letters and writings of Martha Washington, repeats a nineteenth-century account that the courtship was romantic "love at first sight.""' "After they married," explains the author, "there is not a sign that George was a bored or unhappy husband. They shared a bed throughout their marriage (no separate bedrooms here), and he desired her companionship as often as possible when he was away from home during the war and the presidency.""' A recent biography by journalist Fleming asserts-without a source of evidence for the claim-that Martha was "the only person with whom Washington could relax and speak candidly." Fleming further emphasizes a chemistry between them by focusing on how Martha must have felt when marrying George on the heels of her first husband, whom he describes as a "rather pathetic" man. "Martha," he imagines, "must have felt a few tremors," as Washington "must have been a breathtaking sight" on his wedding day. He poignantly remarks that upon her death, Martha was "almost visibly eager to join the man she had loved so long and so deeply in an eternity of happiness.""' Keep in mind that all of these deeply personal insights about the affective bond between Martha and George come from scant few letters to analyze: Martha famously destroyed virtually all of their correspondence after his death.
As we have seen, one of the reasons that Americans today may not know that Washington never fathered children is that there is a long history of portraying Washington as a model father figure-of the nation to be sure, but also of his own household. And any of the negative associations with childlessness-homosexuality, impotence, lack of desirability-have been roundly countered by his memorializers for well over a century.
The desire to create a more approachable Washington has led to a sustained and perhaps increased portrayal of the man as an appealing father and family man. This trend continues today, as demonstrated by biographer Bruce Chadwick and others who emphasize Washington's paternal side by using the terms "stepfather" and "father" interchangeably-and "daughter" and "stepdaughter," in the same manner. In descriptions of certain moments, such as when Martha's daughter Patsy died, the term "father" is used to underscore the bond between them. Thus, Chadwick follows "Patsy died in her father's arms" with "The stoic Washington was too overcome to offer much detail on his daughter's sudden demise." 126 Chadwick is right to characterize the relationship in this manner, but the unintended effect may be to contribute to a long history of compensating for what some might find controversial about Washington's family life.
Figure 1.7. Washington family statues. Greeting visitors to the Mount Vernon Visitor Center is a group of statues that depict George and Martha striding youthfully alongside two young children. Although the youngsters appear to be members of the nuclear family, the legend identifies them as grandchildren. (Statue of Washington and Family. Mount Vernon Visitor Center. Courtesy of the Mount Vernon Ladies' Association.)
Reacting in part to the relatively recent historical inquiry into the lives of ordinary Americans, Washington's image makers have sought to depict him as still relevant for a populace who sees elite, slave-holding men as less and less the central focus of early American history. Thus, the new visitor center at Mount Vernon, in an explicit attempt to "humanize" Washington and connect with contemporary museumgoers, returns to the image of Washington the family man with a set of four statues in the welcome area. The statues that greet visitors are of George and Martha striding youthfully, accompanied by their grandchildren (Figure 1.7). The effect is to recreate an image of the nuclear family. To many visitors, the children could appear to be their own.117 But on the floor, engraved in the stone tile at the foot of each statue, not set off by any color or distinguishing features, is a name and age, and each of the children has "grandson" and "granddaughter" presented for those who would closely inspect.
At the same time, by the end of the twentieth century, many writers have taken it upon themselves to directly address the issue of Washington not having children. And for the first time, most accounts offer readers what they now want-an explanation. This approach has been taken for at least two reasons. First, the move to make Washington more ordinary and accessible, as typified by all biographies today, includes saying more about this aspect of his life. Second, the contemporary issues around childlessness have become much more public today. If marriage was the central aspect of becoming a man in the eighteenth century, having a child has become one of the measures in contemporary society.
Many contemporary biographers draw on the letter that Washington sent to his nephew to assert that he was sterile. For example, "The conclusion that he was sterile is inescapable," Brookhiser confidently declares. "The act of generation... was one he could not perform.""' Given masculine standards of the day that negatively ch
aracterized sexually dysfunctional men as, among other things, withdrawn and weakly, one wonders if Washington were sterile, would he have shared this information with his nephew?
Of course, some writers are more tentative than others but are nonetheless explicit in their speculation. According to the ever-changing popular website Wikipedia, for example, "George and Martha never had any children together-his earlier bout with smallpox followed, possibly, by tuberculosis may have made him sterile.""' Another biographer notes that, given Martha's children from a previous husband, George was "probably... sterile."130
Notably, impotence is virtually never suggested, unless it is being ruled out. Washington's award-winning biographer James Thomas Flexner explains to the readers of popular history magazine American Heritage that the "evidence presents a very strong presumption that Washington was, although not impotent, sterile.""' "There is nothing in his behavior," writes another biographer, "to suggest that he was impotent, or that his sexual nature caused him any deep uneasiness.""' Another portrays Washington as a man who was clearly performing his husbandly duty beyond question and claims that Washington was "mystified why, year after year, he and Martha could produce no Washington heir.""' Most recently, a 2009 biography also does not raise impotence as a possibility, declaring that "reasonable speculation suggests two possibilities.... Martha may have had difficult deliveries... that left her unable to conceive again, or Washington's bout with smallpox... may have left him sterile." This account also seems to suggest that impotence was not at work, as Washington never expressed guilt or self-consciousness. Indeed, the author infers that Martha was the problem in his explanation that George was filled with "forbearance" and "understanding" as he "tried to help Martha deal with her almost uncontrollable maternal anxiety." (This interpretation is based, it seems, on the one brief surviving letter that we have from Martha to George in which she comments on a "rainey and wett" day during which she expressed feeling "sorry" that he would "not be at home as soon as" she had "expected.")134
Sex and the Founding Fathers: The American Quest for a Relatable Past (Sexuality Studies) Page 5
