ANOTHER SIGNATURE.--THE STORY OF AUVERGNE SANS TACHE.
SOME years ago I stood on the battlements of Metz, once a French but now
a German town. Below the town, with its grand esplanade, on which is a
heroic statue of Marshal Ney, rolls the narrow Moselle, and around it
are the remains of fortifications that are old in legend, song, and
story.
It was here, near one of these old halls, that a young Frenchman saw, as
it were, a vision, and the impression of that hour was never lost, but
became a turning point in American history.
There had come a report to the English court that Washington had been
driven across the Jerseys, and that the American cause was lost.
There was given at this time a military banquet at Metz. The Duke of
Gloucester, brother of George III, was present, and among the French
officers there was a marquis, lately married, who was a favorite of the
French court. He had been brought up in one of the heroic provinces of
Auvergne, and he had been associated with the heroes of Gatinais, whose
motto was _Auvergne sans tache_. The Auvergnese were a pastoral people,
distinguished for their courage and honor. In this mountainous district
was the native place of many eminent men, among them Polignac.
The young French marquis who was conspicuous at the banquet on this
occasion was named Lafayette.
The Duke of Gloucester was in high spirits over his cups on this festal
night.
"Our arms are triumphant in America!" he exclaimed. "Washington is
retreating across the Jerseys."
A shout went up with glittering wine-cups: "So ever flee the enemies of
George III!"
"Washington!" The name rang in the young French officer's ears. He had
in his veins the blood of the mountaineers, and he loved liberty and the
spirit of the motto _Auvergne sans tache_.
He may never have heard the name of Washington before, or, if he had,
only as of an officer who had given Braddock unwelcome advice. But he
knew the American cause to be that of liberty, and Washington to be the
leader of that cause.
And Washington "was retreating across the Jerseys." Where were the
Jerseys? He may never have heard of the country before.
He went out into the air under the moon and stars. There came to him a
vision of liberty and a sense of his duty to the cause. The face of
America, as it were, appeared to him. "When first I saw the face of
America, I loved her," he said many years afterward to the American
Congress.
Washington was driven back in the cause of liberty. Lafayette resolved
to cross the seas and to offer Washington his sword. He felt that
liberty called him--liberty for America, which might mean liberty for
France and for all mankind.
About this time Benjamin Franklin began to receive letters from this
young officer, filled with the fiery spirit of the mountaineers. The
officer desired a commission to go to America and enter the army. But it
was a time of disaster, and faith in the American cause was very low.
The marquis resolved to go to America at his own expense.
He sailed for that country in May, 1777. He landed off the coast of the
Carolinas in June, and made his memorable ride across the country to
Philadelphia in that month. Baron de Kalb accompanied him.
On landing on the shores of the Carolinas, he and Baron de Kalb knelt
down on the sand, at night under the stars, and in the name of God
dedicated their swords to liberty.
The departure of these two officers for America filled all France with
delight. Lafayette had seen that it would be so; that his going would
awaken an enthusiasm in the circles of the court and among the people
favorable to America; that it would aid the American envoys in their
mission. It was the mountain grenadiers that made the final charges at
the siege of Yorktown under the inspiring motto of _Auvergne sans tache_
(Auvergne without a stain).
Franklin now dwelt at beautiful Passy on the hill, and his residence
there was more like a princely court than the house of an ambassador. He
gave his heart and life and influence to seeking an alliance between
France and the States. The court was favorable to the alliance, but the
times and the constitution of the kingdom made the king slow, cautious,
and diplomatic.
The American cause wavered. The triumphs of Lord Howe filled England
with rejoicing and Passy with alarm.
In the midst of the depression at Passy there came a messenger from
Massachusetts who brought to Franklin the news of Burgoyne's surrender.
When Dr. Franklin was told that this messenger was in the courtyard of
Passy, he rushed out to meet him.
"Sir, is Philadelphia taken?"
"Yes, sir."
Franklin clasped his hands.
"But, sir, I have other news. Burgoyne and his army are prisoners of
war!"
Great was the rejoicing at Passy and in Paris. The way to an alliance
appeared now to open to the envoys.
"O Mr. Austin," Dr. Franklin used to say to the young messenger from
Massachusetts, "you brought us glorious news!"
The tidings was followed by other news in Passy. December 17, 1777, was
a great and joyful day there. A minister came to the envoys there to
announce that the French Government was ready to conclude an agreement
with the United States, and to make a formal treaty of alliance to help
them in the cause of independence.
The cause was won, but the treaty was yet delayed. There were articles
in it that led to long debates.
But in these promising days Franklin was a happy man. He dressed simply,
and he lived humbly for an envoy, though his living cost him some
thirteen thousand dollars a year. He did not conform to French fashions,
nor did the French expect them from a philosopher. He did not even wear
a wig, which most men wore upon state occasions. Instead of a wig he
wore a fur cap, and one of his portraits so represents him.
While the negotiations were going on, a large cake was sent one day to
the apartment where the envoys were assembled. It bore the inscription
_Le digne Franklin_ (the worthy Franklin). On reading the inscription,
Mr. Silas Deane, one of the ambassadors, said, "As usual, Franklin, we
have to thank you for our share in gifts like these."
"Not at all," said Franklin. "This cake is designed for all three of us.
Don't you see?--Le (Lee) Digne (Deane) Franklin."
He could afford to be generous and in good humor.
February 6, 1778, was one of the most glorious of all in Franklin's
life. That day the treaties were completed and put upon the tables to
sign. The boy of the old Boston writing school did honor to his
schoolmaster again. He put his name now after the conditions of the
alliance between France and the United States of America.
The treaty was celebrated in great pomp at the court.
The event was to be publicly announced on March 20, 1778. On that day
the envoys were to be presented to the king amid feasts and rejoicings.
Would Franklin wear a wig on that great occasion? His locks were gray
and thin, for he was seventy-two years old, and his fur cap would not be
becoming amid the splendors of Versailles.
He ordered one. The hairdresser came with it. He could not fit it upon
the philosopher's great head.
"It is too small," said Franklin. "Monsieur, it is impossible."
"No, monsieur," said the perruquier, "it is not that the wig is too
small; it is that your head is too large!"
What did Franklin need of a wig? He dressed for the occasion in a plain
suit of black velvet, with snowy ruffles and silver buckles. When the
chamberlain saw him coming, he hesitated to admit him. Admit a man to
the royal presence in his own head alone? But he allowed the philosopher
to go on in his velvet, ruffles, and silver buckles, and his independent
appearance filled the court with delight.
There was another paper that he must now have begun to see in his clear
visions. The treaty of alliance would lead to the triumph of the
American cause. That end must be followed by a treaty of peace between
Great Britain and the United States. Would he sign that treaty some day
and again honor the old Boston schoolmaster? We shall see.
But how did young Lafayette meet his duties in the dark days of
America--he whose motto was "Auvergne without a stain?"
The day of his test came again at a banquet. It was at York. Let us
picture this pivotal scene of his life and of American history.
After the triumphs of Gates at Saratoga, Washington became unpopular,
and Congress appointed a Board of War, whose object it became to place
Lafayette at the head of the Northern army, and thus give him a chance
to supersede his chief.
The young Frenchman was loyal to Washington, and the motto _Auvergne
sans tache_ governed his life.
Let us suppose him to meet his trusty old friend Baron de Kalb, the
German temperance general, at this critical hour.
"Baron de Kalb, we stood together side by side at Metz, and we knelt
down together that midsummer night when we first landed on Carolina's
sands, and then we rode together across the provinces. These are events
that I shall ever love to recall. To-night we stand together again in
brotherhood of soul. Baron, the times are dark and grow more perilous,
and it may be I now confide in thee for the last time."
"Yes, Lafayette," answered De Kalb, "I myself feel 'tis so. You may live
and rise, but I may fall. But wherever I may go I shall draw this sword
that I consecrated with thine to liberty. It may be ours to meet by
chance again, but, Lafayette, we shall never be as we are now. Thou well
hast said the hour is dark. Open thy soul, then, Lafayette, to me."
"Baron, it burns my brain and shrinks my heart to say that the hour is
dark not only for the cause but for our chief, for Washington. In halls
of state, in popular applause, the rising star is Gates. Factions arise,
cabals combine, and this new Board of War has sent for me. In some
provincial room that flattery decorates they are to make for me a feast.
What means the feast? 'Tis this: to offer me the Northern field. And
why? To separate my sword from Washington. 'If thy right hand offend
thee, cut it off!' I'm loyal to the cause, and must obey this new-made
Board of War; but on that night, if so it be that I have the
opportunity, I shall arise, and, against all flatteries, take my stand.
I then and there will proclaim in clear-cut words my loyalty to
Washington. He is the cause; in him it stands or falls; to gain a world
for self, my heart could never be untrue to him. Day after day, month
after month, year after year, he leads the imperiled way, yet holds his
faith in God and man. The hireling Hessians roll their drums through
ports and towns; the wily Indian joins the invader; his army is
famine-smitten and thinned with fever, and drill in rags, while Congress
meets in secret halls but to impede his plans and criticise; and while
he holds the scales and looks toward the end, and makes retreat best
serve the cause, what rivals rise! See brilliant Gates appear! Does he
not know this rivalry and hear the plaudits that surround the name of
Saratoga? I've shared my thoughts with Washington, young as I am, and he
has honored me with his esteem. I have heard him say: 'O Lafayette, I
stand alone in all the world! I dream no dreams of high ambition. I love
the farm more than the field--my country home more than the halls of
state I serve. In a cause like this I hold that it is not unsubstantial
victories but generalship that wins.'
"One day he spoke like this: 'Marquis, I stood one winter night upon a
rocking boat and crossed the Delaware. It was a bitter night; no stars
were in the sky; the lanterns' rays scarce fell upon the waters; the
oars rose and fell, though they were frozen, for they were plied by
strong and grizzly fishermen; the snow fell pitiless, with hail and
sleet and rain. The night was wind, and darkness was the air. The army
followed me, where I could not see. Our lips were silent. These stout
and giant men, from Cape Ann and from wintry wharfages of Marblehead,
knew their duty well, and safe we crossed the tide.' In that lone boat,
amid the freezing sleet and darkness deep, the new flag of the nation's
hope marched in darkness.
"Baron de Kalb, there is a spirit whose pinions float upon the wings of
time. She comes to me in dreams and visions in such hours as these. I
saw her on the fortress walls of Metz; I knew her meaning and her
mission saw. Where liberty is, there is my country, and all I am I again
offer to her cause. Hear me this hour; the presence of that spirit falls
on me now as at Metz. I go to the feast that is waiting for me; there my
soul must be true and speak the truth, and for the truth there is no
judgment day. At Metz I left myself for liberty; at York I shall be as
true to honor. I hold unsullied fame to be more than titles--_Auvergne
sans tache_. My resolution makes my vision clear. Baron de Kalb, mark
you my words in this prophetic hour: the character of Washington will
free one day the world, and lead the Aryan race and liberty and peace.
It is not his genius--minds as great have been; it is not his
heart--there have been hearts as large; it is not his sword, for swords
have been as brave, but it is himself that makes sure the cause. He
shall win liberty, and give to men their birthright and to toil a field
of hope; to industry the wealth that it creates, and to the toiler his
dues. So liberty to brotherhood shall lead, and brotherhood to peace,
and brotherhood and peace shall bring to unity all human families, and
men shall live no more in petty strife for gain, but for the souls of
men. The destinies then, as in Virgil's eye, shall spin life's web, and
to their spindles say, 'Thus go forever and forever on!' He is the
leader appointed by Heaven for sublime events. I am sent to him as a
knight of God. I go to York. I was true at Metz to liberty, and in the
council hall I shall be true, whatever is offered me, to Washington, our
Washington beloved! to the world's great commoner! Farewell."
The feast for Lafayette was spread at York in a blazing hall; red wine
filled the crystal cups. Silken banners waved and disclosed the magic
name of "Lafayette." The Board of War was there, proud Gates, and the
men of state. The _Fleur de lis_ was there and blew across the national
banners. Lafayette came. A shout arose as he appeared. The Board of War
was merry, and the wine was spilled and toasts were drunk to all the
heroes of the war except Washington. The name of Lafayette was hailed
with adulation; then all was still. The grand commissioner had waved his
hand. He bowed, and gave to Lafayette a sealed paper; he raised his cup,
and rose and bowed, and said, "Now drink ye all to him, our honored
guest, commander of the Army of the North." The oak room rang with
cheers; the glasses clinked and gleamed.
The board and guests sat down. There, tall and grand above the council,
towered the form of Lafayette. He stood there silent, then raised a
crystal cup, and said: "I thank you, friends, and I would that I were
worthier of your applause. You have honored many worthy names, but there
is one name that you have omitted in your many toasts, and that one name
to me stands above all the other heroes of the world! _I_ drink to him!"
He lifted high the cup, and said, "I pledge my honor, my sword, and all
I am to Washington!"
He stood in silence; no other cup with his was raised. He left the
hall, and walked that night the square of York beneath the moon and
stars as he had done at Metz.
He poured forth his soul, thinking again the thoughts of Metz, and
making again the high resolves that he had made on Carolina's sands with
Baron de Kalb:
"O Liberty! the star of hope that lights each noble cause, uniting in
one will the hearts of men, and massing in one force the wills of men.
The stars obey the sun; the earth, the stars; the nations, those who
rise o'er vain ambitions and become the cause. Thou gavest Rome the
earth and Greece the sea; thou sweepest down the Alps, and made the
marbles bloom like roses, for thy heroes' monuments! I hear thy voice,
and I obey, as all the true have bowed who more than self have loved
mankind!"
The coming of Franklin to Passy and the going of Lafayette from Metz
were among the great influences of the age of liberty. Count Rochambeau
followed Lafayette after the alliance, and brought over with him among
his regiments the grenadiers of Auvergne--_Auvergne sans tache_, which
motto they honored at Yorktown.
Jenny's heart beat with joy as she heard of the coming of Lafayette. In
these years of the great struggle for human liberty she looked at the
watch and counted the hours.
Franklin had long been the hope of the country. America looked to him to
secure the help of France in the long struggle for liberty. Into this
hope humble Jane Mecom entered with a sister's confidence and pride.
She awaited the news from Philadelphia, which was the seat of
government, with the deepest concern. The nation's affairs were her
family affairs. She heard it said daily that if Franklin secured the aid
of the French arms, the cause of liberty in America would be won. It was
the kindly hand that led her when a girl that was now moving behind
these great events.
One July day, at the full tide of the year, she was standing in the
bowery yard of her simple home, thinking of her brother and the hope of
the people in him. She moved, as under a spell of thought, out of the
gate and toward Beacon Hill. She met Jamie the Scotchman on her way.
"An' do you think that he will be able to do it?" said Jamie. By "it" he
meant the alliance of France with the colonies. "Surely it is a big job
to undertake, but if he should succeed, Jane, I want you always to
remember what a friend I was to him. Where are you going, Jane?"
"To the old tree on Beacon Hill, where Uncle Ben used to talk to me in
childhood."
"May I go with you, Jane? They say that a fleet has been sighted off
Narragansett Bay. We shall know when the post comes in."
"Yes, Jamie, come with me. I love to talk of old times with you."
"And what a friend I was to _him_."
It was a fiery day. Cumulus clouds were piling up in the fervid heats.
The Hancock House gardens, where now the State House is, were fragrant
with flowers, and the Common below was a sea of shining leaves.
A boom shook the air.
"What was that, Jane?"
"It came from the Castle."
"Perhaps there is news."
Another boom echoed from the Dorchester Hills, and a puff of smoke rose
from the Castle.
"There is news, Jamie; the Castle is firing a salute."
"I think the French fleet has arrived; if so, _his_ work is behind it,
and I always was such a friend to him, too!"
The Castle thundered. There was news.
A magistrate came riding over the hills on horseback, going to the house
of John Hancock.
"Hey!" cried Jamie, "an' what is the news?"
"The French fleet has arrived at Newport. Count Rochambeau is landing
there. Hurrah! this country is free!"
Jane sat down under the old tree, as she had done when a girl in Uncle
Benjamin's day. She saw the flag of the Stripes and Stars leap, as it
were, into the air over the Hancock gardens. She had always revered John
Hancock since he had heroically written to Washington at the time of the
siege, "Burn Boston, if there is need, and leave John Hancock a beggar!"
Who was that hurrying up from the broad path of the Common toward the
Hancock mansion? Jane rose up and looked. It was Samuel Adams, the
so-called "last of the Puritans," a man who had almost forgotten his own
existence in his efforts to unite the colonies for the struggle for
liberty, and who had said to an agent of General Gage who offered him
bribes if he would make his peace with the king, "I have long ago made
my peace with the King of kings, and no power on earth can make me
recreant to my duties to my country."
The Castle thundered on from the green isle in the harbor. People were
hurrying to and fro and gathering about the grounds of the first
President of the Provincial Congress. Business stopped. The hearts of
the people were thrilled. The independence of the American colonies now
seemed secure.
There went up a great shout in front of the Hancock house. It was--
"Franklin! Rochambeau! Franklin!"
Jamie the Scotchman echoed the cheer from his lusty lungs.
"Franklin!" he cried, waving his hat, "Franklin now and forever!"
His face beamed. "Only think, Jane, what a friend I used to be to him!
What do you suppose gave his hand such power in these affairs of the
nation?"
"It was his heart, Jamie."
"Yes, yes, Jane, that was it--it was the heart of Franklin--of Ben, and
don't you never forget what a friend I used to be to him."
The coming of Rochambeau, under the influence of the poor tallow
chandler's son, was a re-enforcement that helped to gain the victory of
liberty. When Cornwallis was taken, Jane Mecom heard the Castle thunder
again over the sea; and when Rochambeau came to Boston to prepare for
the re-embarkation of the French army, she saw her brother's hand behind
all these events, and felt like one who in her girlhood had been taken
into the counsels of the gods. Her simple family affairs had become
those of the nation.
She knew the springs of the nation's history, and she loved to recall
the days when her brother was Silence Dogood, which he had never ceased
to be.