Part 11

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.

APPENDIX.

An incident in connection with the delivery of this address at Philadelphia illustrates the sensitive condition of the public mind at the time. Mr. Sumner was announced to give it before “The People’s Literary Institute,” when he received a letter from the President of the Institute, which will be understood by his reply.

“SENATE CHAMBER, December 19, 1860.

“DEAR SIR,--I have been honored by your official communication as President of the People’s Literary Institute of Philadelphia, bearing date 17th December, in which you say, ‘that the patrons of the Institute are persons of all shades of political opinion, and that in the present excited state of the public mind it is desirable that Slavery and Antislavery should not be touched by its lecturers.’ This is written to govern me on the evening of the 27th of December, when, according to invitation, I was to address the Institute.