MR. PRESIDENT,--I am to speak this evening of one who early
consecrated himself to Human Rights, and throughout a long life became
their representative, knight-errant, champion, hero, missionary,
apostle,--who strove in this cause as no man in history has ever
striven,--who suffered for it as few have suffered,--and whose
protracted career, beginning at an age when others are yet at school,
and continued to the tomb, where he tardily arrived, is conspicuous
for the rarest fidelity, the purest principle, and the most chivalrous
courage, whether civil or military. There is but one personage to whom
this description is justly applicable, and you have anticipated me when
I pronounce the name of Lafayette. As in Germany Jean Paul is known as
“the Only One,” so would I hail Lafayette as “the Faithful One.” If
Liberty be what philosophy, poetry, and the human heart all declare,
then must we treasure the example of one who served her always with a
lover’s fondness and with a martyr’s constancy, nor demand perfections
which do not belong to human nature. It is enough for unstinted
gratitude that he stood forth her steadfast friend, like the good
angel,--
“unmoved,
Unshaken, unseduced, unterrified,--
trampling on all the blandishments of youth, of fortune, and of power,
keeping himself sternly aloof whether from King or Emperor, and always
insisting upon the same comprehensive cause,--with a soul as fearless
and irreproachable as Bayard, from whom generals and kings received
knighthood, as unbending as Cato, who singly stood out against Cæsar,
and as gentle as that best loved disciple, who leaned on the bosom of
the Saviour, and alone of all the Twelve followed him to the Cross.
* * * * *
If anything could add to the interest which this unparalleled career is
calculated to awaken, I should find it in special associations which
I have enjoyed. Often, when in Paris halting about as an invalid, I
turned from its crowded life to visit the simple tomb of Lafayette in
the conventual cemetery of Picpus, watched by white-hooded nuns, within
the circle of the old walls, where he lies by the side of his heroic
wife, pattern of noblest womanhood. Gazing on this horizontal slab of
red freestone, in shape like that of Albert Dürer in the republican
graveyard of Nuremberg, bearing an inscription without title of any
kind, and then casting my eyes upon the neighboring monuments, where
every name has the blazon of prince or noble, I seemed to see before
me that youthful, lifelong, and incomparable loyalty to a great cause
with perfect consistency to the end, marking him a phenomenon of
history, which will be my theme to-night. The interest inspired at
the republican tomb was strengthened at Lagrange, the country home of
Lafayette, a possession derived from the family of his wife, where
he passed the last thirty years of life in patriarchal simplicity,
surrounded by children and grandchildren, with happy guests, and where
everything still bears witness to him.
Nor do I believe that my interest goes far beyond that of the American
people, when I think how his name is a household word, dear to all
alike, old and young. Even the list of post-offices in the United
States shows no less than fifty with his venerated name, and eighteen
with the name of Lagrange.
Just before leaving France, now a year ago, on a clear and lovely day
of October, in company with a friend, I visited this famous seat, which
at once reminded me of the prints of it so common at shop-windows in my
childhood. It is a picturesque and venerable castle, with five round
towers, a moat, a drawbridge, an arched gateway, ivy-clad walls, and a
large court-yard within, embosomed in trees, except on one side, where
a beautiful lawn spreads its verdure. Everything speaks to us. The
castle itself is of immemorial antiquity,--supposed to have been built
in the earliest days of the French monarchy, as far back as Louis le
Gros. It had been tenanted by princes of Lorraine, and been battered
by the cannon of Turenne, one of whose balls penetrated its thick
masonry. The ivy so luxuriantly mantling the gate, with the tower by
its side, was planted by the eminent British statesman, Charles Fox,
on a visit during the brief peace of Amiens. The park owed much of its
beauty to Lafayette himself. The situation harmonized with the retired
habits which found shelter there from the storms of fortune. It is in
the level district of Brie, famous for its cheese, and forming part
of the province of Champagne, famous for its wine,--about forty-five
miles to the east of Paris, remote from any high-road, and at some
distance from the railway recently opened through the neighborhood, in
a country rich with orchards and smiling with fertility of all kinds.
The estate immediately about the castle contains six hundred acres,
which in the time of Lafayette was enlarged by several outlying farms.
The well-filled library occupied an upper room in one of the towers,
and near a window overlooking the farm-yard still stood the desk at
which Lafayette was in the habit of sitting, with the speaking-trumpet
by which he made himself heard in the yard, and with the account-book
of the farm lying open as he had left it. All about were souvenirs of
our country, showing how it engaged his thoughts. The castle is now
occupied by the family of one of his grandchildren, whose hospitable
welcome to us as Americans gave token of their illustrious ancestor,
hardly less than these precious memorials and the full-length portrait
by Ary Scheffer which looked down from the walls.
* * * * *
And now holding up to view a model of surpassing fidelity in support of
Human Rights, I am not without hope that others may see the beauty of
such a character and try to make it in some measure their own. There is
need of it among us. We, too, must be faithful.
* * * * *
Gilbert de Motier, Marquis de Lafayette, only child of an ancient
house, was born 6th September, 1757, at the castle of Chavaniac, in
the central and mountainous province of Auvergne, in France. He came
into the world an orphan,--for his father, a colonel of grenadiers in
the French army, had already perished at the Battle of Minden. The
verses which once interested Burns and excited the youthful admiration
of Scott, though suggested by a humbler lot, depict some of the
circumstances which surrounded his:--
“Cold on Canadian hills or _Minden’s plain_,
Perhaps that parent mourned her soldier slain,
Bent o’er her babe, her eye dissolved in dew,
The big drops mingling with the milk he drew.”[53]
The mother died soon after, leaving her child alone in the world, with
rank and fortune such as few possess.
In the Memoirs, written by his own hand, Lafayette mentions simply his
birth, without allusion to family or ancestry. This was characteristic
of one who had so completely renounced all such distinctions. But the
temptations he overcame and the prejudices he encountered can be fully
appreciated only when we know his origin. His family was not merely
ancient and noble, but for generations historic. It had given to French
renown a Marshal, who, after honorable service in Italian campaigns,
fought by the side of the Maid of Orléans in the expulsion of the
English from France; and it had added to the more refined glories of
the nation an authoress of that name, the friend of Rochefoucauld
and Madame de Sévigné, who shone by literary genius at the court of
Louis the Fourteenth, and became an early example of what woman may
accomplish: so that the young orphan bore a name which, in a land of
hereditary distinctions, seemed to enlist him for their conservation,
while it gave him everywhere an all-sufficient passport.
But as some are born poets and others are born mathematicians, the
Marquis de Lafayette was born with instinctive fidelity to the great
principles of Liberty and Equality, by the side of which all hereditary
distinctions disappear. Liberty, he had the habit of saying, was
with him a religion, a love, and a geometrical certainty; and this
passion, thus sacred, ardent, and confident, was inborn, perpetual,
and irresistible. While still a child in the seclusion of Auvergne, he
sighed for dangerous adventure, and when at the age of eleven he was
transferred to college at Paris, the soul of the young noble responded
instinctively to all instances of republican virtue. In the child may
be seen the man, and he delighted afterwards to remember that during
those early years, when the heart showed itself as it was, in a school
exercise describing “the perfect horse,” he lost the prize by picturing
the noble animal as throwing his rider at sight of the whip. Nor did
his ardent nature express itself in superficial sallies. At every
period of life, and particularly in youth, he was grave and silent even
to coldness,--thus in external manner differing from the giddy and
ostentatious nobles of his day, as he contrasted with them in character.
An early marriage, at the age of sixteen, with the remarkable daughter
of the ducal house of Noailles, enlarged his aristocratic connections,
and completed all that heart could desire for happiness or worldly
advancement. But the life of a courtier, even with the companionship of
royal princes, did not satisfy his earnest nature, and he turned away
from the grandeurs and follies of Versailles to follow in the steps of
his father as captain in the French army. Stationed at Metz, a border
fortification on the Rhenish frontier of France, an incident occurred
which gave impulse and direction to his life.
The Duke of Gloucester, brother of King George the Third, smarting
under slights at court on account of a marriage disagreeable to the
King, turned his back upon England, and in his travels stopped at Metz,
where he was welcomed at dinner by the commander of the garrison. At
that table sat the youthful Lafayette, only nineteen years old, who
there for the first time heard the story of the American “insurgents,”
as they were called,--of their armed resistance to British troops, and
of the Declaration of Independence. His whole nature was thrilled, and
the passionate declamation against arbitrary power to which the English
Duke gave vent, though stirred only by wounded pride and spite, fell
like a spark upon his sincere and sensitive soul, already kindling with
generous emotions, so that, before the dinner was ended, his resolution
was fixed to cross the ocean and offer his sword to distant, unknown
fellow-men struggling for liberty. This was in the autumn of 1776.[54]
Hastening back to Paris, he lost no time in engaging with the American
Commissioners there, who with grateful astonishment welcomed their
romantic ally.
Meanwhile came tidings of melancholy reverses which followed the
Declaration of Independence, and of the scanty forces of Washington
tracking the snow with bloody feet, as they retreated through
New Jersey,--seeming to announce that all was lost. The American
Commissioners frankly confessed that they could not encourage Lafayette
to proceed with his purpose. But his undaunted temper was quickened
anew, and when they told him that with their damaged credit it was
impossible to provide a vessel for his conveyance, he exclaimed: “Thus
far you have seen my zeal only; now it shall be something more. I will
purchase and equip a vessel myself. It is while danger presses that I
wish to join your fortunes.” Noble words, worthy of immortality, and
never to be heard without a throb by an American heart!
Before embarking, Lafayette, partly to mask his enterprise, and also in
the hardihood of courage, visited England, where his wife’s uncle, the
French ambassador, presented him to George the Third, who, unconscious
of his purpose, said, “I hope you mean to stay some time in Britain”;
to which he answered, that it was not in his power. “What obliges you
to leave us?” asked the King. “Please your Majesty,” said our new ally,
“I have a very particular engagement; and if your Majesty were aware
of it, you would not desire me to stay.” During this visit everything
was open to the youthful soldier, and he was even invited to attend the
review of British troops about to embark for America. From instinctive
delicacy he declined, thinking it not right to take advantage of a
hospitable invitation to inspect troops against whom he was about to
array himself in war. “But,” he added, in relating this incident, “I
met them six months after at the Brandywine.”
Quitting England, he traversed France with secrecy and despatch to join
his vessel, which was at a Spanish port, beyond French jurisdiction.
His departure came like a bolt upon the English Court, which he had
just left, also upon the French Court, which was not yet prepared for
a break with England, and upon his most affectionate family, who were
planning for him a tour in Italy, which in his busy life he never
made; but his young wife, who suffered most, loved him too well not to
partake his sentiments and to approve his generous resolution, even
though it separated him from her. To illustrate the general sensation,
I quote the words of the historian Gibbon, in a letter dated April 12,
1777. “We talk chiefly of the Marquis de Lafayette, who was here a few
weeks ago. He is about twenty, with an hundred and thirty thousand
livres a year, the nephew of Noailles, who is ambassador here. He
has bought the Duke of Kingston’s yacht, and is gone to join the
Americans.[55] His family interfered by peremptory command, and the
French Government interfered by that arbitrary mandate, under seal
of the King, known as _lettre-de-cachet_,--but, disregarding the one
and evading the other, in the disguise of a courier, our devoted ally
traversed the Pyrenees, and soon found himself with his companions in
arms on board his vessel, which, on the 26th of April, 1777, set sail
for America.
Undertaking this enterprise at a time when the sea and all beyond were
little known, the youthful adventurer showed a heart of “triple oak.”
Our admiration is enhanced, when we recall the charms of country,
rank, and family left behind,--with perils of capture and war braved
even before reaching the land,--and especially when we contemplate
the motive in which this enterprise had its origin. Rarely has hero
gone forth on so beautiful an errand; for he carried words of cheer to
our fathers, then in despairing struggle for the Great Declaration,
and opened the way for those fleets and armies of France soon after
marshalled on our side; nor is it too much to say, that he was the
good angel of Independence. His family correspondence, which has
seen the light only since his death, exhibits his beautiful fidelity
and the completeness of his dedication to our cause. In a letter to
his distinguished father-in-law, announcing his purpose, he says of
American interests, that they “will always be more dear to him than
his own,” and then declares himself “at the height of joy at having
found so fine an occasion to do something and to improve himself.”[56]
In a letter to his wife, written on the voyage, under date of June 7,
1777, his sympathy with the great objects of the national contest is
tenderly revealed. “I hope, for my sake,” he writes, in words worthy
of everlasting memory, “that you will become a good American. This
is a sentiment proper for virtuous hearts. Intimately allied to the
happiness of the whole Human Family is that of America, destined to
become the respectable and sure asylum of virtue, honesty, toleration,
equality, and of a tranquil liberty.”[57] Where are nobler words of
aspiration for our country than this simple testimony by a youth of
nineteen, pouring out his heart to his wife of seventeen? Where in
history are grander words from youth or man? For seven weeks laboring
through the sea, yet sustained by thoughts like these, he arrived at
last on the coast of South Carolina. It was dark, but, pushing ashore
in a boat, and following the guidance of a light, he found himself
under a friendly roof. His first word, as he touched the land, was a
vow to conquer or perish with it.
The Continental Congress was then sitting at Philadelphia, and,
without stopping for rest, the sea-worn voyager hastened to report
himself there. Most of the way on horseback, for nine hundred miles,
he journeyed on, enjoying the country in its native freshness, and
the simple, cordial welcome which greeted him everywhere on the road.
“The further North I advance,” thus he wrote to his wife, “the more
I like this country and its people.”[58] He had already been struck
by what to him were “black domestics who came to ask his orders.”[59]
Then for the first time he looked upon a slave. His well-known
sentiments, so constantly declared, show clearly how his candid nature
must have been troubled. He had forsaken France, where, amidst gross
inequalities of condition, this grossest was unknown,--where, in the
descending ranks of the feudal hierarchy, there was no place for this
degradation,--where, amidst unjust taxes and injurious privileges
without number, every man had a right at least to his child, to his
wife, and to himself,--and where the boast went forth, as in England,
and was repeated by judicial tribunals, that the air was too pure for
a slave. With heavenly generosity he had turned away from his own
country to help the cause of Freedom in another hemisphere, and here he
found man despoiled of all _personal_ rights, and even degraded to be
property, by those whose own struggles merely for _political_ rights
had thrilled the fibres of his being. Youthful, and little schooled as
yet in the world, he must have recoiled instinctively, as this most
dismal and incomprehensible inconsistency appeared before him. How
faithfully he battled with the demon his life will show.
Arrived in Philadelphia, he announced that he had come to serve at
his own expense and as volunteer. The Continental Congress, touched
by the magnanimous devotion of the youthful stranger, and apprised of
his distinguished connections at home, appointed him without delay
Major-General in the army of the United States, where he took rank
by the side of Gates and Greene, Lincoln and Lee. Born to exalted
condition in an ancient monarchy, he found himself welcomed to the
highest place in the military councils of a struggling republic, and
this while still a youth under twenty,--younger than Fox, younger than
Pitt, when they astonished the world by their precocious parliamentary
powers,--younger than Condé, in his own beautiful France, on the
field of Rocroi. And his modesty was not less eminent than his post.
To Washington, who made apologies for exhibiting his troops before a
French officer, he replied with interesting simplicity, “I have come to
learn, and not to teach.”[60] The Commander-in-Chief, usually so grave,
was won at once to that perpetual friendship which endured unbroken as
long as life,--showing itself now in tears of joy and then in tears of
grief,--watching the youthful stranger with paternal care,--sharing
with him table, tent, and on the field of Monmouth the same cloak for
a couch,--following his transcendent fortunes, now on giddiest heights
and then in gloom, with constant, unabated attachment,--corresponding
with him at all times,--addressing him in terms of unwonted endearment
as “the man he loved,”[61] and saying again that he “had not words to
express his affection, were he to attempt it,”[62]--sending kindly
sympathy to that devoted wife in her unparalleled affliction, and
pleading across sea and continent with the Austrian despot for his
release from the dungeons of Olmütz.
It is much to have inspired the most tender friendship which history
records in the life of Washington. There were with us other strangers,
scarcely less brilliant than Lafayette. There was Kosciusko, the Pole,
who afterwards played so great a part in his own country--Steuben,
the German, who did so much for the discipline of our troops,--De
Kalb, the gallant soldier, who died for us at Camden,--Rochambeau, the
distinguished commander of the French forces, compeer with Washington
at Yorktown,--Lauzun, the sparkling courtier, whose fascinations were
acknowledged by Marie Antoinette,--Ségur, the high-bred youthful
soldier and future diplomatist,--Montesquieu, grandson of the immortal
author of the “Spirit of Laws,”--Saint-Simon, whose military and
ancestral honors are now lost in his fame as social reformer,--also
the unfortunate Count de Loménie, with the Prince de Broglie of the
old monarchy, and Berthier, afterwards a prince of the Empire. All
these were in our revolutionary contest gathered about Washington; but
Lafayette alone obtained place in his heart. Friendship is always a
solace and delight; but such a friendship was a testimony. Let it ever
be said that Washington chose Lafayette as friend, while Lafayette was
to him always pupil, disciple, son.
His intrepidity found early occasion for display at the Battle of the
Brandywine, where, attempting to rally our unlucky troops, he was
severely wounded in the leg, and thus at once, by suffering for us,
increased his titles to regard. As he became known, his simple and
bountiful nature awakened the attachment of officers and men, so that
in writing to his wife he was able to relieve her anxieties by saying
that he had “the friendship of the army in gross and in detail,” and
also what he calls “a tender union with the most respectable, the most
admirable of men, General Washington.”[63] Nor was this unnatural,
when we consider how completely he became American in dress, food, and
habits, as he was already American in heart. Avoiding no privation
or fatigue, this juvenile patrician, educated to indulgence in all
the forms that wealth and privilege could supply, showed himself more
frugal and more austere even than his republican associates, living
sometimes for months on a single ration. The confidence of Congress
soon followed, and by special resolution Washington was requested to
place him at the head of an independent command.
Meanwhile France openly enlisted on our side. Turgot, the philosopher,
and Necker, the financier, counselled, as far-sighted ministers,
against this step, which launched the ancient monarchy in a dangerous
career. Jealous of a rival power, smarting under recent reverses, and
brooding over the accumulated rancors of long generations, the Court
was willing to embarrass England, yet covertly and without the hazard
of open war. The King himself never sympathized with the American
cause. But public opinion, which in that nation inclines to generous
ideas, was moved by the news of a distant people waging a contest for
Human Rights, at first doubtful, and then suddenly illumined by the
victory of Saratoga,--while Franklin, the philosopher and diplomatist,
our unequalled representative at Paris, challenged the admiration
alike of grave and gay, and the example of Lafayette touched the heart
of France. These wrought so far, that Court and King were obliged to
bend before the popular will, and then came the Treaty of Alliance
with the Colonies by which their place in the Family of Nations was
assured. The Treaty was communicated to the British Court, with a note
referring Independence to the Declaration of the 4th of July, on which
Lafayette, with constant instinct for popular rights, exclaimed, “Here
is a principle of national sovereignty which will some day be recalled
at home.”[64] Of course, if Americans could become independent by a
Declaration, so could Frenchmen.
The duties of Frenchman were now superadded to the duties Lafayette
had assumed toward our cause. “As long,” said he, in a letter to
Congress, “as I thought I could dispose of myself, I made it my pride
and pleasure to fight under American colors in defence of a cause
which I dare more particularly call _ours_ because I had the good luck
to bleed for it. Now that France is involved in a war, I am urged
by a sense of duty, as well as by patriotic love, to present myself
before the King, and know in what manner he judges proper to employ my
services. The most agreeable of all will always be such as may enable
me to serve the common cause among those whose friendship I have had
the happiness to obtain, and whose fortune I have had the honor to
follow in less smiling times.” Congress responded by unlimited leave of
absence, with permission to return at his own convenient time, and by
a vote of grateful thanks and a sword, together with a letter to the
French King, where they said, “We recommend this young nobleman to your
Majesty’s notice, as one whom we know to be wise in council, gallant in
the field, and patient under the hardships of war.”[65] Never before
did Frenchman return from service abroad with such a letter to his king.
On his way to embark at Boston, he was attacked by a fever, which in
its violence seemed about to prevail, so that Washington dwelt on the
daily tidings of the physician “with tears in his eyes,” and it was
reported at one time that “the soldier’s friend,” as he was called,
had died.[66] Happily he was spared to his two countries, and to the
affection of his commander. Always true to Liberty, he would not let
the crew of the frigate waiting for him at Boston be recruited by
impressment,--thus in all things guarding the rights of the people.[67]
If the sensation in Europe caused by his departure had been great,
that caused by his return, after two years of brilliant service, with
eminent military rank, with the thanks of Congress and the friendship
of Washington, was greater far. He could not appear anywhere without
greetings of admiration which knew no bounds, while, to borrow his own
account, he was “consulted by all the ministers, and, what is much
better, kissed by all the women.”[68] In a journey to his estate, the
towns through which he passed honored him with processions and civic
pomp. But his distant friends, struggling for the Great Declaration,
were never out of mind. Accustomed to large interests sustained by
small means, he regretted each _fête_ even in his own honor as a
diversion of supplies, while his zeal went so far as to make the
Prime-Minister, M. de Maurepas, declare that for this cause Lafayette
would strip Versailles of its furniture. Such an influence, so sincere
and so constant, from one who spoke not only as a French noble, but
as a Major-General of the American army, was not without result. The
papers of Lafayette attest the ability with which he pressed upon
the French Government an active participation in the contest, and
especially prompted the decisive expedition of Rochambeau.
But he did not loiter at home. Soon he turned from country and family.
Again he crossed the sea, and this time landed at Boston, for which,
at a later day, he recorded a “predilection,”[69] chiefly, it appears,
because there were no slaves there, and all were equal. The hearts of
the people everywhere throbbed with welcome; the army partook of this
delight, and Washington now “shed tears of joy.”[70] The republican
sentiments which animated him appear in the present of a flag to one of
our battalions, with a simple wreath of laurel blending with a civic
crown, and the words beneath, “_No other_.”[71] Farewell to crowns and
coronets, to kings and nobles! Such was the great lesson of the flag.
Then commenced the second part of his American career,--his active
military service,--his command in Virginia,--his campaign against
Cornwallis, when the latter said triumphantly, “The boy shall not
escape me,”--and his coöperation in the final assault at Yorktown,
ending in the capitulation of the British commander to the combined
forces of America and France,--all of which belongs to the history of
both countries.
The campaign in Virginia redounded to the praise of Lafayette in no
common measure. After announcing his designation for this service,
and saying that “the command of the troops in that State cannot be in
better hands,” Washington proceeds:--
“He possesses uncommon military talents, is of a quick and
sound judgment, persevering, and enterprising without rashness;
and besides these, he is of a very conciliating temper and
perfectly sober, which are qualities that rarely combine in the
same person. And were I to add that some men will gain as much
experience in the course of three or four years as some others
will in ten or a dozen, you cannot deny the fact and attack me
upon that ground.”[72]
Madison wrote at the time that “his having baffled and finally reduced
to the defensive so powerful an army as we now know he had to contend
with, and with so disproportionate a force, would have done honor to
the most veteran officer.”[73] The General Assembly of Virginia, by
solemn resolution, conceived in the warmest terms of affection and
applause, acknowledged “his many great and important services to this
Commonwealth in particular, and through it to the United States in
general,” and tendered to him therefor “the grateful thanks of the free
representatives of a free people.” They also directed a marble bust
of him, “as a lasting monument of his merit and of their gratitude.”
This judgment was sanctioned by the highest authorities, including
Washington.[74] A recent author adds to this testimony by speaking of
the campaign as “masterly,” and then characterizes it as “the most
brilliant, as well as the most successful, part of his whole public
career.”[75] But this judgment strangely forgets that lifelong loyalty
to Human Rights which in itself is a campaign beyond any in war.
Grim-visaged war now smoothed its wrinkled front, and, in the lull
which ensued after the surrender of Cornwallis, Lafayette returned
again to France, with the renewed thanks of Congress, and with added
trusts. Our ministers abroad were instructed to consult him. The
youthful soldier was changed into the more youthful diplomatist;
nor was he less efficient in the new field. His presence alone was
for our country an Embassy. Through him the haughty Spanish Court
was approached, and gigantic forces were gathered at Cadiz for an
expedition in the common cause. At the same time his republican
character was so far recognized, that the Spanish monarch, anticipating
the capture of Jamaica, exclaimed, “Lafayette must not be its governor,
as he would make it a republic.”[76] Great Britain bowed before the
storm and signed the Treaty of Peace, by which American Independence
was recognized. It was fit that this great news should reach Congress
through our greatest benefactor. It was first known by a letter from
Lafayette, dated at _Cadiz, February 5, 1783_; so that he who had
espoused our cause in its gloom became the herald of its final triumph.
But another letter, bearing date the same day and forwarded by the same
vessel with that announcing the glad tidings, opens another duty which
already occupied his inmost soul. Thus he writes to Washington, under
date of _Cadiz, February 5, 1783_,[77] and the remarkable coincidence
of dates shows how closely he associated the rights of the African
slave with our National Independence.
“Now, my dear General, that you are going to enjoy some ease
and quiet, permit me to propose a plan to you, which might
become greatly beneficial to the black part of mankind. Let
us unite in purchasing a small estate where we may try the
experiment to free the negroes and use them only as tenants.
Such an example as yours might render it a general practice;
and if we succeed in America, I will cheerfully devote a part
of my time to render the method fashionable in the West Indies.
_If it be a wild scheme, I had rather be mad this way than to
be thought wise in the other task._”[78]
As if this great proposition were not enough, Lafayette, in the same
letter, calls upon Washington to employ himself “in inducing the people
of America to strengthen their Federal Union,” saying, “It is a work in
which it behooves you to be concerned; I look upon it as a necessary
measure.” Thus were Emancipation and Union conjoint in his regard.
At the date of this letter Lafayette was not yet twenty-six years of
age, and now, one struggle ended, he begins another greater still,
or rather he gives to the first its natural development, and shows
how truly he accepts the truths declared by our fathers. Others might
hesitate; he does not. In these few words addressed to Washington will
be seen the same spirit which inspired him originally to enlist for us,
the same instinctive love of Liberty, the same self-sacrifice, the same
generosity, the same nobleness, expressed with affecting simplicity
and frankness. Valuable as is this testimony for the African race, it
is also precious in illustration of that remarkable character, which,
from the beginning, was guided by no transient spirit of adventure,
but by a sentiment almost divine for Human Rights. In this light his
original consecration to our cause assumes new dignity, while American
Independence becomes but a stage in the triumphs of that Liberty which
is the common birthright of all mankind. If Fox was a _boy-debater_,
as he has been called, then was Lafayette a _boy-hero_,--and hero of
Humanity he continued to the end.
During the next year, at the pressing invitation of Washington, he
again crossed the ocean, to witness the peaceful prosperity of the
country whose government he had helped to found by twofold service in
war and in diplomacy. Adopted child of the Republic, he surrendered
himself for six months to the sympathies of the people, the delights
of friendship, and the companionship of Washington, whom he visited
at Mount Vernon, and with whom he journeyed. Nor did his partiality
for Boston fail at this time, as a contemporary record shows. “The
reception I met with in Boston,” he wrote, “no words can describe; at
least it is impossible to express what I have felt.”[79] But, far more
than all, the Slavery of the African race interested his heart, and
would not allow him to be silent. In official answers to addresses of
welcome from Legislatures of Southern States, he declared his desire
to see these Legislatures commence the work of Abolition.[80] This was
in 1784, before Clarkson, then a youth at the University, was inspired
to write his Essay against Slavery, which was the glorious beginning
of his lifelong career, and before Wilberforce brought forward his
memorable motion in the British Parliament for the abolition of the
slave-trade. If these words were of little effect at that early day,
they bear witness none the less to the exalted spirit of their author.
In taking leave of Congress, as he was about to embark, he let drop
other words, exhibiting the same spirit, wherein may be seen the mighty
shadow of the Future. “May this immense temple of Freedom,” he said,
“ever stand _a lesson to oppressors_, _an example to the oppressed_, a
sanctuary for the rights of mankind! and may these happy United States
attain that complete splendor and prosperity which will illustrate
the blessings of their government, and for ages to come rejoice the
departed souls of its founders!”[81] Such utterance by a French noble
tells that the Revolution was approaching.
The friendship of Washington and Lafayette deserves more than passing
mention. It constitutes a memorable part in the life of each. Already
we have witnessed its beginning. They saw each other for the last time
at Annapolis, where Washington had taken his welcome guest in his
carriage from Mount Vernon. There they parted, Washington returning to
his peaceful home, Lafayette hastening across the ocean to the great
destinies and the great misfortunes which awaited him. But before
leaving our shores he wrote a letter from his ship, where he pours out
his devotion to his great chief, calling him “the most beloved of all
friends he ever had or ever shall have anywhere,” declaring his regret
that he cannot have “the inexpressible pleasure of embracing him in
his own house, of welcoming him in a family where his name is adored,”
and to this adding: “Everything that admiration, respect, gratitude,
friendship, and filial love can inspire is combined in my affectionate
heart to devote me most tenderly to you. In your friendship I find a
delight which words cannot express.”[82] Though never meeting again,
their intimacy was prolonged by an interchange of letters, the most
remarkable of any in the life of either, by which their friendship is
made one, and each lives doubly in the affection of the other.
Returned to Europe, Lafayette sought constant opportunities to promote
our interests,--writing especially of Jefferson, our Minister at Paris,
that he was “happy to be his aide-de-camp.”[83] Nor did he confine his
exertions to France. Traversing Germany, from Brunswick to Vienna, he
was everywhere a welcome guest, first with the Emperor, and then with
the King of Prussia, who was the famous Frederick, sometimes called
the Great,--described by Lafayette, in a picture worthy of a Dutch
artist, as “an old, decrepit, and dirty corporal, all covered with
Spanish snuff, the head almost resting on one shoulder, and fingers
almost dislocated by the gout.”[84] Cornwallis of Yorktown, who was
there as a visitor also, confessed that at the camp in Silesia “there
was a most marked preference for Lafayette.”[85] But wherever the
hero appeared, our concerns, whether political or commercial, were
still present to his thoughts. At the table of Frederick he vindicated
American institutions, and especially answered doubts with regard to
“the strength of the Union,” which he upheld always as a fundamental
condition of national prosperity. He confidently looked to our
Independence as the fruitful parent of a new order of ages, being that
rightful self-government, above all hereditary power, whether of kings
or nobles, which he proudly called the “American Era.”
His heart was ever intent on projects of Human Improvement. Aroused
by the disabilities of Protestants in France, amounting to absolute
outlawry, sad heritage of that fatal measure, the revocation of the
Edict of Nantes, Lafayette, though himself a Catholic, entered into
earnest efforts for their liberation, and thus enrolled himself among
champions of Religious Freedom. At the same time his opposition to
African slavery assumed a practical form. Washington acknowledged
his appeal from Cadiz, of 5th February, 1783, but unhappily deferred
action.[86] Lafayette went forward alone. At an expense of 125,000
francs, this foremost of Abolitionists purchased a plantation of slaves
in the French colony of Cayenne, that by emancipation he might try the
great experiment of Free Labor, and set an example to mankind.[87]
The spirit of this enterprise was seen on the arrival of the agent
from Paris, who began by collecting all the slave-whips and other
instruments of punishment on the plantation, and burning them in
presence of the slaves. This was in 1785, two years after the original
proposition to Washington, who, on learning its execution, thus
complimented his more than disciple:--
“The benevolence of your heart, my dear Marquis, is so
conspicuous upon all occasions that I never wonder at any fresh
proofs of it; but your late purchase of an estate in the colony
of Cayenne, with a view of emancipating the slaves on it, is a
generous and noble proof of your humanity. Would to God a like
spirit might diffuse itself generally into the minds of the
people of this country! But I despair of seeing it.”[88]
Alas! had Washington at that time united with Lafayette, there would
have been a living example of untold value to our country, instead
of that dead despair which was like a stone wall in the path of
Progress. Who can imagine the good from such an instance, teaching the
priceless benefits of Freedom? Who can estimate its happy influence in
extinguishing that great controversy which is not yet ended? It is sad
to think that such an opportunity was lost.
While organizing Emancipation in the distant colony of Cayenne,
Lafayette gave other evidence to his American friends. In a letter
to John Adams, our Minister in London, dated February 22, 1786, he
expresses himself with a vigor never surpassed during the long warfare
with Slavery. “In the cause of my black brethren,” he writes, “I feel
myself warmly interested, and most decidedly side, so far as respects
them, _against the white part of mankind_. Whatever be the complexion
of the enslaved, it does not, in my opinion, alter the complexion of
the crime which the enslaver commits, a crime much blacker than any
African face.”[89]
The following brief note to Alexander Hamilton is another gem of
character.
“PARIS, April 13, 1785.
“MY DEAR HAMILTON,-- … In one of your New York Gazettes I find
an association _against the slavery of negroes_, which seems to
me worded in such a way as to give no offence to the moderate
men in the Southern States. As I ever have been _partial to my
brethren of that color_, I wish, if you are one in the society,
you would move, in your own name, for my being admitted on the
list. My best respects wait on Mrs. Hamilton. Adieu.
“Your affectionate friend,
“LAFAYETTE.”[90]
How much in little! The testimony is plain. The witness is a volunteer.
In simple words he records himself once more “against the slavery
of negroes,” and then declares that he has ever been “partial to
his brethren of that color.” For him the degraded slave is brother,
although of a color not his own.
* * * * *
That great event was now at hand, which, beginning in a claim of rights
denied, and inspired by generous ideas, was destined, amidst falling
privileges and toppling thrones, to let loose the most direful furies
of Discord and War,--to feed the scaffold with blood of King and
Queen, and of good men in all the ranks of life,--to lift the nation
to unknown heights of audacity and power,--to dash back the hosts
of foreign invasion, as the angry surge from the rock,--to achieve
victory on a scale of grandeur never witnessed since the eagles of
Cæsar passed from Britain to Egypt,--and, finally, to mark a new epoch
in the history of the Human Family. The French Revolution had come.
It was foreshadowed in the writings of philosophers, in the gradual
march of Human Progress, in the wide-spread influence of the American
Revolution, in the growing instincts of the people, and the obvious
injustice of existing things,--and it was begun in the example of
Lafayette. Of all men, he was its natural leader, just so long as it
continued moderate and humane. Alas, that such a cause, so beautiful in
itself and so grand in promise, was wrested from its original character
by the passions of men!
The initial step was the Assembly of the Notables, February 22d, 1787,
brought together for the first time since its convocation to serve
the arbitrary rule of Cardinal Richelieu. There sat the two brothers
of the King, all the princes of the blood, archbishops, bishops,
dukes, peers, the chancellor, high officials of the magistracy, and
distinguished nobles, convoked by the King in the interest of his
crown. But the people had no representative there. Lafayette became
their representative. As he had formerly drawn his sword, so now he
raised his voice for popular rights; nor was he deterred by the courtly
presence. Startled by his boldness, the Count d’Artois, afterwards
Charles the Tenth, attempted to call him to order, as acting on
subjects not before the Assembly. “We are summoned,” said Lafayette,
“to make the truth known to his Majesty. I must discharge my duty.” He
proceeded, and here you see how the great tragedy opened.
By formal propositions, sustained by well-considered reasons, he called
for: 1. Removal of Protestant disabilities, and complete establishment
of religious toleration; 2. Equality of imposts, and suppression of
certain unjust taxes; 3. Abolition of all arbitrary imprisonment,
and especially the odious _lettre-de-cachet_; 4. Revision of the
criminal laws; 5. Economy in the royal household, pensions, and all the
departments of government.
Following these moderate demands, he made a “motion,”--the first
time, it is said, this parliamentary word, so suggestive of liberal
discussion, was ever used in France,--and this motion was for nothing
less than the convocation of a “National Assembly,”--uttering here two
other momentous words, which were then and there for the first time
pronounced. “What!” exclaimed the Count d’Artois, “do you demand the
States General?” “Yes, and even more,” was the reply of Lafayette.[91]
The States General were convened in May, 1789, at Versailles, in
the very shadow of that palace where in latter years the kings and
courtiers of the French monarchy had lived like the gods of Olympus,
and at once this ancient body took the name of “National Assembly.”
Here appeared the imposing figure of Mirabeau, demanding, in the name
of the people, that the troops should be removed. By his side was the
yet youthful Lafayette, seconding the demand, which he followed by
proposing a _Declaration of the Rights of Man_, embodying not merely
specific rights secured by precedent and practice, as in the English
Bill of Rights, but the Rights of Man founded on Nature, and above all
precedent or practice. Such a statement was known in our country. It
constitutes part of the Declaration of Independence, and also of the
Constitution of Massachusetts, giving character to each; but it was now
for the first time put forth in Europe, illustrating that “American
Era” which Lafayette constantly proclaimed. Its importance was immense.
It supplied a touchstone for all wrongs, and elevated the hearts of the
people. It began as follows.
“Nature has made men free and equal; the distinctions necessary
for social order are founded on general utility only. Every man
is born with rights inalienable and imprescriptible: such are
the liberty of his opinions; the care of his honor and of his
life; the right of property; the entire disposal of his person,
of his industry, of all his faculties; the communication of his
thoughts by all means possible; the pursuit of happiness; and
resistance to oppression.”[92]
In launching this Declaration, Lafayette vindicated it as “recalling
sentiments which Nature has engraved on the heart of every one, but
which take new force when recognized by all; and this development,” he
said, “becomes the more interesting, since for a nation to love Liberty
it is sufficient that she knows it, and to be free it is sufficient
that she wills it.” He stated its further value as “an expression of
those truths from which all institutions should spring, and by which
the representatives of the nation should be guided.”[93]
The Declaration of the Rights of Man, presented 11th July, 1789, was
a victory whose influence can never die. It redounded immediately to
the glory of Lafayette. Lally-Tollendal, after declaring the ideas
“grand and majestic,” said that their author “speaks of Liberty as he
has already defended it.” These were words of sympathy. Already the
Archbishop of Sens had remarked in the councils of the King, “Lafayette
is the most dangerous of antagonists, as his politics are all in
action.”
A few days later, the Bastile, at once fortress and prison, where for
four hundred years the lawless will of arbitrary power had buried its
victims in a living tomb, was levelled to the ground by the people
of Paris, and with it fell the ancient monarchy. Elated by success,
the people looked for a leader, and found him in the author of the
Declaration of the Rights of Man. Amidst heartfelt applause Lafayette
was placed at the head of the embodied militia of the metropolis,
which, under his auspices, was organized as the National Guard. Thus
in a brief time two achievements were his,--first, the introduction of
a Declaration of the Rights of Man, which he was foremost to present,
and, secondly, the organization of the National Guard, which was the
beginning of a citizen soldiery. Each was an event; the two together
make an epoch.
Thus far champion of Liberty, it was now his part to maintain order;
and never was this work more conscientiously pursued. The colors of
Paris were _blue_ and _red_, but his spirit of conciliation was shown
by adding to them _white_, which was the ancient color of France, out
of these three forming that famous _tricolor_, which he then proudly
proclaimed was destined “to make the tour of the world.” Strong in the
popularity he had won, he shrank from none of the responsibilities
of his perilous post, braving alike the multitude and the
assassin,--unharmed himself, treading calmly the burning ploughshares
of civil strife,--throwing over all the shield of his protection, and
by chivalrous intervention at Versailles saving King and Queen from
an infuriated mob,--but always telling the King, that, if his Majesty
separated the royal cause from that of the people, he should remain
with the people: of all which there are details written in blood.
Though engrossed by his post as Commander of the National Guard,
Lafayette did not neglect those other duties as representative of the
people. In the Assembly he boldly proclaimed the right of resistance
to tyranny, saying, with sententious point, “Where Slavery prevails,
the most sacred of duties is insurrection.”[94] He called for trial
by jury,--liberty of worship,--the rights of colored people in the
colonies,--the suppression of all privileges,--the abolition of the
nobility itself. To one who asked, how, after the abolition of titles,
they would replace the words “ennobled for having saved the State
on a particular day,” he answered, “Simply by declaring that on the
day named the person in question saved the State.” The proposition
prevailed, and from that time this sincere and upright citizen laid
down his own time-honored title, borne by his family for successive
generations, and was known only as Lafayette. And otherwise he gave
testimony by example,--accepting the honorary command of the National
Guard formed by colored citizens of San Domingo, although he refused
this distinction from other guards out of Paris, and entertaining
colored men in the uniform of the National Guard at his dinner-table,
where Clarkson, the English Abolitionist, met them in 1789.[95]
Beyond question, he was now the most exalted citizen of France,--centre
of all eyes, all hopes, and all fears,--holding in his hand the
destinies of King and people. Rarely has such elevation been achieved;
never was such elevation so honestly won, and never was it surrounded
by responsibilities so appalling. Nothing of office, honor, or power
was beyond his reach, while peril of all kinds lay in wait for him or
sat openly in his path. But he was indifferent alike to temptation
and to danger. Emoluments in whatsoever form he rejected, saying
that he attached no more importance to the rejection than to the
acceptance. Field-Marshal, Grand-Constable, Lieutenant-General of the
Kingdom, Dictator even,--such were titles which he put aside. Had his
been a vulgar ambition, he might have clutched at supreme power, and
played the part of Cromwell or Napoleon. But, true to the example of
Washington, and, above all, true to himself and those just sentiments
which belonged to his nature, he thought only of the good of all.
Calmly looking down upon the formless chaos, where ancient landmarks
were heaving in confused mass, he sought to assuage the wide-spread
tumult, and to establish that divine tranquillity, which, like the
repose of Nature, is found only in harmony with law, to the end that
Human Rights, always sacred, should have new force from the prevailing
order. And this done, it was his precious desire to withdraw into the
retirement of his home.
The Constitution, with its Declaration of the Rights of Man, was at
length proclaimed. Amidst unprecedented pomp, in a vast field, the
Campus Martius of France, surrounded by delegates from all parts of
the country, and under the gaze of the anxious people gathered in
uncounted multitudes, the King, sitting upon his throne, took the oath
to support it. Lafayette, as Major-General of the Federation, did the
same,--while National Guard and people, by voice and outstretched hand,
united in the oath. How faithfully he kept this oath, true to the
Constitution in all respects, upholding each department in its powers,
subduing violence, watching the public peace, and for the sake of
these hazarding his good name with the people whose idol he was,--all
this belongs to the history of France. Assured that the Revolution had
accomplished its work, he caused an amnesty to be proclaimed, and then
deliberately laid down his vast military power. Amidst the gratulations
of his countrymen and votes of honor, he withdrew to the bosom of his
family at the home of his childhood. Unhappily, this was for a period
very brief.
The emigrant nobles, with two brothers of the King, were gathering
forces on the Rhenish frontier of France. Austria and Prussia had
joined in coalition for the same hostile purpose. France was menaced;
but its new government hurled three armies to meet the invaders. The
army of the centre was placed under the command of Lafayette. At the
mention of his name in the Assembly there was an outburst of applause,
and when he appeared at its bar, the President, addressing him, said,
“France will oppose to her enemies the Constitution and Lafayette.”
Little was then foreseen how soon thereafter both were to fall.
A new influence was showing itself. Danton and Robespierre were active.
Clubs were organized, whose daily meetings lashed the people to lawless
frenzy. Extreme counsels prevailed. Violence and outrage ensued. The
Jacobins, whose very name has become a synonym for counsellors of
sedition, were beginning to be dominant. The Revolution was losing
its original character. The generous Lafayette, who had been its
representative and its glory, in whom its true grandeur and humanity
were all personified, revolted at its excesses. From camp he addressed
the National Assembly, denouncing the Jacobins as substituting license
for liberty,--and then, supporting his letter, gallantly appeared at
the bar of the Assembly and repeated his denunciation. But the Reign
of Terror was lowering, destined to fill France with darkness, and to
send a shudder through the world. After bloody conflict at the gates
of the palace, the King and his family were driven to seek protection
in the bosom of the Assembly. The scaffold was not yet entirely ready.
But the Constitution was overturned, and with it Lafayette. Doubly
faithful, first to the oath he had taken, and then to his own supreme
integrity, he denounced the audacious crime. He was then at the head of
his army; but Jacobin hate had marked him as victim. Shrinking from the
horrors of civil contest, where success is purchased only by the blood
of fellow-citizens, he resolved--sad alternative!--to withdraw from
his post, and, passing into neutral territory, seek the United States,
there from a distance to watch the storm which was desolating his own
unhappy country.
As his eminence was without precedent, so also was his fall. Power,
fortune, family, country, all were suddenly changed for a dungeon,
where, amidst cruel privations, for more than five years, he wore
away life. But not in vain; for who can listen to the story of his
captivity without confessing new admiration for that sublime fidelity
to principle which illumined his dungeon?
With heart rent by anguish and darkened by the gathering clouds,
Lafayette, accompanied by a few friends, left his army at Sedan.
Traversing the frontier, in the hope of reaching Holland, he fell into
the hands of the Royal Coalition; and then commenced the catalogue of
indignities and hardships under which his soul seemed rather to rise
than to bend. His application for a passport was answered by the jeer
that his passport would be for the scaffold, while a mob of furious
royalists sought to anticipate the executioner. The King of Prussia,
hoping to profit from his increasing debility, suggested that his
situation would be improved in return for information against France.
The patriot was aroused at this attempt on his character. “The King
of Prussia is very impertinent,” he replied, while composing himself
to the continued rigors which beset him. First immured at Wesel on
the Rhine, he was next transported in a cart, by a long journey, to
the far-famed Magdeburg, whose secrets have been disclosed by Baron
Trenck, where for a year he was plunged in a damp subterranean dungeon,
closed by four successive doors, all fastened by iron bolts, padlocks,
and chains, when, on the separate peace between Prussia and the French
Republic, he was handed over to Austrian jailers, by whom he was
transferred to Olmütz, an outlying fortress, then little known, but
now memorable in history, on the eastern border of Austria, further
east than the old castle which witnessed the imprisonment of Richard
Cœur-de-Lion and the generous devotion of Blondel. Here his captivity
was complete. Alone in his cell, with no object in sight except the
four walls,--shut out from all communication with the world,--shut out
even from all knowledge of his family, who on their part could know
nothing of him,--never addressed by name,--mentioned in the bulletins
of the prison only by his number,--and, to cut off all possible escape
by self-destruction, deprived of knife and fork: such was now his lot.
If not a slave compelled to work without wages, he was even a more
wretched captive.
But never for one moment was his soul shaken in its majestic fidelity;
never was his example more lofty. At the beginning, he was careful, by
official declaration, to make known his principles, so that he might
not be confounded with fugitive royalists. But his prison cell was a
constant testimony. Letters now exist, written at peril of life, with
toothpick dipped in soot moistened with vinegar, where his wonderful
nature is laid bare.[96] Confessing his joy that he suffers from that
despotism which he combated, rather than from the people he loved so
well, he announces his equal hostility to the committees of Jacobinism
and the cabinet of the Coalition,--declares his firm conviction, that,
amidst all the shocks of anarchy, Liberty will not perish,--remembers
with a thrill the anniversary of American Independence, as that day
comes round,--says of his own Declaration of the Rights of Man, that,
if he were alone in the universe, he would not hesitate to maintain
it,[97] and repels with scorn every effort to vindicate him at the
expense of his well-known sentiments, declaring that he would give his
blood, drop by drop, to the people’s cause, and that on the scaffold
his first and last words should be “Liberty and Equality,” while
he charges all the wrongs, all the crimes, all the perils, all the
sufferings of the Revolution upon the wretched departure from these
sacred principles.[98] His political faith was grandly declared,
when, addressing the Minister of the United States at London, he
calls down a blessing upon our Republic, saying, “May _Liberty and
Equality_, with all the virtues truly republican, honest industry,
moderation, purity of manners, frankness and liberality of spirit,
obedience to the laws, firmness against all usurpation, continue to
prove that American Freedom has its roots deep, not only in the head,
but at the bottom of the heart of its citizens! May public prosperity,
happiness of individuals, and federal concord be a perpetual recompense
to the United States, and an example for other people!”[99] These
words of benediction, original as great, aptly define that “American
Era” which our hero had already hailed, while they invoke upon our
country all that virtuous heart could desire. But never did soul rise
to purer heights than when, at the beginning of his captivity, he
bequeathed this consoling truth as his legacy to mankind, that the
satisfaction from a single service rendered to Humanity outweighs any
suffering inflicted by enemies, or even by the ingratitude of the
people,[100]--and then, as the dungeon closed upon him, forgetting
all that he was called to undergo, his own personal afflictions and
prolonged captivity, he sends his thoughts to the poor slaves on his
distant plantation in Cayenne, whose emancipation he had sought to
accomplish. In the universal wreck of his fortunes he knew not what had
become of this plantation, but he trusts that his wife “will take care
that the blacks who cultivate it shall preserve their liberty.”[101]
Search history, whether ancient or modern pages, let Greece and Rome
testify, but you can find nothing more sublimely touching than this
voice from that heavy-bolted dungeon, serenely pleading for the
liberty of others far away. That noblest woman, mated with him in
soul as in marriage vow, had already exerted herself to accomplish
this purpose,--but, alas! without effect. Cruelly was their liberty
confiscated with his estates.[102]
This confiscation, where Liberty itself disappeared, was the terrible
climax of that proscription which now enveloped his friends and his
family. In the prevailing masquerade of blood the charge of _Fayettism_
was equivalent to a decree of death. Nor was tender woman spared. The
grandmother, the mother, and the sister of his wife, all of the same
ducal house, perished on the scaffold. His wife was thrown into prison,
and escaped the same fate only by the timely overthrow of Robespierre.
Regaining liberty after a cruel imprisonment of sixteen months, her
maternal care was for her son, George Washington Lafayette, still a
boy, whom she sent to his great namesake at Mount Vernon with a letter
from herself, and then, accompanied by her two youthful daughters,
with the protection of an American passport, she makes her way across
Germany to Vienna, where she throws herself before the Imperial
despot. To her prayer for the release of her husband, he answers that
“his hands are tied”; but, moved by her devotion, so womanly, so
wifely, so heroic, he yields so far as to consent that she, with her
daughters, may share his wretched captivity. Penetrating his dungeon,
she learned that the first change of raiment allowed him was on her
arrival, when the tattered rags which scarcely covered his emaciated
form were exchanged for a garb of coarsest material,--an indulgence
not accorded without the insult of informing him that this had been
purposely sought, as with such alone was he worthy to be clothed.[103]
Three silver forks in her little inventory were seized by the jailer,
and this refined family during a lingering imprisonment were driven to
eat with their fingers. These things are not to be forgotten, because,
while exhibiting the cruelty of despotic power, against which the world
now rises in judgment, they show how his fidelity was tried, as also
that of his family. The wife, becoming ill, was refused permission to
leave the dungeon for medical advice at Vienna, except on condition
of not returning, when she beautifully declared, for herself and her
daughters, that they had agreed to participate the rigors of his
captivity, and now repeated, with all their hearts, that they were
happier with him in the dungeon than they could be anywhere else
without him. Lafayette himself, when tempted by offer of release on
certain conditions or promises, was stern as his jailer, and refused
inexorably,--choosing to suffer, sooner than compromise in any respect
his rights and duties as Frenchman or as American citizen, which latter
title he always claimed.
Vain, during this long period, was every effort for his liberation.
Not Fox, thundering in the British Parliament,--not the gentler voice
of Wilberforce, uniting with Fox,--not Cornwallis, his old enemy at
Yorktown, personally pleading with the Emperor himself,[104]--not
Washington, prompting our Ministers abroad and writing directly to the
Emperor, could open these prison doors.[105] Lafayette was declared
to be a representative not only of the French Revolution, but of
Universal Enfranchisement, whose liberty was incompatible with the
safety of European governments: therefore must he be immured in a
dungeon. But private enterprise, inspired by those generous promptings
which are the glory of the human heart, for a moment seemed about
to prevail. This was before the arrival of his wife and daughters.
The health of the imprisoned champion had suffered to such degree,
that, under medical direction, the rigors of confinement were relaxed
so far as to allow occasional exercise in the open air. Here was an
opportunity for which two friends, Bollmann, a German, and Huger, an
American, of South Carolina, had watched for months, and they were able
secretly to apprise the captive of their plans. With their assistance,
after desperate conflict, in which his hand was torn to the bone,
he succeeded in disarming the guards, and then enjoyed a gleam of
liberty. It was a gleam only. Helped on a horse by one of his devoted
friends, he started; but, ignorant of the way, and oppressed with
fatigue, wounded, bleeding, after a flight of twenty-four hours, he was
recaptured, brought back, and plunged again into the worst torments of
his dungeon. This endeavor, though unsuccessful, is never read without
a gush of gratitude towards the courageous men, who, taking life in
hand, braved Austrian tyranny. Human nature seems more beautiful from
their example.[106]
All had now failed, and the dungeon seemed to have closed upon
Lafayette forever. The hearts of his friends were wrung with anguish,
and especially here in America. Washington, at the fireside of Mount
Vernon, shed tears for his friend,--while to that noble wife, who in
all things was not less faithful than her heroic husband, he addressed
an earnest letter, regretting that he had not words to convey his
feelings, and placing a considerable sum of money to her credit, which
he mentioned as the least he was indebted for services, of which he
had never yet received an account.[107] But an intervention was at
hand which would not be denied. It was the early sword of Napoleon
Bonaparte, which, flashing across the Alps from his Italian victories,
broke open the dungeon of Olmütz. Lafayette had been a captive five
years,--his wife and daughters shut up with him twenty-two months.
In the negotiations ending in the Treaty of Campo Formio, it was
required, under special instructions from the French Directory, that
he should be released; and the conqueror was heard to say afterwards,
that, among all the sacrifices exacted of tottering Austria, not one
was so difficult to obtain. The captive of many years, at last in the
enjoyment of liberty, hastened to Hamburg, where he found welcome with
the American consul.
This was in the autumn of 1797, and he was forty years of age. But
life with him, though brief in years, had been extended by events
full of lessons never to be forgotten; above all was that great
lesson of perpetual fealty to Human Rights. And now this same lesson
was illustrated again. As in dungeon, so in exile, Lafayette could
not forget the cause to which his life was devoted, especially the
liberty of the African. From the obscure retreat in Holstein, where
he lingered, he addresses Clarkson, the English Abolitionist, in
eloquent words, against the Slave-Trade, which was still the scandal
of nations, and announces that the mission of France, while healing
the wounds of the past, should be to assure _Liberty for all, whether
white or black_, under the equal protection of Law.[108] Better far
such mission than battle and conquest, which this ambitious nation
craved. In a letter to Washington at the same time he gives utterance
to his aspiration, that, for the good of the world, the North and the
South should gradually adopt the principles on which the Independence
and the Liberty of the United States have been happily founded.[109]
How in thinking of himself Lafayette thought instinctively of the
slave appears in an incident of exile at this time. In the straitened
circumstances to which he was reduced, stripped of the wealth to which
he was born, poor and homeless, his thoughts turned to the broad
continent across the Atlantic, and he conceived the plan of buying
a farm,--although without what he denominates “the first dollar”
necessary,--either in Virginia, not far from what he calls the “Federal
City,” or in New England, not far from Boston,--and thus, in one of
those tender letters to his wife, he balances between these two places.
“I am aware, dear Adrienne,” he writes, under date of 5th August, 1799,
“that I, who complain of the serfs of Holstein, as something very
melancholy to a friend of Liberty, should find in the valley of the
Shenandoah negro slaves; for Equality, which in the Northern States
is for everybody, exists in the Southern States for the whites only.
Therefore, while I perceive all the reasons which should draw us to the
neighborhood of Mount Vernon and the seat of the Federal Union, yet I
should prefer New England.”[110] Never more simply or conclusively was
the special difference between North and South presented for judgment.
Regaining his country at last, while the outlawry, though a dead
letter, was not formally annulled, he withdrew to the retirement of
Lagrange, where, surrounded by his family, he maintained unsullied the
integrity of his great character,--turning aside from all temptation,
and never for a moment swerving from completest devotion to that cause
for which he had done and suffered so much. Others accepted office and
honor; he would not. Bonaparte wished to make him Senator; Lafayette
declined, as he afterwards declined the Grand Cross of the Legion of
Honor from the same hand. Always himself, he touched the key-note of
his life, when, in a brief address to his fellow-citizens, on refusing
a post of dignity in 1802, he announced his hope that the miracles of
battle then surprising them might be followed not only by peace abroad,
but by domestic tranquillity founded on the immutable principles of
Justice. At no moment is he more exemplary in firmness than when on the
proposition that Bonaparte should be Consul for life he openly voted
“No,” and added, “I cannot vote for such a magistracy, until Liberty
has been sufficiently guarantied.”[111] In a noble letter[112] he
pleads with the successful warrior for the re-establishment of Liberty,
saying that all things combine to fit him for this great work, which
shall subdue danger and calm distrust. Bonaparte did not hearken to
these words of patriot wisdom, but drove still further in mad career.
Lafayette, withdrawing yet more into the repose of private life,
avoided a contest, which he foresaw must be futile, with a ruler having
claims upon his gratitude which he never ceased to acknowledge.
But it was not in his nature to despair. President Jefferson urged
him in 1804, after the acquisition of Louisiana, to quit France,
where the ground trembled beneath his feet, and come to a land where
he could do so much good,--holding before him the governorship of
the new Territory, and declaring that his presence alone would be
better for its tranquillity than an army of ten thousand men. But
Lafayette avowed his unwillingness to take a step that should seem to
abandon the destinies of his own country, duty to which forbade him to
despair of seeing established on the foundation of a just and generous
Liberty,--in one word, American Liberty.[113]
While in retirement, he was visited by temptation in yet another form,
and again his fidelity shines forth. By Act of Congress, repaying in
part the accumulated debt of the nation, he had become proprietor of
a large territory in Louisiana, to which in his reduced condition he
naturally looked for means. Persons familiar with the country advised
him to set up a manufacture of tiles, promising from it, what he so
much desired, “a fixed revenue”; but he dismissed the proposition, as
“founded upon a purchased employment of thirty slaves,”--“a thing,”
said he, “_I detest_, and shall never do”; and then, after expressing
his wish that in letting the land there should be “a first condition
to employ none but free hands, or, if negroes of New Orleans be
admitted, to stipulate their liberty in a short time,” he proceeds to
say, in memorable words: “I would not be concerned in transactions in
a negro country, _unless not only my personal doings were unsullied
with Slavery, but I had provided with others to render the very spot
productive of Freedom_.”[114] This was in 1805, before the Slave-Trade
was yet abolished, and when Slavery was just beginning its fatal empire
over our Republic. But it was only part of that faithful testimony
which he bore so constantly.
Such a character was a perpetual protest, and Napoleon in the pride of
colossal power confessed it. Son and son-in-law, though distinguished,
could not obtain promotion,--the Emperor himself on one occasion
erasing their names, with the tyrannical ejaculation, “These Lafayettes
cross my path everywhere.” The true reason was disclosed, when, at
another time, he said: “Lafayette alone in France holds fast to his
original ideas of Liberty. Though tranquil now, he will reappear, if
occasion offers.” Stronger homage to absolute fidelity could not be.
He was tranquil, through all the splendid agony of the Empire, its
marvellous conquests and its tremendous disasters,--tranquil at the
victories of Austerlitz, Jena, Friedland, and Wagram, at the retreat
from Moscow, at the stunning news from Leipsic, at the capitulation of
Paris. As little could he participate in the restoration of Louis as in
the usurpation of Napoleon. At last he reappeared. It was on the return
from Elba, hazarding that peace purchased at such sacrifice, when, by
characteristic action in harmony with his whole career, his present
was linked with his past, and the chief of the Great Revolution,
declining again the honors of the Senate and the title of Count,
declaring, that, if ever again he entered public life, it must be as
representative of the people, came forward as simple deputy, and then
at an early day, with happy phrase, rallied the Chamber to an attitude
of independence which should decide “whether it would be called a
national representation or a Napoleon club.” The disaster of Waterloo
hastened the impending crisis. The Emperor menaced a dissolution of the
Chamber and a dictatorship. The time had come for the hero of Liberty.
He spoke, and with a voice that had been silent for a generation
bravely recalled the sacred cause of which he was the veteran, and that
tri-color flag which was the symbol of Liberty, Equality, and Public
Order. On his motion the Chamber declared itself permanent, and any
attempt to dissolve it treason; and then, while vindicating France
against the imputation of fickleness towards Napoleon, whom it had
followed over uncounted fields, from the sands of Egypt to the snows of
Russia, the Defender of Liberty insisted upon his abdication. Yet, true
always to every just sentiment of gratitude and humanity, he scorned
the idea of surrendering the fallen man to the Allies, saying he was
“astonished that such a proposition should be addressed to a prisoner
of Olmütz,”[115] and he sought to provide means for escape to America,
showing him every consideration consistent with duty to the country.
The fall of Napoleon was followed by the restoration of the Bourbons
to the throne of France, lasting from 1815 to 1830, and during much
of this period Lafayette, released from all constraint, was member of
the Chamber of Deputies. The King, who in early life had known him
personally, trembled at his election. As he entered the Chamber for
the first time, every eye turned to him, and every tongue pronounced
his name with admiration, hope, or fear; nor was any member
observed afterwards with equal interest. He took his seat on the
extreme left, and always kept it. His attendance was marked by that
fidelity which belonged to his nature; nor did advancing years or any
disgust interfere with the constant and unwearied discharge of his
parliamentary duties. Here, as everywhere, he was open, sincere, and
brave. Overtopping others in character, he was conspicuous also in
debate. Though not a rhetorician, he spoke with ease and effect, while
every word had the inspiration of noble ideas, often expressed with
sententious force. Especially was he moved whenever Liberty came in
question; nor did the disasters falling upon him and his house, or any
other consideration, make him hesitate to vindicate the Revolution,
alike in substantial results and in principles. “Notwithstanding,”
he said, “all that was afterwards lost through anarchy, terrorism,
bankruptcy, and civil war, in spite of a terrible struggle against
all Europe, there remains the incontestable truth, that agriculture,
industry, public instruction, the comfort and independence of three
quarters of the population, and the public morals, have been improved
to a degree of which there is no example in any equal period of
history, or in any other part of the Old World.”[116] With brilliant
effect he portrayed the wrongs and abuses which disappeared before
what he liked to call “the flag of Liberty, Equality, and Public
Order.”[117] And he attributed the evils of France less to the madness
of violence than to compromise of conscience by timid men. In the same
lofty spirit he denounced the Holy Alliance as “a vast and powerful
league whose object was to enslave and brutify mankind.”[118] By such
utterances were the people schooled and elevated. The inspiration which
was his own inner light he imparted to others.
* * * * *
His parliamentary career was interrupted by an episode which belongs
to the poetry of history. On the unanimous invitation of the Congress
of the United States, he again visited the land whose Independence he
helped to secure. This was in 1824. Forty years had passed since he was
last here. But throughout this long period of a life transcendent in
activity and privations, as well as in fame, he had ever turned with
fondness to the scene of his early consecration, and proudly avowed
himself American in heart and American in principle. His early compeers
were all numbered with the dead, and he remained sole survivor among
the generals of Washington. But the people had multiplied, and the
country had grown in wealth and power. All rose to meet his coming, and
he was welcomed everywhere as the Nation’s guest. To the inquiry, on
his landing at New York, how he would be addressed, he replied, “As an
American General,”--thus discarding again the title of his birth. From
beginning to end, men and women, young and old, official bodies, towns,
cities, States, Congress, all vied in testimonies of devotion and
gratitude, while the children of the schools, boys and maidens, swelled
the incomparable holiday, which, stretching from North to South, and
covering the whole country, absorbed for the time every difference, and
made all feel as children of one household. The strong and universal
sentiment found expression in familiar words, repeated everywhere:--
“We bow not the neck,
We bend not the knee,
But our hearts, Lafayette,
We surrender to thee.”
It belongs to the glory of Lafayette that he inspired this sentiment,
and it belongs to the glory of our country to have felt it. As there
was never such a guest, so was there never such a host. They were alike
without parallel. But amidst this grandest hospitality, binding him
by new ties, he kept the loyalty of his heart: he did not forget the
African slave.[119]
The visit was full of memorable incidents, sometimes most touching,
among which I select a scene little known. At one of those receptions
occurring wherever the national guest appeared, a veteran of the
Revolution, in his original Continental uniform, with the addition of a
small blanket, or rather piece of blanket, upon the shoulders, and with
his ancient musket, that had seen service on many fields, came forward.
Drawing himself up in the stiff manner of the old-fashioned drill,
he made a military salute, which Lafayette returned with affection,
tears starting to his eyes,--for he remembered well that uniform, and
saw that an old soldier, more venerable than himself in years, stood
before him. “Do you know me?” said the soldier,--for the manner of
the General persuaded him that he was personally remembered, although
nearly fifty years had passed since their service together. “Indeed,
I cannot remember you,” the General replied frankly. “Do you remember
the frosts and snows of Valley Forge?” “I can never forget them,” said
Lafayette. The veteran then related, that, one freezing night, as
the General went his rounds, he came upon a sentry thinly clad, with
shoes of raw cowhide and without stockings, about to perish with cold;
that he took the musket of the sentry, saying to him, “Go to my hut;
you will find stockings there, and a blanket, which, after warming
yourself, you will bring here; meanwhile give me your musket, and I
will keep guard.” “I obeyed,” the veteran continued, “and returning
to my post refreshed, you cut the blanket in two, retaining one half
and giving me the other. Here, General, is that half, and I am the
sentry whose life you saved.” Saint Martin dividing his cloak is a
kindred story of the Church, portrayed by the genius of Vandyck.[120]
Lafayette, at the date of his charity, was younger even than the Saint,
and the act was not less saintly. But this is only an instance of the
gratitude he met. By such tribute, in accord with the universal popular
heart, was the triumph of our benefactor carried beyond that of any
Roman ascending the Capitol with the spoils of war.
* * * * *
And this might have been the crown even of his exalted life. But at
home in France there was yet further need of him. In the madness
of tyranny, Charles the Tenth undertook by arbitrary ordinance to
trample on popular rights, and to subvert the Charter under which
he held his throne. The people were aroused. The streets of Paris
were filled with barricades. France was heaving as in other days.
Then turned all eyes to the patriarch of Lagrange, who, already hero
of two revolutions, commanded confidence alike by his principles and
his bravery. Summoned from his country home, he repaired to Paris,
imparting instant character to the movement. With a few devoted friends
about him,--one of whom is a dear and honored friend of my own, Dr.
Howe, of Boston,--this venerable citizen, seventy-three years of age,
exposed to all the perils of the conflict hotly raging in the streets
between the people and the troops, was conducted on foot across
barricades to the Hôtel de Ville, and once more placed at the head of
the National Guard. “Liberty shall triumph,” said the veteran, “or we
will all perish together.”[121] Charles the Tenth ceased to reign,
and the Revolution of 1830 was accomplished. The fortunes of France
were now in the hands of Lafayette. He was again what Madame de Staël
had called him at an earlier day, master of events. It rested with
him to choose. He might have made a Republic, of which he would have
been acknowledged head. But, cautious of Public Order, which with him
was next to Liberty, mindful of that moderation which he had always
cultivated, and unwilling, if Liberty were safe, to provoke a civil
contest, drenching France again in fraternal blood, he proposed “a
popular throne surrounded by republican institutions,” and the Duke of
Orléans, under the name of Louis Philippe, became king. Clearly his own
preference was for a Republic on the American model, but he yielded
this cherished idea, satisfied that at last Liberty had prevailed,
while peace was assured to his blood-stained country. If the republican
throne fell short of his just expectations, it was because, against
high injunction, he had put trust in princes.
The loftiness of his character was revealed, when, at a menace of
violence by the excited populace, he issued a general order, as
commander of the National Guard, announcing himself as “the man of
Liberty and Public Order, loving popularity far more than life, but
determined to sacrifice both rather than fail in any duty and tolerate
a crime,--persuaded that no end justifies means which public or private
morals disown.”[122]
Soon again he laid down his great command, contenting himself with his
farm and his duties as deputy. But his heart went wherever Liberty
was struggling,--now with the Pole, and then with the African slave.
To the rights of the latter he had borne true and unfaltering loyalty
at all times and in all places, beginning with that memorable appeal
to Washington on the consummation of Independence, and repeated in
two triumphal visits to our country,--also in public debate, in
conversation, in correspondence,--in the interesting experiment at
Cayenne, and, more affecting still, in the dungeon of arbitrary power.
Every slave, according to him, has a natural right to immediate
emancipation, whether by concession or force; and this principle he
declared above all question.[123] He knew no distinction of color, as
he continually showed. His first letter to President John Quincy Adams,
after return from his American triumph, mentions that he had dined in
the company of two commissioners from Hayti, one a mulatto and the
other entirely black, and he was “well pleased with their good sense
and good manners.”[124] Tenderly he touched this great question in our
own country; but his constancy in this respect shows how it haunted
and perplexed him, like a Sphinx with a perpetual riddle. He could not
understand how men who had fought for their own liberty could deny
liberty to others. But he did not despair, although, on one occasion,
when this inconsistency glared upon him, his impatient philanthropy
exclaimed, that he would never have drawn his sword for America, had he
known that it was to found a government sanctioning Slavery.
* * * * *
The time had come for this great life to close. A sudden illness,
contracted in following on foot the funeral of a colleague, confined
him to his bed. As his case became critical, the Chamber of
Deputies, by solemn vote,--perhaps without example in parliamentary
history,--directed their President to inquire of George Washington
Lafayette after the health of his illustrious parent. On the following
day, May 20, 1834, he died, aged seventy-seven.
The ruling passion of his life was strong to the close. As at the
beginning, so at the end, he was all for Human Rights. This ruled his
mind and filled his heart. His last public speech was in behalf of
political refugees seeking shelter in France from the proscription of
arbitrary power.[125] The last lines traced by his hand, even after
the beginning of his fatal illness, attest his joy at that great act
of Emancipation by which England had just given freedom to her slaves.
“Nobly,” he wrote, “has the public treasure been employed!”[126] And
these last words still resound in our ears, speaking from his tomb.
* * * * *
Such was Lafayette. At the tidings of his death, there was mourning in
two hemispheres, and the saying of Pericles seemed to be accomplished,
that “To the illustrious the whole earth is a sepulchre.”[127] It
was felt that one had gone whose place was among the great names of
history, combining the double fame of hero and martyr, heightened by
the tenderness of personal attachment and gratitude. Nor could such
example belong to France or America only. Living for all, his renown
became the common property of the whole Human Family. The words of the
poet were revived:--
“Ne’er to these chambers where the mighty rest
Since their foundation came a nobler guest;
Nor e’er was to the bowers of bliss conveyed
A fairer spirit or more welcome shade.”[128]
Judge him by the simple record of his life, and you will confess his
greatness. Judge him by the motives of his conduct, and you will bend
with reverence before him. More than any other man in history he is
the impersonation of Liberty. His face is radiant with its glory, as
his heart was filled with its sweetness. His was that new order of
greatness destined soon to displace the old. Peculiar and original,
he was without predecessors. Many will come after him, but there were
none before him. He was founder, inventor, poet, as much as if he had
built a city, discovered ether, or composed an epic. On his foundation
all mankind will build; through his discovery all will be aided; by his
epic all will be uplifted. Early and intuitively he saw man as brother,
and recognized the equal rights of all. Especially was he precocious in
asserting the equal rights of the African slave. His supreme devotion
to Humanity against all obstacles was ennobled by that divine constancy
and uprightness which from youth’s spring to the winter of venerable
years made him always the same,--in youth showing the firmness of age,
and in age showing the ardor of youth,--ever steady when others were
fickle, ever faithful when others were false,--holding cheap all that
birth, wealth, or power could bestow,--renouncing even the favor of
fellow-citizens, which he loved so well,--content with virtue as his
only nobility,--and whether placed on the dazzling heights of worldly
ambition or plunged in the depths of a dungeon, always true to the same
great principles, and making even the dungeon witness of his unequalled
fidelity.
By the side of such sublime virtue what were his eminent French
contemporaries? What was Mirabeau, with life sullied by impurity
and dishonored by a bribe? What was Talleyrand, with heartless
talent devoted to his personal success? What was Robespierre, with
impracticable endeavors baptized in blood? What was Napoleon himself,
whose surpassing powers to fix fortune by profound combinations, or
to seize it with irresistible arm, were debased by the brutality of
selfishness? These are the four chief characters of the Revolution,
already dropping from the firmament as men learn to appreciate those
principles by which Humanity is advanced. Lafayette ascends as they
disappear, while the world hails that Universal Enfranchisement which
he served so well. As the mighty triumph is achieved, which he clearly
foresaw, immense will be his reward among men.
Great he was, indeed,--not as author, although he has written what
we are glad to read,--not as orator, although he has spoken much and
well,--not as soldier, although he displayed both bravery and military
genius,--not even as statesman, versed in the science of government,
although he saw instinctively the relations of men to government.
Nor did his sympathetic nature possess the power always to curb the
passions of men, or to hurl the bolts by which wickedness is driven
back. Not on these accounts is he great. Call him less a force than an
influence, less “king of men” than servant of Humanity,--his name is
destined to be a spell beyond that of any king, while it shines aloft
like a star. Great he is as one of earth’s benefactors, possessing
in largest measure that best gift from God to man, the genius of
beneficence sustained to the last by perfect honesty; great, too, he is
as an early, constant Republican, who saw the beauty and practicability
of Republican Institutions as the expression of a true civilization,
and upheld them always; and great he is as example, which, so long as
history endures, must inspire author, orator, soldier, and statesman
all alike to labor, and, if need be, to suffer for Human Rights. The
fame of such a character, brightening with the Progress of Humanity,
can be measured only by the limits of a world’s gratitude and the
bounds of time.