A FORGOTTEN AMERICAN WORTHY
The pleasant agricultural village of Reading, in Fairfield county, Western Connecticut, presents much that is charming and picturesque in scenery, and is withal replete with historic incidents; but its chief claim to interest rests on the fact that it was the birthplace of Joel Barlow, who has decided claims to the distinction of being the father of American letters. Nearly seventy years have passed since the poet's tragic death, and the story of his life is still untold, while his memory has nearly faded from the minds of the living; nor would it be easy, at this late day, to collect sufficient material for an extended biography if such were demanded. Some pleasant traditions still linger in the sleepy atmosphere of his native village; a few of his letters and papers still remain in his family; contemporary newspapers had much to say both for and against him; the reviewers of his day noticed his poems, sometimes with approbation, sometimes with bitterness. There are fragmentary sketches of him in encyclopædias and biographical dictionaries, and several pigeonholes in the State Department are filled with musty documents written by him when abroad in his country's diplomatic service. From these sources alone is the scholar of our times to glean his knowledge of one who in his day filled as large a space in the public eye as almost any of his contemporaries, and whose talents, virtues and public services entitled him to as lasting a fame as theirs.
Not from any of these sources, but from the Barlow family register in the ancient records of Fairfield, we learn that the poet was born on March 24, 1754, and not in 1755, as is almost universally stated by the encyclopædists. His father was Samuel Barlow, a wealthy farmer of the village—his mother, Elizabeth Hull, a connection of the general and commodore of the same name who figured so prominently in the war of 1812. There is little in the early career of the poet of interest to the modern reader. He is first presented to us in the village traditions as a chubby, rosy-faced boy, intent on mastering the Greek and Latin tasks dealt out to him by Parson Bartlett, the Congregational minister of the village, who, like many of the New England clergy of that day, added the duties of schoolmaster to those of the clergyman. In a year or two he was placed at Moor's school for boys in Hanover, New Hampshire, and on completing his preparatory course he entered Dartmouth College in 1774. His father had died the December previous, and, with the view probably of being nearer his mother and family in Reading, he left Dartmouth in his Freshman year and was entered at Yale.
Barlow's college career was marked by close application to study, and won for him the respect and confidence of all with whom he came in contact. During his second year the war of the Revolution broke out, but the young poet, though an ardent patriot, clung to his books, resolutely closing his ears to the clamor of war that invaded his sacred cloisters until the long summer vacation arrived. Then he threw aside books and gown and joined his four brothers in the Continental ranks, where he did yeoman's service for his country. He graduated in 1778, and signalized the occasion by reciting an original poem called the "Prospect of Peace," which, in the quaint language of one of his contemporaries, gained him "a very pretty reputation as a poet."
The next year found him a chaplain in the Continental army, in the same brigade with his friend Dwight, later renowned as the poet-president of Yale College, and with Colonel Humphreys, whom we shall find associated with him in a far different mission. The two young chaplains, not content with the performance of their clerical duties, wrote in connection with Humphreys stirring patriotic lyrics that were set to music and sung by the soldiers around the camp-fires and on the weary march, and aided largely in allaying discontent and in inducing them to bear their hardships patiently.
For four years, or until the peace of 1783, Barlow continued to serve his country in the army: he left the service as poor as when he entered it, and a second time the question of a vocation in life presented itself. He at length chose the law, but before being admitted to practice performed an act which, however foolish it may have seemed to the worldly wise, proved to be one of the most fortunate events of his life. Although poor and possessing none of the qualities of the successful bread-winner, he united his fortunes with those of an amiable and charming young lady—Miss Ruth Baldwin of New Haven, daughter of Michael Baldwin, Esq., and sister of Hon. Abraham C. Baldwin, whom the student will remember as a Senator of note from Georgia. After marriage the young husband settled in Hartford, first in the study, and later in the practice, of the law. In Hartford we find him assuming the duties of lawyer, journalist and bookseller, and in all proving the truth of the fact often noted, that the possession of literary talent generally unfits one for the rough, every-day work of the world. As a lawyer Barlow lacked the smoothness and suavity of the practised advocate, while the petty details and trickeries of the profession disgusted him. As an editor he made his journal, the American Mercury, notable for the high literary and moral excellence of its articles, but it was not successful financially, simply because it lacked a constituency sufficiently cultured to appreciate and sustain it. His bookstore, which stood on the quiet, elm-shaded main street of the then provincial village, was opened to dispose of his psalm-book and poems, and was closed when this was accomplished.
As a poet, however, he was more successful, and it was here that the assurance of literary ability, so dear to the heart of the neophyte, first came to him. Dr. Watts's "imitation" of the Psalms, incomplete and inappropriate in many respects, was then the only version within reach of the Puritan churches, and in 1785 the Congregational Association of Connecticut applied to the poet for a revised edition of the work. Barlow readily complied, and published his revision the same year, adding to it several psalms which Dr. Watts had omitted. This work was received with marked favor by the Congregational churches, and was used by them exclusively until rumors of the author's lapse from orthodoxy reached them, when it was superseded by a version prepared by Dr. Dwight.
Two years after, in 1787, Barlow published his Vision of Columbus, a poem conceived while in the army and largely written during the poet's summer vacations at Reading. It was received with unbounded favor by his patriotic countrymen, and after passing through several editions at home was republished both in London and Paris, and made its author the best known American in the literary circles of his day. There was in Hartford at this time a coterie of literary spirits whose sprightliness and bonhomie had gained for them the sobriquet of the "Hartford Wits." Dr. Lemuel Hopkins was doubtless the chief factor in the organization of this club: Barlow, John Trumbull, Colonel Humphreys, Richard Alsop and Theodore Dwight—all of whom had gained literary distinction—were its chief members. The principal publications of the club were the Anarchiad, a satirical poem, and the Echo, which consisted of a series of papers in verse lampooning the social and political follies of the day. To both of these, it is said, Barlow was a prominent contributor. He was also a prominent figure in the organization, about this time, of the Connecticut Cincinnati, a society formed by Revolutionary officers for urging upon Congress their claims for services rendered in the Revolution.
In these varied pursuits and amid such pleasant associations three years passed away, but during all this time the grim spectre of Want had menaced the poet—first at a distance, but with each succeeding month approaching nearer and nearer, until now, in 1788, it stared him in the face. His patrimony had been nearly exhausted in his education; his law-business was unremunerative; his paper, as we have said, was not a success financially; and his poetry brought him much more honor than cash. And thus it happened that at the age of thirty-four he found himself without money or employment. At this trying juncture there came from the West—fruitful parent of such schemes!—the prospectus of the Scioto Land Company, furnished with glaring head-lines and seductive phrases, and parading in its list of stockholders scores of the best-known names in the community. This company claimed to have become the fortunate possessor of unnumbered acres in the valley of the Scioto, and was anxious to share its good fortune—for a consideration—with Eastern and European capitalists. It was desirous of securing an agent to negotiate its sales in Europe, and, quite naturally, its choice fell on Joel Barlow, the only American having a reputation abroad who was at liberty to undertake the mission; and, since the company bore a good repute and offered fair remuneration, the poet very gladly embraced its offer. He does not seem to have met with much success in England, but in France his reception was much more encouraging. An estate in the New World was a veritable château en Espagne to the mercurial Frenchmen, and they purchased with some avidity; but just as the agent's ground was prepared for a plenteous harvest news came that the Scioto Company had burst, as bubbles will, leaving to its dupes only a number of well-executed maps, some worthless parchments called deeds, and that valuable experience which comes with a knowledge of the ways of the world. Barlow, being the company's principal agent abroad, came in for his full share of the abuse excited by its operations; and yet it is evident that he was as innocent of its real character as any one, and that he had accepted the position of agent with full confidence in the company's integrity. Its collapse left him as poor as ever, and a stranger in a strange land, notwithstanding he was surrounded here by conditions that assured him the generous and honorable career which had been denied him in the New World.
Of the foreigners who then thronged cosmopolitan Paris, none were so popular as Americans. Benjamin Franklin and Silas Deane, by their courtesy and dignity, joined to republican simplicity, had provided passports for their countrymen to the good graces of all Frenchmen: besides, the name "republican" was a word of magic import in France at that time. Barlow's reputation as a poet was also of great service to him at a time when literature exercised a commanding influence both in society and politics. He was presented at court, admitted to the companionship of wits and savants, and was enabled, by the favor of some financial magnates, to participate in speculations which proved so successful that in a short time he was raised above the pressure of want. But in less than a year after his arrival the Revolution broke out, and involved him in its horrors. His sympathies were entirely with the Girondists—the party of the literati, and the most patriotic and enlightened of the rival factions. He is said to have entered heartily into the advocacy of their cause, writing pamphlets and addresses in their interest and contributing frequently to their journals: he is also said to have figured prominently at the meetings of the Girondist leaders held in the salon of Madame Roland. The atrocities of the Jacobins, however, so shocked and disgusted him that he shortly withdrew and went into retirement outside of the city. The greater part of the years 1791-92 he spent in England, with occasional visits to France. During one of these visits the privileges of French citizenship were conferred on him—an honor that had been previously conferred on but two Americans, Washington and Hamilton.
In 1795 a crisis in his fortunes occurred, and from this date the story of his life becomes an interesting and important one. He had been for some months on a business-tour through the northern provinces, and, returning to Paris early in September, was surprised at receiving a visit from his old friend Colonel David Humphreys, who had been American minister to Portugal for some years, and was now in Paris on a political mission. He was accompanied on this visit by James Monroe, then American minister at the French court. They bore a commission from President Washington naming Barlow consul at Algiers, and their object was to induce him to accept the appointment. The post was one of extreme difficulty and danger, and had Barlow consulted his own wishes and interests he would undoubtedly have declined it. But by appeals to his philanthropy, and by representations that from his knowledge of courts and experience of the world he was well fitted for the performance of the duties assigned to him, he was at length induced to accept the commission. Preparations were at once made for the journey. His business-affairs were arranged and his will made: then, bidding his wife farewell, he set out with Humphreys on the 12th of September, 1795, for Lisbon, en route for the Barbary coast.
At the time of Barlow's mission Algiers was at the height of its power and arrogance. Great Britain, France, Spain, Holland, Denmark, Sweden and Venice were tributaries of this barbarous state, which waged successful war with Russia, Austria, Portugal, Naples, Sardinia, Genoa and Malta. Its first depredation on American commerce was committed on the 25th of July, 1785, when the schooner Maria, Stevens master, owned in Boston, was seized off Cape St. Vincent by a corsair and carried into Algiers. Five days later the ship Dauphin of Philadelphia, Captain O'Brien, was taken and carried into the same port. Other captures quickly followed, so that at the time of Barlow's mission there were one hundred and twenty American citizens in the Algerine prisons, exclusive of some forty that had been liberated by death or ransomed through the private exertions of their friends.
The course pursued by Congress for the liberation of these captives cannot be viewed with complacency even at this late day. After some hesitation it decided to ransom the prisoners, and proceeded to negotiate—first, through Mr. John Lamb, its agent at Algiers, and secondly through the general of the Mathurins, a religious order of France instituted in early times for the redemption of Christian captives from the infidel powers. These negotiations extended through a period of six years, and accomplished nothing, from the fact that the dey invariably demanded double the sum which Congress thought it could afford to pay. In June, 1792, with the hope of negotiating a treaty and rescuing the captives, the celebrated John Paul Jones was appointed consul to Algiers, but died before reaching the scene of his mission. His successor, Mr. Thomas Barclay, died at Lisbon January 19, 1793, while on his way to Algiers. The conduct of Barbary affairs was next confided to Colonel Humphreys, our minister to Portugal, with power to name an agent who should act under him, and Mr. Pierre E. Skjoldebrand, a brother of the Swedish consul, was appointed under this arrangement; but the latter gentleman seems to have been no more successful than his predecessors. Late in 1794, Humphreys returned to America, and while here it was arranged that Joseph Donaldson should accompany him on his return as agent for Tunis and Tripoli, while Barlow, it was hoped, could be induced to accept the mission to Algiers and the general oversight of Barbary affairs.
The two diplomats left America early in April, 1795, and proceeded to Gibraltar, where they separated, Donaldson continuing his journey to Algiers viâ Alicant, and Humphreys hastening on to Paris in search of Barlow, as has been narrated. Colonel Humphreys and Mr. Barlow did not reach Lisbon until the 17th of November, and when the latter was about prosecuting his journey he was surprised by a visit from Captain O'Brien, who had been despatched by Mr. Donaldson with a newly-signed treaty with Algiers. Mr. Donaldson, it was learned, had reached Algiers on the 3d of September, and finding the dey in a genial mood had forthwith concluded a treaty with him, considering that he had sufficient authority for this under the general instructions of Colonel Humphreys. It was found that some of the conditions of the treaty could not be fulfilled, particularly one stipulating that the first payment of nearly eight hundred thousand dollars should be made by the 5th of January, 1796; and Barlow therefore hastened forward to Algiers to explain the matter to the dey and make such attempts at pacification as were practicable, while Captain O'Brien was sent to London in the brig Sophia for the money. Of his life in Algiers, and of the subsequent fate of the treaty, some particulars are given in a letter from Barlow to Humphreys, dated at Algiers April 5, 1796, and also in a letter to Mrs. Barlow written about the same time. The letter to Humphreys is as follows:
"Sir: We have now what we hope will be more agreeable news to you. For two days past we have been witnesses to a scene of as complete and poignant distress as can be imagined, arising from the total state of despair in which our captives found themselves involved, and we without the power of administering the least comfort or hope. The threat of sending us away had been reiterated with every mark of a fixed and final decision, and the dey went so far as to declare that after the thirty days, if the money did not come, he never would be at peace with the Americans. Bacri the Jew, who has as much art in this sort of management as any man we ever knew, who has more influence with the dey than all the regency put together, and who alone has been able to soothe his impatience on this subject for three months past, now seemed unable to make the least impression, and the dey finally forbade him, under pain of his highest displeasure, to speak to him any more about the Americans. His cruisers are now out, and for some days past he has been occupied with his new war against the Danes. Three days ago the Danish prizes began to come in, and it was thought that this circumstance might put him in good-humor, so that the Jew might find a chance of renewing our subject in some shape or other; and we instructed the Jew that if he could engage him in conversation on his cruisers and prizes he might offer him a new American-built ship of twenty guns which should sail very fast, to be presented to his daughter, on condition that he would wait six months longer for our money. The Jew observed that we had better say a ship of twenty-four guns, to which we agreed. After seeing him three or four times yesterday under pretence of other business, without being able to touch upon this, he went this morning and succeeded.
"The novelty of the proposition gained the dey's attention for a moment, and he consented to see us on the subject; but he told the Jew to tell us that it must be a ship of thirty-six guns or he would not listen to the proposition. We were convinced that we ought not to hesitate an instant. We accordingly went and assented to his demand, and he has agreed to let everything remain as it is for the term of three months from this day, but desired us to remember that not a single day beyond that will be allowed on any account.
"We consider the business as now settled on this footing, and it is the best ground that we could possibly place it upon. You still have it in your power to say peace or no peace: you have an alternative. In the other case war was inevitable, and there would have been no hope of peace during the reign of this dey....
"In order to save the treaty, which has been the subject of infinite anxiety and vexation, we found it necessary some time ago to make an offer to the Jew of ten thousand sequins (eighteen thousand dollars), to be paid eventually if he succeeded, and to be distributed by him among such great officers of state as he thought necessary, and as much of it to be kept for himself as he could keep consistent with success. The whole of this new arrangement will cost the United States about fifty-three thousand dollars. We expect to incur blame, because it is impossible to give you a complete view of the circumstances, but we are perfectly confident of having acted right."
A few weeks later the long-expected ransom arrived: the prison-doors were thrown open, and the captives came out into the sunlight. How pitifully the poet-diplomatist received them, how tenderly he cared for their wants, and how he exerted himself to secure for them a speedy passage to their native land, may be inferred from the character of the man. Having now accomplished the object of his mission, it was to be expected that he would be free to give up his unpleasant post and return to France. But in the adjacent states of Tunis and Tripoli there were other prisons in which American citizens were confined, and until they were liberated he does not seem to have considered his mission as fully performed. Six months or more were spent in effecting this object, and when it was accomplished he very gladly delivered up his credentials to the government and returned to his home and friends in France.
The succeeding eight years were spent in congenial pursuits, chiefly of a literary and philanthropic character. He purchased the large hôtel of the count Clermont Tonnere, near Paris, which he transformed into an elegant villa: here he lived during his residence in France, dispensing a broad hospitality and enjoying the friendship of the leading minds of the Empire, as well as the companionship of all Americans of note who visited the capital. But at length, in 1805, after seventeen years of absence, the home-longing which sooner or later comes to every exile seized upon him, and, yielding to its influence, he disposed of his estates in France and with his faithful wife embarked for America.
Great changes had occurred in his native land during these seventeen years. Washington was gone, and with him the power and prestige of Federalism; Jefferson and Burr had led the Republican hosts to victory; Presbyterianism as a political force was dead; and everywhere in society the old order was giving place to the new. This was more markedly the case in New England, where the Puritan crust was being broken and pulverized by the gradual upheaval of the Republican strata. Withal, it was an era of intense political feeling and of partisan bitterness without a parallel.
This will explain, perhaps, the varying manner in which Barlow was received by the different parties among his countrymen. The Republicans greeted him with acclamation as the honored citizen of two republics, the man who had perilled life and health in rescuing his countrymen from slavery. The Federalists, on the other hand, united in traducing him—an assertion which may be gainsaid, but which can be abundantly proved by reference to the Federal newspapers and magazines of the day. In evidence, and as a curious instance of the political bitterness of the times, I will adduce the following article from the Boston Repertory, printed in the August after the poet's return:
"JEFFERSON, BARLOW AND PAINE.
"In our last paper was announced, and that with extreme regret, the return of Joel Barlow, Esq., to this country. This man, the strong friend of Mr. Jefferson and confidential companion of his late warm defender, Tom Paine, is one of the most barefaced infidels that ever appeared in Christendom. Some facts respecting these distinguished personages may serve to show the votaries of Christianity what a band of open enemies (to the faith) is now assembling in this country.
"Mr. Jefferson, in his famous Notes on Virginia, advances opinions incompatible with Mosaic history. This cannot be disputed, nor will Mr. Jefferson dare to deny that he has, since he has been President of the United States, publicly made the Eucharist a subject of impious ridicule. Tom Paine has written two books for the express purpose of combating the Holy Scriptures. His Age of Reason is but too common, and his letter to the late Samuel Adams still evinces his perverse adherence to his infidel system.
"Joel Barlow is said to have written the following shocking letter to his correspondent, John Fellows, dated Hamburg, May 23, 1805: 'I rejoice at the progress of good sense over the damnable imposture of Christian mummery. I had no doubt of the effect of Paine's Age of Reason: it may be cavilled at a while, but it must prevail. Though things as good have been often said, they were never said in so good a way,' etc. Mr. Barlow can now answer for himself: if this letter be a forgery, let him inform the public. It has never yet been contradicted, though it has been four years published in America."
From which we gather that in the political code of that day the grossest calumnies if uncontradicted were to be accepted as truth. There is not the slightest evidence, however, in his writings or public utterances that the poet ever renounced the faith of his fathers, although it is not probable that he was a very strict Presbyterian at this time.
Barlow seems not to have returned with any hopes of political preferment: at least he made no attempt to enter the field of politics, but after spending several months in travel took up his residence in Washington and devoted himself to philosophical studies and the cultivation of the Muses. He had purchased a beautiful site on the banks of the Potomac within the city limits, and here he erected a mansion whose beauty and elegance made it famous throughout the country. This mansion he called Kalorama, and the wealth and correct taste of its owner were lavishly employed in its adornment. Broad green lawns, shaded by forest trees, surrounded the house, fountains sparkled and gleamed amid the shrubberies, and gay parterres of flowers added their beauty to the scene. Within, French carpets, mirrors, statuary, pictures and bric-à-brac betokened the foreign tastes of the owner. In the library was gathered the most extensive private collection of foreign books which the country then contained. Kalorama was the Holland House of America, where were to be met all the notables of the land, political, literary or philanthropic. The President, heads of departments, Congressmen, foreign ambassadors, poets, authors, reformers, inventors, were all to be seen there. Robert Fulton, the father of steam-navigation, was the poet's firm friend, and received substantial aid from him in his enterprise. Jefferson, throwing off the cares of state, often paid him informal visits, and the two sages had a pet plan which was generally the subject of conversation on these occasions. This was the scheme of a national university, to be modelled after the Institute of France, and to combine a university, a learned society, a naval and military school and an academy of fine arts. The movement had been originated by Washington, and Jefferson and Barlow, with many other leading men of the day, were its warm friends and promoters. In 1806, Barlow, at Jefferson's suggestion, drew up a prospectus, which was printed and circulated throughout the country. So great a public sentiment in favor of the scheme was developed that a bill for its endowment was shortly after introduced in Congress; but New England exerted her influence against it in favor of Yale and Harvard so successfully that it was defeated.
The chief literary work which occupied the poet in this classic retreat was The Columbiad, which appeared in 1808. He also busied himself with collecting materials for a general history of the United States—a work which, if he had been permitted to finish it, would have proved no doubt a valuable contribution to this department of literature. But in the midst of this scholarly retirement he was surprised at receiving a note from Mr. Monroe, then Secretary of State, offering him the position of minister to France, and urging his acceptance of it in the strongest terms.
Our relations with France were then (1811) in a very critical state, owing to the latter's repeated attacks on American commerce, and it was of vital moment to the government that a man so universally respected by the French people, and so familiar with the French court and its circle of wily diplomats, as was Barlow, should have charge of American interests in that quarter. A man less unselfish, less patriotic, would have refused the burden of such a position, especially one so foreign to his tastes and desires; but the poet in this case, as in 1795, seems not to have hesitated an instant at the call of his country. Kalorama was closed—not sold, for its owner hoped that his absence would not be of long duration—preparations for the journey were speedily made, and early in August, 1811, Barlow, accompanied by his faithful wife, was set down at the port of Annapolis, where the famous frigate Constitution, Captain Hull, had been lying for some time in readiness to receive him. In Annapolis the poet was received with distinguished honor: at his embarkation crowds thronged the quay, and a number of distinguished citizens were gathered at the gang-plank to bid him God-speed on his journey. Captain Hull received his guest with the honor due his station: then the Constitution spread her sails, and, gay with bunting and responding heartily to the salutes from the forts on shore, swept gallantly down the bay and out to sea. The beautiful city, gleaming amid the foliage of its stately forest trees, and the low level shores, green with orchards and growing corn, were the last objects that the poet beheld ere the outlines of his native land sank beneath the waters. Happily, he could not foresee the untimely death in waiting for him not eighteen months distant, nor the lonely sepulchre in the Polish waste, nor the still more bitter fact that ere two generations should pass an ungrateful country would entirely forget his services and martyrdom.
Barlow's correspondence with Mr. Monroe and the duke de Bassano while abroad on this mission forms an interesting and hitherto unpublished chapter in our history. It has rested undisturbed in the pigeonholes of the State Department for nearly a century, and if published in connection with a brief memoir of the poet would prove a valuable addition to our annals. The first of the series is Mr. Monroe's letter of instruction to the newly-appointed minister, defining the objects of his mission, which were, in brief, indemnity for past spoliations and security from further depredations. The second paper is Mr. Barlow's first letter from Paris, under date of September 29, 1811, and is as follows:
"I seize the first occasion to announce to you my arrival, though I have little else to announce. I landed at Cherbourg the 8th of this month, and arrived at Paris the 19th. The emperor has been residing for some time at Compiègne, and it unluckily happened that he set out thence for the coast and for Holland the day of my arrival here. The duke de Bassano, Minister of Foreign Relations, came the next day to Paris for two days only, when he was to follow the emperor to join him in Holland. General Turreau and others, who called on me the morning after I reached Paris, assured me that the duke was desirous of seeing me as soon as possible and with as little ceremony.
"On the 21st I made my first visit to him, which of course had no other object than that of delivering my credentials. I expressed my regret at the emperor's absence, and the consequent delay of such business as was rendered particularly urgent by the necessity of sending home the frigate and by the approaching session of Congress, as well as by the distressed situation of those American citizens who were awaiting the result of decisions which might be hastened by the expositions I was charged to make on the part of the President of the United States. He said the emperor had foreseen the urgency of the case, and had charged him to remedy the evil, as far as could be done, by dispensing with my presentation to His Majesty till his return, and that I might immediately proceed to business as if I had been presented. He said the most flattering things from the emperor relative to my appointment. He observed that His Majesty had expected my arrival with some solicitude, and was disposed to do everything that I could reasonably ask to maintain a good intelligence between the two countries.... I explained to him with as much precision as possible the sentiments of the President on the most pressing objects of my mission, and threw in such observations as seemed to arise out of what I conceived to be the true interests of France. He heard me with patience and apparent solicitude, endeavored to explain away some of the evils of which we complain, and expressed a strong desire to explain away the rest. He said that many of the ideas I suggested were new to him, and were very important—that he should lay them before the emperor with fidelity and in a manner calculated to produce the most favorable impression; desired me to reduce them to writing, to be presented in a more solemn form; and endeavored to convince me that he doubted not our being able on the return of the emperor to remove all obstacles to a most perfect harmony between the two countries."
In a letter dated December 19, 1811, he writes:
"Since the date of my last I have had many interviews with the Minister of Foreign Relations. I have explained several points, and urged every argument for as speedy an answer to my note of the 10th as its very serious importance would allow. He always treats the subject with apparent candor and solicitude, seems anxious to gain information, and declares that neither he nor the emperor had before understood American affairs, and always assures me that he is nearly ready with his answer. But he says the emperor's taking so long a time to consider it and make up his decision is not without reason, for it opens a wide field for meditation on very interesting matters. He says the emperor has read the note repeatedly and with great attention—that he told him the reasoning in it was everywhere just and the conclusions undeniable, but to reconcile its principles with his continental system presented difficulties not easy to remove. From what the emperor told me himself at the last diplomatic audience, and from a variety of hints and other circumstances remarked among the people about his person, I have been made to believe that he is really changing his system relative to our trade, and that the answer to my note will be more satisfactory than I had at first expected."
Several other letters from the poet to Monroe follow, all of the same general tenor—complaining of delay, yet hopeful that the treaty would shortly be secured. February 8, 1812, he writes to the Secretary of State that the duke is "at work upon the treaty, and probably in good earnest, but the discussions with Russia and the other affairs of this Continent give him and the emperor so much occupation that I cannot count upon their getting on very fast with ours."
Amid these delays the summer passed away, and the emperor, intent on mapping out his great campaign against Russia, still neglected to sign the important instrument. Early in the summer Napoleon left Paris for Wilna to take command of the vast armies that had been collected for the invasion, and from that place, on the 11th of October, the duke de Bassano addressed the following note to Mr. Barlow in Paris:
"Sir: I have had the honor to make known to you how much I regretted, in the negotiation commenced between the United States and France, the delays which inevitably attended a correspondence carried on at so great a distance. Your government has desired to see the epoch of this arrangement draw near: His Majesty is animated by the same dispositions, and, willing to assure to the negotiation a result the most prompt, he has thought that it would be expedient to suppress the intermediaries and to transfer the conference to Wilna. His Majesty has in consequence authorized me, sir, to treat directly with you; and if you will come to this town I dare hope that, with the desire which animates us both to conciliate such important interests, we shall immediately be enabled to remove all the difficulties which until now have appeared to impede the progress of the negotiation. I have apprised the duke of Dalberg that his mission was thus terminated, and I have laid before His Majesty the actual state of the negotiation, to the end that when you arrive at Wilna, the different questions being already illustrated either by your judicious observation or by the instructions I shall have received, we may, sir, conclude an arrangement so desirable and so conformable to the mutually amicable views of our two governments."
Barlow could do no less than comply with this invitation, since, as he remarked in a letter to Monroe under date of October 25, "it was impossible to refuse it without giving offence." His letter accepting the duke's invitation was probably the last ever written by him, and is dated Paris, October 25, 1812:
"Sir: In consequence of the letter you did me the honor to write me on the 11th of this month, I accept your invitation, and leave Paris to-morrow for Wilna, where I hope to arrive in fifteen or eighteen days from this date. The negotiation on which you have done me the honor to invite me at Wilna is so completely prepared in all its parts between the duke of Dalberg and myself, and, as I understand, sent on to you for your approbation about the 18th of the present month, that I am persuaded that if it could have arrived before the date of your letter the necessity of this meeting would not have existed, as I am confident His Majesty would have found the project reasonable and acceptable in all its parts, and would have ordered that minister to conclude and sign both the treaty of commerce and the convention of indemnities."
Barlow left Paris for Wilna on the 26th of October in his private carriage, yet travelling night and day and with relays of horses at the post-towns to expedite his progress. His sole companion was his nephew and secretary of legation, Thomas Barlow, who had been educated and given an honorable position in life through the poet's munificence. Their route, the same as that pursued by Napoleon a few weeks before, led across the Belgian frontiers and through the forests and defiles of the German principalities. Once across the Niemen, they met with rumors of the emperor's disaster at Moscow, and that portions of his army were then in full retreat, but, discrediting them, pushed on to Wilna, which they reached about the 1st of December. Wilna is the only considerable village in Russia between the Niemen and Moscow: it is a quaint and venerable town, capital of the ancient province of Lithuania, and played an important part in Napoleon's Russian campaign, being the rendezvous of his legions after crossing the Niemen and the site of his army-hospitals. When our travellers entered it, it was filled with a horde of panic-stricken fugitives, who made the town a temporary resting-place before continuing their flight to the frontiers; nor were they long in learning the, to them, distressing news that the French army was in swift retreat, and that the duke de Bassano, so far from being at leisure to attend a diplomatic conference at Wilna, was then on the frontiers hurrying forward reinforcements to cover the retreat of his emperor across the Beresina.
The perilous journey had been made in vain, and the treaty was doomed to still further delay. It now only remained for Barlow to extricate himself from his dangerous position and to reach the frontiers before the fleeing army and the pursuing Cossacks should close every avenue of escape.
Thomas Barlow on his return to America sometimes favored his friends with vivid pictures of the sufferings and privations endured by the travellers in their flight from Wilna. The passage of so many men had rendered the roads well-nigh impassable; food, even of the meanest kind, could only be procured with the greatest difficulty; and often the travellers were mixed up with the flying masses, as it seemed inextricably. Ruined habitations, wagons and provision-vans overturned and pillaged, men dying by scores from hunger and starvation, and frozen corpses of men and horses, were objects that constantly presented themselves. At length they crossed the Niemen and pursued their journey through Poland, still suffering terribly from the cold and from the insufficient nature of the food obtainable; but on reaching Zarrow,[C] an obscure village near Cracow, the poet was seized with a sudden and fatal attack of pneumonia, the result, no doubt, of privation and exposure. He was borne to a little Jewish cottage, the only inn that the village afforded, and there died December 26, 1812. His remains were interred in the little churchyard of the village where he died. It is rarely that an American visits his grave, and the government has never taken interest enough in its minister to erect a memorial slab above his dust; but wifely devotion has supplied the omission, and a plain monument of marble, on which are inscribed his name, age and station and the circumstances of his death, marks the poet's place of sepulture.
The news of his death seems not to have reached the United States until the succeeding March. The Federal journals merely announced the fact without comment: the Republican papers published formal eulogiums on the dead statesman. President Madison, in his inaugural of 1813, thus referred to the event: "The sudden death of the distinguished citizen who represented the United States in France, without any special arrangement by him for such a conclusion, has kept us without the expected sequel to his last communications; nor has the French government taken any measures for bringing the depending negotiations to a conclusion through its representative in the United States."
In France the poet's demise excited a more general feeling of regret, perhaps, than in his own country. A formal eulogy on his life and character was pronounced by Dupont de Nemours before the Society for the Encouragement of National Industry, and the year succeeding his death an account of his life and writings was published at Paris in quarto form, accompanied by one canto of The Columbiad, translated into French heroic verse. The American residents of Paris also addressed a letter of condolence to Mrs. Barlow, in which is apparent the general sentiment of respect and affection entertained for the poet in the French capital.
"In private life," says one of his eulogists, "Mr. Barlow was highly esteemed for his amiable temperament and many social excellences. His manners were generally grave and dignified, and he possessed but little facility of general conversation, but with his intimate friends he was easy and familiar, and upon topics which deeply interested him he conversed with much animation."
Another thus refers to his domestic relations: "The affection of Mr. Barlow for his lovely wife was unusually strong, and on her part it was fully reciprocated. She cheerfully in early life cast in her lot with his 'for better or for worse'—and sometimes the worst, so far as their pecuniary prospects were concerned. In their darkest days Barlow ever found light and encouragement at home in the smiles, sympathy and counsel of his prudent, faithful wife. No matter how dark and portentous the cloud that brooded over them might be, she always contrived to give it a silver lining, and his subsequent success in life he always attributed more to her influence over him than to anything else."
Barlow lived a dual life—the life of a poet as well as of a diplomatist—and this paper can scarcely be considered complete unless it touches somewhat on his literary productions. It will be the verdict of all who study his life carefully that he was a better statesman than poet, and a better philanthropist than either; yet as a poet he surpassed his contemporaries, producing works that fairly entitle him to the distinction of being the father of American letters. His Hasty Pudding would be a valuable addition to any literature, and in his Advice to the Privileged Orders and his Conspiracy of Kings much poetic power and insight is apparent. It was on his epic of The Columbiad that he no doubt founded his hopes of fame, but, though the book was extensively read in its day and passed through several editions on both continents, no reprint has been demanded in modern times, and it long since dropped out of the category of books that are read.
Barlow's private letters from abroad would have possessed undoubted interest to the present generation, but, so far as is known, none of them have been preserved—with one exception, however. There is in existence a long letter of his, written to his wife while he was in Algiers in imminent danger from the plague, and which was to be forwarded to her only in case of his death. It was found among his papers after his death nearly sixteen years later. This letter has already appeared in print, but it will be new to most of our readers, and it is so remarkable in itself, and throws such light on the character of the writer, that, in spite of its length, no apology is required for inserting it here:
"To Mrs. Barlow in Paris:
"Algiers, 8th July, 1796.
"My dearest Life and only Love: I run no risk of alarming your extreme sensibility by writing this letter, since it is not my intention that it shall come into your hands unless and until, through some other channel, you shall be informed of the event which it anticipates as possible. For our happy union to be dissolved by death is indeed at every moment possible; but at this time there is an uncommon degree of danger that you may lose a life which I know you value more than you do your own. I say I know this, because I have long been taught, from our perfect sympathy of affection, to judge your heart by mine; and I can say solemnly and truly, as far as I know myself, that I have no other value for my own life than as a means of continuing a conjugal union with the best of women—the wife of my soul, my first, my last, my only love. I have told you in my current letters that the plague is raging with considerable violence in this place. I must tell you in this, if it should be your fortune to see it, that a pressing duty of humanity requires me to expose myself more than other considerations would justify in endeavoring to save as many of our unhappy citizens as possible from falling a sacrifice, and to embark them at this cruel moment for their country. Though they are dying very fast, it is possible that my exertions may be the means of saving a number who otherwise would perish. If this should be the case, and I should fall instead of them, my tender, generous friend must not upbraid my memory by ever thinking I did too much. But she cannot help it: I know she cannot. Yet, my dearest love, give me leave, since I must anticipate your affliction, to lay before you some reflections which would recur to you at last, but which ought to strike your mind at first, to mingle with and assuage your first emotions of grief. You cannot judge at your distance of the risk I am taking, nor of the necessity of taking it; and I am convinced that were you in my place you would do more than I shall do, for your kind, intrepid spirit has more courage than mine, and always had.
"Another consideration: Many of these persons have wives at home as well as I, from whom they have been much longer separated, under more affecting circumstances, having been held in a merciless and desponding slavery: if their wives love them as mine does me (a thing I cannot believe, but have no right to deny), ask these lately disconsolate and now joyous families whether I have done too much.
"Since I write this as if it were my last poor demonstration of affection to my lovely friend, I have much to say; and it is with difficulty that I can steal an hour from the fatigue of business to devote to the grateful, painful task. But tell me (you cannot tell me) where shall I begin? where shall I end? how shall I put an eternal period to a correspondence which has given me so much comfort? With what expression of regret shall I take leave of my happiness? with what words of tenderness, of gratitude, of counsel, of consolation, shall I pay you for what I am robbing you of—the husband whom you cherish, the friend who is all your own?
"But I am giving vent to more weakness than I intended: this, my dear, is a letter of business, not of love, and I wonder I cannot enter upon it and keep to my subject. Enclosed is my last will, made in conformity to the one I left in the hands of Doctor Hopkins of Hartford, as you may remember. The greater part of our property now lying in Paris, I thought proper to renew this instrument, that you might enter immediately upon the settlement of your affairs, without waiting to send to America for the other paper.
"You will likewise find enclosed a schedule of our property debts and demands, with explanations, as nearly just as I can make it from memory in the absence of my papers. If the French Republic is consolidated, and her funds rise to par, or near it, as I believe they will do soon after the war, the effects noted in this schedule may amount to a capital of about one hundred and twenty thousand dollars, besides paying my debts; which sum, vested in the American funds or mortgages equally solid, would produce something more than seven thousand dollars a year perpetual income.
"If the French should fund their debt anew at one-half its nominal value (which is possible), so that the part of your property now vested in those funds should diminish in proportion, still, taking the whole together, it will not make a difference of more than one-third, and the annual income may still be near five thousand dollars. Events unforeseen by me may, however, reduce it considerably lower. But, whatever may be the value of what I leave, it is left simply and wholly to you.
"Perhaps some of my relations may think it strange that I have not mentioned them in this final disposition of my effects, especially if they should prove to be as considerable as I hope they may. But, my dearest love, I will tell you my reasons, and I hope you will approve them; for if I can excuse myself to you in a point in which your generous delicacy would be more likely to question the propriety of my conduct than in most others, I am sure my arguments will be convincing to those whose objections may arise from their interest.
"First. In a view of justice and equity, whatever we possess at this moment is a joint property between ourselves, and ought to remain to the survivor. When you gave me your blessed self you know I was destitute of every other possession, as of every other enjoyment: I was rich only in the fund of your affectionate economy and the sweet consolation of your society. In our various struggles and disappointments while trying to obtain a moderate competency for the quiet enjoyment of what we used to call the remainder of our lives, I have been rendered happy by misfortunes, for the heaviest we have met with were turned into blessings by the opportunities they gave me to discover new virtues in you, who taught me how to bear them.
"I have often told you since the year 1791, the period of our deepest difficulties (and even during that period), that I had never been so easy and contented before; and I have certainly been happier in you during the latter years of our union than I was in former years; not that I have loved you more ardently or more exclusively, for that was impossible, but I have loved you better: my heart has been more full of your excellence and less agitated with objects of ambition, which used to devour me too much.
"I recall these things to your mind to convince you of my full belief that the acquisition of the competency which we seem at last to have secured is owing more to your energy than my own: I mean the energy of your virtues, which gave me consolation, and even happiness, under circumstances wherein, if I had been alone or with a partner no better than myself, I should have sunk.
"These fruits of our joint exertions you expected to enjoy with me, else I know you would not have wished for them. But if by my death you are to be deprived of the greater part of the comfort you expected, it would surely be unjust and cruel to deprive you of the remainder, or any portion of it, by giving any part of this property to others. It is yours in the truest sense in which property can be considered; and I should have no right, if I were disposed, to take it from you.
"Secondly. Of my relations, I have some thirty or forty, nephews and nieces and their children, the greater part of whom I have never seen, and from whom I have had no news for seven or eight years. Among them there may be some necessitous ones who would be proper objects of particular legacies, yet it would be impossible for me at this moment to know which they are. It was my intention, and still is if I live, to go to America, to make discrimination among them according to their wants, and to give them such relief as might be in my power, without waiting to do it by legacy. Now, my lovely wife, if this task and the means of performing it should devolve upon you, I need not recommend it: our joint liberality would have been less extensive and less grateful to the receivers than yours will be alone.
"Your own relations in the same degree of affinity are few in number. I hope I need not tell you that in my affections I know no difference between yours and mine. I include them all in the same recommendation, without any other distinction than what may arise from their wants and your ability to do them good.
"If Colonel B—— or his wife (either of them being left by the other) should be in a situation otherwise than comfortable, I wish my generous friend to render it so as far as may be in her power. We may have had more powerful friends than they, but never any more sincere. He has the most frank and loyal spirit in the world, and she is possessed of many amiable and almost heroic virtues.
"Mary——, poor girl!—you know her worth, her virtues, and her talents, and I am sure you will not fail to keep yourself informed of her circumstances. She has friends, or at least had them, more able than you will be to yield her assistance in case of need. But they may forsake her for reasons which to your enlightened and benevolent mind would rather be an additional inducement to contribute to her happiness. Excuse me, my dearest life, for my being so particular on a subject which, considering to whom it is addressed, may appear superfluous; but I do it rather to show that I agree with you in these sentiments than to pretend that they originate on my part. With this view I must pursue them a little further. One of the principal gratifications in which I intended, and still intend to indulge myself if I should live to enjoy with you the means of doing it, is to succor the unfortunate of every description as far as possible—to encourage merit where I find it, and try to create it where it does not exist. This has long been a favorite project with me; but, having always been destitute of the means of carrying it into effect to any considerable degree, I have not conversed with you upon it as much as I wish I had. Though I can say nothing that will be new to you on the pleasure of employing one's attention and resources in this way, yet some useful hints might be given on the means of multiplying good actions from small resources; for I would not confine my pleasure to the simple duties of charity in the beggar's sense of the word.
"First. Much may be done by advising with poor persons, contriving for them, and pointing out the objects on which they can employ their own industry.
"Secondly. Many persons and families in a crisis of difficulty might be extricated and set up in the world by little loans of money, for which they might give good security and refund within a year; and the same fund might then go to relieve a second and a third; and thus a dozen families might be set on the independent footing of their own industry in the course of a dozen years by the help of fifty dollars, and the owner lose nothing but the interest. Some judgment would be necessary in these operations, as well as care and attention in finding out the proper objects. How many of these are to be found in prisons, thrown in and confined for years, for small debts which their industry and their liberty would enable them to discharge in a short time! Imprisonment for debt still exists as a stain upon our country, as most others. France, indeed, has set us the example of abolishing it, but I am apprehensive she will relapse from this, as I see she is inclined to do from many other good things which she began in her magnanimous struggle for the renovation of society.
"Thirdly. With your benevolence, your character and connections, you may put in motion a much greater fund of charity than you will yourself possess. It is by searching out the objects of distress or misfortune, and recommending them to their wealthy neighbors in such a manner as to excite their attention. I have often remarked to you (I forget whether you agree with me in it or not) that there is more goodness at the bottom of the human heart than the world will generally allow. Men are as often hindered from doing a generous thing by an indolence either of thought or action as by a selfish principle. If they knew what the action was, when and where it was to be done and how to do it, their obstacles would be overcome. In this manner one may bring the resources of others into contribution, and with such a grace as to obtain the thanks both of the givers and receivers.
"Fourthly. The example of one beneficent person, like yourself, in a neighborhood or a town would go a great way. It would doubtless be imitated by others, extend far, and benefit thousands whom you might never hear of.
"I certainly hope to escape from this place and return to your beloved arms. No man has stronger inducements to wish to live than I have. I have no quarrel with the world: it has used me as well as could be expected. I have valuable friends in every country where I have put my foot, not excepting this abominable sink of wickedness, pestilence and folly—the city of Algiers. I have a pretty extensive and dear-bought knowledge of mankind; a most valuable collection of books; a pure and undivided taste for domestic tranquillity, the social intercourse of friends, study, and the exercise of charity. I have a moderate but sufficient income, perfect health, an unimpaired constitution, and, to give the relish to all enjoyments and smooth away the asperities that might arise from unforeseen calamities, I have the wife that my youth chose and my advancing age has cherished—the pattern of excellence, the example of every virtue—from whom all my joys have risen, in whom all my hopes are centred.
"I will use every precaution for my safety, as well for your sake as mine. But if you should see me no more, my dearest friend, you will not forget I loved you. As you have valued my love, and as you believe this letter is written with an intention to promote your happiness at a time when it will be for ever out of my power to contribute to it in any other way, I beg you will kindly receive the last advice I can give you, with which I am going to close our endearing intercourse.... Submitting with patience to a destiny that is unavoidable, let your tenderness for me soon cease to agitate that lovely bosom: banish it to the house of darkness and dust, with the object that can no longer be benefited by it, and transfer your affections to some worthy person who shall supply my place in the relation I have borne to you. It is for the living, not the dead, to be rendered happy by the sweetness of your temper, the purity of your heart, your exalted sentiments, your cultivated spirit, your undivided love. Happy man of your choice should he know and prize the treasure of such a wife! Oh, treat her tenderly, my dear sir: she is used to nothing but kindness, unbounded love and confidence. She is all that any reasonable man can desire. She is more than I have merited, or perhaps than you can merit. My resigning her to your charge, though but the result of uncontrollable necessity, is done with a degree of cheerfulness—a cheerfulness inspired by the hope that her happiness will be the object of your care and the long-continued fruit of your affection.
"Farewell, my wife; and though I am not used to subscribe my letters addressed to you, your familiarity with my writing having always rendered it unnecessary, yet it seems proper that the last characters which this hand shall trace for your perusal should compose the name of your most faithful, most affectionate and most grateful husband,
"Joel Barlow."
After her husband's decease Mrs. Barlow returned to America, and continued to reside at Kalorama until her death in 1818.
Charles Burr Todd.
FOOTNOTES:
[C] The name is variously written Zarrow, Zarniwica and Zarrowitch.