3. Sending accused persons away from their own country for trial is an
inexcusable wrong.
4. We will send an address on these things to the King beseeching his
royal interposition.
The resolutions were passed: they did not mean much anyway, the opposition
said. And then another resolution was passed to this effect: "We will send
a copy of these resolutions to every legislative body on the continent."
That was a little stronger, but did not mean much either.
It was voted upon and passed.
Then the Assembly adjourned, having dispatched a copy of the resolutions
to Lord Boutetourt, the newly appointed Governor who had just arrived from
London.
Next day, the Governor's secretary appeared when the Assembly convened,
and repeated the following formula: "The Governor commands the House to
attend His Excellency in the Council-Chamber." The members marched to the
Council-Chamber and stood around the throne waiting the pleasure of His
Lordship. He made a speech which I will quote entire. "Mr. Speaker and
Gentlemen of the House of Burgesses: I have heard your resolves, and augur
ill of their effect. You have made it my duty to dissolve you, and you are
dissolved accordingly."
And that was the end of Jefferson's first term in office--the reward for
all the hand-shaking, all the caressing, all the treating!
The members looked at one another, but no one said anything, because there
was nothing to say. The secretary made an impatient gesture with his hand
to the effect that they should disperse, and they did.
Just how these legally elected representatives and now legally common
citizens took their rebuff we do not know.
Did Washington forget his usual poise and break out into one of those
swearing fits where everybody wisely made way? And how did Richard Henry
Lee like it, and George Wythe, and the Randolphs? Did Patrick Henry wax
eloquent that afternoon in a barroom, and did Jefferson do more than smile
grimly, biding his time?
Massachusetts kept a complete history of her political heresies, but
Virginia chased foxes and left the refinements of literature to
dilettantes. But this much we know: Those country gentlemen did not go off
peaceably and quietly to race horses or play cards. The slap in the face
from the gloved hand of Lord Boutetourt awoke every boozy sense of
security and gave vitality to all fanatical messages sent by Samuel Adams.
Washington, we are told, spoke of it as a bit of upstart authority on the
part of the new Governor; but Jefferson with true prophetic vision saw the
end.
* * * * *
One of the leading lawyers at Williamsburg, against whom Jefferson was
often pitted, was John Wayles. I need not explain that lawyers hotly
opposed to each other in a trial are not necessarily enemies. The way in
which Jefferson conducted his cases pleased the veteran Wayles, and he
invited Jefferson to visit him at his fine estate, called "The Forest," a
few miles out from Williamsburg. Now, in the family of Mr. Wayles dwelt
his widowed daughter, the beautiful Martha Skelton, gracious and rich as
Jefferson in worldly goods. She played the spinet with great feeling, and
the spinet and the violin go very well together. So, together, Thomas and
Martha played, and sometimes a bit of discord crept in, for Thomas was
absent-minded and, in the business of watching the widow's fingers touch
the keys, played flat.
Long years before, he had liked and admired Becca, gazed fondly at Sukey,
and finally loved Belinda. He did not tell her so, but he told John Page,
and vowed that if he did not wed Belinda he would go through life solitary
and alone. In a few months Belinda married that detested being--another.
Then it was he again swore to his friend Page he would be true to her
memory, even though she had dissembled. But now he saw that the widow
Skelton had intellect, while Belinda had been but clever; the widow had
soul, while Belinda had nothing but form. Jefferson's experience seems to
settle that mooted question, "Can a man love two women at the same time?"
Unlike Martha Custis, this Martha was won only after a protracted wooing,
with many skirmishes and occasional misunderstandings and explanations,
and sweet makings-up that were surely worth a quarrel.
Then they were married at "The Forest," and rode away through the woods to
Monticello. Jefferson was twenty-seven, and although it may not be proper
to question closely as to the age of the widow, yet the bride, we have
reason to believe, was about the age of her husband.
It was a most happy mating--all their quarreling had been done before
marriage. The fine intellect and high spirit of Jefferson found their
mate. She was his comrade and helpmeet as well as his wife. He could read
his favorite Ossian aloud to her, and when he tired she would read to him;
and all his plans and ambitions and hopes were hers. In laying out the
grounds and beautifying that home on Monticello mountain, she took much
more than a passive interest. It was "Our Home," and to make it a home in
very sooth for her beloved husband was her highest ambition. She knew the
greatness of her mate, and all the dreams she had for his advancement were
to come true. With her, ideality was to become reality. But she was to see
it only in part.
Yet she had seen her husband re-elected to the Virginia Legislature; sent
as a member to the Colonial Congress at Philadelphia, there to write the
best known of all American literary productions; from their mountain home
she had seen British troops march into Charlottesville, four miles away,
and then, with household treasure, had fled, knowing that beautiful
Monticello would be devastated by the enemy's ruthless tread. She had
known Washington, and had visited his lonely wife there at Mount Vernon
when victory hung in the balance; when defeat meant that Thomas Jefferson
and George Washington would be the first victims of a vengeful foe. She
saw her husband War-Governor of Virginia in its most perilous hour; she
lived to know that Washington had won; that Cornwallis was his "guest,"
and that no man, save Washington alone, was more honored in proud Virginia
than her beloved lord and husband. She saw a messenger on horseback
approach bearing a packet from the Congress at Philadelphia to the effect
that "His Excellency, the Honorable Thomas Jefferson," had been appointed
as one of an embassy to France in the interests of the United States, with
Benjamin Franklin and Silas Deane as colleagues, and, knowing her
husband's love for Franklin, and his respect for France, she leaned over
his chair and with misty eyes saw him write his simple "No," and knew that
the only reason he declined was because he would not leave his wife at a
time when she might most need his tenderness and sympathy.
And then they retired to beloved Monticello to enjoy the rest that comes
only after work well done--to spend the long vacation of their lives in
simple homekeeping work and studious leisure, her husband yet in manhood's
prime, scarce thirty-seven, as men count time, and rich, passing rich, in
goods and lands.
And then she died.
And Thomas Jefferson, the strong, the self-poised, the self-reliant, fell
in a helpless swoon, and was laid on a pallet and carried out, as though
he, too, were dead. For three weeks his dazed senses prayed for death. He
could endure the presence of no one save his eldest daughter, a slim,
slender girl of scarce ten years, grown a woman in a day. By her loving
touch and tenderness he was lured back from death and reason's night into
the world of life and light. With tottering steps, led by the child who
had to think for both, he was taken out on the veranda of beautiful
Monticello. He looked out on stretching miles of dark-blue hills and
waving woods and winding river. He gazed, and as he looked it came slowly
to him that the earth was still as when he last saw it, and realized that
this would be so even if he were gone. Then, turning to the child, who
stood by, stroking his locks, it came to him that even in grief there may
be selfishness, and for the first time he responded to the tender caress,
saying, "Yes, we will live, daughter--live in memory of her!"
* * * * *
When two men of equal intelligence and sincerity quarrel, both are
probably right. Hamilton and Jefferson were opposed to each other by
temperament and disposition, in a way that caused either to look with
distrust on any proposition made by the other. And yet, when Washington
pressed upon Jefferson the position of Secretary of State, I can not but
think he did it as an antidote to the growing power and vaunting ambition
of Hamilton. Washington won his victories, as great men ever do, by wisely
choosing his aides. Hamilton had done yeoman's service in every branch of
the government, and while the chief sincerely admired his genius, he
guessed his limitations. Power grows until it topples, and when it
topples, innocent people are crushed. Washington was wise as a serpent,
and rather than risk open ruction with Hamilton by personally setting
bounds, he invited Jefferson into his cabinet, and the acid was
neutralized to a degree where it could be safely handled.
Jefferson had just returned from Paris with his beloved daughter, Martha.
He was intending soon to return to France and study social science at
close range. Already, he had seen that mob of women march out to
Versailles and fetch the King to Paris, and had seen barricade after
barricade erected with the stones from the leveled Bastile; he was on
intimate and affectionate terms with Lafayette and the Republican leaders,
and here was a pivotal point in his life. Had not Washington persuaded
him to remain "just for the present" in America, he might have played a
part in Carlyle's best book, that book which is not history, but more--an
epic. So, among the many obligations that America owes to Washington, must
be named this one of pushing Thomas Jefferson, the scholar and man of
peace, into the political embroglio and shutting the door. Then it was
that Hamilton's taunting temper awoke a degree of power in Jefferson that
before he wist not of; then it was that he first fully realized that the
"United States" with England as a sole pattern was not enough.
A pivotal point! Yes, a pivotal point for Jefferson, America and the
world; for Jefferson gave the rudder of the Ship of State such a turn to
starboard that there was never again danger of her drifting on to
aristocratic shoals, an easy victim to the rapacity of Great Britain.
Hamilton's distrust of the people found no echo in Jefferson's mind.
He agreed with Hamilton that a "strong government" administered by a few,
provided the few are wise and honorable, is the best possible government.
Nay, he went further and declared that an absolute monarchy in which the
monarch was all-wise and all-powerful, could not be improved upon by the
imagination of man.
In his composition, there was a saving touch of humor that both Hamilton
and Washington seemed to lack. He could smile at himself; but none ever
dared turn a joke on Hamilton, much less on Washington. And so when
Hamilton explained that a strong government administered by Washington,
President; Jefferson, Secretary of State; Hamilton, Secretary of the
Treasury; Knox, Secretary of War; and Randolph, Attorney-General, was
pretty nearly ideal, no one smiled. But Jefferson's plain inference was
that power is dangerous and man is fallible; that a man so good as
Washington dies tomorrow and another man steps in, and that those who have
the government in their present keeping should curb ambitions, limit their
own power, and thus fix a precedent for those who are to follow.
The wisdom that Jefferson as a statesman showed in working for a future
good, and the willingness to forego the pomp of personal power, to
sacrifice self if need be, that the day he should not see might be secure,
ranks him as first among statesmen. For a statesman is one who builds a
State--and not a politician who is dead, as some have said.
Others, since, have followed Jefferson's example, but in the world's
history I do not recall a man before him who, while still having power in
his grasp, was willing to trust the people.
The one mistake of Washington that borders on blunder was in refusing to
take wages for his work. In doing this, he visited untold misery on
others, who, not having married rich widows, tried to follow his example
and floundered into woeful debt and disgrace; and thereby were lost to
useful society and to the world. And there are yet many public offices
where small men rattle about because men who can fill the place can not
afford it. Bryce declares that no able and honest man of moderate means
can afford to take an active part in municipal affairs in America--and
Bryce is right.
When Jefferson became President, in his messages to Congress again and
again he advised the fixing of sufficient salaries to secure the best men
for every branch of the service, and suggested the folly of expecting
anything for nothing, or the hope of officials not "fixing things" if not
properly paid.
Men from the soil who gain power are usually intoxicated by it; beginning
as democrats they evolve into aristocrats, then into tyrants, if kindly
Fate does not interpose, and are dethroned by the people who made them.
And it is not surprising that this man, born into a plenty that bordered
on affluence, and who never knew from experience the necessity of economy
(until in old age tobacco and slavery had wrecked Virginia and Monticello
alike), should set an almost ideal example of simplicity, moderation and
brotherly kindness.
Among the chief glories that belong to him are these: