France, and entered upon his new office of Secretary of State under
General Washington. He was a distant relative of our precocious
student, then seventeen years of age; and the two families had just
been brought nearer together by the marriage of one of Mr. Jefferson's
daughters to a Randolph. The reaction against republican principles
was at full tide; and no one will ever know to what lengths it would
have gone, had not Thomas Jefferson so opportunely come upon the
scene. At his modest abode, No. 57 Maiden Lane, the two Randolph
lads--John, seventeen, Theodorick, nineteen--were frequent visitors.
Theodorick was a roistering blade, much opposed to his younger
brother's reading habits, caring himself for nothing but pleasure.
John was an eager politician. During the whole period of the reaction,
first at New York, afterward at Philadelphia, finally in Virginia,
John Randolph sat at the feet of the great Democrat of America,
fascinated by his conversation, and generally convinced by his
reasoning. It is a mistake, however, to suppose that he was a blind
follower of Mr. Jefferson, even then. On the question of States'
Rights, he was in the most perfect accord with him. But when, in 1791,
the eyes of all intelligent America were fixed upon the two
combatants, Edmund Burke and Thomas Paine, Burke condemning, Paine
defending, the French Revolution, the inherited instincts of John
Randolph asserted themselves, and he gave all his heart to Burke. Lord
Chatham and Edmund Burke were the men who always held the first place
in the esteem of this kindred spirit. Mr. Jefferson, of course,
sympathized with the view of his friend Paine, and never wavered in
his belief that the French Revolution was necessary and beneficial. A
generous and gifted nation strangled, moved him to deeper compassion
than a class proscribed. He dwelt more upon the long and bitter
provocation, than upon the brief frenzy which was only one of its dire
results. Louis XIV. and Louis XV., picturesque as they were, excited
within him a profounder horror than ugly Marat and Robespierre. He
pitied haggard, distracted France more than graceful and high-bred
Marie Antoinette. In other words, he was not a tory.
There was a difference, too, between Mr. Jefferson and his young
kinsman on the points upon which they agreed. Jefferson was a States'
Rights man, and a strict constructionist, because he was a republican;
Randolph, because he was a Virginian, Jefferson thought the government
should be small, that the people might be great; John Randolph thought
the government should be small, that Virginia might be great. Pride in
Virginia was John Randolph's ruling passion, not less in 1790; than in
1828, The welfare and dignity of man were the darling objects of
Thomas Jefferson's great soul, from youth to hoary age.
Here we have the explanation of the great puzzle of American
politics,--the unnatural alliance, for sixty years, between the
plantation lords of the South and the democracy of the North, both
venerating the name of Jefferson, and both professing his principles.
It was not, as many suppose, a compact of scurvy politicians for the
sake of political victory. Every great party, whether religious' or
political, that has held power long in a country, has been founded
upon conviction,--disinterested conviction. Some of the cotton and
tobacco lords, men of intellect and culture, were democrats and
abolitionists, like Jefferson himself. Others took up with
republicanism because it was the reigning affectation in their circle,
as it was in the chateaux and drawing-rooms of France. But their State
pride it was that bound them as a class to the early Republican party.
The Southern aristocrat saw in Jefferson the defender of the
sovereignty of his State: the "smutched artificer" of the North
gloried in Jefferson as the champion of the rights of man. While the
Republican party was in opposition, battling with unmanageable John
Adams, with British Hamilton, and with a foe more powerful than both
of those men together, Robespierre,--while it had to contend with
Washington's all but irresistible influence, and with the nearly
unanimous opposition of educated and orthodox New England,--this
distinction was not felt. Many a tobacco aristocrat cut off his
pig-tail and wore trousers down to his ankles, which were then the
outward signs of the inward democratic grace. But time tries all. It
is now apparent to every one that the strength of the original
Democratic party in the South was the States' Rights portion of its
platform, while in the North it was the sentiment of republicanism
that kept the party together.
Young politicians should study this period of their country's history.
If ever again a political party shall rule the United States for sixty
years, or for twenty years, it will be, we think, a party resembling
the original Republican party, as founded in America by Franklin, and
organized under Jefferson. Its platform will be, perhaps, something
like this: simple, economical government machinery; strict
construction of the Constitution; the rights of the States
scrupulously observed; the suffrage open to all, without regard to
color or sex,--_open_ to all, but _conferred_ only upon men and women
capable of exercising it.
John Randolph agreed upon another point with Mr. Jefferson: lie was an
abolitionist. But for the English debt which he inherited, it is
extremely probable that he would have followed the example of many of
the best Virginians of his day, and emancipated his slaves. He would,
perhaps, have done so when that debt was discharged, instead of
waiting to do it by his last will, but for the forlorn condition of
freedmen in a Slave State. His eldest brother wrote, upon the division
of the estate, in 1794:
"I want not a single negro for any other purpose than his
immediate emancipation. I shudder when I think that such an
insignificant animal as I am is invested with this
monstrous, this horrid power."
He told his guardian that he would give up all his land rather than
own a slave. There was no moment in the whole life of John Randolph
when he did not sympathize with this view of slavery, and he died
expressing it. But though lie was, if possible, a more decided
abolitionist than Jefferson, he never for a moment doubted the innate
superiority of a Virginia gentleman to all the other inhabitants of
America. He had not even the complaisance to take his hair out of
queue, nor hide his thin legs in pantaloons. He was not endowed by
nature with understanding enough to rise superior to the prejudices
that had come down to him through generations of aristocrats. He was
weak enough, indeed, to be extremely vain of the fact that a
grandfather of his had married one of the great-granddaughters of
Pocahontas, who, it was believed, performed the act that renders her
famous at Point of Rocks on the Appomattox, within walking distance of
one of the Randolph mansions. It is interesting to observe what an
unquestioning, childlike faith he always had in the superiority of his
caste, of his State, and of his section. He once got so far as to
speak favorably of the talents of Daniel Webster; but he was obliged
to conclude by saying that he was the best debater he had ever known
_north of the Potomac_.
This singular being was twenty-six years of age before any one
suspected, least of all himself, that he possessed any of the talents
which command the attention of men. His life had been desultory and
purposeless. He had studied law a little, attended a course or two of
medical lectures, travelled somewhat, dipped into hundreds of books,
read a few with passionate admiration, had lived much with the ablest
men of that day,--a familiar guest at Jefferson's fireside, and no
stranger at President Washington's stately table. Father, mother, and
both brothers were dead. He was lonely, sad, and heavily burdened with
property, with debt, and the care of many dependants. His appearance
was even more singular than his situation. At twenty-three he had
still the aspect of a boy. He actually grew half a head after he was
twenty-three years of age.
"A tall, gawky-looking, flaxen-haired stripling, apparently
of the age of sixteen or eighteen, with complexion of a good
parchment color, beardless chin, and as much assumed
self-consequence as any two-footed animal I ever saw."
So he was described by a Charleston bookseller, who saw him in his
store in 1796, carelessly turning over books. "At length," continues
this narrator,
"he hit upon something that struck his fancy; and never did
I witness so sudden, so perfect a change of the human
countenance. That which was before dull and heavy in a
moment became animated, and flashed with the brightest beams
of intellect. He stepped up to the old gray-headed gentleman
(his companion), and giving him a thundering slap on the
shoulder, said, 'Jack, look at this!'"
Thus was he described at twenty-three. At twenty-six he was half a
head taller, and quite as slender as before. His light hair was then
combed back into an elegant queue. His eye of hazel was bright and
restless. His chin was still beardless. He wore a frock-coat of light
blue cloth, yellow breeches, silk stockings, and top-boots. Great was
the love he bore his horses, which were numerous, and as good as
Virginia could boast. It is amusing to notice that the horse upon
which this pattern aristocrat used to scamper across the country, in
French-Revolution times, was named _Jacobin_!
It was in March, 1799, the year before the final victory of the
Republicans over the Federal party, that the neighbors of John
Randolph and John Randolph himself discovered, to their great
astonishment, that he was an orator. He had been nominated for
Representative in Congress. Patrick Henry, aged and infirm, had been
so adroitly manipulated by the Federalists, that he had at length
agreed to speak to the people in support of the hateful administration
of John Adams. John Randolph, who had never in his life addressed an
audience, nor, as he afterwards declared, had ever imagined that he
could do so, suddenly determined, the very evening before the day
named for the meeting, to reply to Patrick Henry. It was an open-air
meeting. No structure in Virginia could have contained the multitude
that thronged to hear the transcendent orator, silent for so many
years, and now summoned from his retirement by General Washington
himself to speak for a Union imperilled and a government assailed. He
spoke with the power of other days? for he was really alarmed for his
country; and when he had finished his impassioned harangue, he sunk
back into the arms of his friends, as one of them said, "like the sun
setting in his glory." For the moment he had all hearts with him. The
sturdiest Republican in Virginia could scarcely resist the spell of
that amazing oratory.
John Randolph rose to reply. His first sentences showed not only that
he could speak, but that he knew the artifices of an old debater; for
he began by giving eloquent expression to the veneration felt by his
hearers for the aged patriot who had just addressed them. He spoke for
three hours, it is said; and if we may judge from the imperfect
outline of his speech that has come down to us, he spoke as well that
day as ever he did. States' Rights was the burden of his speech. That
the Alien and Sedition Law was an outrage upon human nature, he may
have believed; but what he _felt_ was, that it was an outrage upon the
Commonwealth of Virginia. He may have thought it desirable that all
governments should confine themselves to the simple business of
compelling the faithful performance of contracts; but what he
_insisted upon_ was, that the exercise by the government of the United
States of any power not expressly laid down in the letter of the
Constitution was a wrong to Virginia. If John Adams is right, said he,
in substance, then Virginia has gained nothing by the Revolution but a
change of masters,--New England for Old England,--which he thought was
_not_ a change for the better.
It was unnecessary, in the Virginia of 1799, for the head of the house
of Randolph to be an orator in order to secure an election to the
House of Representatives. He was elected, of course. When he came
forward to be sworn in, his appearance was so youthful, that the Clerk
of the House asked him, with the utmost politeness, whether he had
attained the legal age. His reply was eminently characteristic of the
tobacco lord: "Go, sir, and ask my _constituents_: they sent me here."
As there was no one present authorized by the Constitution to box the
ears of impudent boys on the floor of the House, he was sworn without
further question. It has often occurred to us that this anecdote,
which John Randolph used to relate with much satisfaction, was typical
of much that has since occurred. The excessive courtesy of the
officer, the insolence of the Virginia tobacconist, the submission of
the Clerk to that insolence,--who has not witnessed such scenes in the
Capitol at Washington?
It was in December, 1799, that this fiery and erratic genius took his
seat in the House of Representatives. John Adams had still sixteen
months to serve as target for the sarcasm of the young talent of the
nation. To calm readers of the present day, Mr. Adams does really seem
a strange personage to preside over a government; but the cairn reader
of the present day cannot realize the state of things in the year
1800. We cannot conceive what a fright the world had had in the
excesses of the French Revolution, and the recent usurpation of
General Bonaparte. France had made almost every timid man in
Christendom a tory. Serious and respectable people, above forty, and
enjoying a comfortable income, felt that there was only one thing left
for a decent person to do,--to assist in preserving the _authority_ of
government. John Adams, by the constitution of his mind, was as much a
tory as John Randolph; for he too possessed imagination and talent
disproportioned to his understanding. To be a democrat it is necessary
to have a little pure intellect; since your democrat is merely a
person who can, occasionally, see things and men as they are. New
England will always be democratic enough as long as her boys learn
mental arithmetic; and Ireland will always be the haunt of tories as
long as her children are brought up upon songs, legends, and
ceremonies. To make a democratic people, it is only necessary to
accustom them to use their minds.
Nothing throws such light upon the state of things in the United
States in 1800, as the once famous collision between these two natural
tories, John Adams and John Randolph, which gave instantaneous
celebrity to the new member, and made him an idol of the Republican
party. In his maiden speech, which was in opposition to a proposed
increase of the army, he spoke disparagingly of the troops already
serving, using the words _ragamuffins_ and _mercenaries_. In this
passage of his speech, the partisan spoke, not the man. John Randolph
expressed the real feeling of his nature toward soldiers, when, a few
years later, on the same floor, he said: "If I must have a master, let
him be one with epaulets; something which I can look up to; but not a
master with a quill behind his ear." In 1800, however, it pleased him
to style the soldiers of the United States ragamuffins and
mercenaries; which induced two young officers to push, hustle, and
otherwise discommode and insult him at the theatre. Strange to relate,
this hot Virginian, usually so prompt with a challenge to mortal
combat, reported the misconduct of these officers to the President of
the United States. This eminently proper act he did in an eminently
proper manner, thanks to his transient connection with the Republican
party. Having briefly stated the case, he concluded his letter to the
President thus:
"The independence of the legislature has been attacked, and
the majesty of the people, of which you are the principal
representative, insulted, and your authority contemned. In
their name, I demand that a provision commensurate with the
evil be made, and which will be calculated to deter others
from any future attempt to introduce the reign of terror
into our country. In addressing you in this plain language
of man, I give you, sir, the best proof I can afford of the
estimation in which I hold your office and your
understanding; and I assure you with truth, that I am, with
respect, your fellow-citizen, John Randolph."
This language so well accords with our present sense of the becoming,
that a person unacquainted with that period would be unable to point
to a single phrase calculated to give offence. In the year 1800,
however, the President of the United States saw in every expression of
the letter contemptuous and calculated insult. "The majesty of the
people," forsooth! The President merely their "representative"! "plain
language of man"! and "with respect, your fellow-citizen"! To the
heated imaginations of the Federalists of 1800, language of this kind,
addressed to the President, was simply prophetic of the guillotine. So
amazed and indignant was Mr. Adams, that he submitted the letter to
his Cabinet, requesting their opinion as to what should be done with
it. Still more incredible is it, that four members of the Cabinet, in
writing, declared their opinion to be, that "the contemptuous language
therein adopted requires a public censure." They further said, that,
"if such addresses remain unnoticed, we are apprehensive
that a precedent will be established which must necessarily
destroy the ancient, respectable, and urbane usages of this
country."
Some lingering remains of good-sense in the other member of the
Cabinet prevented the President from acting upon their advice; and he
merely sent the letter to the House, with the remark that he
"submitted the whole letter and its tendencies" to their
consideration, "without any other comments on its matter and style."
This affair, trivial as it was, sufficed in that mad time to lift the
young member from Virginia into universal notoriety, and caused him to
be regarded as a shining light of the Republican party. The splendor
of his talents as an orator gave him at once the ear of the House and
the admiration of the Republican side of it; while the fury of his
zeal against the President rendered him most efficient in the
Presidential canvass. No young man, perhaps, did more than he toward
the election of Jefferson and Burr in 1800. He was indeed, at that
time, before disease had wasted him, and while still enjoying the
confidence of the Republican leaders and subject to the needed
restraints of party, a most effective speaker, whether in the House or
upon the stump. He had something of Burke's torrent-like fluency, and
something of Chatham's spirit of command, with a piercing, audacious
sarcasm all his own. He was often unjust and unreasonable, but never
dull. He never spoke in his life without being at least attentively
listened to.
Mr. Jefferson came into power; and John Randolph, triumphantly
re-elected to Congress, was appointed Chairman of the Committee of
Ways and Means,--a position not less important then than now. He was
the leader of the Republican majority in the House. His social rank,
his talents, his position in the House of Representatives, the
admiration of the party, the confidence of the President, all united
to render him the chief of the young men of the young nation. It was
captivating to the popular imagination to behold this heir of an
ancient house, this possessor of broad lands, this orator of genius,
belonging to the party of the people. He aided to give the Republican
party the only element of power which it lacked,--social
consideration. The party had numbers and talent; but it had not that
which could make a weak, rich man vain of the title of Republican. At
the North, clergy, professors, rich men, were generally Federalists,
and it was therefore peculiarly pleasing to Democrats to point to this
eminent and brilliant Virginian as a member of their party. He
discharged the duties of his position well, showing ability as a man
of business, and living in harmony with his colleagues. As often as he
reached Washington, at the beginning of a session, he found the
President's card (so Colonel Benton tells us) awaiting him for dinner
the next day at the White House, when the great measures of the
session were discussed. It was he who moved the resolutions of respect
for the memory of that consummate republican, that entire and perfect
democrat, Samuel Adams of Massachusetts. It was he who arranged the
financial measures required for the purchase of Louisiana, and made no
objection to the purchase. During the first six years of Mr.
Jefferson's Presidency, he shrank from no duty which his party had a
right to claim from him. Whatever there might he narrow or erroneous
in his political creed was neutralized by the sentiment of nationality
which the capital inspires, and by the practical views which must
needs be taken of public affairs by the Chairman of the Committee of
Ways and Means.
These were the happy years of his life, and the most honorable ones.
Never, since governments have existed, has a country been governed so
wisely, so honestly, and so economically as the United States was
governed during the Presidency of Thomas Jefferson. Randolph himself,
after twenty years of opposition to the policy of this incomparable
ruler, could still say of his administration, that it was the only one
he had ever known which "seriously and in good faith was disposed to
give up its patronage," and which desired to go further in depriving
itself of power than the people themselves had thought. "Jefferson,"
said John Randolph in 1828, "was the only man I ever knew or heard of
who really, truly, and honestly, not only said, _Nolo episcopari_, but
actually refused the mitre."
For six years, as we have said, Mr. Randolph led the Republican party
in the House of Representatives, and supported the measures of the
administration,--all of them. In the spring of 1807, without apparent
cause, he suddenly went into opposition, and from that time opposed
the policy of the administration,--the whole of it.
Why this change? If there were such a thing as going apprentice to the
art of discovering truth, a master in that art could not set an
apprentice a better preliminary lesson than this: Why did John
Randolph go into opposition in 1807? The gossips of that day had no
difficulty in answering the question. Some said he had asked Mr.
Jefferson for a foreign mission, and been refused. Others thought it
was jealousy of Mr. Madison, who was known to be the President's
choice for the succession. Others surmised that an important state
secret had been revealed to other members of the House, but not to
him. These opinions our tyro would find very positively recorded, and
he would also, in the course of his researches, come upon the
statement that Mr. Randolph himself attributed the breach to his
having beaten the President at a game of chess, which the President
could not forgive. The truth is, that John Randolph bolted for the
same reason that a steel spring resumes its original bent the instant
the restraining force is withdrawn. His position as leader of a party
was irksome, because it obliged him to work in harness, and he had
never been broken to harness. His party connection bound him to side
with France in the great contest then raging between France and
England, and yet his whole soul sympathized with England. This native
Virginian was more consciously and positively English than any native
of England ever was. English literature had nourished his mind;
English names captivated his imagination; English traditions,
feelings, instincts, habits, prejudices, were all congenial to his
nature. How hard for such a man to side officially with Napoleon in
those gigantic wars! Abhorring Napoleon with all a Randolph's force of
antipathy, it was nevertheless expected of him, as a good Republican,
to interpret leniently the man who, besides being the armed soldier of
democracy, had sold Louisiana to the United States. Randolph,
moreover, was an absolute aristocrat. He delighted to tell the House
of Representatives that he, being a Virginian slaveholder, was _not_
obliged to curry favor with his coachman or his shoeblack, lest when
he drove to the polls the coachman should dismount from his box, or
the shoeblack drop his brushes, and neutralize their master's vote by
voting on the other side. How he exulted in the fact that in Virginia
none but freeholders could vote! How happy he was to boast, that, in
all that Commonwealth, there was no such thing as a ballot-box! "May I
never live to see the day," he would exclaim, "when a Virginian shall
be ashamed to declare aloud at the polls for whom he casts his vote!"
What pleasure he took in speaking of his Virginia wilderness as a
"barony," and signing his name "John Randolph of Roanoke," and in
wearing the garments that were worn in Virginia when the great tobacco
lords were running through their estates in the fine old picturesque
and Irish fashion!