question and in the executive chair of the commonwealth to the award of
history, I recall one lesson which may be read from his acts, which is,
that he never was, strictly speaking, a party man; that while he held to
his dying day the theory of our federal system which he had adopted in
his youth, and in defence of which he prepared, as has just been said,
in his old age, with his vast stores of learning and experience unrolled
before him, the most elaborate and conclusive exposition which that
system ever received; his course on the restrictive policy and on the
removal of the deposits, irrespective as it was whether he carried along
with him one or a thousand of his associates, shows that on great
questions involving mere expediency he would burst the trammels of
party, and act with his old and inveterate opponents against the darling
measures of his political friends. I have said that he was not, and
could not well be, in a series of years, the unvarying adjunct of any
party. He looked upon a subject through so many lights,--the lights of
the past, the lights of the present, the lights of the future; he saw
such a tissue of good and evil so inextricably intermingled in human
projects; he saw so much that was questionable in the best party
measures; so much that was not bad in what seemed the worst; and so much
that could be accomplished by doing nothing, that, though he was prompt
above most men in decision, and to the last degree practical, his
enthusiasm was cooled by philosophy, and he was never very much exalted
or depressed by the success or failure of political schemes.
While Mr. Tazewell was engaged in his senatorial career, he was elected
by the Norfolk district a member of the Convention which assembled in
Richmond on the fifth day of October, 1829, to revise the first
Constitution of Virginia. The character of that body is familiar to all;
some of the most illustrious names recorded in our annals were inscribed
upon its rolls,--Madison, Marshall, Monroe, Watkins Leigh, Charles
Fenton Mercer, Chapman Johnson, Philip Doddridge, Robert Stanard, Philip
P. Barbour, Morris, Fitzhugh, Baldwin, Scott, Cooke--that wonderful man
whose train was always tracked by fire, John Randolph, and a host of
younger statesmen who have since risen to eminence, and who, like their
elder colleagues, have, I am grieved to think, nearly all passed away,
were among the members, and were engaged day after day, for three months
and a half, in performing the office which their country had committed
to their hands. The most distinguished men of the Union,--statesmen
whose own names were historical, men of letters, merchants who
remembered that the wealth of the counting-room and the wealth of
statesmanship were indissolubly bound together, old planters, clever
young men from Virginia and from nearly all the southern States, came to
behold its meeting, to see its members, and to hear the debates; and, as
if to invest the scene with a yet lovelier hue, beauty, brightened by
intelligence and glowing with patriotism, shed its softened light over
that imposing spectacle. In that body, in which an ex-president of the
United States presided, in which another ex-president was at the head of
a committee, in which the chief justice of the United States was at the
head of another committee, in which there was no place of honor for
judges, governors, ministers to foreign courts, speakers of the House of
Representatives, and senators of the United States, above their
fellow-members, the eye of the visitor soon singled out Mr. Tazewell. He
was the grandest figure of a man among them all. His fame was then at
the height, and his large stature, his full stern features, lighted by a
wide grave blue eye, his solemn gait, all inspiring awe as he leaned in
his seat or passed through the hall--were in fair keeping with that
intellectual image of him which had previously existed in the mind of
the beholder.
To trace with any minuteness the course of Mr. Tazewell through more
than three of the most anxious months of his life would far exceed my
present limits, and as I have already treated this topic in a separate
work, and have been required to treat it again, I shall simply say here,
that Mr. Tazewell made the opening speech in support of a resolution
which he offered, and which marked out the course of the campaign which
he believed to be best adapted to attain the general end in view. Had
that resolution been adopted, I now believe, as I believed then, that a
constitution would have been formed which would have lasted for half a
century, and that Tazewell, as a skilful and fearless mediator between
the East and West, would have performed the office with glorious
success. But the passions of men raged high; extremes were the order of
the day, and each party stood pledged to its favorite scheme. His first
regular effort on the floor of the Convention was in reply to Mr.
Monroe, and gave him the opportunity of expounding his theory of
interests as the basis of a political system--a system as beautiful as
true. His speech presented a fair specimen of what the discussions on
the basis question ought to have been--not of the elaborate dissertation
which lasted two days, but of the vigorous living speech, which, while
it reviewed critically intermediate points in passing, kept the main
subject steadily in view, and of which the House of Commons has afforded
us so many illustrations. When the house rose, a gentleman, who was
perhaps the most accomplished scholar in the State, said to me that the
speech of Tazewell was the first truly parliamentary speech delivered
during the session, and drew the distinction between a legitimate debate
and a discussion by dissertations. I recall a happy effort of Mr.
Tazewell on the subject of the election of governor by the people, which
was possessed of singular beauty and order. The effect of that speech
was the settlement of the question.
But the occasion which impressed his hearers most deeply with a sense of
his abilities, was a discussion on the tenure of the judicial office, in
which Chief Justice Marshall, Philip P. Barbour, Stanard, Scott, Giles,
and others took part. Each speaker was conscious of the powers of his
opponent; posterity, in the presence of the skilful reporter, as well as
the existing generation represented by some of the ablest men, were the
spectators of the combat; and a visible air of solemnity pervaded the
manner of each. The question was precisely that which sprung from the
repeal of the judiciary act of 1800 by the Congress of 1802, and is the
nicest of all our party questions. It was a magnificent display of
parliamentary tact and intellectual vigor; and I do not think that an
hour of my life ever glided so insensibly away as while I listened to
that debate. Blows fell fast and heavy. I saw Judge Barbour, who, though
president of the Convention, as the house was in committee, engaged in
the debate, fairly reel in his seat from one of Judge Marshall's massy
blows, which he returned presently with right good will; but Tazewell,
if I may use a figure which presented the pith of the argument of one
side, and which was frequently used by both,--Tazewell fairly "_sunk the
boat_" under the Chief Justice. The views of Tazewell prevailed; and in
such a contest, in which all were kingly, and in which the combatants
were _magis pares quam similes_--rather equals than alike--if the
victor's wreath could with propriety be awarded to a single individual,
I do not think I err in saying that it would have been assigned by a
majority of the hearers to Tazewell. As an illustration of the effect of
his manner and argument on the minds of able men who were opposed to him
in State politics, which then raged fiercely, a gentleman from the West,
who held for several years a seat in the House of Delegates and in the
Council, speaking of the debate to me on the day it occurred, said:
"Why, Tazewell trod down those great men as if they had been children."
When the Convention adjourned _sine die_, every heart melted, and all
animosity soothed by the last words of the president, I saw Tazewell
approach Madison and Marshall, and exchange parting salutations. He
could go no further; the members pressed round him: but, old as he then
was, for he had reached his 56th year, he little dreamed that he was
destined to outlive almost all of those young and gallant spirits that
then loved and greeted him. He was the last survivor of those who sate
in the House of Delegates during the eighteenth century; and of the
Convention of 1829, out of 96 members who composed it, he attained to a
greater age than has yet been attained by any member of the body, not
excepting Madison, whom he exceeded by one month and five days, and
surviving all but twenty; and three of that twenty have come here this
day to honor his memory.[10]
Perhaps the best description of his manner at the bar would be to say
that he had no manner at all. In addressing juries, he talked to them, I
am told, ordinarily as he would converse with the same number of men in
society on the merits of the case; and his gestures were those which
might be used without serious remark in animated conversation. His
postures were sometimes negligent enough; he had a contempt for rant,
and hated show and pomp. His voice was pleasant, and of ample compass
for an ordinary court-room, and he never dealt in vociferations; indeed,
his style of argument to the jury, as well as to the bench, would have
been impossible to a boisterous talker. While his manner was natural,
his matter seemed equally void of art. When by the examination and
cross-examination of witnesses, he had obtained his facts, he formed his
theory of the case, and unfolded it to the jury in the simplest possible
way. It was plain to see, however, that the argument was a continuous
chain of demonstration, every link of which seemed to be of equal
strength. Some of his speeches to the jury, could they have been
preserved as they were delivered, would have been invaluable specimens
of dialectics for the use of students. I heard the late William Maxwell
say, that it was vain and even fatal to attempt before a jury to find
the defective links in the chain of Mr. Tazewell's arguments, for the
process would become too refined for their comprehension; and that his
own mode of argument in such cases was to let the reasoning of Tazewell
pass, and press with all his force some plain views of the case. Some
lawyers are successful in the elenchical mode of argument--to use a
logical term--that is, in demolishing the structure of their opponents,
while they fail in the deictic, that is, in raising on its ruins an
impregnable fabric of their own; but it was difficult to decide which
process was the most thorough in the reasoning of Tazewell. In putting
his arguments before a jury he showed great adroitness. He either knew
himself or learned from others the calling of every juryman; and as he
proceeded with his case, if he saw a dangerous man among them, he drew
his figures from his particular calling, and not unfrequently made the
man believe that his standing in his own business depended upon his
bringing in a verdict in his favor. When the passions were to be
assailed, he indulged in a style of fervid appeal which was the more
effective as it was rare; and his speech in Shannon's case was often
referred to by Wirt as a fine piece of eloquence in the popular
acceptation of the word.
His mode of addressing the bench differed, of course, from his jury
speeches. He was less familiar in his manner and in his talk, and his
argumentation was more severe; and he was evidently more at home, or
rather more congenially employed; and he brought as much learning to
bear upon the case as was politic for the time. Here, too, he showed no
great deference to manner as a means of victory. When Gen. Taylor was
addressing the late judge St. George Tucker, who was deaf, the judge
requested him to come nearer and speak louder; but the General,
observing that a certain space between the judge and himself was
indispensable for the proper exercise of his faculties, declined the
request; Tazewell, however, who replied to Taylor, had no scruples in
the case, but, approaching the judge's ear, poured the stream of his
argument into its inner portal. It sometimes appeared that in addressing
inferior courts he went too much into detail, instead of resting his
case on its great points; but it is probable that Mr. Tazewell had taken
the true gauge of the judge's mind, and was right after all; and it is
certain that in important cases, in which appeals would probably be
taken, he reserved his strong points for the higher tribunal.
Those who heard even his latest speeches at the bar have almost all
passed away. It was thirty-four years ago that I heard him for the first
time in public. At a meeting of the citizens of Norfolk, held in the
Town Hall, to give expression to their feelings on the occasion of the
death of Jefferson, which occurred on the Fourth of July, 1826, he was
called to the chair, and, before taking it, addressed the large assembly
for twenty-five or thirty minutes, on the character of the great man
whose death they had met to commemorate. He was at that time a senator
of the United States, and in the height of his fame; and to hear him
speak was then a great novelty, which attracted hundreds to the hall.
Though then a youth of nineteen, I can recall his manner and the outline
of his speech. He seemed to speak as a man of fine personal appearance
accustomed to public speaking and of a good address, who was deeply
impressed by the solemnity of his theme, might be expected to speak. His
voice was a volume of sweet, full, natural sound, unmarked by any
artistic training or modulation, and such as would flow from a well-bred
man in animated recitation; and his gestures were those which rose
spontaneously and unconsciously with the thought, and were wholly
unstudied; thus presenting an obvious contrast to the manner and action
of his friend Randolph, whose every attitude, the slightest motion of
whose finger, the faintest intonation of whose voice, whose every smile
and frown, natural as they seemed, were the deliberate reflection of the
closet.
Three years later, in the Virginia Convention of 1829, I heard all that
he uttered in committee and in the body; and his manner was such as I
have just described it to be. Although he had full command of the whole
armory of parliamentary warfare, he had none of that violent
gesticulation or loud intonation which fashion or taste has lately
introduced among us, but which would not be tolerated a moment in the
British House of Commons. His first speech, which was in support of his
own resolution proposing a method of procedure in the discussion of the
Constitution, though fine and effective, was delivered under somewhat
unfavorable circumstances. He stood some distance from the Chair and on
a line with it, so that he was compelled to face the audience instead of
the Speaker, and to pitch his voice to a key that could be heard
throughout the length of the hall and the crowded galleries, and an
occasional hoarseness, the result of overstraining, was apparent during
his speech. He mentioned this circumstance to me as we left the hall, as
the first intimation he had of having lost that control of his voice
which had hitherto been equal to every occasion. But when he followed
Mr. Monroe, he happened to be in a better position on the floor; and his
voice retained its usual fulness, and was pleasing to the ear. And
afterwards in the Baptist church, to which the Convention adjourned, in
his speech on the election of Governor, his voice was fresh and musical;
and in the grand debate on the judiciary tenure, when the debaters were
near each other and the Chair, he spoke with full command of his voice,
and with great animation. In fine, his manner, including the management
of his voice and gesture, approached nearer the English model of
debating than that which has been gradually gaining ground in this
country, and was most appropriate to his style of thought and
discussion.
Tazewell, with all his intercourse with the world, with all his habits
of speaking, and with all his marvellous endowments, was a remarkably
modest man. His modesty may unfold a clew to the explanation of his
whole career. He said himself that he never rose to make a speech
without serious trepidation. In the cochineal case, it was obvious to
the court and to the spectators. I have seen him, when he had been
speaking ten minutes, not fully assured. It was only when personal
danger, as in a memorable criminal case, in which even brave men were
for a time appalled, was present, that his trepidation disappeared, and
he became fearless and defiant.
Nor was the modesty of Tazewell confined to the bar. It pervaded his
whole life; and when his fame was coëxtensive with the Union, and when
his presence inspired awe in companies of able men, a close observer
could detect in his tones or in his manner that he was not wholly at
ease. It was only when the ice of a gathering party was fairly broken,
that he was thoroughly self-possessed. Like Judge Marshall, he had a
profound sense of respect for the female sex; and his attentions to
women were rendered with a delicacy and a gallantry that were enhanced
by the reflection that such a man was not wholly at ease in approaching
them. And nobly did woman repay his courtesy and his affection. As I
dwell upon this aspect of his life, the image of her who was the bride
of his youth, the partaker of his splendid fame, and the delight of his
declining years, rises before me. I behold her as she moved in that
happy household, bestowing not a thought upon herself, but intent on
making others happy. I see her as she enters the room in which her
husband is discoursing on learned topics to those who are grouped around
him, and I see him pause as that "ocean-eye" rests benignantly and
affectionately upon her. I shall never forget the moment when
thirty-five years ago I saw her in her own house for the first time; how
cordially she pressed my hand; how kindly she talked to an orphan boy of
a father he had never known; and how soon she put an awkward youth of
seventeen at his ease. The characteristic grace of that admirable woman
was her love of domestic life. With her the throne of human felicity was
the family altar. Life with her, as it ever was with those elder
Virginia matrons whom she resembled, was too serious a business for pomp
and show. Had she been inspired with a passion for display, had she
coveted the fleeting honors of a residence at a foreign court, or in the
metropolis of our own country, a single word from her lips would have
obtained all she wished. But her heart, like a true Virginia mother as
she was, was in the midst of her family; and though she properly
appreciated the talents of her husband, and was willing that they should
be exerted in the public service, she knew him well, and believed that
he would be happier in his own home than when he was beset with public
cares, or galled by those tortures with which ambition wrings its
victims. And when her last day had come, and the union of more than half
a century had been dissolved, and her husband had seen her beloved
remains put away in that solitary tomb by the sea, the charm of life was
lost to him; and he calmly awaited the hour when he should be laid by
her side. Nor did the generous care of woman cease with her death. When
his hour was come, and he was placed beside her, his daughters, who had
tended him for years with unceasing devotion, were borne in almost a
dying state from his tomb.
He was keenly alive to the pleasures of friendship; and he maintained
his affection for his early schoolmates unbroken to the last. His
reverence for Mr. Wythe passed all words. Randolph loved him through
life; and Tazewell reciprocated his affection with equal warmth. The
tide of his affection for John Wickham from his childhood flowed full
and strong. The relations which existed between them could be seen in
the letter I read some time ago, and were earnest, tender, and
affectionate. The affection which Tazewell cherished for Wickham,
kindled, as we have seen, over the spelling-book and the Latin grammar,
and showing itself in tears in his sixty-fifth year, grew with his
growth, and was enhanced by that elevated sense of appreciation with
which each regarded the other. It was pleasing to see them together when
the descending shadows of age were upon them, and when each had
performed those deeds which are now deemed the greatest of their lives.
It would be hard to say whether they stood to each other in the relation
of father and son, of brothers, or of equals. Wickham was eleven years
older than Tazewell, and had taught him to read. It was evident Mr.
Tazewell regarded Mr. Wickham with the greatest deference. It was,
however, something more than the deference with which one eminent man
advanced in life would show to another eminent man still more advanced;
it was the deference of the warmest friendship to an individual who not
only reciprocated the feelings of affection, but who possessed all the
moral and intellectual qualities that can adorn human nature. He
considered Mr. Wickham not only the most accomplished lawyer this
country ever produced, but the wisest man he ever knew. I have heard him
say that the speech of Mr. Wickham on the doctrine of treason in Burr's
trial would have been pronounced new and able in Westminster Hall; and
that it was the greatest forensic effort of the American bar. Tazewell's
abiding affection for Wickham was such, that he drew upon it in favor
even of his young friends. When, at one-and-twenty, I took my seat in
the House of Delegates, and, not dreaming of mixing in society, was
preparing for a course of study during the long winter nights, one of
the first calls I received was from Mr. Wickham. With me his name had
passed into history. His great speech, which I had read and studied as I
had read and studied the speeches of Chatham and of Burke, was made in
the year I was born. But I soon found that he was a living and breathing
man. His gentle kindness, his incomparable address, his charming talk,
and his cordial hospitality pressed upon me, assured me that his heart
still glowed with its ancient kindness: and when I recall the hours
which I spent at his elegant home; when I recollect the names of
Marshall, Leigh, Johnson, Stanard, Harvie, and others whom I have seen
at his hospitable board; when I recall that living galaxy of beauty
which flashed in his thronged halls, and of which the sweetest and the
brightest were his own household stars,--now, alas! extinct and gone;
and his own noble presence and demeanor, which drew from the spoiled and
fastidious poet Moore the expression of his admiration and applause, it
is with feelings of deep and tender regard, and of grateful veneration,
that I offer this tribute to his memory.
The question has often been asked whether Mr. Tazewell was fond of
literature and had the elements of a literary man. His early
opportunities were not favorable for acquiring a profound knowledge of
classical learning. In his day Latin and Greek, the foundation of all
true taste in letters, were not taught in William and Mary at all,
except in the grammar school. That Tazewell knew enough of Latin to
translate easily a Latin author, and even to write the language
grammatically, is certain; but that he never rose to that excellence in
those tongues to which his old tutor Mr. Wythe attained is equally
certain. But of English literature he had drunk deeply. He had Bacon,
Locke, Burke, Pope, Shakspeare, Swift, Hume, Gibbon, Johnson, Gillies,
Addison, and Roscoe, within three feet of his elbow for the last forty
years of his life. In English political history, such as might be
gathered from the ordinary historians, and from such books as Baker's
Chronicle and Rushworth, he was profoundly skilled. The history of the
law from the days of Magna Charta to the passage of the reform bill of
Earl Grey's administration, was the study of his whole professional and
public life. He not only knew every leading event, every great statute,
but he had the minutest details at command, and was always pleased to
descant upon a British statute, or on an epoch of British legislation.
The excellent volumes of Lord Chancellor Campbell have made a knowledge
of the history of the law an easy accomplishment; but Tazewell never
read them, and drew his information from the original sources. In the
history of Virginia he was, without exception, the greatest proficient
of his time. Whatever was told by Smith, Beverly, Keith, Stith, and Burk
with his continuators, or by Hening in the statutes at large, or in the
journals of the House of Burgesses and of the House of Delegates, or
could be gathered from the living voice for eighty years, he knew
intimately and could recall at a moment's notice. In respect of the
political history of the United States from the adoption of the federal
constitution to the day of his death, his knowledge was accurate, ready,
and profound. Indeed, if we except the first five years of the federal
constitution, it may be said that his actions were a part of that
history. He had discussed, in the House of Delegates, the leading
measures of the Washington and Adams administrations, and sixty years
ago he sate at a stormy period in the House of Representatives of the
United States.