Letter to Namesake.--To John Adams.--Declining Health.--Dr.
Dunglison's Memoranda.--Tenderness to his Family.--Accounts of
his Death by Dr. Dunglison and Colonel Randolph.--Farewell to
his Daughter.--Directions for a Tombstone.--It is erected by his
Grandson.--Shameful Desecration of Tombstones at Monticello.
A friend and admirer of Jefferson's, who had named a son after him,
requested that he would write a letter of advice for his young
namesake. Jefferson accordingly wrote the following beautiful note to
be kept for him until the young child came to years of understanding:
_To Thomas Jefferson Smith._
This letter will, to you, be as one from the dead. The writer
will be in the grave before you can weigh its counsels. Your
affectionate and excellent father has requested that I would
address to you something which might possibly have a favorable
influence on the course of life you have to run; and I too,
as a namesake, feel an interest in that course. Few words
will be necessary, with good dispositions on your part. Adore
God. Reverence and cherish your parents. Love your neighbor
as yourself, and your country more than yourself. Be just. Be
true. Murmur not at the ways of Providence. So shall the life
into which you have entered, be the portal to one of eternal
and ineffable bliss. And if to the dead it is permitted to care
for the things of this world, every action of your life will be
under my regard. Farewell.
Monticello, February 21st, 1825.
_The Portrait of a Good Man by the most sublime of Poets, for
your Imitation._
Lord, who's the happy man that may to thy blest courts repair;
Not stranger-like to visit them, but to inhabit there?
'Tis he whose every thought and deed by rules of virtue moves;
Whose generous tongue disdains to speak the thing his heart
disproves.
Who never did a slander forge, his neighbor's fame to wound;
Nor hearken to a false report by malice whispered round.
Who vice in all its pomp and power, can treat with just neglect;
And piety, though clothed in rags, religiously respect.
Who to his plighted vows and trust has ever firmly stood;
And though he promise to his loss, he makes his promise good.
Whose soul in usury disdains his treasure to employ;
Whom no rewards can ever bribe the guiltless to destroy.
The man who, by this steady course, has happiness insured,
When earth's foundations shake, shall stand by Providence secured.
_A Decalogue of Canons for Observation in Practical Life._
1. Never put off till to-morrow what you can do to-day.
2. Never trouble another for what you can do yourself.
3. Never spend your money before you have it.
4. Never buy what you do not want because it is cheap; it will be
dear to you.
5. Pride costs us more than hunger, thirst, and cold.
6. We never repent of having eaten too little.
7. Nothing is troublesome that we do willingly.
8. How much pain have cost us the evils which have never happened.
9. Take things always by their smooth handle.
10. When angry, count ten before you speak; if very angry,
an hundred.
A little more than a year after the date of this letter we find
Jefferson writing his last letter to John Adams. The playful tone
in which it is written gives no evidence of the suffering from the
disease under which he was laboring at the time.
_To John Adams._
Monticello, March 25th, 1826.
Dear Sir--My grandson, Thomas J. Randolph, the bearer of this
letter, being on a visit to Boston, would think he had seen
nothing were he to leave without seeing you. Although I truly
sympathize with you in the trouble these interruptions give,
yet I must ask for him permission to pay to you his personal
respects. Like other young people, he wishes to be able, in the
winter nights of old age, to recount to those around him what he
has heard and learnt of the heroic age preceding his birth, and
which of the Argonauts individually he was in time to have seen.
It was the lot of our early years to witness nothing but the
dull monotony of a colonial subservience, and of our riper years
to breast the labors and perils of working out of it. Theirs are
the halcyon calms succeeding the storms which our Argosy had so
stoutly weathered. Gratify his ambition, then, by receiving his
best bow, and my solicitude for your health, by enabling him to
bring me a favorable account of it. Mine is but indifferent, but
not so my friendship and respect for you.
TH. JEFFERSON.
The leaders of different parties bitterly opposed to each other, and
living at a time when party spirit ran so high, there is something
remarkable, as well as beautiful, in the friendship which existed
between these two distinguished men, and which, surviving all
political differences and rivalry, expired only on the same day which
saw them both breathe their last.[77]
[77] Without meaning the least irreverence in the world to the
memory of these two great and good men, I can not refrain here
from giving the reader the benefit of a good story, which has the
advantage over most good stories of being strictly true:
There was living in Albemarle, at the time of Jefferson's
death, an enthusiastic democrat, who, admiring him beyond all
men, thought that, by dying on the 4th of July, he had raised
himself and his party one step higher in the temple of fame. Then
came the news that John Adams had died on the same great day.
Indignant at the bare suggestion of such a thing, he at first
refused to believe it, and, when he could no longer discredit
the news, exclaimed, in a passion, that "it was a damned Yankee
trick."
In the spring of the year 1826 Jefferson's family became aware that
his health was failing rapidly. Of this he had been conscious himself
for some time previous. Though enfeebled by age and disease, he
turned a deaf ear to Mrs. Randolph's entreaties that he would allow
his faithful servant, Burwell, to accompany him in his daily rides.
He said, if his family insisted, that he would give up his rides
entirely; but that he had "helped himself" from his childhood, and
that the presence of a servant in his daily musings with nature would
be irksome to him. So, until within a very short time of his death,
old Eagle was brought up every day, even when his venerable master
was so weak that he could only get into the saddle by stepping down
from the terrace.
As he felt the sands of life running low, his love for his family
seemed to increase in tenderness. Mr. Randall says, in his excellent
biography of him, in alluding to this period:
Mr. Jefferson's deportment to his family was touching. He
evidently made an effort to keep up their spirits. He was as
gentle as a child, but conversed with such vigor and animation
that they would have often cheated themselves with the belief
that months, if not years, of life were in store for him, and
that he himself was in no expectation of speedy death, had they
not witnessed the infant-like debility of his powerful frame,
and had they not occasionally, when they looked suddenly at him,
caught resting on themselves that riveted and intensely-loving
gaze which showed but too plainly that his thoughts were on a
rapidly-approaching parting. And as he folded each in his arms
as they separated for the night, there was a fervor in his kiss
and gaze that declared as audibly as words that he felt the
farewell might prove a final one.
In speaking of his private life, Dr. Dunglison, in his Memoranda,
says:
The opportunities I had of witnessing the private life of Mr.
Jefferson were numerous. It was impossible for any one to be
more amiable in his domestic relations; it was delightful to
observe the devoted and respectful attention that was paid him
by all the family. In the neighborhood, too, he was greatly
revered. Perhaps, however, according to the all-wise remark that
no one is a prophet in his own country, he had more personal
detractors there, partly owing to difference in political
sentiments, which are apt to engender so much unworthy acrimony
of feeling; but still more, perhaps, owing to the views which he
was supposed to possess on the subject of religion; yet it was
well known that he did not withhold his aid when a church had
to be established in the neighborhood, and that he subscribed
largely to the Episcopal church erected in Charlottesville.
After his death much sectarian intolerance was exhibited, owing
to the publication of certain of his letters, in which he
animadverted on the Presbyterians more especially; yet there
could not have been a more unfounded assertion than that of
a Philadelphia Episcopal divine that "Mr. Jefferson's memory
was detested in Charlottesville and the vicinity." It is due,
also, to that illustrious individual to say, that, in all my
intercourse with him, I never heard an observation that savored,
in the slightest degree, of impiety. His religious belief
harmonized more closely with that of the Unitarians than of any
other denomination, but it was liberal, and untrammelled by
sectarian feelings and prejudices. It is not easy to find more
sound advice, more appropriately expressed, than in the letter
which he wrote to Thomas Jefferson Smith, dated February 21st,
1825.[78]
[78] See page 419.
It was beautiful, too, to witness the deference that was paid by
Mr. Jefferson and Mr. Madison to each other's opinions. When as
secretary, and as chairman of the faculty, I had to consult one
of them, it was a common interrogatory, What did the other say of
the matter? If possible, Mr. Madison gave indications of a greater
intensity of this feeling, and seemed to think that every thing
emanating from his ancient associate must be correct. In a letter
which Mr. Jefferson wrote to Mr. Madison a few months only before he
died (February 17th, 1826), he thus charmingly expresses himself.
[Here follows the conclusion of a letter to Mr. Madison already
given, beginning at the words "The friendship which has subsisted
between us," etc.]
Mr. Randall gives us, in his work, the following accounts of his
last hours and death, written by two of those who were present--Dr.
Dunglison and his grandson, Colonel T. J. Randolph. I give Dr.
Dunglison's first:
In the spring of 1826 the health of Mr. Jefferson became more
impaired; his nutrition fell off; and at the approach of summer
he was troubled with diarrhœa, to which he had been liable for
some years--ever since, as he believed, he had resorted to the
Virginia Springs, especially the White Sulphur, and had freely
used the waters externally for an eruption which did not yield
readily to the ordinary remedies. I had prescribed for this
affection early in June, and he had improved somewhat; but on
the 24th of that month he wrote me the last note I received
from him, begging me to visit him, as he was not so well.
This note was, perhaps, the last he penned. On the same day,
however, he wrote an excellent letter to General Weightman, in
reply to an invitation to celebrate in Washington the fiftieth
anniversary of the Declaration of Independence, which he
declined on the ground of indisposition. This, Professor Tucker
says, was probably his last letter. It had all the striking
characteristics of his vigorous and unfaded intellect.
The tone of the note I received from him satisfied me of the
propriety of visiting him immediately; and having mentioned
the subject to Mr. Tucker, he proposed to accompany me. I
immediately saw that the affection was making a decided
impression on his bodily powers, and, as Mr. Tucker has properly
remarked in his life of this distinguished individual, was
apprehensive that the attack would prove fatal. Nor did Mr.
Jefferson himself indulge any other opinion. From this time his
strength gradually diminished, and he had to remain in bed....
Until the 2d and 3d of July he spoke freely of his approaching
death; made all his arrangements with his grandson, Mr.
Randolph, in regard to his private affairs; and expressed his
anxiety for the prosperity of the University, and his confidence
in the exertion in its behalf of Mr. Madison and the other
Visitors. He repeatedly, too, mentioned his obligation to me
for my attention to him. During the last week of his existence
I remained at Monticello; and one of the last remarks he made
was to me. In the course of the day and night of the 2d of July
he was affected with stupor, with intervals of wakefulness and
consciousness; but on the 3d the stupor became almost permanent.
About seven o'clock of the evening of that day he awoke, and,
seeing me staying at his bedside, exclaimed, "Ah! Doctor, are
you still there?" in a voice, however, that was husky and
indistinct. He then asked, "Is it the Fourth?" to which I
replied, "It soon will be." These were the last words I heard
him utter.
Until towards the middle of the day--the 4th--he remained in the
same state, or nearly so, wholly unconscious to every thing that
was passing around him. His circulation was gradually, however,
becoming more languid; and for some time prior to dissolution
the pulse at the wrist was imperceptible. About one o'clock he
ceased to exist.
Jefferson had the utmost confidence in Dr. Dunglison, and, on being
entreated by a Philadelphia friend to send for the celebrated Dr.
Physic, he refused kindly, but firmly, to do so, saying, "I have got
a Dr. Physic of my own--I have entire confidence in Dr. Dunglison."
Nor would he allow any other physician to be called in.
Ever thoughtful of others, and anxious to the last not to give
trouble, he at first refused to allow even a servant to be with him
at night; and when, at last, he became so weak as to be forced to
yield his consent, he made his attendant, Burwell, bring a pallet
into his room that he might rest during the night.
"In the parting interview with the female members of his family,"
says Mr. Randall, "Mr. Jefferson, besides general admonitions (the
tenor of which corresponds with those contained in his letter to
Thomas Jefferson Smith), addressed to them affectionate words
of encouragement and practical advice adapted to their several
situations. In this he did not pass over a young great-grandchild
(Ellen Bankhead), but exhorted her to diligently persevere in her
studies, for they would help to make life valuable to her. He gently
but audibly murmured: 'Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in
peace.'"[79]
[79] See Randall's Jefferson, vol. iii., p. 547.
I now give Colonel Randolph's account of his grandfather's death.
Having revised this for me, he has in one or two instances inserted a
few words which were not in the original.
Mr. Jefferson had suffered for several years before his death
from a diarrhœa which he concealed from his family, lest it
might give them uneasiness. Not aware of it, I was surprised, in
conversation with him in March, 1826, to hear him, in speaking
of an event likely to occur about midsummer, say doubtingly
that he might live to that time. About the middle of June,
hearing that he had sent for his physician, Dr. Dunglison, of
the University of Virginia, I immediately went to see him.[80]
I found him out in his public rooms. Before leaving the house,
he sent a servant to me to come to his room, whereupon he handed
me a paper, which he desired me to examine, remarking, "Don't
delay; there is no time to be lost." He gradually declined, but
would only have his servants sleeping near him: being disturbed
only at nine, twelve, and four o'clock in the night, he needed
little nursing. Becoming uneasy about him, I entered his room,
unobserved, to pass the night. Coming round inadvertently to
assist him, he chided me, saying, that, being actively employed
all day, I needed repose. On my replying that it was more
agreeable to me to be with him, he acquiesced, and I did not
leave him again.
[80] Col. Randolph lived on an estate adjoining Monticello.
A day or two after, at my request, my brother-in-law (Mr. Trist)
was admitted. His servants, ourselves, and the doctor became his
sole nurses. My mother sat with him during the day, but he would
not permit her to sit up at night. His family had to decline for
him numerous tenders of service from kind and affectionate friends
and neighbors, fearing and seeing that it would excite him to
conversation injurious to him in his weak condition.
He suffered no pain, but gradually sank from debility. His mind
was always clear--it never wandered. He conversed freely, and gave
directions as to his private affairs. His manner was that of a
person going on a necessary journey--evincing neither satisfaction
nor regret. He remarked upon the tendency of his mind to recur back
to the scenes of the Revolution. Many incidents he would relate, in
his usual cheerful manner, insensibly diverting my mind from his
dying condition. He remarked that the curtains of his bed had been
purchased from the first cargo that arrived after the peace of 1782.
Upon my expressing the opinion, on one occasion, that he was somewhat
better, he turned to me, and said, "Do not imagine for a moment that
I feel the smallest solicitude about the result; I am like an old
watch, with a pinion worn out here, and a wheel there, until it can
go no longer."
On another occasion, when he was unusually ill, he observed to the
doctor, "A few hours more, doctor, and it will be all over."
Upon being suddenly aroused from sleep by a noise in the room,
he asked if he had heard the name of Mr. Hatch mentioned--the
minister whose church he attended. On my replying in the negative,
he observed, as he turned over, "I have no objection to see him,
as a kind and good neighbor." The impression made upon my mind at
the moment was, that his religious opinions having been formed upon
mature study and reflection, he had no doubts upon his mind, and
therefore did not desire the attendance of a clergyman: I have never
since doubted of the correctness of the impression then taken.
His parting interview with the different members of his family was
calm and composed; impressing admonitions upon them, the cardinal
points of which were, to pursue virtue, be true and truthful. My
youngest brother, in his eighth year, seeming not to comprehend the
scene, he turned to me with a smile, and said, "George[81] does not
understand what all this means."
[81] This was George Wythe Randolph, who became an eminent lawyer
in Virginia, and who, in the late civil war entering warmly in
the defense of the South, was distinguished in both the cabinet
and field in the Confederate service.
He would speculate upon the person who would succeed him as Rector of
the University of Virginia, and concluded that Mr. Madison would be
appointed. With all the deep pathos of exalted friendship, he spoke
of his purity, his virtue, his wisdom, his learning, and his great
abilities; and then, stretching his head back on his pillow, he said,
with a sigh, "But ah! he could never in his life stand up against
strenuous opposition." The friendship of these great men was of an
extraordinary character. They had been born, lived, and died within
twenty-five miles of each other, and they visited frequently through
their whole lives. At twenty-three years old Mr. Jefferson had been
consulted on Mr. Madison's course of study--he then fifteen. Thus
commenced a friendship as remarkable for its duration as it was for
the fidelity and warmth of its feelings. The admiration of each for
the wisdom, abilities, and purity of the other was unlimited. Their
habit of reliance upon mutual counsel equalled the sincerity of their
affection and the devotion of their esteem.
In speaking of the calumnies which his enemies had uttered against
his public and private character with such unmitigated and untiring
bitterness, he said that he had not considered them as abusing him;
they had never known _him_. They had created an imaginary being
clothed with odious attributes, to whom they had given his name; and
it was against that creature of their imaginations they had levelled
their anathemas.
On Monday, the third of July, his slumbers were evidently those of
approaching dissolution; he slept until evening, when, upon awaking,
he seemed to imagine it was morning, and remarked that he had slept
all night without being disturbed. "This is the fourth of July,"
he said. He soon sank again into sleep, and on being aroused at
nine to take his medicine, he remarked in a clear distinct voice,
"No, doctor, nothing more." The omission of the dose of laudanum
administered every night during his illness caused his slumbers to be
disturbed and dreamy; he sat up in his sleep and went through all the
forms of writing; spoke of the Committee of Safety, saying it ought
to be warned.
As twelve o'clock at night approached, we anxiously desired that
his death should be hallowed by the Anniversary of Independence.
At fifteen minutes before twelve we stood noting the minute-hand
of the watch, hoping a few minutes of prolonged life. At four
A.M. he called the servants in attendance with a strong and clear
voice, perfectly conscious of his wants. He did not speak again.
About ten he fixed his eyes intently upon me, indicating some
want, which, most painfully, I could not understand, until his
attached servant, Burwell, observed that his head was not so much
elevated as he usually desired it, for his habit was to lie with
it very much elevated. Upon restoring it to its usual position he
seemed satisfied. About eleven, again fixing his eyes upon me, and
moving his lips, I applied a wet sponge to his mouth, which he
sucked and appeared to relish--this was the last evidence he gave
of consciousness. He ceased to breathe, without a struggle, fifty
minutes past meridian--July 4th, 1826. I closed his eyes with my own
hands.
He was, at all times during his illness, perfectly assured of his
approaching end, his mind ever clear, and at no moment did he evince
the least solicitude about the result; he was as calm and composed
as when in health. He died a pure and good man. It is for others
to speak of his greatness. He desired that his interment should be
private, without parade, and our wish was to comply with his request,
and no notice of the hour of interment or invitations were issued.
His body was borne privately from his dwelling by his family and
servants, but his neighbors and friends, anxious to pay the last
tribute of respect and affection to one whom they had loved and
honored, waited for it in crowds at the grave.
Two days before his death, Jefferson told Mrs. Randolph that in a
certain drawer, in an old pocket-book, she would find something
intended for her. On looking in the drawer after his death, she found
the following touching lines, composed by himself:
_A Death-bed Adieu from Th. J. to M. R._
Life's visions are vanished, its dreams are no more;
Dear friends of my bosom, why bathed in tears?
I go to my fathers, I welcome the shore
Which crowns all my hopes or which buries my cares.
Then farewell, my dear, my lov'd daughter, adieu!
The last pang of life is in parting from you!
Two seraphs await me long shrouded in death;
I will bear them your love on my last parting breath.
As soon as Mr. Madison was informed of the death of his revered
friend, he wrote the following handsome letter to a gentleman who had
married into Mr. Jefferson's family:
_From James Madison._
Montpellier, July 6th, 1826.
Dear Sir--I have just received yours of the 4th. A few lines
from Dr. Dunglison had prepared me for such a communication,
and I never doubted that the last scene of our illustrious
friend would be worthy of the life it closed. Long as this has
been spared to his country and to those who loved him, a few
years more were to have been desired for the sake of both. But
we are more than consoled for the loss by the gain to him, and
by the assurance that he lives and will live in the memory and
gratitude of the wise and good, as a luminary of science, as a
votary of liberty, as a model of patriotism, and as a benefactor
of the human kind. In these characters I have known him, and
not less in the virtues and charms of social life, for a period
of fifty years, during which there was not an interruption or
diminution of mutual confidence and cordial friendship for a
single moment in a single instance. What I feel, therefore, now
need not, I should say can not, be expressed. If there be any
possible way in which I can _usefully_ give evidence of it, do
not fail to afford me the opportunity. I indulge a hope that the
unforeseen event will not be permitted to impair _any_ of the
beneficial measures which were in progress, or in prospect. It
can not be unknown that the anxieties of the deceased were for
others, not for himself.
Accept, my dear sir, my best wishes for yourself and for all
with whom we sympathize, in which Mrs. Madison most sincerely
joins.
JAMES MADISON.
To the same gentleman, Judge Dabney Carr, of the Court of Appeals of
Virginia, wrote:
The loss of Mr. Jefferson is one over which the whole world will
mourn. He was one of those ornaments and benefactors of the
human race whose death forms an epoch and creates a sensation
throughout the whole circle of civilized man. But that feeling
is nothing to what those feel who are connected with him by
blood,[82] and bound to him by gratitude for a thousand favors.
To me he has been more than a father, and I have ever loved
and revered him with my whole heart.... Taken as a whole,
history presents nothing so grand, so beautiful, so peculiarly
felicitous in all the great points, as the life and character of
Thomas Jefferson.
[82] Judge Carr was Mr. Jefferson's nephew.
After Mr. Jefferson's death there were found in a drawer in his room,
among other souvenirs, some little packages containing locks of the
hair of his deceased wife, daughter, and even the infant children
that he had lost. These relics are now lying before me. They are
labelled in his own handwriting. One, marked "_A lock of our first
Lucy's hair, with some of my dear, dear wife's writing_," contains
a few strands of soft, silk-like hair evidently taken from the head
of a very young infant. Another, marked simply "_Lucy_," contains a
beautiful golden curl.
Among his papers there were found written on the torn back of an old
letter the following directions for his monument and its inscription:
Could the dead feel any interest in monuments or other
remembrances of them, when, as Anacreon says,
Ὀλίγη δὲ κεισόμεθα
Κόνις, ὁστέων λυθέντων,
the following would be to my manes the most gratifying: on the
grave a plain die or cube of three feet without any mouldings,
surmounted by an obelisk of six feet height, each of a single
stone; on the faces of the obelisk the following inscription,
and not a word more:
HERE WAS BURIED
THOMAS JEFFERSON,
Author of the Declaration of American Independence,
Of the Statute of Virginia for Religious Freedom,
And Father of the University of Virginia;
because by these, as testimonials that I have lived, I wish
most to be remembered. [It] to be of the coarse stone of which
my columns are made, that no one might be tempted hereafter to
destroy it for the value of the materials. My bust, by Ceracchi,
with the pedestal and truncated column on which it stands, might
be given to the University, if they would place it in the dome
room of the Rotunda. On the die of the obelisk might be engraved:
_Born_ Apr. 2, 1743, O. S.
_Died_ ---- ---- ----.
Folded up in the same paper which contained these directions was
a scrap on which was written the dates and inscription for Mrs.
Jefferson's tomb, which I have already given at page 64 of this book.
Jefferson's efforts to save his monument from mutilation by having
it made of coarse stone have been futile. His grandson, Colonel
Randolph, followed his directions in erecting the monument which is
placed over him. He lies buried between his wife and his daughter,
Mary Eppes: across the head of these three graves lie the remains of
his eldest daughter, Martha Randolph. This group lies in front of a
gap in the high brick wall which surrounds the whole grave-yard, the
gap being filled by a high iron grating, giving a full view of the
group, that there might be no excuse for forcing open the high iron
gates which close the entrance to the grave-yard. But all precautions
have been in vain. The gates have been again and again broken open,
the grave-yard entered, and the tombs desecrated. The edges of the
granite obelisk over Jefferson's grave have been chipped away until
it now stands a misshapen column. Of the slabs placed over the graves
of Mrs. Jefferson and Mrs. Eppes not a vestige remains, while of the
one over Mrs. Randolph only fragments are left.
[Illustration: GRAVE OF JEFFERSON, A.D. 1850.]
* * * * *
Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Small capital text has been replaced with all capitals.
Variations in spelling, punctuation, and hyphenation have been
retained except in obvious cases of typographical error. Unmatched
quotation marks have been ignored.
The cover for the eBook version of this book was created by the
transcriber and is placed in the public domain.