In the possession of a well-known man of Richmond, Va., is a large gold
key.
It is vastly different from the keys one sees these days, and inquiry
develops that it was once the property of one of the most picturesque
characters in America--a man who began his life in the cornfields of
Hanover County, Va., in 1753, and was swept by the wave of circumstance
into the palace of a King.
The atmosphere of old William and Mary College, where Lewis Littlepage was
graduated, after the death of his father, gave a mysteriously romantic
note to the beckoning song of adventure, which finally became a definite
urge, when the youth, after residing in Fredericksburg, listened to the
advice of his guardian, Benjamin Lewis, of Spotsylvania County, who placed
him with John Jay, the American Minister at Madrid.
Six months later, Jay, in a letter to Benjamin Lewis, said of the
seventeen-year-old lad:
"I am much pleased with your nephew, Lewis Littlepage, whom I regard as a
man of undoubted genius, and a person of unusual culture."
And a few months after this we discover that the well-known traveler, Mr.
Elekiah Watson, has an entry in his diary which reads:
"At Nantes I became acquainted with Lewis Littlepage, and although he is
but eighteen years of age, I believe him to be the most remarkable
character of the age. I esteem him a prodigy of genius."
[Sidenote: _The Poet Takes The Sword_]
In Madrid, Littlepage got into financial straits, owing to the fact that
his allowance did not reach him, and the next glimpse we get of him is
through the smoke of battle at Fort Mahon, where in 1781, as a member of
the force under the Duke de Crillion, he was painfully wounded while
charging the Turks.
In 1872, en route to Madrid to join Mr. Jay, he heard that de Crillion was
preparing to storm Gibraltar, and, believing himself in honor bound to
follow the fortunes of his chief, he wrote Mr. Jay that he must turn again
to arms.
From that day forward he was a soldier, a diplomat, a courtier--the
elected friend of Kings and Princes.
He aided in storming Gibraltar and left his ship only when it had burned
to the water's edge. He was highly recommended to the King for his
gallantry, and went back to Paris with de Crillion to become a brilliant
figure at court and in the salons.
Europe knew him, but America refused him even a small commission, though
Kings wrote to our Congress in his behalf.
He met Lafayette at Gibraltar; in fact, accompanied him to Spain. Then,
after considerable travel in European countries, he again encountered
Prince Nassau, who was his brother at arms in de Crillion's forces, became
his aide-de-camp and, together they found happiness in travel. They
sought the bright lights of gay capitals and followed mysterious moon
tracks on the Danube river.
[Sidenote: _When Poland's Star Flamed_]
At the Diet of Grodno, in 1784, where he went with Nassau, he met
Stanislaus Augustus, King of Poland. He captivated the King; and in a
brilliant ball room, Stanislaus offered him a permanent service at his
court.
Within a year he was chamberlain and secretary to the cabinet of His
Majesty, and for years he was practically the ruler of the empire.
In 1787, at Kiva, he made a treaty with Catherine, Empress of Russia, and
became her intimate friend.
He was a special and secret envoy from Poland to the sessions of the grand
quadruple alliance in France. Later we see him leading a division of the
army of Prince Potempkin across the snow-clad steppes of Russia, and a few
months after, he was marching at the head of the Prince's army through the
wild reaches of Tartary. Again, under Prince Nassau, we find him
commanding a fleet against the Turks at Oczacon.
Shortly after, he was a special high commissioner to Madrid. His mission
completed, he was ordered to return to Russia for the revolution of 1791,
and now he served as aide-de-camp and Major-General.
In 1794, when the Polish patriot, Kosciusco, headed a revolution,
Littlepage answered his summons and fought through to the storming of
Prague.
Stanislaus held him the greatest of his generals and his aides and when
the King was captured by the Russians, Littlepage, tired of the broils of
European politics, came home to America.
[Sidenote: _Ah, But he Had His Memories_]
When Littlepage was first in Poland, the place was gay and
laughter-loving. An atmosphere of high culture and literary achievements
made a satisfactory entourage for the ill-fated people. He lived happily
there and loved a princess of North Poland. There were starlight meetings
and woodland strolls, vows of faith and the pain of renunciation, when
for diplomatic reasons she was forced to endure another alliance.
Littlepage's reputation and splendid appearance; her beauty and the love
they bore each other and, finally, her death, made a background of red
romance, against which he is silhouetted in one's memory.
That Lewis Littlepage was a poet of no mean ability was a fact too well
known to be disputed. The last verse of a poem written by him and inspired
by the death of the woman he loved reads:
"Over there, where you bide--past the sunset's gold glory,
With eyes that are shining, and red lips apart,
Are you waiting to tell me the wonderful story,
That death cannot part us--White Rose of my Heart."
It is said that Littlepage had more honors and decorations showered upon
him than any other American in history.
Go to the old Masonic cemetery in Fredericksburg, and in a far corner,
where the wild vines and the hardy grass struggle for mastery, you may see
a legend inscribed upon a large flat stone: This is the tomb of Lewis
Littlepage. For the multitude, it is simply an unpleasant finale to the
life of a well known man.
To the imaginative, it starts a train of thought--a play of fancy. One
sees the rise of the star of Poland. Gay youths and maids pass and repass
to the sound of music and laughter. The clank of a sword sounds above the
measured foot fall on a polished floor. A soldier passes in all the
bravery of uniform. It is General Littlepage silently going to an audience
with the King. The massive doors open without a challenge, for as a
passport to the palace, on the uniform of this soldier glitters a large
gold key--the gift of Stanislaus.
Suddenly the scene changes. Amid the surging hosts and in the thick of the
bloody clash at Prague, when the anguish of uncertainty was crumbling the
courage of a kingdom, a man is seen, riding with reckless abandon. Tearing
through the lines and holding aloft the tattered standard of Poland,
comes Littlepage of Virginia. With the rallying cry of his adopted land,
he gathers up his troops and gloriously defends the flag he loves. Our
eyes again stray to the legend on the tomb: Disillusionment!
His return to his old home! His death! We see this also, but with this is
the knowledge that he lived greatly, and in his ears, while dying, sounded
again, the shout of victory, while his heart held the dream of the old
romance.